A Change of Scenery (or: How to Do All the Things When You Have None of the Time)

I wish I had an office. I wish I had a room that I could furnish, decorate, and dedicate to the sole task of writing and getting other creative-ish work done in. More than that, I often wish (like, every day) that I could just stay home and dedicate all of my time to doing creative-ish work, to starting and finishing all the projects my little heart desires to create.

Unfortunately, that is not the reality of my life. I've got bills to pay, and my creative projects aren't currently paying them. I need to work, and with school on top of that for half the year, I don't often find myself in a position to spend all day being creative at home. I'm constantly on the go, from Point A to Point B.

And yet, here I am--my 12th straight update, on schedule. (Kind of? It's still Friday if I haven't gone to bed, right?) Four straight weeks of Monday-Wednesday-Friday updates, with only a couple that were uploaded later than my 4pm goal time. Maybe it's because it's summer, but I'm kicking ass on the blogging scene regardless, with more behind the scenes work done on top of that.

I'm not stupid. I know I'm probably jinxing it right now. But let me fill you in on the secret to my competence--Starbucks.

(I am not sponsered by Starbucks but I would like to point out that I'm a poor college student and would definitely not turn down any money.)

Kay but actually. In the last few weeks, I've been spending a little bit more time at Starbucks than normal, which--shockingly enough--has lead to an astounding amount of productivity on my part. I've drafted blogs multiple weeks in advance, my uploads are getting scheduled for 4 PM more often now than ever, and I'm pouring my blood, sweat, tears, and heart into this blog more than I ever have before. The productivity that encompasses me in the coffee shop is spilling over to the rest of my day, as I finish up a post at work, stay up late to finish other creative projects, and focus more and more time into my stories every day.

So that's the secret, short and sweet: a change in scenery. A refreshing alteration to your daily habits and routines. Something to make things interesting.

The best office you can have is your mindset. The best place to be creative is wherever you are in the moment. Sometimes it's easy to forget that, and it's definitely easy to put everything off until you have that special place--but there's no saying that special place can't be the Blogger app on your iPad.


Until later,

- Justyne

Review: The Elite by Kiera Cass

You know that you’ve found something amazing, and you want to hold on to it forever; and every second after you have it, you fear the moment you might lose it. - Kiera Cass, The Elite

ALRIGHTY SO HERE'S THE DEAL. This book, along with its successor, may not contribute as detailed reviews as I would like. Why? Because I read both of them almost a full month ago, back to back, in like one day, so they almost kind of blend together.

So Justyne, why drag this out into two reviews? Why not just condense them and save us time and you effort? 

Because, dear reader of mine, they both have completely different ratings for completely different reasons, so shut your trap and let's get started.

WARNING: THE FOLLOWING REVIEW CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR THE SELECTION. 

When America Singer entered the selection, she was still heartbroken over her first love, and completely set against marrying into Illéa's royal family. She never thought that she'd make it into the Elite, the final six of the competiton. She never thought that she'd actually find herself falling for Prince Maxon. She never thought that Aspen would wind up working at the palace, begging for forgiveness, and presenting her with an impossible choice.

The moment that America's decision seems obvious, tragedy strikes that forces her to see her future, and her options, in an entirely new light. With fewer girls competing, the stakes are quickly rising, and her chance to choose is about to slip between her fingers. 

What you'll quickly notice about the first three books in this series is that it does a very low dip--I rated The Selection five stars last year, and (spoiler alert) I rated The One five stars, as well. It's not that this one wasn't good, it was just...frustrating.

So here's what I liked, in a nutshell: I thought it did a decent job of spreading out in the world, of giving a new light to the royal family and their history, as well as giving a better insight into how the societal system was created in the first place. In that regards, it did a good job of expanding on the foundation the first book laid out.

What I didn't like, however, was the complete and utter indecisiveness of our main protagonist.

This is a common complaint, from what I've heard, and it's one of the reasons I was almost scared to continue with the series. She flip flops from one guy to the other so fast it gave me whip lash, and I honestly felt that she was often being unfair to Maxon, and not giving him any of the time or patience that he's always been so willing to give to her.

She also made some VERY QUESTIONABLE DECISIONS about who she spent her time with and what she told other people, which lead to some VERY AUDIBLE SCREAMING on my part, because far too many people were lacking common sense in this novel for my liking.

And yet, I still jumped immediately into the next instalment.

Anyway. Final rating: 3 stars. Stay tuned for the next one!

Until later,

- Justyne

Micro Fiction Monday: Truth or Dare

“I’m not doing it.”

“You picked dare.”

“Yeah, because there are only so many things you can do in a car going a hundred miles an hour.”

“And this is one of them!”

“And it’s insane. I’m not doing it.”

“Come oooooooon!”

“No. You can’t make me.”

“I’ll pay for your share of gas money for the rest of the trip.”

“…….I hate you.”

“Is that a yes?”

I sighed and unbuckled my seatbelt. “Just realize that if I die, you’re the one who’s going to be cleaning my dead carcass off the interstate.”

He grinned. “Sounds like a yes to me.”

I rolled my eyes and swung my legs over the console. “I can’t believe you’re making me do this.”

“I’ll let you know if any cops come.”

“I’m more concerned about dying, but thanks, I guess.”

I positioned myself in the back of the car and made eye contact with him in the rearview mirror. He grinned again and reached up to hit a button on the dashboard, opening the sunroof above me.

“Good luck,” he yelled over the wind.

With a pounding heart and sweaty palms, I gripped the edges of the window and pulled myself through the gaping hole in the roof. The wind plugged my ears and dried out my eyes as I squinted into the sun in front of me. I stretched my legs slowly, rising above the car and the blurring landscape around me.

And suddenly, I was flying. The wind pushed my hair out of my face, and the sun shone on me like a spotlight as I flew down the highway. I stretched my arms to the sky and squealed, basking in the warmth of the setting sun, before the car horn sounded, and I dropped back down to safety.

The Benefits of Having Creative Friends

So here's the thing: I'm kind of a hermit. Not kind of--I'm a very big hermit. I spend a huge chunk of my time in my room. Not even Pokemon Go can save me, because the majority of the Pokemon I've caught have been from either the comfort of my own home, or from my workplace while on break. Part of this is because I'm an extremely antisocial individual, and would much rather interact with fictional people than real ones.

The other, larger part, though, is because I'm always trying to get some writing done. (Keyword: trying. If I spent all of my antisocial time actually writing, I'd have like ten novels published and a movie franchise in the works by now.)

Writing is hard for the same reason doing homework is hard--I get distracted very, very easily when I'm first starting. Once I get in the groove, I'm good to go--it's getting into the groove that's the hard part. This is why I never try to write around friends, family, or pretty much anyone else that I know; I'm me, so I'll start talking, and then I'll never, ever stop. (I'm sure there are several people who can vouch the validity of this statement.)

I've heard time and time again that it's good to find people you can work around--that is, people with whom you can be productive while in their company. I've yet to find such magical unicorns in terms of my writing because, as mentioned previously, I never stop talking. (Ever.) So when I need to get some writing done, or finish up my term paper, or cram for an exam, I need to separate myself from everybody in order to reach the level of productivity I want.

For whatever reason, though, I've recently discovered that I don't have nearly the same trouble with drawing. I've been drawing on and off for, oh, about seven years now. (You wouldn't know, because in recent years I stopped putting aside as much time to do it. But I digress.)

Here's the thing with drawing: I don't need to concentrate on it. I mean to an extent, I guess, I do--but the level of concentration required to draw a straight line is much, much lower than that needed to construct a paragraph. I can talk and laugh with the person sitting beside me. I can listen to music and sing along. I can leave Netflix on autoplay and draw to my heart's desire, while still binge watching whatever show I'm currently hooked on. The door can stay open, and my work won't suffer as a result.

In the last couple weeks, I've drawn more than I have in, like...a year and a half. I think this is mostly due to the influx of sudden creativity I've found myself surrounded by; whether it's my roommate on a painting binge, or the company of a long-time internet friend, they've suddenly inspired me to throw my head back into my sketchbook and put my rusty skills (or lack thereof) to use.

I eagerly await the day that I meet a good writing buddy, who will inspire me in similar ways and get me to shut up and work. Until then, though, I'll take what I can get.

Do you have a friend (or several) who you can be very productive with? Let me know in the comments!

Until later,

- Justyne

Review: Second Chance Summer by Morgan Matson

“Just because you'd left something behind didn't mean that it had gone anywhere.”  - Morgan Matson, Second Chance Summer 

 

Another Morgan Matson book! This one made me cry like a baby, so y'all already know this is gonna be a good one.

This week's book follows Taylor, a girl who's downright infamous for running away when things get tough. As her family makes their way to their house in the mountains--their first summer there in five years--Taylor is forced into the realization that she can't run away from everything. Not her former best friend and first crush, both still hurting over their last summer together, and certainly not her father's recent diagnosis, which is quickly tearing her world apart.

I'm going to repeat myself, because I feel like this is worth mentioning twice--DO NOT PICK UP THIS BOOK UNLESS YOU WANT TO CRY. This book saw me sobbing for a solid fifty pages straight. These pages will forever be stained with my tears. If you're looking for a summer read, THERE ARE MUCH, MUCH BETTER CHOICES.

That being said, this book was good. In the ranking of Matson books, I'd probably rate Since You've Been Gone at the top, followed by this book, and then Amy & Roger's Epic Detour. Her characterization remains excellent--her characters are varied, flawed, and real. Her portrayal of family life, especially the relationship between the three siblings in this story, are especially great.

There were certain things in her writing, though, that started to catch my eye as I made my way through the story. I don't know if it wasn't present in her other books, or if I just never noticed it before, but I started to pick out phrases that bogged the story down unnecessarily. Statements that were over-explained, references to previous points in the text that were spelled out, to ensure that the reader didn't miss it. They started to distract me from the story, as I picked out every phrase that could be reworded or taken out entirely.

But here's the thing...I make the same mistakes. All. The. Time.

Never in my entire life as a writer has this ever happened, but all of these errors or flubs that I plucked out of the story, I immediately thought, "I would have done this." It sounded almost like I was reading my own story, a book I forgot I wrote, picking out all the mistakes that I never notice until my seventeenth runthrough. It was a little comforting and very weird--but also interesting. 

Aside from that, though, Matson's book--while somewhat predictable, in more ways than one--was a beautifully tragic tale that I couldn't put down. (I only did once, by force, because I was an idiot who forgot my copy at work once. Way to go, self.)

Final rating: four stars.

Until later,

- Justyne

Micro Fiction Monday: Freedom

I saw the movement before I felt it. I had already been staring out the window for a solid ten minutes, unblinking, as I willed the metal mechanisms to pull the train forward. Then, the flowers began to move outside the window—slowly, at first, then faster, as the car lurched forward. Gears moaned and clunked together,  and I heard the engine puff and wheeze with the effort. The whistle sounded.

We were moving.

The attendant had told me to sit still, especially if this was my first time, but the energy and excitement and anticipation had built too high. I was overflowing, and like the wooden cars surrounding me,, I needed to move.

I pushed myself out of my seat and started walking, then running, then flying down the aisle. I leaped over bags and dodged passengers, yelling their complaints to my vanishing figure. I jumped from one car to the next, running opposite from where the train was taking me, my feet no longer fast enough to keep up as the scenery began to whiz by the windows. 

I pushed open a final door and felt the rush of fresh air, the wind grabbing my silk hair and running wild with it. I caught myself on the railing of the caboose, watching as the city already started to disappear from view. So it wasn’t as big as everyone thought, after all.

The whistle blew again as the train reached full speed, pulling my away from the place I had hated for so long. I closed my eyes and breathed in the freedom, the relief, and the peace.

How to Amuse Yourself in an Airport

Hello, friends! As I write this, I'm in a Starbucks down the street from my job, getting in a quick blog post before clocking in. As you read this, though, I've made the long trek down to the United States to visit a dear friend / buttface of mine. (Who just so happens to have a blog of her own.)

So as of now, obviously, I don't know what to expect from my journey, as I haven't started it yet. But what I do know is this--I have five hour layover scheduled in Minneapolis, which is sure to be one hell of a good time. (The sarcasm dripping from my fingertips is sure to fry my keyboard.) 

It's not my first layover, though, and it sure won't be my last. So here's a quick, simple, 8-step plan on how to amuse yourself in an airport:

Step 1: Find yourself a highly caffenated beverage.

The exact definition of this is obviously based on personal preferance, but I myself go for a double shot on ice from Starbucks. Gotta get them espresso shots in my system, because by this point I've already been up for a solid five hours and it's still only 9 AM. The alternative is, of course, to nap in your terminal, but sleep is for the WEAK. (And I'm going to nap in the air, anyway, so might as well focus on some productivity now.)

Step 2: Find yourself some prime outlet location.

This can be hard to find at times, but damn it, you're here for more than half a work day, so you have time to do some searching. Venture bravely outside the limits of your gate, and leave a trail of breadcrumbs behind you so you don't get lost.

Step 3: Make a list of everything you want to do.

This includes:

- Three (3) blog posts

- Seven (7) illustrations

- One (1) entire novel draft

And, if you have time, get a start on next year's taxes. (Me, overly ambitious? Noooo!)

Step 4: Check Twitter before you start.

I mean, you gotta let your loyal followers know what's going on.

Step 4.5: Update your Snapchat story.

It'll only exist for 24 hours, so make sure you spend a solid five minutes on that.

Step 4.75: Realize that you just spent, like, half of your time scrolling through social media and not actually doing any work.

My, time flies when you're procrastinating.

Step 5: FOCUS.

Put them earbuds in and tune the irritated travellers out!

Step 5.5: Okay, right after this song.

How does a bastard, orphan, son of a....

Step 5.75: Okay, right after this song.

Pardon me, are you Aaron Burr, sir?

Step 5.8: Okay but actually let's pick a different album because CLEARLY this isn't working in your favour.

You really shouldn't have picked such a catchy soundtrack, anyway.

Step 5.9: Realize that you won't actually hear the announcement on the PA when your flight starts boarding if you keep your headphones in.

You can tune out the busy crowds on your own, right?

Step 6: ACTUALLY GET SOME WORK DONE WHAAAAAAAT

Look at you, being productive! Look at you, making good use of your time! Look at you--

Step 7: Wait, is that your flight being called?

Huh. That went by faster than expected.

Step 8: Board your flight, settle in, and NAP.

You clearly earned it!

How do you guys amuse yourself during long waits, in airports or otherwise? Lemme know in the comments!

Until later,

- Justyne

Review: Amy and Roger's Epic Detour by Morgan Matson

"The best discoveries always happen to the people who weren't looking for them." - Morgan Matson, Amy and Roger's Epic Detour

This wasn't my first Morgan Matson book, but it's the one that I've owned the longest. I've heard many, many, many good things about this book, but never actually got around to reading it.

But now it's summer, and since Sarah Dessen doesn't have a new book coming out this year (//sobs quietly in corner//), then I have to start picking up other contemporaries. Enter: Amy and Roger's Epic Detour, stage right.

After Amy's dad died in a sudden and tragic accident, a lot of things changed--her brother Charlie went into rehab, for one. Her mother decided to move the family across the country, for another. And now, her mom wants her to drive the family car to their new home, and enlists family friend Roger to drive, giving them the itinerary and the funds to get on their way.

The itinerary, though, is....lacking. (In interest, adventure, and fun....pretty much everything you'd want from a road trip.) So instead, Amy and Roger take a detour--and a big one, at that. The two of them each have baggage that extends beyond the trunk of their car, and each new stop brings them each closer to coming to terms with it--and closer to each other. 

What to say about this book? Well, for starters, it made me have an intense and dire need to go on a road trip of my own. (My bank statement doesn't agree with this, nor does the fact that I don't actually have a car. Or a driver's license. Or anyone who's willing to do all the driving for a cross-country adventure.) But that's okay, because it broke my dreams in a very well-written way!

One of the things I really like about Maston's book is the way she paces them. This book, in particular, framed much of their journey in a sort of literary montage, formed by snippets of conversation as they made the long trek from California to Conneticut. It was something that I don't normally see, as most books normally skip through the boring bits and cut straight to the action. But these snippets provided great insight to the progression of their friendship, without dragging the story on. It sped up the narrative without rushing it--a difficult balance, sometimes, but a rewarding one.

The thing with this book, though, was the Big Tragic Thing that was alluded to throughout the story wasn't as shocking as she might have hoped it would be. It was very, very easy to pick up on and guess what it was, long before the flashabck that expalined it, and that almost took away from the story in a way that doesn't normally happen. I don't care about being caught off guard, necessarily, but it was just so painfully obvious what had happened that it was almost frustrating that we didn't find out what it was until almost the end of the story.

Also--and this is extremely shocking for me--I didn't find myself caring a whole lot about the romantic attraction between Amy and Roger. Their friendship was great, and I enjoyed the way they got to know each other and interacted throughout their journey. But I feel like the chemistry between them was rather lacking, which is something I don't often (or ever) find myself saying about a rom-com contemporary. Normally I hop on board the ship right away, but no matter how far their feelings progressed, I just wasn't feelin' it. (This can't be said for any other of her books, though, which I am grateful for.)

What I did love, though, was the slew of characters we met as they travelled from state to state on their detour. I loved the snapshots of the lives we saw, how it compared and contrasted to our main characters. More importantly, I love how each location brought Amy a step closer to where she needed to be, teaching her the things she needed to learn and showing her how to move on from the grief that was plaguing her at the start of the novel. 

All in all, it's a fantastic summer read, and I would definitely recommend it--although you may find yourself planning a grand adventure of your own afterwords.

Final rating: four stars. (Maybe 4.2, even!)

Until later,

Justyne

Micro Fiction Monday: Sunken Memories

The smell of campfires hit me in the face as I turned the page. Not literally, because I was in my room in the middle of the afternoon, and in no way remotely close to a bonfire. But this slightly dented hardback, its pages already creased from the dog ears of another read-through, was one I bought last summer. The first time I read it was by the light of the fire pit outside our tent, and the smell came back to me now, as though the pages had absorbed the smoke when I was reading.

~~

The next book I read brought a cool breeze to my cheeks, and though the air was silent, I could hear the jingle of holiday songs. I closed my eyes and saw soft yellow lights among thick green branches, could feel the satisfaction of wrapping paper tearing beneath my fingers, revealing the cover that I was now holding in my hands. The first time I read it was that afternoon, during the peaceful quiet of a holiday.

~~

I crack open my new book as I exit the bookstore, the rush of a new addition to my collection still fresh in my bones. The air has a chill to it, and I quickly zip up my jacket, tugging my silk scarf farther up my face. My eyes drift over the new, unfamiliar words as my boots crunch through the dead, fallen leaves.

And like every book I’ve read before, this memory will soak itself into the pages of this book, only to be released when I start the story anew. 

You Do You, Boo (A Discussion About Internal Motivation)

Last year, I did a small series of blog posts in which I discussed the variety of ways to motivate yourself externally. It was a nice little series. I enjoyed writing it. But what happens when all those frills stop working?

Remember....who....you are....

(Inserting gifs in here because it's 2016 and that's the Thing To Do.)

The most common advice I hear from anyone, in terms of work and career, is to do what you love. A no-brainer, right? It would seem so; hell, I preach that advice every day. But what happens when you don't even know what that means anymore? What happens when you sit down one day, doing The Thing You Love, only to start thinking that you maybe don't love it as much as you thought?

You have a freak out, for starters. You start to panic a bit. You start to question whether you're on the right path, whether this thing truly is The Thing You Love. Then you bury your troubles under hours and hours of Sims and try not to think about it.

(Not like I would know or anything....)

What makes something The Thing You Love? What magical quality does it posess that allows it to turn from just a hobby into...more? It's not an easy thing to pinpoint, really, because there's not just one way for it to get to that point. We all live different lives, we all choose to put our passion in different things for different reasons. There's no road map to figure out what The Thing You Love should really be. 

All you can really do...is do you. You do you, boo!

I don't know when I started saying this. Probably as a joke, to be honest--something to say indifferently, as a go-ahead to a suggestion, when the process doesn't affect the outcome, or the outcome doesn't affect me at all. "Go for it--you do you, Boo."

Then, last month, a friend of mine uploaded a post on her own blog, and made reference to this saying that I've suddenly adopted as my own. All at once, I realized that this saying wasn't really a joke at all--it had become advice. Real advice. Good advice, that I had never really thought to follow.

I started writing when I was around nine. It's been a part of my life for a very long time, and for all that time I never struggled with my future life plans. I wanted to do this, I was working hard for it, and I knew I was good. (Most of the time, anyway.) I always knew what I wanted to do...until suddenly, I didn't. (Y'all already know that story; it eventually lead to the creation of this blog.)

I joke about procrastination a lot. I've always done it, but over time it's gotten worse. Shouldn't this be easy? Shouldn't I have enough passion to push myself out of whatever rut I find myself in and just do it?

It wasn't that I didn't want to. I did. It's that I was lacking the energy, the time, the motivation. Every time I felt that rush, that flurry of words that poured out of me, I grabbed it desperately. I didn't want to let it go, to drift back into the void of other people's stories, all of which were starting to do nothing but remind me that mine wasn't out there.

But every time, I let go. I had to, because of responsibilities and commitments and a zillion other things that I wanted nothing to do with. I started to resent my job because of it, because I felt that every moment not spent towards The Thing I Loved was just a waste of time. I threw every creative project that wouldn't bring me a step closer to publication under the rug. 

Eventually, I threw The Thing I Loved under the rug, too. I didn't think I could do it anymore--every time I sat down to start, I got too distracted with other things. I got too frustrated with the fact that I wasn't anywhere near where I wanted to be at this point in my life--and I felt like a failure.

I stopped blogging because of it--for months.

Here's something that not everybody tells you: you're not always going to love The Thing You Love. You're not always going to love your dream job. No matter what it is, there are going to be days when you want absolutely nothing to do with it. There are going to be days when you want to do literally anything else, anything to avoid The Thing You Love. But that doesn't mean you just give it up--it doesn't mean that you've lost it, it doesn't mean that you need to throw in the towel and start looking for another way to occupy your time. That's why I wrote those initial posts, why I spent so long focusing on external motivators--because in dire times, they can save your ass. You need every ounce of inspiration you can muster.

But if you don't have the internal motivation to back it up, you're not going to get very far.

I don't know much, but this is what I do know: I love creating things. I love telling stories. I love pouring my heart and soul into something, and turning it into an experience for someone else. I love that. I always will, even sometimes I wish I could skip the hard part and skip straight to holding the finished product in my hands. The passion remains, through all the procrastination.

All you have to do is start. That's how you figure it out. You push past the hard bit, you grab hold of every ounce of motivation you can, and you use it to fuel the launch.

Because once you reach the stars, there's nothing holding you back.

You do you, guys.

- Justyne

Review: Maybe Someday by Colleen Hoover

"Sometimes in life, we need a few bad days in order to keep the good ones in perspective." -- Colleen Hoover, Maybe Someday

Do y'all remember when I did a review on November 9? Do you remember how much I loved it?

WELL BUCKLE UP CUZ WE'RE ABOUT TO GO DOWN THAT ROAD AGAIN.

It is becoming quickly evident to me that I am absolute Romance Novel Trash, which I feel like I've always known but never wanted to admit. (I haven't started buying books with half naked guys on the cover yet, though, so progress??) Anyway, this book follows Sydney, a 22-year-old college student who comes home from work on her birthday to discover that her best friend / roommate has been cheating on her with her boyfriend for lord-knows-how long. She throws a punch, grabs her stuff, and moves out...only to quickly find herself homeless in the rain, because she actually doesn't really have anywhere else to go.

Enter Ridge, her neighbour from across the apartment courtyard. He offers to let her live in their apartment, rent-free, if she agrees to work with him writing songs for his band. She agrees, and the two quickly form an attraction--which is a problem, because he has a girlfriend, and Sydney absolutely refuses to let what happened to her happen to another girl.

My favourite thing about this book is the absolutely refreshing honesty that was present throughout their relationship. It often feels like the conflict in just about any romantic comedy / drama / subplot in an action movie derives from an utter lack of communication between partners. Sometimes it's warranted, sometimes it's not, but either way it is utterly overdone and frustrating every time it arises.

Good 'ol Sydney and Ridge, though, are completely upfront and honest about their feelings for each other. They know that they are mutually attracted to each other, and instead of trying to ignore it or deny it, they put all of their feelings on the table and c o m m u n i c a t e. They express themselves, they explain and understand why they can't pursue these attractions, and it feels SO GOD DAMN REFRESHING. All of their conflicts arise from outside sources, not from screts between them. This only strengthens their relationship, too, because they learn to rely and trust one another in ways that a lot of fictional couples don't in romantic plots. WRITERS EVERYWHERE, PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD TAKE NOTES.

That being said, though, I got a little frustrated with their actions throughout the story. Like yeah, being honest is good, and it definitely helped avoid a lot of would-be issues, but...come on. ACTIONS SPEAK LOUDER THAN WORDS, GUYS, REALLY.

I was also a little let down by the bonus playlist. Basically, the book contains a QR code that leads you to a free online playlist of the songs that Ridge and Sydney wrote in the book. It was an excellent concept, to give the reader an actual song to listen to along with the lyrics instead of creating some bad makeshift version in their mind, but I feel like it could've been done a little better? For example, I found myself wanting to listen to the songs as they were sung in the book, right? But I was a little disappointed to find that all the songs were sung by the same guy--even the ones that Sydney was singing in the book. I just think it would've been cool to get another, female artist to step in and sing the songs that Sydney was singing in the story. Granted, I wasn't a huge fan of the songs in general, so that didn't help, either.

Anyway. That aside, Hoover's writing was super vivid and well done, her characters well developed, and the plot caught me off guard a number of times--which, I think I've mentioned before, is really hard to do. And the concert scene at the end? A. DOR. A. BLE. I almost died.

All in all, I give it a solid five stars. (Or at least like 4.8)

Until later,

- Justyne

Micro Fiction Monday: Twenty Degrees and Sunny

Twenty degrees. Sunny. Clear blue skies. A breeze that neither slaps you in the face with sticky humidity, nor pricks your skin with goosebumps. It is the absolute perfection of a day.

And I’m stuck in this hellhole.

In this building, air conditioning is nonexistent. I mean, that’s not entirely accurate—the dining room has air conditioning. The dining room, in fact, is quite pleasant. It’s the kitchen that makes you feel like you’re trapped in the depths of the devil’s lair, at his mercy for eight hours on end.

If someone offers you a job as a line cook, turn it down. You’re better off with the waitstaff, with all the screaming babies and picky eaters it comes with.

I’ve worked here for five years now, which is just long enough to realize how much the job sucks, but also long enough to form bonds with the people who are actually tough enough to last this long in a kitchen job. (Kitchen jobs, I’ve learned, are not for the faint of heart.) It’s long enough to adapt to the closing routine like second nature--learning to flip all the switches and wash all the dishes within five minutes of closing time, dragging the last bag of garbage with me on my way out the door.

Now, the sun has already gone down, and the air cooled from its perfect daytime temperature. I pull a sweater over my head and fling the garbage into the dumpster out back. Before I reach my car, I look up.

The moon is shining, and the stars are out. The cool air is a welcome change from the humidity of my day, and the sky remains as clear as it had been during the day.

I sigh. It’s the absolute perfection of an evening.