Meradeth Houston's Blog

So, it's been, like, years since I've written a blog post. I was looking back, and seven-eight years ago, I was blogging almost a every other day. Who was that Meradeth, with all of that time? All of that energy? She seems like a stranger. But, here I am, still writing, and back to the blog!

There have been some big changes, too! Lately to The Coincidence Makers series, which has had some fresh new covers and all kinds of love poured into them. Well, okay, they already had a lot of love lavished on them, but even more now :) So, I figured I'd share these lovely new covers and ought to share them here.

Gah, they're just so pretty 😍😍😍
For those of you who want to listen to me ramble on more, find me on TikTok and Instagram!

 You all, I can't even begin to say how excited I am about this cover reveal. IN DEFIANCE OF FATE is a companion to THE COINCIDENCE MAKERS and it is epic and the cover is just amazing. I mean, look at it:

Check it out on Goodreads and add it there!
As far as Ami’s concerned, her job as a cosmic coincidence maker has gotten her all she’s ever wanted: the man she loves, a house on the beach, and work that hasn’t required her to save the world…recently. But, fate is about to drag Ami and Luke back to San Francisco for a job that will make her question everything she thought she knew about who, and what, she is.
So, shall we have a little sneak peak at the first chapter? Bear in mind we're still editing so there will be some rough edges here, but let's see what Ami and Luke are up to!***Chapter 1Three hours and twelve minutes. They’d ticked by on my watch—my only real source of light from its faint electronic surface—while I struggled to keep myself from screaming in the tight space that was the trunk of my mark’s FIAT Sienna. A trunk I’d locked myself in, only to later realize I was stuck. 
“So, tell me again how you got yourself in there?” Luke thought at me, tapping on the exterior of the all too tiny compartment. The sound was an amplified metallic pinging from where I was cramped. 
My knees were pressed to my stomach as I laid on my side in a horrible parody of a yoga position—ironically, I was in yoga pants and a tee meant for yoga, even though I had definitely not been doing that today. Maybe if I had, I might have been able to feel my right hip in the last two hours.
“Just let me out!” I mentally shouted back. With the one leg I could move, I kicked against the side of the car, making a muffled thump.
Luke chuckled and I heard him tinkering away at the exterior lock. It took him all too long to get it popped. If I hadn’t known better, I would have guessed he delayed so he could laugh a little longer at the predicament I’d gotten myself into. That thought disappeared as the door lifted and cool air washed over my face.
“Thank the gods,” I breathed aloud, reaching out to snag Luke’s proffered hand. His warm grip wrapped around my much smaller hand, a little rough and very, very right for my soul.
Uncurling myself from inside took a lot more effort than I would have thought. My body was numb and aching as Luke had to half-lift me, his other hand under my knees, from the space. I rested against the dented bumper as feeling slowly returned to my feet. But, as the blood returned, they started to sting with pins and needles, and I longed to kick off my simple flat sandals and go find a quiet spot to lie down. Instead, I stared at my feet and tried to wiggle my toes, painted a bright (“That used to be so scandalous” Luke noted) red. The cracked cement of the parking garage made a pattern that looked roughly like a duck.
“So, the trunk?” Luke asked, watching me with a furrowed brow now that he’d stowed his little leather container for his tools. 
I grimaced at my own stupidity, but went with the truth. “I got stuck without a ride. I wanted to make sure they made it here in time, but then he picked up some more people and there wasn’t any space.” I’d been happily riding in the backseat that was coated in a layer of soda bottles and chip wrappers, invisible, pleased I’d managed to get my mark out of his house and to the mall in time to make his appointment with fate. A fate that Luke and I had forced to happen.
Then they’d picked up two more loud and noisy guys and I’d been stuck. A quick move left me scrambling into the trunk, worried they’d had a change of plans and would no longer head to the mall. That had been stupid, as they came here anyhow, and the interior release lever to open the trunk had been nothing more than a sharpened remnant of plastic that damn near cut me. Thankfully they hadn’t heard me swearing about that over their music and laughter.
“So, the trunk. Okay. I mean, you could have just called for a cab or something,” Luke noted.“And risk them not coming here?” I stood on my painful feet, winced, and sagged back against the bumper rubbing my hands over my face. My skin felt oily and hot, and I longed to wash off the grime of the day.
Luke shrugged. “Well, at least I could find you.”
“My hero,” I said in a singsong tone. It was half to tease, and half the truth. I hated getting stuck in tight, contained spaces. I had nightmares about them, after some horrible run-ins in my all-to-long history. But that didn’t negate how I also felt like a fucking idiot.
Finally, I rotated my ankles one by one and was able to stand. The parking lot was mostly empty vehicles parked haphazardly in every direction, but as I slammed the trunk with a giant thunk, a woman emerged from around the corner and gave me a funny look. Even she didn’t stop me from sticking my tongue out at the Sienna. 
Making sure I didn’t have any crumbs or hair stuck to my skin or clothes, I snagged my giant black leather bag (filled with my emergency gear, of which I was now going to add an empty container when we got home because my bladder felt like it was going to explode), and huffed a sigh. “Shall we?” I motioned toward the entrance to the mall, a bright entry into an air-conditioned other world.
Luke did a funny, old fashioned formal bow and offered me his arm. I grinned and rubbed my poor aching fingers once more, before I allowed myself to be led toward the lights and shops and music. My legs still didn’t bend without protest and I longed to go home, but our pay-off was ahead of us and after having to spend that much time in a space I could barely move my head meant I damn well wanted to watch whatever was about to play out with our marks.
The smell of food worked wonders on my senses. So did a quick trip to the bathroom. I’d probably broken my bladder by holding it for hours, especially after all the tea I’d had that morning. When I reemerged, Luke had hunted down a supply of pao de queijo, which were little cheesy bread bites I promptly stole from him. 
“I’m not sharing,” I said as I popped one in my mouth whole, trying to make it sound like I joked, but in reality, I was going to smack him if he even tried. I’d skipped breakfast to make it out to my assignment’s house and had regretted it all morning, staring into the dark of the damn trunk. The cheese was sharp and the bread soft and I moaned a little as my stomach stopped barking at me.
“I got my own. Trust me, I’ve learned that lesson,” Luke winked and held up his own portion in the little white paper bag, oil seeping through the corners.
This was precisely why I loved him. It helped that I’d known him for time immemorial and he looked like I’d dreamed up some kind of movie star and made him mine—all dark brown hair just a bit too long and a physique that made me grateful we lived near the beach where he didn’t think anything of taking his shirt off. I, on the other hand, thought about it a lot.
It had been a couple of years since we’d figured out the truth about our relationship, or lack thereof, and I kept waiting for the amazingness to wear off. For the tarnish of reality to sink in. The fact that it hadn’t sometimes made me worried—all relationships had their issues, right? But things had been, well, wonderful. I had someone to talk to, to remember the terrible lyrics to the stupid seafaring tune I’d sung three hundred years ago and couldn’t remember the last verse to (we’d ended up making up our own). I’d worried about realizing this was all some kind of crazy dream, until my best friend Melody reminded me I should damn well enjoy it while it lasted if I was going to think that way.
She was right. So, while I kind of couldn’t believe my luck most days, I didn’t push it. And I did my best to let Luke know how much I appreciated him, even if he did give me shit for getting locked in a trunk for hours. Which, I deserved, completely. 
Mowing down on the little cheesy goodness, we walked into the main area of the mall, which was bright and spotless and filled with people. Terrible music with a too-fast beat kept up a low hum in the background. Stores with perky lights filled the corridors and a large central area was accented with tropical plants in giant white planters that surrounded the seating areas. We snagged an empty table, bolted to the floor off to one side, perfectly positioned to watch all that happened.
My mark currently sat exactly where I’d seen him in the mental image I’d been given at the start of this job. He leaned over a cement picnic table, chatting animatedly with a couple of friends, the three of them sharing a platter of fries. Loud laughter and a few pokes and nudges kept them all engaged, while keeping an eye out for attractive women, of which there were plenty. 
“This assignment is depressing,” Luke muttered as we watched his mark enter the central area, arm in arm with a tall guy about her age, somewhere in their late teens. She couldn’t stop herself from touching him, her manicured hands roving his torso, barely masked by a thin white tee. He laughed and drank it in. Not that I blamed him—she was beautiful, with her long curtain of dark hair, flawless tan, and perfect athletic build. It was probably her low-cut shirt he liked best, but I liked to think it was her engaging conversation that kept him laughing along with her.
“Forty-three seconds,” Luke noted, his eyes glued to the table of older teens I’d listened to talk about girls, and food, and porn, and video games, for hours while shoved in their trunk. I returned my attention to them, noticing that one of them was now quiet, watching the PDA couple from across the open dining area with a wide-eyed expression.
We could practically watch his thoughts roll through his mind as he debated saying something about the newcomers. In the end, he didn’t have to. The other guys, my mark included, looked around to try and figure out what was going on that had their friend so dumbfounded.
Which was when my mark noticed the girl. Who he had, until that second, thought was his girl. Seeing her there with her hands in the hot guy’s back pockets, made it clear she had her eyes on a different prize. Namely the hottie she’d started kissing in a way that made me wonder if they planned on devouring each other right out in the open. My little inner prude wished they’d find somewhere private to eat each other’s faces off. I’d definitely spent way too much time in the Puritanical Americas. 
“Oh, gods, I don’t think I can watch,” I silently said to Luke, all the same leaning out a little to see around a large planter, trying to get a better look at the whole thing. The leaves were kind of pokey, but I brushed them aside to make sure my view was unencumbered. Popping my last cheesy bite in my mouth, I certainly wasn’t looking away.
My mark stood slowly, hands splayed on the table in front of him. Both of his friends flanked him as he walked, zombie-like, toward his now ex. She didn’t see him coming until he tapped her shoulder and she whirled around in a wave of hair that looked like a shampoo commercial. Her expression ran through a range of emotion so fast that it was almost impressive—confused, then sad, then angry, then clearly, deeply upset.
“I mean, what did she think was going to happen?” I muttered to myself. Not that I wanted to see her get hurt, but it was damn stupid on her part to think this hadn’t been the inevitable outcome.
Okay, so it wouldn’t have happened without some serious nudging from me and Luke. My boy, the cuckolded lover, had been planning on studying all day. I’d had to get his friends to get him out, and it had not been easy to pull him away from his books. He never left them easily. Today, it took reminders of burn out and the need to get out and exercise, and how friendship was more important in the long run, and as much other BS pop-psych that I could dangle in his inbox, on headlines in his social media feeds, or have his friends discuss. Finally, my wheedling won out, just in time to get Luke’s lady in line and here.
No one likes a bad breakup. But, the thing is, making them happen sometimes can be as important as getting two people together. Something Luke had reminded me of at least a dozen times during the past week or so of our work. 
So, while we watched the girl’s expression crumple and chase after my mark, only to be firmly stopped by one of his friends, I sighed and tried to not be entirely fed up with the day.Luke touched his head to mine as we watched the drama unfold, including a glorious send-off from the boy-toy the cheater had been with. 
“Maybe he’s supposed to become a famous doctor and needs to spend more time on his studies,” Luke said with a little shrug as we slumped back onto a bench after the others were gone.
“Or she is going to save the Amazon now that she’s seen the errors of her dating ways,” I said. It was a game we sometimes played—we often had no idea why we had to make these little coincidences happen. We figured there had to be some larger reason, and since that was sometimes obvious, or became so over time, even these little weird jobs had to have an underlying purpose. Whatever the hell that was, though, neither of us knew.
Luke slipped an arm around my waist, warm and comforting. I tucked myself in next to him, breathing in his smell of rain and cinnamon. Both of us watched in silence as the world carried on around us. Whatever small tuck in the fabric of the universe we’d just made, it was done, and we were back to being the silent observers of the millennia that passed us by. This had gotten lots more fun and interesting now that Luke and I had figured out our issues. For example, we could sit together and marvel at the way so many stared at their phones all day, oblivious to all that passed them by. Some things never changed though, like the little kids merrily chasing each other around the cluster of tables on the other side of the courtyard, shrieking in glee. Their moms barely glanced up, lost in conversation with one another. Over by a clothing shop, two pre-teens giggled and attempted to flirt, at least until his mom emerged from the store and the kid turned tomato red.
A mom pushing a stroller with her tiny pink-booted baby passed right in front of us. My heart ached as I craned to see the tiny face, scrunched in a frown. She’d clearly just had photos taken and her frilly white dress made her look like a doll. I would have given just about anything—my immortality included—to have a tiny Luke and me baby. While that was out of the question, even all these years later, somehow the sting hadn’t subsided.
Before I could wallow in grief for what could never be, pressure slammed into my chest, causing me to gasp and press both hands against my sternum. It hurt, like my chest was going to fly apart and my heart land in my lap with a wet plop. I didn’t even have time to go invisible, the pain was just there, pounding, with no room to change my state. It pulsed in my fingertips and behind my eyes, my brain scrambling to figure out why.
Gasping for breath that wouldn’t fill my lungs, I slumped from the bench to the ground. The plants poking me didn’t even register beyond the crashing pain. It was everywhere. Nothing specific was wrong. But, this was not normal. Not okay. Luke moaned next to me and something screamed in my mind that we were both facing this. We had no one but each other to help. Now both of us were crumpled on the bench or ground and trying not to explode into a million little pieces.
Had the snacks been poisoned? Were we going to turn into little puddles of dust right here in the middle of the shopping center, and blow away like a bad vampire film? Was it our time to finally be done with this too long life?
The sharp pain of my heart trying to escape my ribs had all of my attention, no possibility it could hurt more, until my head thumped back against the bench behind me. An image knocked itself into my brain with the force of a baseball bat swung at full speed.***So, what happens? Well, you'll just have to snag a copy and find out!

 

Title: The Grey QueenAuthor: J.M. SullivanGenre: YA DystopianPublication Date: October 13th, 2020Publisher: Bleeding Ink Publishing Hosted by: Lady Amber’s PR When Alice defeated the Red Queen, she thought the worst was over.

Until the Grey Queen rose.

Ever since her sister, Dinah, contracted the momerath virus, Alice Carroll’s world has been twisted upside down. Spurred by a desperate determination to save her sister, Alice has braved every peril Wanderland has to offer--rogue momerath, hostile survivors, and treacherous queens. But now, there is a new threat creeping in on Alice, one that leaves her facing an impossible choice. 
Does she follow her heart and save her sister, or abandon her to save the world?
Book Links: Alice | Broken Glass | The Grey QueenCheck out the new covers for The Wanderland Chronicles! Teacher by day, award-winning author by night, J.M. Sullivan is a fairy tale fanatic who loves taking classic stories and turning them on their head. When she’s not buried in her laptop, you can find her watching scary movies with her husband, playing with her kids, or lost inside a good book. Although known to dabble in adulting, J.M. is a big kid at heart who still believes in true love, magic, and most of all, the power of coffee. If you would like to connect with J.M., you can find her on social media at @jmsullivanbooks-- she’d love to hear from you. Author Links:Goodreads | Amazon | Facebook | Twitter | Bookbub | Web  Book Links:Alice | Broken Glass | The Grey Queen

The author's personal narrative represents the chronology of his mental illness over a span of 49 years, as well as his attempts to understand it and cope with it. Selected entries from his journals constitute the source and follow an authentic progression over time. In them, he relates insights about the origin of his disorder. He also describes thoughts and feelings that arose and his reactions to events that took place at various times, as influenced, for better or worse, by psychiatric medications and supplements. The primary motivation for presenting his history is to encourage others who grapple with either chronic depression or occasional bouts. He hopes his journey resonates with some, validates feelings, and sparks the thoughts "I'm not alone" and "I will feel better." This book can also help family members and friends of the mentally ill find compassion and enable them to understand the struggle. It could, as well, benefit those who care for the depressed, and interest the curious and the voyeur. The author's goal is to save lives.Snag a copy on Amazon!I've known Larry for a while through the local writing group I run at the city library, and he is a wonderful, inspirational human, and has a lovely writing style. If this sounds like something that you or a friend would find useful, I highly recommend it!
From the author himself: Transcending Depression is one man’s personal narrative that chronicles his mental illness over a span of 49 years. In concise entries from his journals, the author narrates his story, hoping to encourage others who grapple with either chronic depression or occasional bouts. Godwin’s book provides an unguarded window into his experience, with refreshing, brutal honesty and sincerity. The style comprises a blend of the narrative, the emotional, and the quasi-scientific. His message is uplifting without being sentimental. This book can help family members and friends of the mentally ill find compassion and enable them to understand the struggle. His goal is to save lives.

This volume collects four lovingly crafted zines/artists' books — Of Elsewhere: An Exoskeleton, Of the Firebirds, Of Unreal Identities, and Of Sorrow’s End — into a single 48-page work of fantastical (perhaps mystical) poetry, prose, and artwork.
Pick up a copy!!
We had a chance to get to know Meg last week (check out her interview!), so today I thought I'd post a review of her Four Zones of Elsewhere, which such a delight!
Meg's exploration of themes of the fantastical, as well as self exploration, are lyrical and a pleasure to explore. The artwork that accompanies them is wonderful, with a million little details to find in the bright colors and intricate designs. They fit perfectly with the poetry in surprising ways, and offer an additional layer to ways to perceive the work. I positively loved spending an afternoon reading through all of the zines together, letting them sink in with their delicious depth. My personal favorite is Of the Firebirds, which also carries my favorite artwork, and this line, which I feel is a lovely way to draw in a new reader: "Watch out, dreamers, so that you know when you have crossed out of the realm of solid things into this one, which can never be whole with the wholeness you know." There are so many parts that left me sitting back to let the idea and image roll around in my mind. This is a total delight!

I'm incredibly happy to introduce my friend and fellow author, Meg Moseman, to you all today! Meg and I have worked together in the library writing group for over seven years now and she has been an indispensable help in so many of my books. Her work is positively lovely and I deeply admire it (and her!), so when I learned she was making her Zines more widely available online, I was very excited! I love the combination of her artistic outlets, art and poetry, and will share more about her piece next week. But for today, let's get to know Meg! (And, should you be interested, my answers to these questions can be found on her blog:)

Are you a plotter or a pantser?
I’m a plotter who spent years trying to be a pantser. You see, Diana Wynne Jones wrote about how, for her, careful outlines “kill it dead.” I loved her accounts of her process, and I wanted mine to be like that too. Of course, (surprise!) different people are different. While I come up with wild and strange ideas when I’m lucky — in the right mood, confident enough, what have you — they don’t come on command. What’s more, I am usually not good at plots at all. They bore me. I like situations and feelings — perhaps why my published writing is poetry, even though I am probably better at prose.

Who are some favorite authors, and why do they mean so much to you?
My deepest favorites are Diana Wynne Jones and C.S. Lewis. Diana Wynne Jones is a wild, sideways, gloriously original thinker who writes twisty, sneaky, wise, literate fantasy, mostly for children. I’ll talk more about C.S. Lewis in a moment, but for now I’ll say he represents (by comparison, at least) my “left brain” (though I know that dichotomy oversimplifies the reality): bright, clear, thoughtful, reasoned, scrupulously moral  — intensely emotional, too, more openly so than DWJ, but in a what I think of as a “daylight” way; there are intuitions, surreality, and dream-logic like hers, too, but they are not given as much sway. I haven’t bonded as deeply with any authors since, but, for speculative fiction, I love Jason Vanhee’s short YA horror novel Engines of the Broken World, everything I’ve read by Octavia Butler, Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell, Charles Williams’ novels, and David Lindsay’s bizarre A Voyage to Arcturus. For classics, I especially like Hawthorne, Melville, Henry James, Dickinson, Wallace Stevens, and Blake.

Snag a Copy! What inspired your most recent book?
This book is an anthology of zines I’d made before and printed locally. In the first three zines, I took poems and snatches of prose I’d written previously and illustrated them copiously. In the fourth, the art (mostly self-portraits, defined loosely) came first, and I wrote or borrowed (from public domain sources) commentary to accompany them. All are part of a larger project I call Evernost — a prose/poetry/visual art thing revolving around a fantasy plot, a girl’s mystical experience, and the cycle of the seasons in constantly evolving ways.

How does your day job as a bookstore clerk affect your creative work? Has it changed your standards? Has it changed how you look at writing?
I started out thinking I was a middle grade or young adult writer. You’d think working in the children’s section of a bookstore would be inspirational, but even though I love my job — I work with smart, hilarious, wonderful people — engaging with books as merchandise (how many Amazon reviews? how long did it take to sell last time we had it? appealing cover?) rather than as — relationships? — records of inner worlds? — intense and unique emotional experiences? — makes me jaded and pessimistic. I think it’s given me a desire to be not only different (I hope, and half-believe, that we are all different, unique, despite our drive to shove ourselves and each other into boxes) but visibly different. I’ve wanted to mix poetry and art and prose for years, but I’m not sure I would have dared to if I hadn’t been depressed by the volume of passionate, good, careful kids’ fantasy and seen how generic it all seems from a distance. (Seems, not is. I’m vain, though; I don’t even want to seem generic, especially not to myself.)

Inspiration and perspiration — in what forms does inspiration come to you? How important is “the muse” to your creative process? What parts of writing “just come” and what parts require hard work? 
My muse is — tricky. She runs away whenever I look straight at her but waves sparkly things at me that I can only see from the corner of my eye when I’m trying to work. For a few years, I could make myself write thousands of words a day whether I was “feeling it” or not, but that sense of resolve has faded, and I didn’t get satisfying results anyway. Beginnings, seeds, ideas, feelings — come (though rarely these days; I struggle to fulfill old visions rather than stumbling upon new ones). Periods of enthusiasm, which may be slightly different from inspiration itself, make work exciting rather than painful. But soon enough exhaustion sets in and everything is hard work — that’s the base state.

Tricky touchy one: God. We are two pretty secular people, but we both find ourselves drawn to topics usually associated with religion (again in our different ways). Why?
I’ve been fascinated with the trappings of religion — every religion I met, pretty much — since I was tiny and asked my parents, with giggles and unbearable embarrassment, to have me baptized. When I was thirteen came C.S. Lewis’s adult fiction and Christian apologetics, which I devoured even though I disagreed passionately with most of his arguments. Something about his imagination, his style of thinking, and his wit “clicked” with me more dramatically than any writer’s has before or since, to the point that I still can’t tell which thoughts of mine are mine and which come from something I’ve read of his. I hope that Evernost, in addition to fleshing out moments of intense inspiration, will also help me grapple with his thought.

About the Author:
Meg has enjoyed drawing, writing, and assembling books since the age when she could barely write her own name. She lives in the mountains of Montana, where she puts her English degree to use in the children’s section of an independent bookstore. In her spare time, she reads, writes, and illustrates fantasy and poetry, mostly centered on a huge project she calls her “I want to be William Blake when I grow up” project. Favorite authors include C.S. Lewis, Charles Williams, Diana Wynne Jones, Kafka, Melville, Dickinson, and many others. Her poetry has appeared in Heroic Fantasy Quarterly and The Mythic Circle, and she recently self-published Four Zines of Elsewhere! Check out her Amazon author page, or, if pictures are more your thing, her Instagram and her Redbubble.

A Spectacle of Souls
Jessica Julien
(Circus of the Stolen #1)
Published by: Bleeding Ink Publishing
Publication date: July 7th 2020
Genres: Adult, Paranormal, Romance

Caitlyn always thought she was just your average small-town waitress, but she’s anything but average. Suffering from frequent headaches and vivid daydreams, her oddities mask a secret hidden deep within her mind—one that could defeat even the cleverest of psychics. 

When a mysterious circus arrives in town, Caitlyn is immediately drawn to it. While visiting the hypnotic show, she meets a seer who warns her of a gruesome future and urges her to stay away. But soon, Caitlyn finds herself ensnared in the show and the Ringmaster himself. 

Recognizing Caitlyn’s powers for what they are, and believing they are the ones he has been searching for, the Ringmaster is determined to claim them as his own. Trapped within the circus and the Ringmaster’s devious grip, Caitlyn realizes that to escape the seer’s foretold fate, her only choice is to fight. Banding together with Bevier, an imprisoned psychic, Meg, an eccentric seamstress, and Daniel, a handsome magician, Caitlyn falls into the Psychic Realm to thwart the Ringmaster and stop the show before they succumb to his control and are trapped forever in his spectacle of souls.

Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / Kobo

Author Bio:
Born in the picturesque state of Washington, Jessica Julien is the marketing director of a boutique publishing company, a stay at home mom, wife, and wanderluster. When not drafting marketing plans or doing laundry, she spends her time writing young adult and new adult novels focused on the paranormal and supernatural inspired by her love of all things dark and twisty. With her vivacious imagination, witty personality, and ability to bring sarcasm to a new level Jessica creates unique worlds and characters that readers can't help but hate to love and love to hate. 

In her free time, Jessica can be found enjoying a cup of dark roasted coffee while snuggling under a blanket with a good book. When the weather is right she hops in the car with her husband, son, and dogs to road trip across the country where she delights in eating red vines, drinking iced lattes, and singing loudly in the passenger seat.
Website / Goodreads / Facebook / Twitter / Instagram

GIVEAWAY!
a Rafflecopter giveaway

Calvin’s dictionary is proud to go wherever Calvin goes —the breakfast table, school, baseball practice, and home again — helping Calvin search for the perfect word to describe his super-annoying older brother. After looking all day, Calvin finally finds the word he’s looking for at bedtime. And when he does, the dictionary is as surprised as you will be. (Goodreads)
Pre-order a copy now!I don't often review children's books here, but that's not because I don't adore them--I just don't get the chance to often! So, when my dear friend Margo Sorenson  reached out with her upcoming release, I jumped at the chance. I am so glad I got to read this! It's positively adorable and wonderfully unique. I love that it's told from the dictionary's perspective, which is a great twist. Plus, there are some fun words to learn, woven in perfectly to the story. Calvin's relationship with his brother is authentic and made me giggle. Little boys with milk squirting out their noses? Totally funny and accompanied by illustrations that made me smile, and I know kids will crack up! Speaking of illustrations, Mike Deas does a great job bringing the household and school to life, with great little details readers will enjoy exploring right alongside the new words. Overall, a wonderful book, heartfelt and fun, and perfect for classroom read or at home with some siblings :)

Eleanor is the new girl in town, and with her chaotic family life, her mismatched clothes and unruly red hair, she couldn't stick out more if she tried.

Park is the boy at the back of the bus. Black T-shirts, headphones, head in a book - he thinks he's made himself invisible. But not to Eleanor... never to Eleanor.

Slowly, steadily, through late-night conversations and an ever-growing stack of mix tapes, Eleanor and Park fall for each other. They fall in love the way you do the first time, when you're young, and you feel as if you have nothing and everything to lose. (Goodreads)

I know, another book report ;) They're just easier right now, while I try to find a good groove for getting into blogging again. The world lately hasn't helped much with finding that mojo. It's just...such a mess. My heart aches for those who have lost loved ones. For the sick, for the lonely. It's hard to focus on much else. Except books. I have been reading quite a lot. Writing is slow and sticky, but also happening. Now that my tough spring semester is over, I'm planning on making words on the page a better habit. We'll see if I manage it! Anyhow, on to this book:

I've heard about a million rave reviews for this novel. So many people madly LOVE it. I'm afraid this won't be that kind of review. I honestly didn't find much in it that I could identify with. I love YA and this book made me question whether I've gotten too old to enjoy such a novel. It's hard to say. But, while it was interesting and I finished it, I just...didn't care for it. The characters were fine, the writing wonderful, but while I was a kid in the 80's, I don't remember much of it. Mix tapes were sort of a thing, but I didn't ever really get into them. I didn't date until college; I never really had that whole "fall in love the way you do the first time" while young, which is an experience central to the novel. So, the novel itself just kind of fell flat for me. And Eleanor. God. Her household was horrific and entirely troublesome, and perhaps hit a little too close to home. And on some level, I wanted to see her win. Like, I read so that I can see the characters win over their adversaries--to give me a little hope that it's possible. But Eleanor just...didn't. She survived, yes, and there's good in that. But I wanted to see her crawl out of herself a bit more, to have a way to win. It just bothered me to watch her let everything happen to her and never seem to stand up on her own. Yes, yes, it's important to have books like that, too. But I guess it just didn't hit me right. I've meant to check out more of Rowell's work, but honestly, I'm not too sure I want to now. Maybe in the future I'll find myself drawn to something with a bit of a different theme :)

In the first book in a brilliant new fantasy series, books that aren't finished by their authors reside in the Library of the Unwritten in Hell, and it is up to the Librarian to track down any restless characters who emerge from those unfinished stories.

Many years ago, Claire was named Head Librarian of the Unwritten Wing—a neutral space in Hell where all the stories unfinished by their authors reside. Her job consists mainly of repairing and organizing books, but also of keeping an eye on restless stories that risk materializing as characters and escaping the library. When a Hero escapes from his book and goes in search of his author, Claire must track and capture him with the help of former muse and current assistant Brevity and nervous demon courier Leto.

But what should have been a simple retrieval goes horrifyingly wrong when the terrifyingly angelic Ramiel attacks them, convinced that they hold the Devil's Bible. The text of the Devil's Bible is a powerful weapon in the power struggle between Heaven and Hell, so it falls to the librarians to find a book with the power to reshape the boundaries between Heaven, Hell ... and Earth. (Goodreads)

Oh, this was SUCH a fun read! As an author, and a reader, the idea of books becoming "real" is always enticing. Who hasn't wanted to enter a favorite book and live there? Or as an author, to have their book become real? For me, while immersed in the written word, those moments when they become the world around me--when I disappear within them--are bliss. And this novel explores that and how characters can become real. (This reminds me a bit of the Velveteen Rabbit--something that's referenced in the book as well, but it definitely rung true.) It's such an interesting idea too: a library of unwritten books. And yes, it totally made me think of those books that live on my harddrive and are never going to be finished. Sorry to those characters stuck in generally not-so-pleasant place! There are so many lines within the book, too, that just made me have to close my eyes and savor them. The story itself is fun and fast paced and intriguing. The characters are positively wonderful, too, and I deeply loved Claire and them all. I can't wait for the next one!