Hi. Yes, hello. Is it socially acceptable for me to scream from the rooftop about how amazing this book was? Because that’s what I’d like to do. I think, quite honestly, this book is one of my favourite books of 2015. I’m a total sucker for “diary-esque” books, because I find them really witty and engaging. Bridget Jones’s Diary was one of my favourite books growing up (probably the second in the series, since I read that first), and this, in my opinion, was on par with that.
Albeit in a slightly moodier, less whiny sort of way.
Let me be the first to say I’ve worked behind a cash register since I was about nineteen. It’s torture. Slow, painful torture, and I connected with everything Suzie was talking about in an instant. Her life was my life, especially in the last year or so. I too had worked at a not great job for a number of years. I too sometimes dreaded looking elsewhere because that was such an effort, and that job was comfortable and easy and brainless… I get Suzie’s story 100%.
The writing here is snappy and clever. Witty. Samantha Ferguson is a ridiculously witty and hilarious author, inducing LOL moments alongside cringe-worthy ones in equal measure. There were a few over-the-top moments in the book, but hey, who’s to say they couldn’t happen? We’ve all had gross coworkers–and lifers who think there’s nothing better than that job. We’ve had pervy managers, nagging parents, and work commitments getting in the way of important life events. I mean, none of myroomies have ever brought home a prostitute, but it couldhappen.
What I liked most about this book was that Suzie sorted herself out in the end. Some heroic man didn’t waltz in and sweep her off her feet. When I first started reading, I 100% expected there to be some guy who’d show up, they’d fall in love, life wouldn’t seem so terrible, blah blah blah. But no. Things were shit right up until they weren’t. And I loved it. LOVED IT.
There were a few errors throughout the text, though I didn’t care. Yup. Grammar obsessive me was like NOPE MUST KEEP READING DON’T CARE DON’T CARE DON’T CARE. It was a grand ol’ time, and I can’t praise this piece enough. When I initially saw the price ($5 or so), I was like… Do I really want to buy this? But the cover drew me in, followed by the promise of a diary from someone who probably all but lived my life, so I sucked it up and spent the money.
So glad I did. I flew through this book, and I feel a lot of other readers will do the same. It was fantastic. FANTASTIC.
#me
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When I was fourteen, I wrote my first fantasy epic. It had heavy paranormal elements and featured a sort of teenage-romance between the heroine and the villain. Since the initial draft, it’s been rewritten twice (fully rewritten, not just scenes tweaked and played with), and I suspect I will rewrite it again, maybe in a few years, to get it right where I want it to be.
When I was eighteen, I’d just started my undergraduate degree. I’d given up on my writing for a little while, preferring a social life and uni prep to anything else. Before that, I was primarily working on fanfiction, and unlike many writers, I didn’t reach out for beta readers to help me with my stuff. I’d always been confident in my writing, and I learned as I went at the time, improving a little bit with each story.
One afternoon while my roommate was in class, I pulled up my first book, in its third draft, and started reading. And it wasn’t bad. Decent even, for the level of writing I was at. However, I also knew at the time that I wasn’t disciplined enough to finish the book anytime soon, and I decided to seek some outside help. What I was essentially looking for was someone to give me deadlines that I could meet, and I wasn’t sure where to start.
Looking back now, I can’t believe I did what I did. I can’t believe I couldn’t just make myself write. I don’t think writers are generally all that good at forcing themselves to stick to deadlines, but the successful ones among us get it done—so it’s not impossible.
Anyway, back to eighteen year old procrastinating me. I wasn’t too sure where to start my search for a deadline-setter, but I knew editors and writers were a natural combo. Throwing caution to the wind, I researched editors in my city. To my surprise, I found one locally who catered to students and working professionals alike. At the time, I hadn’t even considered hiring someone to work remotely with me. Maybe I was worried about someone stealing my million dollar fantasy novel with vampires and witches—but more realistically, I wanted to talk to someone face-to-face so that I could see their disapproving stare in my mind’s eye when I wasn’t keeping up with our schedule.
I got in contact with this editor through his website. I’m pretty sure I gave a rambling, incoherent explanation of what I was looking for, and he emailed me back asking to meet me so we could talk in person. What followed was an interesting, awkward, and intense meet-up with a somewhat shy editor who didn’t really understand precisely what I wanted, even after I explained it.
In the end, we decided that I’d send him my stuff, and then go from there.
I was excited. It was like my authorly journey was kicking off again, and something might happen this time.
We met up again a few weeks later, after he’d had a chance to read my stuff. And he loved it. He raved about my characters, my plot, my fantasy world—it was beyond thrilling. I’d never had someone tell me face-to-face that they enjoyed my work, and it was a huge ego booster. It was then that we had to decide what we wanted to do from there. After discussing where the plot was headed, analyzing my fantasy world in extensive detail, we decided that he would edit a chapter or two per month—for the small fee of $200.
Two. Hundred. Dollars.
My draft wasn’t even technically finished, and I was a university student in her first year who wasn’t working yet. My first year was just to focus on school, and apparently I thought it was acceptable to spend almost five months giving this guy $200 each month for him to tinker with a chapter as soon as I finished it.
After a while, I just couldn’t afford to pay him anymore. He was fine with it: we dropped the fee down to $75 a month, but even that ended up being too much for someone who wasn’t working and was spending her money on eating out and bar nights. Ahhh youthful idiocy.
When all was said and done, it was like I hadn’t actually spent any time with an editor at all. Sure, he fixed little things here and there, and he pointed out inconsistencies. We met up once every month just to chat about the book, which I definitely liked… But once we stopped meeting, I stopped working on the manuscript. Instead, I eventually went back to fanfiction because it was safe and easy, and generally gave instant gratification with reader reviews popping up immediately.
In fact, I still haven’t touched that manuscript. With two books published and several more on the way, I’m pretty sure I lost the edits that particular editor made—and probably close to $1500 too.
Don’t get me wrong: this editor was a great guy. Totally friendly, personable, really concise and on-point with his feedback… but I clearly wasn’t ready to do anything with my manuscript. I couldn’t be bothered to read up on critique partners and beta readers, nor did I actually take the time to look for someone online whose fees were actually affordable to me. Instead, I went with the first person I found, and it went financially downhill from there.
I’ve got a couple of fantastic people in my editing corner today, but I hope new and young authors interested in self-publishing take my experience as a cautionary tale. If you can’t afford it, don’t do it. If you aren’t done your novel, DON’T hire an editor unless you have the time and money (and thick skin) for someone to be super involved in your writing baby from the beginning—when, really, you probably aren’t even sure where the story is headed. Read a lot. Ask for advice from fellow authors. Don’t, for the love of god, fork out $200 a month on a manuscript you haven’t even finished yet.
Should you be tempted, remember the wise words of Steve Rogers:
I really enjoyed the humour in this book. I loved Fezzik–all the characters, really. Unfortunately, I can’t help finishing it and feeling disappointed. It just didn’t feel complete to me. I mean, there was no real ending to what I read, so I guess there’s no getting around that. A friend of mine adores this book. It’s her favourite of all time, so I think I went into it expecting so be so blown out of the water that I’d never recover.
It was fun. I enjoyed the anecdotes and little notes in the abridged version, and it was really the silliness combined with the darker elements (torture, death, etc.) that kept me going.
Original Review Date: July 22, 2014
Check out the book on Goodreads for more reviews and purchase links!
So, in the midst of screaming at Teen’s blatantly homophobic article* that has since been edited to make it more “appropraite” (their spelling, not mine), I’ve realized that I tend to post creative works without sourcing them. While it isn’t putting erotic fanfics on blast on a teen/tween website with no graphic content warnings, I do post gifs without sourcing them.
Going forward, I plan to source my gif usage as best I can. Generally I just do a Google search and use the one that best fits the heat of the moment. However, people work hard on their gifs, and I take absolutely zero credit for the gifs I use. If I could make gifs as beautiful as the ones I use, you bet your bottom dollar I’d be using my own.
So. Just a general shout-out that none of the gifs/memes used are mine, and I’ll do my best (fo srs) going forward to post credit when I can find the original source.
Because I love gif-makers. But damn is it hard to find their sources. I looked so hard to find this one. If anyone has any tips to help better source images, let me know! I want to give credit!
(*) blatantly homophobic fanfic bashing article will be a separate blog post rant, I promise
I loved this book. Loved it. The only thing that stopped me from giving it a full 5 stars was that I found it to be a little slow in the build-up… Sort of the… mid-beginning to middle half of the book seemed to drag on a little. However, all that aside, I simply adored this book. I loved all the characters, even the less personable ones. Everyone was unique and on point. This is actually the first Camelot-inspired book that I’ve read, and I think these characterizations will stick with me for all future books. The romances were great, the smut was tasteful and not overbearing, and Guinevere was stunning as the narrative lead.
What I liked most, I think, was that the author didn’t go out of her way to make Arthur a brute. Readers didn’t need to be spoon-fed why our leading lady’s eye might start to wander. Arthur wasn’t portrayed as some jerk, but rather a good leader and a good king, and a husband who could use a little tweaking here and there. Lancelot is also my kind of hero, so I was happy with his personality too.
I can’t gush about this book enough. I was a little unsure, like I said, with the slow-ish beginning, but then all of a sudden I just fell in love. Even the ending worked for me, especially since I knew there was more to the story. Can’t wait to tackle the next two books in the series.
Fun fact: I initially thought this book was YA. … I don’t know WHY or HOW that crossed my mind, but the first smutty scene definitely put it into perspective.
Original Review Date: August 26th, 2014
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Allow me to set the scene. Mom and Pop Meldon are visiting me and the Man for a few days. We had plans to do a movie night—Mad Max—and I was going to make Rainbow Trout and Fries. Our oven is pretty small, and the trays for the fish and homemade fries just barely fit. But I made it happen.
Things were taking a little while to cook. We’d cut the fries too thick. Mom and Pop Meldon were twiddling their thumbs—theoretically, and mostly in my head, because I was anxious about getting the night started—and I kept popping open the oven just a bit to check on the situation. Mom Meldon opted to make some toast in the meantime.
“I think something’s burning,” she said a few minutes later. I’d been in the living room with everyone else and just figured the seasoning I’d used was getting a little crisp.
Nope. JKz. There was an open flame at the bottom of the oven suddenly. As soon as I saw it, panic set in. Pop Meldon jumped up as I kept shouting, “What do I do? What do I do? Do I throw water on it? What do I do? D’you want me to get water?”
The Man stood around mutely, screaming internally.
Him, probably. I was too busy bouncing around with a jug of water and babbling to pay too much attention.
Smoke started billowing. Pop Meldon told us off for leaving our food in the oven and just managed to get it out and into the sink. The flames eventually died out on their own—smothered is the appropriate word, I guess.
Cue the apartment building’s fire alarm. People started evacuating. Smoke trickled into the hallways. Fire department shows up a few minutes later, and I sheepishly explained that our oven had caught fire.
It had been a grease fire. All the built-up crap at the bottom of our oven and the grease splashes on the door and walls caught fire. The Man thinks the oil from our potatoes dripped down and ignited things in the heat of the moment.
Our whole first floor had to be de-smoked. The firefighters were super nice about everything, some even made cute sounds at our animals as we gathered a puffed up cat and bunny into their carriers.
Back to me. Super embarrassed. Flustered. Panicked still, even with the fire out.
Once all was said and done, the main firefighter pulled me aside to get my info, and in the end, all he told me was: “Clean your oven.”
He was very sweet otherwise. Totally understanding as I nodded, mortified, to advice I should have been following already.
Once the smoke was gone and the firefighters left, on to continue the rest of their twenty-four-hour shift until 7 am this morning, I sat down and cried. No one got hurt. All my furbabies were okay. My parents were fine. We were safe. But I still cried, and both the Man and I were pretty shaken up for the rest of the night.
Because that fire could have been avoided.
Because usually when we cook, we throw everything in/on the oven, then sit in the living room nearby and wait for the timer to ding, doing other things in the meantime.
What if that had been what we were doing? We wouldn’t have noticed the fire until it was too late.
Which is terrifying.
So today, Mom and Pop Meldon took us to the hardware store to stock up on some necessary supplies. We’d always thought we were good to go in emergencies with our phones and flashlights and First Aid kit. But no fire extinguisher. No carbon monoxide detectors. So those were our first purchases today.
Since returning home, Mom and Pop Meldon have left, and I’ve been up to my elbows in oven degreaser. And the oven is just… It’s a walking, talking disaster. Don’t believe me?
Exhibit A:
This is legit just the oven. Sure, the picture was taken post-fire, but this is generally just how it looks. This is apathy at its finest.#omnomnom
Now, last night, I couldn’t fall asleep. I was so angry with myself, mostly because I should have known what to do.
When I worked at a movie theater, I was listed as a “cast trainer”, and knew the fire evacuation protocol backward and forward. I’d watched that terrible 90s video about fire safety so many times I could mouth the dialogue along while new employees watched on in horror. I know you never put water on a grease fire (grease and water don’t blend, so the fire gets on top of the water and spreads more).
All these things I was aware of.
But when an actual fire was flickering in my oven, I did none of those things except panic.
So, after some frantic reading last night, here’s what I can now add to my list of what to do when a grease fire breaks out in the kitchen.
Stay calm. Seriously. I know that’s super difficult, but if you’re prepared, you’ll be calmer.
If the grease fire is in a pan you’re cooking with:
Smother it with any of the following:
Baking Soda or Salt
Another pan
A wet/damp cloth
Once flames are out, air out your living space, turn on fans, and probably toss the pan
If the grease fire is in the oven:
Smother it by:
Leaving the door closed and letting it burn out
Block any burners (if your stove is electric) so that more oxygen isn’t getting at the flame
Baking Soda and Salt (if small enough and you can reach it without burning yourself)
Once I’m done degreasing the absolute shit out of my oven, I plan to write the above instructions on a sheet of paper and tape it to the cabinets above the stove. Then, if it happens again, all I need to do is look up, then BAM, there’s something to tell my panicked brain what to do.
Also the fire extinguisher, now a permanent resident of the kitchen.
Some preventative measures I now know include:
Cleaning your oven regularly
This will involve oven degreaser for heavy-duty cleans. Make sure you wear gloves AND a face mask when you work with these kinds of chemicals. It burns your skin and makes you cough a lot.
Have a fire extinguisher purchased BEFORE an accident happens
Make sure your extinguisher is geared toward “liquid” fires—these are ideal for grease fires
Incidentally, just buy one that is rated ABC, which covers ALL kinds of fires (trash/wood/paper, liquid, and electrical)
Now, as a renter, I think I have the same sentiment as many: if it’s not mine, I don’t really give a flying fuck about it. The oven was dirty when I moved in, so as a bitter renter, I left it and planned to just make it dirtier before I left.
NO.
NO.
Because then I had a grease fire.
I know it’s a huge pain to clean up after someone else’s mess when you’re a renter, but just do it. For your safety and the safety of those living with you. One of my biggest fears with having pets in an apartment is that one day there’s a fire when we’re not home, and the whole building is up in flames while they’re trapped inside. I think that’s a pretty common fear. Well, that night, that could have happened had things been different, and I might have had to just leave them behind if things were bad enough.
And that terrifies me.
And it should terrify you. Everyone always thinks something like this won’t happen to them, but then it does, and honestly, you’re fucked if you don’t prepare just a little bit.
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Liz Meldon - Romance Author 