Tanya's Journey

I received an ARC of A Turn of the Tide in exchange for an honest review.  Ah, Kelley Armstrong. There was a time she could do no wrong. Lately I find myself less and less inclined to read her stories. In fact, I have not read anything since receiving A Twist of Fate last year. I actually bought one of her adult books, but it still sits on my bookshelves, untouched.  The thing with Kelley's books is that she always pulls me in. Her writing is seemless, appears effortless and I want to be inside the stories with those characters. Not this time, though. The speech pattern felt bloated, clumsy. I realise that it was a different time period, but I've read historical fiction my whole life and I've never had that impression before. I recall thinking it with the two other books in this series, but not as much as this one. Maybe I also have less patience.  I've come to realise what bothers me about the stories; they're all the same. Same headstrong capable female. Same broo...

 Some time ago, Kelley Armstrong posted on her Facebook page that we could message her through email if we were interested in getting an ARC of A Twist of Fate in exchange for an honest review. Being she's my favorite author, I did just that, then promptly forgot about it. Until a few weeks ago when her assistant messaged me to find out whether I was still interested.  Can I get a hell YES? I'd bought a Stitch in time (the 1st in the series) on my Kindle and DEVOURED it. I figured I'd do the same with this one, especially considering how the previous book ended. Except, when I received it, I realised I wasn't in the book for Victorian hauntings and I set the book aside. Dragged it along because I should. Till I was in the mood. Last night, I settled down with some tea, and the book and read half of it. Only stopped because my eyes were closing on their own. Finished the book this morning.  As usual, I'm completely enchanted. Kelley's writing makes me feel like I...

Will I ever stop missing you?  Gods, we were bad for each other in so many ways. We hurt each other over and over again, and I know that most of that blame lies on my shoulders. I accept it. I'm sorry Forgive me Thank you I love you. And it isn't even a question of casting blame. It's a question of realising how little I was aware of myself, of my pain, and my fears. It's being unwilling to allow your own fears and hurts between us because I was afraid. I was selfish. Because I needed us to heal my hurts. Because I figured, they were more important than yours. I'm a single mom and my kids need me to be stable and loving, and I figured that we'd heal me, then you. Sounds bad, doesn't it? But it's the truth. Mine, anyway. I wish I'd made place for us both to heal together. I thought I was, in some aspect. But I never truly listened and took part in the things that interested you most. If asked, I couldn't say what your favorite book or movie or sho...

Red ribbons Two more connections, Red ribbons, Like the one we had before. Before. The reds are vibrant, Pulsing, Like yours was. Before. I can't feel you anymore, You must be relieved. I've no idea which colour you Vibrate, Anymore. These new connections Are to men. Spirituals, Like us, I'm not sure Who they are, And what this means, That they pulse your colour, Your first colour, The one I always associated To you. To us. Gods above, I still miss you.

The tear. A tear on her cheek. Black-rimmed glasses, hidden by short curly hair. Pale cheeks, revealed to all, And there, the single tear. Dark head bent, starring at her mute phone, thumbs twitching, as if, waiting, hoping, praying for a reply. The bus sways but she does not. Face and body stoic. Emotionless. Unwilling to move. To breathe. But that tear betrays her, as it rolls, down, further more, and drops onto the dark screen, framed by now motionless thumbs. 

You tell me, Don't play with fire, Or you'll get burned. But you are mistaken, Because, Without the fire, I cannot rise.