Read The Marilyn Tapes by E. J. Gorman.  I don't know much about this author.  His biography simply states "lives in Cedar Rapids, Iowa."  I do know that this book is likely to reawaken an old obsession of mine.  This book did such a fantastic job of hiding the line that separates fact from fiction... Continue Reading →

Almost done with The Mummy.  This book is very different from most of Rice's stuff.  First of all, we have mummies instead of vampires.  More importantly, this book moves.  Usually reading Rice is like taking a very leisurely stroll through a story.  Oftentimes, I find myself wanting her to just get on with it, already.  By... Continue Reading →

I'm halfway through The Mummy by Anne Rice.  I predict I will have nightmares tonight.Ramses just tested the powers of his immortality potion on a severed mummy hand.  Imagine, if you will, a shriveled, dry, blackened claw transforming to a fleshy, pink, human hand.  Then it begins scratching at the table.  Oh, and it's immortal,... Continue Reading →

I blazed through Temperature Rising by Sandra Brown last night in under 3 hours.  This is another author who started off writing romance novels under a pseudonym to claim the bills.  Later she switched to writing mainstream fiction, mostly suspense-ish, under her real name.  She has since reclaimed her early work, republishing it under her real... Continue Reading →

I'm not afraid to say it.  I'm in love with Karen Rose.  I am almost done with Scream for Me and I continue to be amazed by this woman's ability to weave a plot.  As I am reading, I keep remembering details from Die for Me that connect to the plot in this book.  And yet... Continue Reading →

Hello fiction, my old friend.  After my bad experience with the last book I tried to read, the last 24 hours have been a literary delight. I am reading Scream for Me by Karen Rose.  It has reminded me that all is right with the world.  Good fiction is still good fiction.This particular novel is... Continue Reading →

This almost never happens.  I couldn't make myself finish a book that I had started.I heard that gasp of shock and despair.  Breaking the Spell may have had a point.  Honestly, I'm not sure.  I found myself 150+ pages into the book with no clue what I supposed to be getting out of it.  I... Continue Reading →

The book I'm in the middle of, Breaking the Spell (see yesterday's post), was written by a philosopher.  Today, I am the philosopher.  My task is to write a one-page statement of my teaching philosophy.It sounds like a remarkably simple task.  My goal after all is simple, for my students to learn stuff.  In reality, putting... Continue Reading →

I finished The Last Olympian.  Hope, the only item left in Pandora's box (not a box), was the key to the novel.  The temptation to release hope led Percy to leave it with Hestia (goddess of the hearth) to keep hope safe at home.  Then Percy had to get the gods to realize what made home... Continue Reading →

Two-thirds of the way through The Last Olympian by Rick Riordan.   This is the final book in the Percy Jackson series.  I find myself reading the book with great sadness and a good dose of disgust.  I blame it on the movies The Lightning Thief.That movie screwed up really bad.  Percy was five years too... Continue Reading →