I need my fix

It’s a total disaster when my reading tablet doesn’t work anymore.

I realize it’s silly, I can read on my phone or on my PC but I’m really very attached to that stupid cheap made in China tablet I read on. I suddenly don’t feel well if it doesn’t work or konks out on me. 

I have an emergency Kindle tablet, at least.

I’ll live another day.



In the last few years, I haven’t read many books twice. When I was younger, I reread some books many times. I sometimes read many books at once, so I could read a few new ones and a few already read ones at the same time. My record was seven books at once. 

Then I had kids and reading became a much-needed fix from an addiction I couldn’t kick but still suffered from. 

Now, with ebooks, new books are so easily available I don’t have the excuse of having nothing to read to go through my books and see which one I’d read again.

Then Another Rock Star by Paula Coots came along. I became so invested in this book I slacked off work and read well into the night to finish it. It compelled me. I dreamed about it when I slept. I thought about it the minute I woke up. Then, when I finished it, I grieved a few hours and started it over again. 

I haven’t done that in years. And I know I’ll read it again.  

There’s a first time for everything…

First time I didn’t wish there to be a happily ever after. First time I wasn’t expecting it, wasn’t cheering for it, wouldn’t be disappointed if there wasn’t one.

The story was just that good. It was okay if he never forgave her, he was right to be angry. It was okay that she had to do what she had to do to make herself whole again, ready to be loved but ready also for the rejection, for it being too late.

But I’m still happy they ended up together. 

Cordonnier mal chaussé

French expression translating to shoemaker wearing bad shoes. Or something like that.

I have to write content for my own business website and have no idea where to start, what I need to write, anything.



And I pretend to write for a living.


I’m a wimp. Some books get to me. I’ll be reading and the development hits me right in the solar plexus and I think I can’t go on with this book. I’m devastated. I’m heartbroken. I can’t take it anymore.

Okay. So it doesn’t happen a lot. Good thing. But when it does, I have to seriously work with my inner distress to keep going, keep reading, it’ll get better, no writer is that cruel. Right? I mean, no one would leave a character in such pain and angst… 

It usually works out. I keep reading. I put myself through this torture and am almost all the time rewarded with a happy or at least satisfying ending. 

Does it mean it’s a good book? Not always. But most of the time, yes. 

So I keep reading.