In the event that anyone reading this somehow feels the need to take this entirely seriously, let me add a disclaimer: I am very likely one of the most sappy, romantically-minded, “happily-ever-after” loving chicks you’ll ever come across. I mean, I write … Continue reading
*Words of warning: do not start reading this book unless you have nothing else to do in the time it would take you to finish it- because you’re not going to want to put it down until you do.*
No, really. You owe my kids an apology, Colleen Hoover. They were in their play room playing “princesses attack Shopkins” -those Shopkins should have seen it coming, Cinderella has unresolved abandonment issues and it was bound to come out at some point. Just saying. I digress.
So there they were playing nicely amongst themselves (minimal screaming), and I thought “Oh hey, let me just take these few minutes to start my new book.” Two hours of parental neglect, three episodes of Peppa Pig, and one completed hostile Disney princess take-over later I came out of my book-fog. I forced myself to resume parenting by reminding myself there were only a few more hours until I could put them to sleep for the night and get back to the book. It was HARD. I briefly contemplated how they might fare making themselves dinner, but neither of them are over the age of 5, so the book stayed closed.
In all honesty, I already love Colleen Hoover as an author, so I knew this one was going to be good. But I was absolutely not prepared for the wave of emotions I’d feel reading it. I went from sympathy, to excitement, to sadness, to amusement, to anger, to hopefulness, back to anger, and finished off with relief-laced disappointment co-occurring with a confusing sense of contentment. I literally closed the book and stared at my husband (who was trying to gauge my reaction and failing) before answering his “So, how was it?” with, “I….I’m not….it was good…I think?” I was still mid-process, I didn’t know how to feel. My feels had feels.
I don’t think this book is good, I know this book is good. It’s great. It’s thought provoking, and it’s important. It tackles the very complex and tragic issue of domestic violence, but it does it in a way that opens up your point of view to not just anger for the abuser, and not just sympathy for the victim, but a raw and honest glimpse into the absolute struggle that can rage inside both parties.
I almost don’t want to even give a breakdown of the plot of this story because the importance of what happens and the twists that unfold are a huge part of what makes this book what it is. Okay no, not ‘almost don’t want to’, I’m not going to. That’s how strongly I feel.
If you’re looking for a light, surface-level romance read, this one might not be for you. Although the romance in it is also fantastic (#teamatlas- you’ll get it when you read it). The relationships that develop are incredibly believable and realistic, which is not always how things go in romance novels…but it is if they’re done right. However, if you’re looking for a story that is compelling, and for characters that you end up feeling so invested in that you want to be friends with them in real life (the main character, Lilly, writes to Ellen DeGeneres in her journals, how awesome of a character detail is that) then give this one a try. Bravo, Colleen. I was a fan before, but I’m your fangirl now. I’m going to write to YOU in my journals.
Obviously, from the title of this website, you know I’m a mom. I’m a mom of two little girls, in fact. But long before I was a mom-in a time which I now in hindsight refer to as the “take everything for granted years”- Before my days were filled with all tasks relating to keeping small humans alive (and trying not to psychologically or physical ruin them), I had all the extra time in the world to immerse myself in good books. I escaped into novels- romance, mystery, historical, almost anything- to give myself a break from my monotonous life of working and then being free to do whatever the hell else I wanted whenever I wanted to do it. Go sit at a coffee shop and read in a cozy corner? Yep. Spontaneously make plans to go do something fabulous and fun with my equally responsibility-free friends? Totally. Take weekly hot yoga and kick-boxing classes for ‘stress relief’? Check. Or sometimes just plop down on the couch and watch mindless television, uninterrupted? pssh, everyday. What an ass hole.
Okay, I wasn’t an ass hole, I was just living my pretty great (most of the time) life blissfully unaware of what a much smaller amount of that “me time” I’d have in the not-so-distant future. Like a much smaller amount….like a fraction of a fraction of it.
Don’t get me wrong,I of course love my kids and would never change having had them ever…but this shit is HARD. Some days are great, but some days I just want to have a frustration-fueled meltdown and down some boxed wine. A lot of the days…all the wines. Sometimes the temporary solution to life’s problems is housed in a plastic bag of vino that’s housed in a square cardboard box. Or in glass, I drink out of bottles too, there’s no discrimination here.
So anyway there I was, going along trying to work and raise my two kids under three and all that comes along with that, realizing that despite my attempts at holding onto the things I was once passionate about in life, they’d all but disappeared. I still read though, I never stopped reading, I just read less efficiently. Then one day I thought, you know what…I want to write a book. No, I NEED to write a book. Yes, I’m going to write a novel! Oh, sweet, idealistic, impulsively motivated me…bless your heart.
I actually did start writing a novel back then. Two and a half years ago. I wrote down (and continue to write down) my almost constant stream of story ideas as they came, and stole a few hours here and there when I could get the time away to write. Fast forward to today. I have pages of different story ideas (unrelated to the story I had started writing) that I think were pretty great. I do not have a novel. Or even a good portion of a novel. Oh, I forgot to mention I also suffer from chronic, borderline crippling procrastination. I’ll talk more about that later…probably. If I remember.
That brings me to why I decided to start this blog. Renewal of motivation, maybe some accountability, and some good old fashioned catharsis. A place to share with other like-minded people, or people with totally different minds than mine who just might get it too.
So, this is my blog. My blog reviewing the awesome books I read that give me the feels. My blog to talk about my attempts to reclaim the “me” that has fallen by the wayside over the years. The “me” who is still damn determined to write my novel, despite the pile-ups of life that get in my way. This is also a blog for the “me” who just needs an outlet for the crazy shit life throws out. If I can’t look at it all in a humorous way every so often, well, I’ll probably end up being one of those “crazy shits” being thrown into the lives of my family members and friends. So help my family and friends, read my blog.