Digital

Do you have a writing kit - a physical set of tools you rely on (certain pens/pencils, notebooks, etc.)? Different websites you rely on for particulars? Maybe even mood-setting accouterments like music or candles? What's your scene?


When your mind didn't want to break, your rusty mouth consented


I wish I had a scene. I think I'd be more inspired if I had a scene. I read something like "Poems Are Everywhere!" or "I Feel for the Clouds" and I'm totally jealous. I wish I saw poems in a million everyday things. Sometimes I get lucky and I might end up with something like "Chocolate Angel Wings" , in which I literally mock myself for seeing poetry in an everyday thing. *Facepalm*

I do 95% of my writing on my laptop. Actually, probably more than that. Probably 99%. That means I'm sitting in my lounge, in my reclining armchair, with my feet up. Sometimes there is music playing, sometimes Steve is watching TV. I wrote a description of it once, although that was in the old house - "The scene in Elle's lounge..." . I guess being on Writing.com inspires me to write.

Sometimes my mind wanders when I'm in the car or in bed and I get a partial poem happening or an idea for something. If I'm in the car I'll use the audio memos app on my phone to record myself so I can complete the poem (it's usually a poem) later. If I'm in bed, I'll make a digital note on my phone. Sometimes I forget about them until the next time I go to use the app and it's always a cool surprise finding half a poem. *Laugh*

I can't remember the last time I wrote something and I didn't use a digital format for it. For years I've had visions of these amazing handwritten journals or scrapbooks or smashbooks or whatever you want to call them, and I've started handwriting out my blog posts (literally copying them from my original digital versions on to paper) but it's time consuming, and it makes my wrist ache, and because I type SO much faster than I handwrite, I get further and further behind. I inevitably give up with a week or two's worth of blog entries in the front of an otherwise empty journal.

I used to write my poems on paper, but I find it a lot easier to revise them digitally. I can add or delete words, or rearrange lines or whatever, without making a big mess. Back in the day, when I was happy with the final version of a poem, I'd write it in to a hardcover exercise book that was literally just a neatly hand-printed collection of my poems. I'm missing one of those books now. Hopefully I find it some day. I have two and the third is AWOL. Anyway, when I started writing digitally, I stopped doing it. But I bought a book and started copying the poems into it, in chronological order. (Are you seeing a trend here?) I keep a copy of all my poems, short stories, etc. in my Livejournal, so I have them all there, in order. So yeah, I'm slowly working on that. Really slowly. *Rolleyes*

I look back at my old journals and I miss them. I truly do. I love journals. I love pens. I love handwriting (yes, even my own, which I know is a rare thing). It's so cool to see things handwritten on actual paper. Am I weird for saying that? Anyway, it is. I wish I could do that again. But somehow I'm a digital girl now, and no matter how hard I try, I can't seem to break out of that.

Stay true, whatever that means for you

Prompt: Musician David Bowie, born on this day in 1947, once said "All my big mistakes are when I try to second-guess or please an audience. My work is always stronger when I get very selfish about it." How true (or false) is this about your own writing? What's more important: pleasing yourself, or your audience?

Hmm, I don't mean to be the classic fence sitter here, but for me, there needs to be a balance.

When I was blogging at Livejournal, I wrote for myself. That was years of writing for myself. It enabled me to develop a unique voice in my writing, which is something I'm really pleased to have. I also have some amazingly honest entries to look back on, and it's quite fascinating to see my point of view as it was then. Looking back, of course, we have a different view of things. If I'd been writing for an audience, I don't think I'd have the same blogging voice. By blogging in what was essentially a vacuum for so long, I know that my style is...me.

While my blogging evolved (maybe not into anything advanced, but it evolved dammit!), my poetry and short stories did not. It wasn't until I came to Writing.com and started getting 'audience feedback' (also known as reviews) that my poetry and short stories started to improve. And before you question whether they needed to improve, yes, yes they did. I had a very simple style of writing, and I honestly wasn't satisfied with my writing. I wanted it to be better. I wanted to be able to express myself better in those mediums. I love some of the pieces I've managed to create in the last seven and a half year. Woah, has it really been seven and a half years?! That's insane. So while not everything I write is amazing, I know that some of my favourite pieces, and some of the pieces I'm most proud of (not always the same thing) wouldn't exist if I hadn't had that audience feedback.

Ultimately, we're all in this for a selfish reason. Some of us want fame or fortune from publishing or becoming the next blogging sensation. Some of us want an outlet. Some of us want a hobby to occupy or entertain us. Some of us want to learn skills that can be put to use in other fields. Some of us want to educate. Some of us want to record our lives for prosperity. Many of us want a combination of things. No one writes because 'it makes my mum happy'. Or if you do, you're unlikely to stick with it. We do this because we have a selfish motivator one way or another. So ultimately, sometimes you need to be selfish and stay true to yourself. But unless it defeats your entire purpose of writing, why not find the balance that works for you? Take the feedback that works with your style and leave the rest. And while I'm no all-knowing guru, I think that you'll find you can grow and learn, and still stay true to yourself.

Home and hearth

Prompt: On January 5th 1959, "It Doesn't Matter Anymore" backed by "Raining in My Heart" was released by Coral Records. It was the last release of Buddy Holly before his death.

I'm not a particularly big fan of Buddy Holly, but there's one song of his that always throws me right back to my childhood. And no, I'm not old enough to have been alive in 1959 or when he released any of his songs. I'm only 37. Buddy Holly was way before my time.

When I was young, New Zealand didn't have a particularly good television network. We had two channels, both owned by the same network. And where I lived, in the wop wops (that means, in the hicks, or in bum fuck nowhere, whatever you call it when it's miles away from anywhere), we only got one radio station - Radio New Zealand. So aside from the news and similar shows (like documentaries), there wasn't a lot to watch. What we did get was British television shows. Only Fools and Horses. Blackadder. 'Allo 'Allo! The Two Ronnies. Open All Hours. To The Manor Born. Last of the Summer Wine. Fawlty Towers.

And Heartbeat, which apparently started in 1992. I could have sworn it was older than that. Maybe it's the just the theme song that makes it seem so dated. Anyway, I can't really tell you what the show was about, other than it was based around a small town cop. Just a soap kinda thing. IMDB says 'Constable Nick Rowan is a English Policeman in the 1960's who decides to be reassigned to the same small village where his wife was born. There, he patrols the countryside as a part of a small attachment in the area dealing with the various events and problems that come up while at same time keeping a eye on Claude Greengrass, the local rogue.' Ah, it's set in the 1960s. That's why I thought it was older. I didn't realise it was backdated.

Anyway, whenever I hear the first few bars of this song, it transports me back to my childhood home. Which is weird, because we moved out of that house in 1993, so I'm not even 100% sure I ever watched the show there. *Blush* But it reminds me of watching TV by the fireplace, in our little farm house. It reminds me of Queen, our snow white cat, sleeping in front of the fire. It gives me warm fuzzies, because my childhood was very happy and it reminds me of those days. Often when I think of my childhood, I think of the farm, which of course was a huge part of lives, but this song reminds me of the house, which is nice.




What songs remind you of your childhood?

Sometimes it's harder than it looks...

Prompt: "If I ruled the world, I'd __________..."

I'd probably dissolve into a puddle of inadequacy. It's incredibly easy to criticise politicians. It's much harder to be a good one. Sure, there are things that would be a personal priority for me. Equality is already pretty sorted here in New Zealand, thank goodness, and I know that our healthcare and education systems are better than in some other countries, but there's still so much room for improvement.

I wrote that paragraph *Up* and got curious about how NZ ranked, globally, on stuff.

We have the highest possible scores in political freedoms, political rights and civil liberties.

We're first equal for the least corruption.

Apparently we're the most prosperous country in the world, whatever that means. *Think*

Apparently it's really easy to do business here. We're ranked 2nd for ease of doing business, and 1st for ease of starting a business. That might have something to do with the whole prosperous thing.

We're ranked 8th for press freedom.

We're ranked 10th equal for literacy with a rate of 99%.

Those are all good things. But some things we suck at. We have the highest teen suicide rate IN THE WORLD. Twice as high as the US and nearly five times as high as the UK. Like, seriously, what the fuck is wrong with us? We live in this amazing country, with all these advantages, and yet something is seriously, seriously wrong.

I don't know what is causing the high teen suicide rates. When it comes to overall rates, we're ranked 72nd, so the problem is specifically teenagers. Some quick research shows that it's at least partially a cultural thing, as the rates are much higher (within New Zealand) in Maori and Pacific Island teens than in other teens. There's also mention of bullying in schools, family violence and child abuse. Poverty is also a factor.

So we're a beautiful country, with free education, free healthcare, no corruption and plenty of prosperity...but we're assholes who mistreat our children so that they are left feeling like there is no option but to kill themselves to escape. *Sad* It sounds like some fucked up fiction novel, but it's here.

What can you do about it? That's the tricky question.

I just remembered the prompt. It's a very global prompt. Okay, so my initial point was that it's easy to see the things that are wrong, but much harder to fix them. You have limited resources, everything takes time, you can never please everyone, people have different approaches and sometimes there's more than one way to skin a cat. That's a weird saying, more than one way to skin a cat. You say that to kids these days and they think you're a violent, cat murdering freak. No, really. I saw it happen when my mum used it with my kids one day. Was very funny.

I digressed again, sorry.

So...fuck, I don't know! These are huge issues that can't be sorted by one person. I'm not an advocate of making committees just to waste time talking instead of DOING, but these are issues that need more than one head to solve them.

Sigh. I think the answer is that the responsibility would be such a heavy weight on my shoulders that I'd collapse and dissolve into a puddle of inadequacy. Woah, this post came full circle, huh?

(no subject)

Why is it that the whole day drags sooooo slowly, except for the 30 minutes you have for lunch which just races past?  *grumble grumble grumble*

Don't just imagine, BELIEVE

Prompt: What do you think are three things we're going to be hearing about a lot more as 2018 rolls on?

Well, the obvious answers are Harry & Meghan's wedding, cryptocurrencies and major weather events. But fuck obvious. Obvious is boring.

I predict 2018 is going to be the year you hear more about major scientific breakthroughs. Like, truly epic breakthroughs. Every year we make huge strides in medical science, and it doesn't get the headlines it should. Did you know that in 2017 they had a major breakthrough in the treatment for leukaemia ? They also successfully grew organs in a petri dish to trial medicines before subjecting patients to medications that might not work. And they've got robots successfully performing microsurgeries that humans could never manage to do. And there was something about growing penises in the article too. #justsaying But seriously, aren't these medical marvels far more worthy of news headlines than Harry and Meghan's relationship? Who gives a fuck how he proposed or whether her dad is happy about the latest media-imagined drama, or which designer is going to make her dress or.... They fucking grew new skin for a boy who had lost 60% of his own and was dying from fatal sepsis. That's fucking awesome!! Yes, let's hear about that!! Let's hear about the new Ebola vaccine with a 100% success rate . What about the fact that Israel can convert enough salt water into fresh drinking water for 1.5 million people ? Fuck yeah, that's incredible! And apparently they've 'recorded the sound of two distant black holes colliding a billion light years away'. Um, what the fuck? But yeah, that's cool too. *Laugh* They've made minor breakthroughs too which mean we're sitting right on the cusp of some really epic shit. I can't wait to hear about it.

I predict 2018 is going to be the year you hear more about the everyday hero. People who sit at the bedsides of those who are dying without family or friends beside them. People who volunteer as fire fighters and ambulance officers. People who stand up to bullies and bigots and say 'That's not okay!' People who see someone looking lost and ask 'Can I help you?' People who smile at strangers. People who stand for the elderly on public transport. People who tell you that your best isn't just good enough, it's fucking amazing and you rock. People who tell you that you made a positive difference to their day. People who remind you to dream and people who remind you to live in the moment. People who rush to offer help when you're hurt or you've fallen down, literally or metaphorically. People who celebrate diversity. People who recycle. All the awesome people. Let's hear more about them.

I predict 2018 is going to be the year we celebrate politicians who do great things. I know, we love to rag on politicians. But when they do good things, we should cheer them on. Encourage them. When they create new marine parks, sign peace treaties, work to eradicate homelessness, protect rain forests, use renewable energies, agree to stop whaling or the ivory trade, legalise equality, or... Yep, sometimes we're all 'about fucking time!', but truly, we should be celebrating the politician who had the guts to stand up and say 'Not on my watch, buster!' The politician who worked for the people, for the land, instead of for the votes. Let's say 'We want more of you, and less of the wannabe celebrities who are in for the fame and glory'. Let's hear about the ones who are doing all the right things and making a positive difference. Let's say to the world 'These are the guys who I'm gonna follow on social media, write blog posts about, talk about and FUCKING VOTE FOR'. Not the limelight hoggers, the ones with inflated senses of entitlement, the ones who can't come clean with a whole truckload of industrial strength cleaner. Let's ignore the losers and celebrate the champions. My champions, your champions, environmental champions. All of them. Let's raise them up and say 'More like this, please!'

That's what I predict we'll see in 2018. You may say I'm a dreamer, but I'm not the only one. *Peace2*

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An even ten

Prompt: Tell us what annoys you most about yourself.

Ugh, so fucking obvious.  I didn't even have to think before the answer blared in my head like it was written in neon lights and had accompanying sirens.  I'm lazy, and I procrastinate.  If I ever managed to eliminate either of those two flaws, I'd get so much done.  Like, fuck, I'd be amazing.  And if I eliminated both?  Un-fucking-stoppable.  I'd be fucking prime minister or have cured cancer or something.  Or at least have finished my various projects.

But I'm not.  And I haven't.  Because I'm lazy.  And I procrastinate.  *Facepalm*

I was challenging people on Writing.com to write lists of truths recently, for a merit badge challenge.  The truth is, I rarely finish anything, because I'm lazy and I procrastinate. 

I started a degree in medical laboratory science.  Didn't finish.
I started a degree in communications.  Didn't finish. 
I started a teaching degree.  Didn't finish.
I started a diploma in occupational health and safety.  Didn't finish.
I even started a class here on Writing.com in how to use commas and didn't finish.  *Rolleyes*

Imagine what I could be doing now if I'd finished any one of those courses?  Okay, maybe not the comma one, but any of the others. 

Imagine what my blog would look like now if I didn't procrastinate all the time about working on/in it.  Fuck, don't imagine it, it's depressing.

Imagine how slim I'd be if I wasn't so fucking lazy.  No, don't imagine that either, that's just as depressing.

What were they thinking with this prompt?  I didn't say fuck once in my last entry, and this entry I've said it seven fucking times.  Eight.  Shit.  *Headbang*

Imagine how many books I'd have written, and poems I'd have in my portfolio.  Imagine how clean my house would be.  Ah, fuck.  Nine.

And guess what I'm procrastinating about now, as I write this?  Editing my daughter's Youtube videos.  I better go do that.  And I still haven't planned any Wordpress posts or even posted Norb's interview.  Fuck.  Ten.

Christmas Rescue

As I curled my bare toes into the warmth of the sun-baked sand, I watched a family of four picnicking near me. They looked so innocent, so filled with the magic of Christmas. Red and green tinsel wrapped around the handle of the wicker basket threw sparkles of sunlight over the scene, reminding me of evenings spent in the glow of fairy lights. I sighed.

I used to love Christmas and everything about it. The anticipation, the decorating, the gifts, even the music. It wasn’t Christmas until you’d heard the Royal Guardsmen sing Snoopy’s Christmas. But that was all before. Now, everything about Christmas reminds me of my loss.

I tore my gaze away from the two chubby children making sand castles, and looked out over the waves. Even on Christmas Day, the red and yellow flags planted in the sand indicated that the lifeguards were on duty. Most people were swimming between the flags, but there were a few outliers, as there always were. I closed my eyes for a moment, before glancing back at the picnickers. I couldn’t resist. Children embodied the sentiments of the season, and watching those pudgy fingers rearrange the sand, and listening to high pitched giggles, seemed to lighten the ever-present darkness that had loomed inside me for the past year. I swallowed, but my throat was dry, and I automatically reached for the bottle of water I’d tucked into my backpack.

I watched the mother use baby wipes to clean her children’s faces so she could reapply sunscreen, and snickered when small hands smeared gritty granules of sand on those newly protected cheeks. It felt good to laugh, so I let a small smile remain as the mother exchanged t shirts for rash shirts, and took the two toddlers down to the edge of the water to play. I could hear enough of her chatter to the kids to realise she wasn’t a native, so I was pleased to see that she was being so sun smart.

I absently started eating strawberries from the punnet by my feet as I eyed up the activity on the beach, including a game of what appeared to be full contact cricket. I snorted, knowing that if David had been here, he’d have been right in the middle of that. David had never known a stranger. If something looked fun, he joined in, and his infectious personality meant that people let him. I missed him so much. I let out a careful breath, reminding myself that today wasn’t about mourning David, but about remembering the good times. It was okay to smile. It was okay to laugh. David would have wanted that. And one day, it would be okay to get in the water and swim again. I missed swimming. I hadn’t been in the water since that day, a year ago. But not today. I wasn’t ready to take the step yet.

A snore caught my attention and I looked around at the father, who’d fallen asleep in the sunshine while his wife was looking after the children in the shallows. I frowned. He was looking a bit pink. I hope he had sunscreen on. Just then, a pair of small, wet bodies threw themselves on him, and he shrieked at the temperature change, laughing at the irresistible giggles from the toddlers. I chuckled at their antics, then realised they were preparing to leave. I didn’t know them, but they’d been a pleasant distraction.

The mother set the children down with sippy cups of drink while she packed up their belongings. I watched as she flicked the towels to remove the excess sand, and placed hats on small heads, sandals on tiny feet. The father staggered to his feet, before murmuring "I don’t feel so flash". I frowned. The woman hadn’t heard him, her attention on the children.

I rose to my feet, carefully watching the man. When he wobbled on his feet before sinking to his knees, I bolted into action. I had my phone to my ear almost before I knew what I was doing, and I snatched a plastic bucket from the collection of toys that had just been placed in plastic bag.
“Hey!” the mother shouted indignantly as I ran off with the bucket toward the water.
“Make him drink!” I yelled back over my shoulder, before responding to the person who had answered the phone. “Ambulance. Ohope Beach. Man with heat stroke,” I panted as I bent to fill up the bucket with sea water.

I jogged back up to where the man was sitting, a bewildered look on his face. His wife hadn’t even noticed his predicament yet, her hands reaching for her children even as she opened her mouth to castigate me.
“What do you think…” She was interrupted by the gasp her husband made when I poured the water from the bucket over his head and down his torso.
“He’s got heat stroke. He needs to get cooler, right now. Have you got anything he can drink?”
I didn’t even wait for her answer, dashing to my small pile of belongings and grabbing my bottle of water. I held it to the man’s mouth, watching as he obediently drank. I turned to the woman. “I know you can’t leave the kids, so you make sure he drinks this, I’ll get another bucket of water.”
She stared at me a moment before grabbing the bottle and doing as she was told, her frantic gaze switching between her husband and the kids. I bolted for another bucket of water, which I used to drench as much of his clothing as possible. I knew he needed to be in the shade, that staying in the sunshine was going to counteract any progress the water made. I yelled at the other beachgoers further down the beach. “Hey! Help! Heat stroke! Help me get him to shade!” People looked over, then a couple of guys ran up.
“What’s up?” they asked.
“Heat stroke. Help me get him up to the shade.”
Two guys grabbed him under the arms before hauling him up to the trees. I turned to the woman who looked close to tears and at a loss for what to do next. “Leave your stuff. No one will steal it. Grab the kids and come up to wait for the ambulance.” She nodded, before settling a child on each hip. “You need a hand?” I asked. She gave me a weak smile and shook her head before heading up the sand at a fast walk.

A couple of women approached me. “Do you want us to gather their stuff and take it up?”
I smiled. “That would be awesome, thank you.”
I spun around, ran down to fill up the bucket once more, and then jogged up to the shade.

The ambulance didn't take as long to arrive as I had feared it might. He didn’t look great, but I think the shade, the water and the drink had done enough that he would be okay. I let the ambulance officers take over, and soon enough, the family was gone.

I accepted some praise and acknowledgements from the others as everyone went back down to the sand, but I wasn’t interested in accolades. As I sat back down on my towel and reached for my last strawberry, I smiled. David was never coming back, and Christmas would always remind me of him. But today, I’d helped make sure someone else’s precious Christmas memories wouldn’t be forever tainted by tragedy. And I knew David would have approved.
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My year in books

So, it turns out I read 118 books in 2017.  That’s considerably less than the 159 I read in 2016 and the 141 I read in 2015.  It’s also below my goal of 120 books, which is based on maintaining my average of 10 books per month.  Sigh, only two books away from my goal.  Ah well, I won’t be crying in my Weetbix about it.

44% of the books I read in 2017 were m/m romances.  52% were m/f romances and the remainder didn’t fit in either of those two categories (including transgender romance and menage romance).

92% of the books I read in 2017 were contemporary, and the remainder were historical.  That’s probably the biggest proportion of contemporary books ever for me.

Two of the books were anthologies, which makes me want to count them as multiple stories/books, but I haven’t.

Approx 22% of the books were paranormal, and one was science fiction.  Actually that one science fiction book wasn’t even a romance.  That was Pegasus in Flight by Anne McCaffrey, and it was the only non-romance book I read all year.

The author I read the most of was Dianne Duvall, by a long shot.  I read 10 of her books.  After her, it was Maya Banks and Katie Ruggle with 5 books each.  Then Megan Erickson and Santino Hassell at four books.

Most interesting read of 2017:
Static
I was absolutely fascinated by the idea of shifters who, instead of changing species, change genders.  In the story, Alex is a shifter and can change gender at whim.  Alex is not male nor female, but both.  Alex’s shifter nature is an integral part of Alex’s identity.  But while shifters are a known phenomenon, they are a minority and not as accepted in society as Alex would like.  So when Alex falls for Damon, a straight man, Alex stays in female form around Damon.  Over time, this puts a huge toll on Alex, and eventually on their relationship although Damon doesn’t know why Alex is so troubled.  Alex’s parents are not accepting of shifters, and urge Alex to undergo an operation to get an implant that would force Alex to be static.  When Alex refuses, they use drugs to force the operation without Alex’s permission.  Alex wakes up as a male, unable to shift.  How will Alex cope as half a person, and what will Damon do when his girlfriend is suddenly…a guy?

The author had not just an amazing idea, but they pulled it off too.  It’s well written and easy to read.  I’m not 100% sure that Damon’s actions and reactions were always realistic, but that didn’t really stop the book from being enjoyable.  The coworkers added enormously to the realism factor.  Definitely recommend it, especially if you’re interested in m/m or transgender reads, and don’t mind a touch of the paranormal.  There’s really nothing paranormal beyond the whole shifter idea, but you’ve got to take that with the rest of the otherwise contemporary book.

If you enjoy books where characters don’t fit a traditional male or female stereotype, you could also check out Enemies Like You by Annika Martin and Joanna Chambers, Hard Wired by Megan Erickson and Santino Hassell, and Ghost by J M Dabney.

My average rating for books was 3.4.  I have a system.  Yup, I do.
*Star**Star**Star**Star**Star* – This means I got totally lost in the book, to the point where I forgot I was reading.  I cared about the characters.
*Star**Star**Star**Star**Starw* – A great book, one I’d be happy to re-read.  For whatever reason, I didn’t get ‘lost’ in the book, but I really enjoyed it.
*Star**Star**Star**Starw**Starw* – A good book, but nothing special.  Nothing wrong with it, it was just nice.
*Star**Star**Starw**Starw**Starw* – Something prevented me from enjoying this one.  It could have been poor editing, a crappy plot, whatever.  I didn’t like it.
*Star**Starw**Starw**Starw**Starw* – Seriously, how did this book get published?  This is ridiculous.

So it’s not bad actually, that my average rating was between good and great, huh?

Books I rated 5 stars and recommend:
A Mended Man by Jaime Reese
A Worthy Man by Jaime Reese
Enemies Like You by Annika Martin and Joanna Chambers
Pegasus In Flight by Anne McCaffrey
Never Seduce A Scot by Maya Banks
Keep Me Safe by Maya Banks
Give Yourself Away by Barbara Elsborg
A Sorceress of His Own by Dianne Duvall
The World As He Sees It by A M Arthur
The Heart As He Hears It by A M Arthur
Burning Bright by Melissa McShane
Hold Your Breath by Katie Ruggle
The Harder He Falls by Lynda Aicher
Tall, Tatted and Tempting by Tammy Falkner

Books I rated 1 star and suggest you avoid:
Head Hunter by Alexis Angel
Just One Touch by Maya Banks

It’s bizarre that Maya Banks is on both my five star and my one star lists.

There are less one star books, because I often read a sample before I buy the book, so if it starts off crap, I just don’t bother buying it.  I’m sure there are a few ‘did not finish’ books too, but those are harder to track.

What were your favourite reads of 2017?  Do you have any recommendations for me to read in 2018?

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Books read in December

Kairos by Mary Calmes *Star**Star**Star**Star**Starw*

Five Dares by Eli Easton *Star**Star**Star**Star**Starw*

Critical Instinct by Janie Crouch *Star**Star**Star**Star**Starw*

Valentine Roulette by various authors *Star**Star**Star**Starw**Starw*

Legacy of Lies by Jillian David *Star**Star**Star**Starw**Starw*

What Goes On Tour by Claire Boston  *Star**Star**Star**Starw**Starw*

Safe and Sound by Lucy Lennox *Star**Star**Star**Star**Starw*

Royally Matched by Emma Chase *Star**Star**Star**Star**Starw*

A Worthy Man by Jaime Reese *Star**Star**Star**Star**Star*

A Mended Man by Jaime Reese *Star**Star**Star**Star**Star*

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