Review: Must Love Dragons by Monica Marier

Book Blurb:

Everyone knows that Heroes slay Dragons. Not everyone knows that Heroes also change diapers.

It's the oldest story in the world; boy meets girl, boy marries girl, they have a family. But what happens when the girl makes more money than the boy, and he stays at home to raise the kids? What happens when pregnancy is rough on her, and he has to go back to work? And what happens when she's a dragon, he's a ranger, and a day at the office involves trolls, elves, magic, and lower back pain?

Linus Weedwhacker (shut it, he's heard 'em all) knows first hand.

My Thoughts:

This book makes me all kinds of happy. First of all, it's a fantasy adventure, with Elves and Dragons and Inns that serve questionable food. But even better, it's a fantasy adventure chocked full of snark, sarcasm and silliness. Epic win here.

There's a bonus for those of you who, like me, were card carrying members of the Basement Dwelling Gamer Geek Society (and proud of it!) with the little tribute references to some of our dearly beloved games. But not so much that non-gamers should feel like they are missing anything. It's a wonderfully witty book, that pokes fun at growing older, dealing with impudent newbies and wondering just how good were the 'good ol' days.'

Monica is exquisitely talented, not only did she gives us this gem, with a sequel "Runs in Good Condition" coming out soon, but she also contributes to a web comic site Tangent Artists and delights readers regularly with flash fiction at her blog Attack of the Muses.

Publisher: Hunt Press

Released: September, 2010

The reviewer owns this in ebook form

Weathering the Storm

Standing outside the modest brick building, a distant rumble gives warning of an approaching storm. Gathering the courage to face what she’ll find within, Grace’s mind flashes to her favorite childhood memory.

Windows barely cracked open to keep out the whipping rain despite the summer heat, she huddles on the stairs, peaking down through the space between steps at the laughing group circling the faded Formica table. Mismatched chairs hold her parents, aunts and uncles as they ante up for the next hand. The radio crackles and lights flicker as the storm rages around this tiny wooden sanctuary.

Auntie Penny lights a few kerosene lamps, in advance of the inevitable power outage, and her dad folds, mockingly accusing his brother of being a card shark. He winks at her as he grabs his battered guitar from beside the staircase. Quietly strummed folksongs replace the static laced rock’n’roll, Uncle Chaz leaning back in his chair to flick off the ancient radio.  The slowly dying light of the radio face made it look like it was going to sleep, a thought that had her yawning. Her mother absently murmurs song lyrics, the sweating beer bottle pressed against her forehead, and contemplates the cards in her hand.

In spite of the bitter storm, and her precarious perch on the stairs, 8 year old Grace feels completely safe and content. Down below are the titans of her world. The day had been spent reroofing the cozy wooden shack, racing the storm clouds that had brought dusk early. Worry had made the grownups tense, barking orders at each other and snapping at Grace when she got underfoot. Feeling the tension ease as their work stood against the tempest outside, everyone was merry in spite of their fatigue.

Sighing, Grace squared her shoulders and opened the door. Somber and serious, her Aunt Caren greeted her in the foyer, and pointed the way to the viewing room. It was agonizing to see how much her aunt had changed over the years. Time made the thin woman frail and quiet, so different from the vibrant woman who fought to work on the roof rather than in the kitchen. Slowly making the rounds to visit her siblings and cousins, Grace noted that the once tight group of adults she admired now sat in different corners of the room. There was no more huddling over a table together, commiserating with family also considered the best of friends. Time had changed more than physical appearances.

Harsh words spoken without thought had pulled them apart. To the point that now even the loss of one couldn’t pull them together. Grace mourned that as much as she mourned her father. She wished she could pinpoint the single instance that had caused such a catastrophic breakdown, even though it was too late to fix it. Her family had been destroyed by a pervasive cancer, just as her father had. One small, unnoticed hurt unaddressed spread to bigger hurts. Maybe if it had been found earlier, if they’d have found the right words, the right medicines, to combat it...

Numbly finding her way to the casket, Grace hears the pounding deluge begin, and thinks of better days.

Change

My mom says I'm solar powered. And on days like today, I'd say she's right.

I struggle in the darker months, when the shadows loom earlier and earlier, playing on old fears and foolish anxieties. I can manage pretty well all the way through mid-January. The holidays bring a distraction, with Halloween's silliness, Thanksgiving's bounty, and the glitter and gaiety of Christmas and New Year's. Then the is a whirl of birthdays in my life that keep the good feelings going for a few more weeks. But the end of January and beginning of February....that's when I've had it. Even though the days are slowly gathering more light, it happens too slowly in those few weeks. I've had enough of the stagnant darkness. The monochrome look of the world is no longer being offset by joyous colors and music, and Valentine's Day is only a special day because the kids need to take treats to school. I don't hate it, I just don't see the need to feed Hallmark any extra money.

But February 15th...that's a special day. It means we are officially half way through the month. March is coming! And March equals spring. I can endure any snow storm, or cloudy day, because I know the grey grungy snow will slowly sneak away. I went for a walk yesterday, and saw the sneak preview of that.

The sky was no longer the icy blue of winter, but something sweeter. Sunbeams were no longer bleakly blinding, but had the power to bath me in warmth. Patches of meek yellow-green grass peeked through the dwindling mountains of snow. Even the trees seemed to dare show some color. The bark is no longer the wet mat black that so thirstily drinks up the meager offerings of a tired sun. I see hints of green lichen, and some greyish brown peering from the branches. The world is gaining courage and letting it's spirit show again!

I stopped in a few places, just to take in this long awaited change. Closed my eyes, and enjoyed a deep breath that didn't sear my lungs with cold. Heard birds! Chirping, whiring, chittering, calling, gossiping birds. Hear the river of melted water flowing down the streets gutters and into the almost flooding the street drains. That trickle of dirty water rushing around minature glaciers might not seem so special, but to me it's a sign of hope. Change is coming.

When that thought hit me, I had to pause. I do love the longer days, and the gentle warmth of spring. But what inspires me even more is the sense of adventure when I walk in the spring and autumn. Watching for those changes. From here on, I will prowl through my neighborhood, content with walking the same path over and over, if only to see what has been revealed since the last time I passed by. I will revel in the retreat of white, grey and black, losing precious ground to the watery pastels and deep browns of newborn spring.

At some point, though, the oppressive heat of summer will set in, and my unceasing battle with my lawn will be as hated as the struggle to keep the driveway cleared of snow and ice. Summer and winter are fixed entities. They offer no novelties. There are parties, fun, and stunning storms to pass the time, but very little change during those months. I find myself feeling just as sluggish in July's heat as I do in January's frigid weather. By August, I'm begging for fall. I'm ready to see the garishness of hotter months fly south for the winter, leaving me with cooler days, and the steady slide from bold splashes of flowers against vivid greens to flame toned leaves against a greying sky. To again prowl through my neighborhood, to see what changes nature has painted into the landscape.

So it maybe that I need that burst of sunlight, to recharge my batteries after all these months of darkness. I certainly felt rejuvenated after that walk. But I can't help thinking about how invigorating autumn is as well. How much I love the surprises one finds in these seasons of change.

Review: Pale Demon

Pale Demon by Kim Harrison

Book Blurb:

Condemned to death for black magic and shunned, Rachel Morgan has three days to somehow get to the annual witches convention in San Francisco and clear her name. If she fails, the only way she can escape death is to live in the demonic ever after . . . for ever after.

Banned from the flight lists, Rachel teams up with elven tycoon Trent Kalamack, headed for the West Coast for her own mysterious business. But Rachel isn't the only passanger along for the ride. Can a witch, an elf, a living vampire, and a pixy in one car survive for over 2,300 miles? And that's not counting the assassin on their tail.

A fearsome demon walks the sunlight, freed after centuries of torment to slay the innocent and devour souls. But his ultimate prey is Rachel Morgan. While the powerful witch with nerves of steel will do whatever it takes to stay alive, even embracing her own demonic nature may not be enough to save her.

New York Times bestselling author Kim Harrison was born and raised in the upper Midwest, but has since fled south. When not at work in the Hollows series, she spends her time tending orchids, cooking with some guy in leather, and training her new dog. Her current vices include good chocolate, and exquisite sushi. Her bestselling novels include Dead Witch Walking; The Good, The Bad, and The Undead; Every Which Way But Dead; A Fistful of Charms; For a Few Demons More; The Outlaw Demon Wails; White Witch, Black Curse; and Black Magic Sanction.

My Thoughts:

I will not put up the video of me doing a happy dance, but I had to stop often to slip into my dancin' shoes! Jenks will forever be my favorite, but that cookie sniffing shoe maker is making a play for my heart! Trent plays a HUGE role in this book, and I say it's about time. He and Rachel have a marvelous chemistry, and their interactions are always my favorites, regardless of the book. To have an entire book of the two of the squaring off against each other, even while working together. Heaven.

For those of you who have not read this series yet, and are wondering what my fan-girl silliness is all about, I have a challenge for you. Go read the books. What makes them enjoyable is not only the misadventures, the mishaps, misunderstandings and myriad of good-looking men that make Rachel's life crazy, it's Rachel herself. She is the 'everywoman' - who cannot see why her friends see her as special and love her. She looks in the mirror and sees what we all see when we look at ourselves, her own flaws and mistakes. And then she tries like mad to overcome them. Comes to grips with her limits, pushes at them, does her damnedest to what's best and beats herself up when her best doesn't quite do what she hopes, or when she fails to foresee something and things go wrong. Rachel is, in a word, human. And in her rollercoaster of self-doubt and self-discovery, these books full of wonderous fantasy take on an element of reality that balances it all.

Publisher: Eos

Release Date: February 22, 2011

This book was read as an e-book ARC from Netgalley.com

Do your characters misbehave?

I keep going back to my serial story, trying to get the story moving again. I have a few ideas of where it's going, ready to attempt getting them onto the page. And what happens.

The characters decide they want to do something else. Usually nothing productive. All my little ideas that have been floating around get shunted to the side in exchange for scenes like this:

(Rory's POV)

I love lazy Saturdays. The scent of baked apple pancakes still lingered as I immersed myself into my guilty pleasure reading. Totally stuffed, cocooned in the best blanket ever, on my favorite couch, lemon ginger tea steaming on the table next to me, James playing jazz on the piano a few rooms over. Heaven could not be so sweet.

And for that blasphemous thought? Hell gets dropped upon me, in the form of Alex.

"Hey, Ro, know what sounds like fun?"Alex fidgeted to get comfortable, grinding me into the cushions.

"Beating you senseless and leaving you for dead?"

Alex licked the side of my face in retaliation. In the attempt to push him off me, my book got ripped, the tea is all over the room, the table is trashed, I'm not sure where the blanket went, and James is in the doorway making that Spock face - you know the one. Eyebrow up, and completely nonplussed.

Pointing at each other, "I didn't start it."

*end scene*

It's a lot of that. They want to play. They make me laugh. And in the meantime, back in my story, there's this guy in the foyer - been there for weeks at this point. Anytime I point him out, try to get them to deal with him...I get the story about this time, y'know the one, where Toby set the house on fire, or Tara ballgagged Alex and made him army crawl across the living room. It's like hanging out at a family party, rehashing all the old family stories. Lots of fun and kind of pointless.

 *sigh*

I will get them to be serious, I will. But right now Rory and Alex are redecorating James' room. They came in with a few bags of magazines and are debating if porn is worse than Justin Bieber. This is going to get ugly. I wish I could just take pictures of what they do.

Turn, Turn, Turn

Dear Mother Earth,

I love the change of seasons.

I need them.

The mud and mess of early spring morphing into the lush multi hued splendor of summer transitioning to the contrast of autumn: warm colors meets cool weather. I even need that crisp splendor of a true winter. Blinding white snow, breathtaking  cold. The kind that sends me burrowing into my cave of covers, hands shivering around a steaming mug of tea.

What I don't need  is this grey sludge. The slap of freezing wind when I open the door. The icicles no longer glitter merrily, they sparkle menacingly as I trudge beneath them to the mailbox, each one threatening to pin me to the frozen landscape.

'Tis well past the time for you to turn over a new leaf. I had my time to love the beauty of stark naked branches against an icy sky. I am well into my hatred of dreary darkness, wet socks and numb fingers.

It's time to gain a few more minutes of sunlight, to lose the ridiculous amount of layers I'm wearing to keep from getting frostbite.

Turn a little faster, please, Mother dear, it is time for another season. I need it.

To Victory

A trickle of sweat runs down my spine as I snap the last wet shirt and pin it to the loaded clothesline. My sunglasses help dull the blinding blue brilliance of the cloudless sky. Stretching my aching arms, I savor the summer scented breeze. Sun warmed grass between my toes, fresh laundry on the line…this is the perfect day. This is a picnic day. I see a pitcher of sweet tea, a basket of food and a good book in my future.

Then I see my nemesis. A black stare leaves me cold. The one that reminds me of our impending showdown. The one that requires me to wear socks and shoes. On my perfect picnic day. I glare back, defiant. I will win this battle.

And then I will enjoy the sweet scent of freshly mowed grass with my perfect picnic. It smells like victory.

The pic is mine. This is dedicated to the Decepticon that lives in my carport and makes me battle it to get the lawn mowed every week. And because I'd rather mow the lawn then shovel the driveway again.