I had good intentions to write a post-Christmas blog post, filled with pictures. (Sitting on the couch in my pajamas does not require photographic evidence.) Then I had good intentions of getting up early today, but I couldn’t sleep last night. My poor sleep-deprived brain did shoot me a dream about attending some sort of sportsball game with a young Harrison Ford lookalike, but still. I am not in good form this morning. Case in point: I had to mail out an Etsy order and my postal scale wouldn’t turn on. At all. I pushed and pushed the button. I wiggled the wires. I got underneath my desk and unplugged it, plugged it back in. Only to realize a few minutes later that I wasn’t pressing the On button. I was pressing the button that switches the scale from ounces to grams.

Ahem. Anyway. There are a few days left in this month, but if I read another book by Saturday I’ll eat my hat.

The reason I highly doubt I’ll read anything by the end of the month is that I only read two books this month. Sad trombone.

First up we have Six of Crows by Leigh Bardugo. This is a YA novel, and pretty much universally loved and highly rated. By this point I think we all know what happens when Beth reads a highly rated book.

This story is about thieves and other assorted criminals that live in a horrible part of some city. These are criminal masterminds that run the underworld. They control the docks and various businesses. And they are all 17.

I’m sorry, but I remember what being 17 was like, and it was not like this. I don’t care if you’re a poor criminal raised in the armpit of the world. No. You are not a criminal mastermind at 17. You just aren’t. And therefore I could not take this book seriously. At all. But everybody and their mama loves this g.d. book, so I kept trying. And with each chapter I just…no. Nooooooo.

If you would like to read a book about 17-year-old masterminds breaking into a high-security fortress-type-thingy to bust out some guy, then here ya go. Good luck.

That book put me off other books for a nice long while until I read an old favorite. Sunshine by Robin McKinley.

This book is not for everyone. It just plonks you into the middle of a world that is similar to ours but not the same, and you just have to figure out what’s going on. The slang is different, certain words are different, this world has magic, and you’re just along for the ride.

The book is about Sunshine, a baker. She drives out to a nearby lake to get away from her family for awhile. That’s when the vampires get her. Yes. This a vampire book. They are not sparkly and cute. They are gross and horrible. As they should be.

Anyway. They chain Sunshine to a wall in a ballroom with another vampire named Constantine. Instead of killing her, Constantine talks to her. Sunshine ends up using her own type of magic to get both of them away from their captors, an act that binds the two of them together. Which is helpful, because shit is about to go down.

(I just noticed that I tend not to describe the books I don’t like. I just stomp my feet and say THIS WAS TOTAL CRAP. But if I like the book I practically write CliffsNotes.)

(Also, I love the book ‘Sunshine’ because I really like Constantine.)

(I’ll shut up now.)

See you later!