I just had a review of Watchers in the Night go live on the Big Ol Face Full of Monsters web site, and I wanted to post the URL here for everyone to visit.
It's an honest review of this paranormal romance, and I enjoyed writing it.
I also just finished reading "Having It & Eating It" by Sabine Durrant, a British author. It was the fourth book of its kind that I've read, ie a novel in which the overly-body-conscious heroine has a husband and kids and is living outside of London but is still so unhappy that she's a complete b*tch. That's all the main characters in these English "chick lit" novels do, complain about their weight, how horrible their children are (they never discipline them, so I am not surprised) and how the only good thing in life is designer clothing and shoes, and the occaisional fling with the hunky Australian gardener. They kvetch and moan throughout the book about how their classmates from high school or college who aren't married have the perfect lives, full of glamor and fun, hot guys and haute cuisine, while our poor heroine has to cook and clean and take care of her kids all day because, of course, her husband is totally useless for anything but a paycheck. Whine, whine, whine. And women in British chick lit novels drink like fish. They are always having cocktails, champagne, beer, whiskey, etc. Seems like they can't keep off the sauce. They also always seem to find time for spa days and luxurious trips to the stores for fancy clothing and shoes and bikini waxes. The main character in this book, Maggie, has an affair with the gardener because she fears her husband is "having it off" with an old school rival, the glamorous Claire. Of course, she finds out she is totally wrong, and her husband is faithful, while she's been having illicit liasons with the stupid gardener for weeks. Never mind that he might have VD that she could give to her husband. Never mind that she drops her kids off with their grandmother or a friend with great and careless ease, as long as she's going out to get screwed, that's okay. Because she's a poor, put-upon mum. My heart bleeds. Not. These Brits seem so bitter and stupid, so cold toward their children and so juvenile in their emotions, it made me ill when the end of the book finally arrived, and I realized that the main characters had learned little or nothing from their adventures in the book. I had somewhat the same problem with "I Don't Know How She Does It." It seems to me that these women have little to complain about, and their sour attitude is immaturity cloaked with shallow yearnings.