Welcome to my world. I should be pimping my books, but what I really want to do is tell you about someone else's book. First, let me say that I read scholarly journals a lot, and although they can be dry as hell, they are what keep scholars in jobs and keep our society from being even stupider than it already is. On that note, I come home and love me some smutty, smut, smut. Despite that, two books made me bawl, heaving sobs with my hand over my chest.
1. In the Stillness by Andrea Randall. See my review here: https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/598777398
2. Making Faces by Amy Harmon. See my review here: https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/737820397
Both were romances...sorta. What made them stand out for me is that I know I can write the shit out of a scholarly article, by I'm a newbie at this fiction game. Both of these ladies above blew me away with their ability to reach their hand down my throat, into my gut, and rip it out of me. Visceral image? That's what it felt like, and as awful as that sounds, I loved every minute of it. Of the hundreds of indie romance books I've read, these two stand out as being unforgettable. Both epitomize the quote below.
Thank you very much.
This is post one.