I’m a little late with this, but I’m away from my keyboard for a few days this week, and needed something to fill the space, you know?
Dark Age by Pierce Brown
But the measure of a man is not the fear he sows in his enemies. It is the hope he gives his friends.
I knew war was dreadful, but I did not expect to fear it. How can anyone not, when death is just a blind giant with scissors?
Pure of Heart by Danielle Parker
“What would Sherlock do?” She rolled her eyes at her thought, and opened the door wide enough to slip inside. “Probably not go into a dark house looking for a werewolf.”
Chaos Choreography by Seanan McGuire
Our family tree was more of a bush. But it was a really stubborn bush, like a blackberry bramble. We stuck together, even when we didn’t like each other very much, and we refused to be uprooted.
Every time I started to feel like I had a handle on something, however insignificant, it got pulled right out from underneath me. There was probably a moral in that somewhere. If I ever found out what it was, I was going to knock its teeth right down its metaphorical throat.
Not Prepared by Author
You’ve gone from this awkward guy who had no idea what he was doing to… a slightly less awkward guy who still doesn’t know what he’s doing, but he’s doing a good job anyway.
Eternity Fund by Liz Monument
‘How come you know everything about everybody?’ I hissed.
Rosie shrugged. ‘My memory is enhanced so I never forget a face or a voice. Plus, I’m programmed not to reveal anything inappropriate. I guess that makes me a safe confidante.’
‘Programmed? You mean… you’re not real?’
‘Oh, Miss Green,’ Rosie smiled indulgently, ‘you are funny. Half the people here think you aren’t real.’
The desire for the truth runs through humanity like a thrombosed vein.
Eye of the Sh*t Storm by Jackson Ford
He’s not actually very good at being muscle. I’ve watched him try and fight people, and it’s like watching a drunk try to dance the macarena. But he does an excellent job of looking scary. He’s doing it now as he stands behind Annie’s chair, scowling the scowliest scowl that anyone has ever scowled.
Before long, the guards and the two meth cooks are bound and gagged, thanks to a roll of duct tape Africa pulled from his jacket. Of course he has duct tape. If I suddenly needed, I don’t know, a printout of the Declaration of Independence, I’m pretty sure I’d find one in Africa’s inside pocket, along with coins in ten currencies and a signed copy of Prince’s last album.
I would like it noted for the record that I, too, start running. The problem is, my legs are very short, and my addiction to salted caramel ice cream makes it hard for me to compete in a foot race.
This is the problem with lies. You can’t just tell them and be done. You have to keep them alive, keep feeding them, so they don’t feed on you. And the problem with that is the myriad smaller lies that spring up to keep the big one alive.
I didn’t exactly expect plush couches and complimentary fruit bowls, but I also didn’t expect Robert and his friends to hang out in a movie cliché. You know the ones I’m talking about, where the bad guys always have their lair in a warehouse filled with hanging chains and flickering lights and grimy, unwashed corridors? Well, the Legends clearly saw those movies and thought, Hey, we should get some of that action!
Barking for Business by E.N. Crane
I had an aversion to iced tea as it was not coffee. It did, however, have caffeine which was sometimes worth sucking up the leaf water. It was no bean water, but it was theoretically better than nothing.
The Bullet that Missed by Richard Osman
The second date was, if anything, even better than the first. They have been to Brighton to watch a Polish film. Donna hadn’t realized there were Polish films, though obviously there must be. In a country that size, someone is going to make a film once in a while.
Joyce finally cracks. “So where are we off to, then?”
“To meet an old friend of mine,” says Elizabeth. “Viktor.”
“We used to have a milkman called Victor,” says Joyce. “Any chance it’s the same Victor?”
“Very possible. Was your milkman also the head of the Leningrad KGB in the eighties?”
“Different Victor,” says Joyce, “Though they finish milk-round, very early, don’t they? So perhaps he was doing two jobs?”
“It’s the people, in the end, isn’t it?…It’s always the people, You can move halfway around the world to find your perfect life, move to Australia if you like, but it always comes down to the people you meet.”
(Image by DaModernDaVinci from Pixabay)
I could’ve filled this post with articles about Jane Friedman and Prosecraft. But I’m going to limit myself. 
Grab a book, any book.
