It's like I don't even know myself.

I've been thinking about Twilight a lot lately. Mostly because I put my big, huge Edward poster in my trunk to be taken to Goodwill. Yes, really. Except I'm kinda embarrassed to even take it to Goodwill and have to actually hand it over to a real, live human so it's just been sitting in my trunk for, like, three weeks. Maybe longer.

Anyway. Last night... or, technically, this morning... I stayed up reading. Until nearly six a.m.. I was reading Obsidian. When I started it a couple days ago (the first 30% was kinda slow hence "a couple days ago") (and, yes, I think in percentages) (thanks Kindle!) I very quickly saw similarities to Twilight. Except instead of vampires, aliens. Yes, aliens.

Edward is an alien and his name is really Daemon Black and he's super hot and also kind of an asshole but with the quick wit to actually pull it off (unlike in Twilight where he would brood a lot and mostly stay silent). I love Daemon. Oh, and Bella? I mean Katy? (Her name is Katy now.) She's BAD. ASS. She stands up for herself and tells Edward Daemon where he can go and makes interesting gestures (of the one-finger variety) when he's being a prick. And she blogs. About books. And did I mention I'm in love?

Despite my nocturnal reading frenzy, I did not finish the book until my sister woke me up just four short hours after finally succumbing to sleep. As soon as I was done, I went to download book two. Except I was quickly informed that book two HADN'T BEEN PUBLISHED YET and wouldn't be for another TWO MONTHS. (And did I mention I hate waiting?) I was all sorts of frustrated.

So then I went to Goodreads. 'Cause I add all my books to Goodreads. I love Goodreads. It's everything I used to love about book stores (remember those?) without having to get dressed and leave the house and, you know, talk to people. Unless you want to. I lose big chunks of time on Goodreads.

I pulled up Obsidian and added it to my "2012" shelf and did all the other things I do to keep obsessively meticulous records of my books (because I'm a freak) and then I stopped and just stared at the stars. 4 stars? 5 starts? I didn't know. I really liked Obsidian but did I think it was amazing? No. But in comparison to Twilight? I don't even know how to answer that! There were things about Obsidian that I liked more... but I love love loved Twilight. Didn't I?

Truth is I'm starting to forget what it is I loved about it. And who's to say I wouldn't like this new series better if all the books were already written and readily available? Is how a person feels about one book impacted by the whole of the series? When I joined Goodreads, I had already read the entire Twilight series. I added them and gave each 5 stars because HELLO?! IT'S TWILIGHT. But what if I had read the books after joining and had rated them one at a time as I finished? I can't help but wonder if my ratings for each book would be different today.

Peeps, you may be sitting there thinking to yourself that I've gone and gotten all panties-in-a-twist about something NOT AT ALL important, but to you I ask one question: have you underestimated my utter infatuation with all things Twilight? Do you need to go scroll through the archives to reacquaint yourself with the obsession? (Yes, I realize that was two questions.) This whole Obsidian vs. Twilight thing is keeping me up at night and making me question MY VERY EXISTENCE. No, not really, but it's close!

Write Poorly

This struck such a chord with me, I had to share it. It's a poetry slam from the book Point of Retreat by Colleen Hoover. (Still not sure I'm using the word "slam" correctly.) Anyway, it's good. (As were the books.)

"Write poorly.
Suck.
Write awful.
Terribly.
Frightfully.
Don't care.
Turn off the inner editor.
Let yourself write.
Let it flow.
Let yourself fail.
Do something crazy.
Write fifty thousand words in the month of November.
I did it.
It was fun, it was insane, it was one thousand six hundred and sixty seven words a day.
It was possible
But, you have to turn off your inner critic.
Off completely.
Just write.
Quickly.
In bursts.
With joy.
If you can't write, run away for a few.
Come back.
Write again.
Writing is like anything else.
You won't get good at it immediately.
It's a craft you have to keep getting better.
You don't get to Julliard unless you practice.
If you want to get to Carengie Hall, practice, practice, practice.
...or give them a lot of money.
Like anything else, it takes ten thousand hours to get to mastery.
Just like Malcolm Gladwell says.
So write.
Fail.
Get your thoughts down.
Let it rest.
Let it marinate.
Then edit.
But don't edit as your type, that just slows down the brain.
Find a daily practice, for me it's blogging every day.
And it's fun.
The more you write, the easier it gets. The more it is a flow, the less a worry. It's not for school, it's not for a grade, it's just to get your thoughts out there.
You know they want to come out.
So keep at it. Make it a practice. And write poorly, write awfully, write with abandon and it may end up being
really
really
good."
~ Edmund Davis-Quinn

Easy by Tammara Webber

I love this cover. It fits the book so perfectly and even (maybe ridiculously) brings to mind the old chicken riddle. Which came first: the chicken or the egg? Or in this case, the book or the cover? Now I know which came first (at least, I think I do), but in that tiny, beat-down part of my brain that was once wistful and romantic, I could look at this cover and almost imagine someone else being so enchanted by it that they felt a need to write their story. "Their" being two people so internally lovely and strong you can't help but fall in love yourself. Oh, sure, there was plenty of conflict, but not the overly-complicated pull-your-hair-out kind of drama that makes you want to put your head through a wall. I loved Lucas and Jacqueline... and not just as a couple, but as individuals as well. I just plain loved all over this book. There couldn't possibly have been a better one to read after the neurotic shit-storm that was Thoughtless. (Yes, I'm still talking about it.) I am hoping with every fiber of my being that Ms. Webber sees fit to continue this story. (My wistful parts are sighing with longing.)