Review: The 18th Abduction (Women’s Murder Club, #18) by James Patterson & Maxine Paetro

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★★½

Little, Brown & Company | 2019

Opening Hook: Where’s Waldo the War Criminal?

Main Character: Lindsay’s gonna Lindsay.

Plot Twisty-ness: Typical predictable Patterson


Let’s get this straight, Patterson and I broke up a long time ago. But just like every toxic relationship cycle, sometimes I go back to him.

Specifically, I go back when a new Women’s Murder Club instalment is released. I’ve been reading this series since the first book was published in 2001. I was fifteen, and at that time, I thought Patterson was the epitome of great crime fiction. It took me into my 20s, with exposure to crime fiction that was legitimately good, to realize that Patterson isn’t a very good writer, he’s just prolific. And I like a lot of people, confused “popular” with being talented.

That’s not to say people don’t genuinely enjoy his work. Obviously they do, but objectively it’s pretty bad.

Now, I don’t care if you’re the biggest Patterson fan around, I’m not interested in a debate. Go read, write glowing reviews for him to your heart’s content. It affects me zero percent. But my opinion is that he’s a terrible writer. TERRIBLE. But remember, it’s only one opinion. I am not the final say in the matter. So don’t fucking @ me about it.

Every year I make a resolution to not read any Patterson, and every year I break that resolution at least once. This is my one for 2019.

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The Third Annual Book Blogger Awards: I Fucking Won! This is my “Thank You.”

I just wanted to write a quick little post to say THANK YOU so much to everyone who voted in the blogger awards, organized by the lovely May over at Forever & Everly. Please stop by her blog and check out the full list of winners. She worked hard on this and even endured a little undeserved drama, so your clicks and your support are important.

I was nominated in the Mystery/Thriller category along with some other amazing bloggers, and it means so much to me that you thought to vote for me. But to put me in a position to win the category? It’s totally mind-blowing.

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In all seriousness, I’m deeply touched by how you’ve accepted my weird personality and my writing voice in this small internet space I’ve carved out for myself.

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Review: Something in the Water by Catherine Steadman

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★★★★

Ballantine Books | 2018

Opening Hook: Basic bitch googles body burial.

Main Character: Good girl gone bad and gets a Swiss bank account.

Plot Twisty-ness: Call the gangster in prison to fix it.


What can I say? I fucking liked this. But it’s going to be a love it or hate it kind of book for readers because it’s different and crammed with multiple genres and plot elements. So, if you read it because I gave my elusive stamp of approval and walk away thinking I must have been high, then one: you’re right. and two: I’m also high right now.

Please don’t lose trust in me, but this worked for me. I readily admit that might have a lot to do with the audiobook quality because that shit was fucking FIRE.

The author narrates, and at first I was like that’s kind of weird, but then I found out she’s an actress who has been in things like Downton Abbey (never watched it, don’t act surprised.) Seriously, try the audiobook if you’re looking for maximum entertainment from this novel, because Catherine Steadman burns it down.

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Review: Buried (Agent Sayer Altair, #2) by Ellison Cooper

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★★★★½

Minotaur Books | 2019

Opening Hook: Skeletons as a crash pad.

Main Character: Made of cardboard, but good at her job.

Plot Twisty-ness: Mommy would be proud.


I read Caged last year, the first in this series featuring FBI agent/neuroscientist Sayer Altair, and my review basically came down to two things.

One: the twists were uninspired. While they did exist, it was the same thing over and over again and it became predictable and monotonous.

And two: the lead character of Agent Altair was boring AF. I’m sorry, but girl has the personality of a cardboard cutout.

For the second instalment in the series, I’m happy to say the author definitely fixed the first issue and clearly tried to make some headway with the second. That’s why this book gets half a star more than its predecessor.

That’s just the kind of generous reviewer I am.

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Booknerd Wednesday: 7 Things To Read To Ease Your Mindhunter Withdrawal

If you’re anything like me, the release of the new season of Mindhunter might have sent you into an orgasmic tailspin and you’ve binged the entire season already, maybe even twice.

Let’s be honest, Bill Tench could fucking get it.

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David Fincher is a genius. This show is diabolical perfection. I’ve never been more in love with anything in my entire life, except for maybe Silence of the Lambs.

Now that it’s over, I’m hurting. I’m hurting bad.

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Review: The Curse of Tenth Grave (Charley Davidson, #10) by Darynda Jones

“I’m married to a billionaire, like in all those books I read where the super rich guy falls in love with the poor chick who may not have much in the way of money but is wealthy in vivacity and sprightliness, and is really into bondage?” 

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★★★★½

St. Martin’s Press | 2016

Opening Hook: The ghost whose body is buried in the backyard.

Main Character: The only god I’d worship.

Plot Reaper-ness: Three cases and an exorcism.


What is there to say about this series that I haven’t said nine previous times already? Literally. I find it particularly difficult to write reviews for a series that has had very few missteps and never pisses me off…too much.

Really, writing harsh/critical reviews is where I feel that I shine as a writer and reviewer. I’m not good at being nice and heaping praise. And certainly, my kinder reviews are not getting the same traction as my more ranty ones.

I think there’s probably a whole psychological element to my life and personality that could be dissected because of this, but I don’t feel like holding up that goddamn mirror right now, if ever.

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Book Tag: Game of Thrones Edition

Ooo boy, I haven’t done one of these in a while!

This seems like a perfect one for me because, technically, I think I’m still in mourning over the end of the show. There might even be a little bit of trauma I’ve not yet found closure for because of how this fucking ridiculous show ended. Like, excuse me, but HOW DARE YOU Game of Thrones?

Count me among the disappointed fans.

Not because I would have hated any ending or some Freudian shit like that, but because the last three seasons were rushed AF and not nearly as dedicated to telling a full story as the first 5(ish) seasons were.

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There are so many story threads that needed closure! So many other ways that character plots could have been wrapped up? You kill Cersei by dropping a few bricks on the bitch?! What is this, Wizard of OZ?

AND UMMM HELLO AZOR AHAI?????? WHERE ARE YOU?

*deep breaths*

Anyway, I can’t get into all of this without my blood pressure going up, so let’s just do the damn tag.

Thanks to the lovely Grey over at Use Your Words for tagging me!

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True Crime Tuesday: The Bear Brook Murders

A surprise affect of my true crime interest is that some days my appreciation and deep love for my husband is amplified as if the volume has been turned up to eleven.

That’s not to say that there are other days where I am numb to it. Quite the opposite. I’m always fully aware of the cosmic luck that brought my husband to me. Contrasted against the background of my shitty ex and the shady AF choices I’ve made in my life, (that I’m truly surprised didn’t totally fuck me,) he doesn’t really need to do much to be wonderful. But he does anyway.

Every one thought we were crazy when we met. Getting involved, being long distance, trying to navigate an immigration system, starting over from scratch once he moved to Canada and blending our family. But it was truly one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. I followed my heart completely on that one, because from a rational point of view, yeah we were taking big, unknown risks and it could have gone totally sideways.

But here were are. Seven years later.

And some days, when the volume is up to eleven, it feels like my heart is going to burst out of my chest and be carried away by a million butterflies because I know, truly and honestly, from the bottom of my bottom, that my husband would never kill me and stuff my body in a 55-gallon drum.

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Review: Cari Mora by Thomas Harris

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★★

Grand Central Publishing | 2019

Opening Hook: German sausage.

Main Character: Lisbeth Salander on Ambien.

Plot Twisty-ness: Twisted into boring knots.


I can’t believe I waited 13 years for the author who inspired my love of writing and reading and serial killers, to reenter my life only put me to fucking sleep.

I’m so sorry Mr. Harris, but girl what is you doing?

After such an extended hiatus, one would think the brilliant creator of Hannibal Lecter – arguably the greatest villain of all time – had come out from hibernation because he had a story that just needed to be written and shared.

After reading the blurb, I thought that was clearly the case here because the summary is straight fire so I needed this book immediately! ASAP. Pronto. Gimme!

Beneath an unoccupied Miami Beach mansion that used to belong to Colombian drug lord Pablo Escobar, there is rumoured to be millions of dollars worth of gold. Two men are in a race to get to the gold first. Don Ernesto, a Colombian mob boss, and Hans-Peter Schneider, a depraved “business” man who kills women and sells their body parts to wealthy buyers to satisfy whatever their particular sexual fetish is.

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Review: The Bedwetter – Journal of a Budding Psychopath by Lee Allen Howard

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★½

Three First Names | 2019

Opening Hook: Electric piss fantasy.

Main Character: What in the actual fuck?

Plot Twisty-ness: Twisted, not twisty.


This book is homophobic, misogynistic and gross-out horror for the sake of shocking the reader and has zero literary value. Straight up. It’s garbage for the people who like garbage. So if you do, then please, jump onto the pee-soaked bed! It’s waiting for you!

Me, I’m using the rubber cover. I’m not prudish or easily offended or sensitive by any means, and I usually have no issue with a book that includes offensive themes with purpose… but this book has no purpose.

I am struggling to find the point to any of the fucked up things I just read. It feels like it exists only to have put demented thoughts onto paper. It exists just to be awful. There is no reason or moral or satisfaction to the ending. And I guess that’s just not my thing at all when it comes to stories. No judgement if it’s yours, but I can’t do it.

hate wendy GIF by Channel 7
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