Stephen King said, “If you want to be a writer, you must do two things above all others: read a lot and write a lot.” Well, since the scorching New York heat is providing a good reason not to go outside my air-conditioned-existence, this seems as good a time as any toTake On The Goodreads Summer Reading Challenge.
I’m reading my way through the Beginners list and wanted to share with you all. Feel free to share your thoughts too!
THE BOOK IS BETTER: READ A BOOK BEING ADAPTED FOR TV OR FILM THIS YEARRead More »
Dean Winchester cruised down the empty highway in his black 1967 Chevy Impala, the notes of Led Zeppelin blasting from the car radio.
“Can you turn that down a bit?” His brother Sam asked from the passenger seat beside him, a laptop in his lap and a leather-bound book whose pages were yellowed with age propped on the dashboard.Read More »
“You hold it like a pencil, Uncle Spencer, like this!” Henry demonstrated where to put his fingers on the chopsticks to his frustrated godfather beside him.
“That’s exactly the problem, Henry, it’s like eating with two number two pencils. It’s completely counterintuitive!” Spencer said, as one of the chopsticks he was struggling to hold fell back to the table with a clink.Read More »
She liked to watch him drive. For starters, he drove a Classic blue Volvo Amazon P130 from the ‘60s, which was definitely not the car she expected a brilliant, socially awkward 24-year-old FBI Behavioral Analyst to drive. Then there was the way his body relaxed when he sat in the driver’s seat, a level of control and comfort he rarely showed elsewhere. When he drove, he wasn’t the eccentric genius with three PhD’s who struggled with understanding people’s emotions. When he drove, he was just a man with warm brown eyes and an endearing boyish smile.Read More »
“I now know, you must endure things you cannot endure, be worn out by the things you cannot accept, that there are nights when your eyes are brimming with tears. And daresay I know… what you’ve dreamt of, and what you’ve lost.”
The chalice lay toppled on the shelf, its contents dripping onto the desecrated crime scene. Crumpled in a heap below was the unsub, the white frothing at his mouth a stark contrast to the crimson pool in which he lay.
Floating in a perfect circle around him were the bones of his latest victim, bobbing in and out of the blood like rotten apples.
“I’ll never understand how you chose Brainy Baby Boy Spencer Reid over Hunky Dark Chocolate Derek Morgan.” My sister shook her head as she removed the curlers from my hair.
“Way to objectify, Lyds.”
“I’m just saying,” Lydia continued, running a hand of hair gel through the waves that now cascaded down my back. “Morgan is gorgeous. Like Sculpted Adonis Be-Still-My-Heart-And-His-Fitted-Tshirts gorgeous. Reid…he’s more Puppy Dog Cute, if the puppy dog liked sweater vests and messenger bags.”Read More »
They expected a gruesome sight, but that didn’t prevent their stomachs from churning like they all rode the worst roller-coaster of their lives, the minute Agent Derek Morgan kicked down the suspect’s door.
The smell bombarded their senses, reeking of ripe feces and rotting flesh. Amputated limbs were strewn around the room like grotesque Lego blocks. The wooden floor was a sticky mass of blood, and the agents detected what looked like a wayward eyeball and squishy piles of intestines dispersed throughout.