Recently I have been noticing more and more where my inspiration to blog and create more stories come from. Whenever someone asked where my inspiration come from, I usually say books are my main source. Never have I said Instagram. But it is, Instagram.

Instagram and I however do have a love hate relationship. It is not always so great for my anxiety to be on my favorite and aesthetically pleasing app all the time. It is a place to go for inspiration through the amazing people also sharing their lives online, but also is a place that I easily find myself comparing myself to others, which is the opposite of being inspired. It is a creativity downer.

Still, inspiration comes in so many forms and one must take muse wherever it shows itself whether it be on Instagram or in real life. Here are a few of my recent inspirations on Instagram from bloggers, book lovers, fashion gurus, to a writer who wants to live an authentic and beautiful life.


Grace has been on my radar as inspiration from the first time I discovered her blog, Almost Amazing Grace. A drama and creative writing graduate, Grace is now an aspiring author, unstoppable blogger, obsessive reader, unlikely survivor.

On her blog she talks about the ups and downs of life, great books, theater, as well as body love and sex. She is apart of the #ITalkSex movement with Scarlet Ladies and recently shaved her head for The Brain Tumor Charity.

On Instagram you can find photos of Grace from her latest photo-shoots, coffee shop visits. and smiling selfies showing off her amazing ink I admire on the daily.

Not only an inspiration to me as a writer, Grace is an inspiration as a beautiful and open human being.


Cassie is currently pursuing a masters while reading and reviewing for the Raleigh Review.

Besides have a gorgeous Instagram feed, Cassie is an all around beautiful person as she begins to share her life in all aspects in comparison to previous Instagram accounts known for #bookstagram. Her captions are mindful and calming to read, and she is always up to chat making her someone I felt completely welcomed by when I first got involved with the book and Instagram community to the best of my ability.

Cassie also writes gorgeous and thought provoking letters you can read and sign up for here.


Starling is a more recent follow on Instagram. Her vintage style and vibrancy in life drew me in and makes her one of my recent Insta loves.

Starling lives in Brooklyn and is a coordinator at Man Repeller headquarters and previously read for the Paris Review. If such greatness in the literary industry was not enough, Starling and her sister also started their own traveling vintage shop this past summer, Stillwater Vintage.

Honestly, Starling lives the life I hope I can live one day as a writer and living as myself, eclectic and all.


Grace Smith is currently a student and book blogger at Words Like Silver.

Her Instagram is a great view into her life and packed reading schedule I only wish I could keep up with. With bright colors and low hues, Grace has a gentle and calming feed that includes past and upcoming reads, her own hand lettering, and plenty of friends and coffee which fills the average college student's life.


Megs from Wonderful You is also a more recent follow with great style and honest talks within her captions. Her motto appears in her bio and on her website as, "A Life & Style That Doesn't Follow The Rules."

On her blog she write about personal style, a little bit of beauty, travel, and matters of the heart. Her Instagram holds the same personality and makes me want to add a few more pictures of myself to my own feed of books and coffee.

Whenever I rave about romance novels, one of my guy friends always seems to have to ask, "Is it like those books with the cow boys on them or something?"

For the longest time I have gotten to say, nope! I then also tell him to broaden his romance novel mind a little. This time around though...there is a cowboy. And the story is picture perfect.

Jason "Still" Waters' life looks perfect from the outside—money, fame, and the words "World Champion Bull-Rider" after his name. But Jason has a secret, one he never planned on telling anybody...until he meets Simone. She's the kinky girl of his dreams...and his conservative family's worst nightmare.

Now I should start by telling you that I pretty much will love anything that Tiffany Reisz produces in book form. Or at least, that is what it seems like as of now. If it changes, well, it will be as big of a surprise as if Tiffany actually takes up my challenge I gave her on Instagram of trying to out weird herself. A win for both of us if she does. Picture Perfect Cowboy, though not on the weird scale of my reading, it was certainly on the fantastic level that would make me give this enjoyable fun story back with the original sinners gang a five out of five stars.

Picking up with our famous side character, Simone, one of the pro for the eighth circle and Soren's submissive (which makes her a super sub), we travel back down to Kentucky where Tiffany creates all our favorite lovable men. This includes our picture perfect cowboy, Jason "still" Waters who very well may be a bit more curious than your average retired bull rider when Simone tells him what she does for a living other than taking photos for a nude charity calendar.

"I’m not going to get involved with a guy who treats women like they’ll break if you so much as breathe on them. If you want to respect women, respect the real woman in front of you, not some fake fantasy idea of what women are supposed to be like."

Full of humor, wit, emotion that never stops until you hit the last page. The characters made me never want to stop reading, savoring and devouring each moment as Jason and Simone are tangled in the sheets and also in a new sort of world filled with BDSM and love they are beginning to form together. Even if bubbly Simone isn't quite what the conservative western family values truly desired for their son who was raised to never dare even raise his voice to a woman let alone beat and punish a woman. Let alone like it.

“I need to believe I’m a good man,” he said. “I don’t know if I can be that or do that and also be a good man.”

Throughout the original sinners series, I don't think I have seen enough of Simone. She was always there in the background as a good friend and a side sub for Soren, but man am I happy to have read her. She is fun, joyfully uninhibited in what she says, and someone I could fully connect to in this world Tiffany created where everyone is a bit of a freak, but ultimately perfectly happy about it unless they are in the lab of their former dom crying about being a possibly horrible slave which made me want to laugh and cry with her.

This novel however from past characters in this S&M world challenged the idea that to be a perfect dominant as Simone views Soren in many ways, one didn't have to be super intense. Jason is hers both in her heart and in the bedroom (and anywhere else) with a playful and downright sexy humbleness that makes them perfect to bring out the best in one another's most private dreams.

“Maybe, if I have your permission, Master Jason,” she said, “maybe it would be okay if I fell in love with you?” 

Though this book is a standalone and can be read as a stand alone, if you like erotica or some steamy romance I suggest to finally jump on the Tiffany Reisz Original Sinners train. Seriously, this is technically book 10, and it wants each reader to enjoy the ride of Jason Waters.

I had read Karley Sciortino's blog for some time before I realized that she was publishing a book that closely correlated with the release of her Vice show, Slutever. The moment however that the book came across my radar via her fabulous Instagram, it was on my list for my most excited for books of the year as you may have seen here.


"Slut" is a great word. It just sounds perfect-so sharp and clear and beautiful. It's one of those satisfying four letter words, like cunt and fuck. Slut also happens to be an anagram for lust, which is one of those divine coincidences that makes you wonder if God actually exists.

We're lucky that slut is such a great word, because it's safe to say that almost every woman will be called a slut at least once in her lifetime. Despite a slowly shifting sexual double standard, it's still taboo to be a woman who's openly sexual-let alone one who sleeps around. Now Vogue columnist Karley Sciortino is on a mission to reclaim the word "slut" to represent a person who seeks out visceral experiences through sex, and who isn't ashamed about it. Sluts are special. Sluts are radical. And sluts are skilled at time management, because they can handle multiple partners on rotation, plus their jobs and their blogs and their beauty routines. Not everyone is qualified for this coveted position.

SLUTEVER is a call-to-arms, a confessional memoir, a slut manifesto, as told by a sex-radical hedonist in a pink PVC mini dress. It's a thoughtful, first-person account of a modern woman, navigating sex, love, casual hookups, open relationships, bisexuality, BDSM, breakups, sex work, sex parties, and the power of sexual agency, as told from the front lines. 

It took me quite a time however, to finally chat about the book on the blog. I would like to say it is because I had too much to say to sit down and actually write this post, and to be honest, that actually is part of the reason why. It is also because I think I have a slight Carrie Bradshaw complex. This pretty much means that writing about how open and great Karley is, only makes me wish I was the sex writer in this story. That way, I could also put in cool, yet most likely embarrassing stories, about the crazy life I can only at this point in my life imagine.

Let me tell you however, Karley is no Carrie Bradshaw-- even if she does also write for Vogue for her column, Breathless. For one reason, Karley is a lot more kinker and does a lot less pining over one Mr. Big. She brings for the fun and the educational when it comes to all things sex, possible love, and becoming the slut of your dreams.

A word that, take it from Karley, gets a whole lot more slack than it should in this modern day and age where woman are able to take their own sexual beings into their own hands.


Karley seems to have converted even me on the word after reading this book and browsing the Vice series to use the world slut more in a non-horrible way while also pushing this book or information into the rest of my friends or random acquaintances hands who need to know about the big wide world of sexuality many are still sorely lacking in starting to understand.

Through her memoir I laughed at all the hilarious stories she has managed to accumulate in her life from the people she meets with the awkward situations her journey into slut empowerment, including leaving college in London to become a squatter with a tree and hopeful hooker, to seeing what sadomasochist in training had to offer once she made it to NYC.

“My greatest fear in life is being basic. (Or, perhaps more accurately, regressing back into basicness.) I have a literal recurring nightmare where I wake up one day with a husband, two kids, and a house in the suburbs and can't remember how I got there, as if it's my desitny. To avoid this becoming a reality, my strategy thus far has been to continually destroy my relationships at the first sign they're headed in that direction. So far, I have a 100 percent success rate with romantic sabotage.” 

Each chapter or section of the book felt stronger than the last making this very informative and fun book a breeze (as well as super fun to carry around from class to class with such a beautiful pinup-esque cover).

This is a book for all those who have interest in sex, kink, living life by the seat of your pants, and so much more. This book, in case you couldn't tell by now, is not for those of the faint of heart of the people who cringe at the mention of a threesome. If you do and pick up this book, prepare to cringe a lot, or maybe laugh a lot and feel as if your mind is being broadened to the big wide world you may have never known existed out of good erotica novels.

About the Author

Karley Sciortino is a writer, host, and producer, based in New York. She founded this lovely website! She also writes Vogue.com’s sex and relationships column, Breathless. Karley is the author of the upcoming book Slutever: Dispatches from an Autonomous Woman in a Post Shame World (Grand Central Publishing, Feb 2018), and executive producer and host of Slutever, a documentary series on Viceland. She is also a regular contributor to Purple.

When I work out in the gym, I find that you are either in two categories. A weight lifter who never takes their weights off the bar, or a cardio enthusiast who spends hours on the elliptical. I am neither of these two people, or rather, I am a little of both even though I will announce to anyone that I dislike cardio with all my heart when it comes down to the treadmill and lungs.


Luckily, my running after the past semester of on and off gym attendance has gotten better, but though as I said, I am mix of both types of gym people, when I go to the gym and don't just tell myself that I will do yoga in my room and then don't, I set my stuff into a cubby and I walk into the weight lifting area.

Usually I walk into the weight lifting area as the only woman among a dozen guys.

There is nothing wrong with this. To be honest though, I find myself proud when I am the only lady in the room lifting weights and attempting to do pull ups. Maybe this is because I know that I would never actually have gotten the confidence to lift weights at all if it wasn't for my ex pushing me out of bed at 5:30 in the morning to workout when I couldn't convince him to sleep just for a few more hours.

Back then, I had to ask him for help for everything, including lifting a single bar for fear of making a fool out of myself in front of the other three people who would dare to get up that early. I had no idea what I was doing, let alone if I was squatting correctly since apparently there is a difference between yoga squatting and holding weight on your back and squatting so you don't fall over. Who knew?

In the past the only people I had seen weight lift was scary looking body builders, and my dad in the basement when he and my mom were on another health kick. Not only must I saw was I perpetually worried about looking like that girl who had not a clue what she was doing, but I also am not going to lie, I was also afraid of turning into a veined body builder when I always lusted after ballerinas or those girls in action movies who looked like they could take down a man in two seconds flat.

Yet still, my gym clothes being thrown at me every other day, I literally rolled out of bed and onto the cold tile floor, and went to the gym.


I definitely wasn't confident at all still. But then, after about a month, I began to see a difference. Not only was this difference in my perpetually skinny fat body that I had come to think as cute and petite after losing all the muscle I had previously gained in my gymnastics years. But I also saw a difference in how I carried myself each morning when we arrived. How I carried myself for the rest of the day.

I won't tell you that I love to work out. I don't. I love the feeling after I workout most of the time, but before it takes a few motivating pep-talks from myself to make a plan to go. I tell myself the terrible things like, "you want to look good, don't you?" But I also tell myself other things such as, "pretend that you are preparing for the hunger games or something and feel badass," or "you never know when there may be a zombie apocalypse that you probably won't survive!"

Only sometimes do those three things work. But when they do and I strip myself of my cute clothes I wore all day to class and change into my terrible not matching gym clothes that make me look like the bum of the gym some days, I go.

And sometimes when I lift alone or with a bunch of guys finishing up their off season sports workout, I do feel badass. And always, when I am jamming out to Spotify, if I catch the gaze of another girl I have never seen before in the mirror by the dumbbells, I smile just a little as if to say, "Hell yeah, we got this."

We are strong ladies willing to break the cardio mold...even if tomorrow I won't be able to move my legs.

Half the time in winter when it is snowing out or raining, or doing a marvelous combination of the three, I feel ridiculous. Now, the weather shouldn't make me feel this way, and to be honest, it doesn't. What makes me feel like I might as well be walking around in the same puffy red bodysuit that Randy in A Christmas Story, is the necessity of winter wardrobe.


In Pennsylvania, the winters are strange. The winters usually arrive right after summer spare for the week and a half of what I would love to be my favorite season, fall, due to monsoon season where we make the next flooding hurricane as much of a family name as the dog. Irene, Agnes, Eloise, Fran-- we have a good little family of women from the 60s.

What is hard to have in such a season of unrest where we currently are around November, is a good, fashionable, everyday wardrobe. Especially with the knowledge that blizzard season is set to arrive in all due time now that the first snowstorm has already struck.

It is a waiting game that my closet does not have the space to have.

Neither does my peace of mind now that I have brought back out the looming puffy white coat that makes me look like a marshmallow than ready to hit the slopes.

I can already see my thick plaid pea coat needing to take a turn to it. Plastic snap buttons replacing a trench belt. Bulky kickoff duck boots I bought once when they were on sale make me feel like I am carrying weights on each foot as I make my way up to the third floor of my public relations class. Yet it is time.



The winter wardrobe is here and most likely here to stay until April, and I am not so sure that I can embrace it as much as I was hoping to during the two weeks of fall I missed, afraid my weather app was kidding with me.

Because if I do want to be anything when I walk outside through two feet of snow, it is warm. A style killer? Apparently.

This is supposed to be the season of layers and quirky vintage pins my old roommate gifted to me to make any look uniquely me own when not worrying about the oppressive heatwave that could strike any moment come June. And yet, here I am trying to plan some final fall going into winter outfits to the best of my ability just in case I don't get a normal day like this again where nothing is going on, but it is going to be 47 degrees instead of 41.

If you do not think that is a stark difference you are wrong. Windchill can make any 40 degree day feel like you have exited eastern Pennsylvania and walked straight into the tundra.


Maybe this is my chance though. Laying and pins and scarves...who said the maximulist look was out when you may walk into class from snow and start sweating? Style is supposed to be good in any weather, and why should I drop down to the same outfit uniform everywhere. So what if I look like a marshmallow with big feet when the snowstorm hits?

It will certainly be an outfit to remember at the very least, and one able to spontaneously drop into the snow for a snowball fight or lopsided snow angel in.

Bring on the blanket scarves! The homemade mittens! The cozy hats that make your hair stick up the moment you take them off!

Let's rock winter style this year. Even if it isn't hottest of couture.

photo via Netflix

Theodora 'Theo' Crain is one of the five children that grew up in Hill House, the home which has recently taken the paranormal horror world by storm, as well as Netflix. Based on the Shirley Jackson's classic novel, this updated version came out in a ten episode show was released right before Halloween on October 12, 2018. The perfect show for anyone who has had a fascination with the haunted house trope and doesn't mind a little scare, The Haunting of Hill House has been a hit, creating tension with family drama. The show has been on the top of everyone's to-watch list, but one thing that I can't stop talking about is Theo's gorgeous assortment of seemingly vintage inspired gloves that graced my laptop screen while binge-watching in a matter or three days.

And as someone with perpetually cold hands, I am thrilled by this new style possibility.

Theo's character within the show is played by Kate Siegel and Mckenna Grace, both who manage to rock the glove look from classic over the elbow black look to the very first pair of what I imaged to be 1920s to 1940s vintage that hung over the wrists of Mckenna Grace (also known for her roles in Gifted and I,Tonya) after being given them to ward of Theo's "sensitive" tendencies. They do to add a little something extra to her single horrified scream within Hill House, as well as tie together the past and present looks that takes place within the house.

via Netflix

via Netflix/Tumblr

From my first look at the show, right away we see the equestrian style leather that covers Kate Siegal's hands, and I knew that I would be in love with the classic Burberry meets Victorian wannabee vibe the entire show evokes even if my own closet is not quite there yet.

However, according to Syfy writer, Emma Fraser in interview with Hill House costume designer, Lynn Falconer, the gloves were not the major concern when dressing Theo's character to make the most impact. "This isn’t a style statement — even though she looks cool af on a night out in long gloves paired with a bralette, jeans and dangling suspenders. 'Her whole body is sensitive, but she is also looking for a connection,' noted Falconer about the clubbing ensemble we initially see this character in. The outfit came first, followed by the specific gloves to work with the sleeve length as longer gloves will cause hem issues with a long sleeve turtleneck."

via Netflix

The costumes have also been known throughout the show to create an element of foreshadowing among the characters from the robes to the everyday incorporation of the color red.

While I debate a re-watch to see all the mystery filled outfits I missed while waiting for the next scare to happen, I will also just be over here on Etsy trying to determine how to measure my hands for the next great pair of gloves to take me through the winter season and beyond, even if Theo wore them for more supernatural reasons.

If you are with me in bringing back the classy glove look, or just have a slight obsession with all things related to Hill House which keeps you up late at night watching conspiracy theories on YouTube, be sure to also check out the brands like Portolano or Shaneen Huxam which were used by Falconer in the show.

In the glittering hotbed of turn-of-the-twentieth-century Vienna, one woman’s life would define and defy an era 

Gustav Klimt gave Alma her first kiss. Gustav Mahler fell in love with her at first sight and proposed only a few weeks later. Bauhaus founder Walter Gropius abandoned all reason to pursue her. Poet and novelist Franz Werfel described her as “one of the very few magical women that exist.” But who was this woman who brought these most eminent of men to their knees? In Ecstasy, Mary Sharratt finally gives one of the most controversial and complex women of her time the center stage. 

Coming of age in the midst of a creative and cultural whirlwind, young, beautiful Alma Schindler yearns to make her mark as a composer. A brand-new era of possibility for women is dawning and she is determined to make the most of it. But Alma loses her heart to the great composer Gustav Mahler, nearly twenty years her senior. He demands that she give up her music as a condition for their marriage. Torn by her love and in awe of his genius, how will she remain true to herself and her artistic passion?

Part cautionary tale, part triumph of the feminist spirit, Ecstasy reveals the true Alma Mahler: composer, author, daughter, sister, mother, wife, lover, and muse.

Out of the two new books I purchased, Ecstasy was the first I picked up to read in my final week before Thanksgiving break. I started and easily fell into the classic feel of the early 1900s where Alma Schindler Mahler, a real famous composer, takes on a fictionalized life of her own with plenty of love and frustration as she comes to terms with who she and her dreams must be in the eyes of others in her life.

It was heartbreaking to a fellow artist I think more than anything. To live a good life, Alma fought with whether she should or shouldn't be the person to give up her dream of music to support her husbands.

"What if there are no good women or bad women? she asked herself. What if pure and impure, faithful and loose, madonna and whore were simply poisons used to reduce a healthy woman to a gibbering, nerve-sick wreck? Men make the rules and we break them so we don't go mad."

Of course, when someone gives up their dreams, there comes conflict and more than anything for Alma as she comes of age and into life which is told in a beautiful flurry of narrative events filled with art and music. It all makes me wonder how I have never heard of Sharratt's writing before. The compelling nature each page kept me going whole-heartedly through the hardship and struggle that I could oddly relate with in the sense of ear of making something worth while in life at another expense.

And though beautiful inside and out, I will not lie to you about everything in this novel. At times I couldn't help myself but want to scream at Alma though I knew it was a different time. She went into a terrible relationship getting the raw end of the deal. This issue I had almost overtook me at times, wondering what Alma was thinking and if it would ever get better as I read on, taking breaks when I needed to let irritation also have a break.

“Let’s raise our glasses to Alma Maria Schindler, Fran Zuckerandl said, who has turned the rest of us poor women emerald with envy. Not only is she the most beautiful girl in Vienna, and that’s quite bad enough, she’s also a brilliant pianist. That’s infuriating. But on top of it all, she composes!”

Overall, I felt like reading Ecstasy was the most well versed biography I have ever opened and quickly finished.

The historical detail is luxurious and transported be throughout into the world of places like Vienna and New York. Both of which I now have an extreme need to visit again or for the first time. Alma's romance and awakening into the world of artists of any form is definitely a story that more need to know when told in Sharrat's mind. Who would have thought I never knew who this passionate Alma was before coming across a version of her story on a modern day bookshelf?

Mary Sharratt is truly making her goal of writing women back into history worth while in this bittersweet novel of Ecstasy.




Mary Sharratt is an American writer who lives with her Belgian husband in the Pendle region of Lancashire, England, the setting for her acclaimed 2010 novel, DAUGHTERS OF THE WITCHING HILL, which recasts the Pendle Witches of 1612 in their historical context as cunning folk and healers.

Mary writes regular articles for Historical Novels Review and Solander on the theme of writing women back into history. When she isn't writing, she's usually riding her spirited Welsh mare through the Lancashire countryside.

It has been about a year since I began my one and only serious relationship. Around this time, I have also began to find myself in my head late alone at night reminiscing. Or worse, I find myself reminiscing with someone while they internally roll their eyes at my lack of faith that anyone will every even like me again for more than my vagina (which is a much easier task to manage). The same friend who rolls her eyes with me now, it is good to know, has also been through most of the ex-relationship as a whole. So, it was easy for her to remind me that he was sort of an asshole. “Yes,” I completely agree with her. But, does that make it wrong to miss him?

Like most things that come to an end in life, I am pretty sure that there is a grace period after where you are aloud to reminisce, increasing by the time and relative emotional gravity whatever event took place.I still like to reminisce about pizza when I was about four and the silence seemed as big as my face. I still tell stories of my eight year exploration into gymnastics before someone finally told me that I was too much of a wuss to actually make anything of it.

Maybe though, this is sort of the same situation as I lie in bed and think about all the nights where I braved the half mile walk to his place to watch a strange assortment Netflix before falling asleep against his surprisingly warm chest instead of reaching towards an empty space that made me think something no college living student should ever think, maybe my twin xl mattress is too big for one person. Or at least a person who doesn’t have a full heart back yet. Maybe someone needs to stand up and tell me to stop being a wuss and finally get over my ex since I am making a bad case for women not being able to get over the guys they’ve slept with. He ain't coming back even if he still texts you dog gifs throughout the week, which is both nice and also worrying. Yet, then again, what is the harm in remembering? And...slightly wishing to return back to those moments if only for a second.

You know, until the possibility of love is back in the air and I even know it is better to lock up the ex for good.

The main worry I am sure about this is the fear of not being able to fully move on. The question that, if I am constantly reminiscing, am I living still in the past, wondering if I will ever find another average slice of pizza to be as big as my face again? But here comes the charity. It was supposed to happen. An ex at some point or another is supposed to be an ex. Eventually, I got big enough that I could get two slices with extra cheese. We can’t go back and expect that all the reminiscing about the good stuff doesn’t also come with all the messy not so good bits that make me think of him and agree with my friend without a doubt. “Asshole.”

But mine, if only for a time.

So what does everyone else think? Is it bad to reminisce about your ex? Yourself with your ex? Exs?

I needed a YA novel in my life and I picked up this one. Or rather I was given this one late one night while at a birthday party. When it was nearly time to go home, my friend shoved it into my arms along with book of short stories. If there is any way to be very tired and slightly inebriated, it is to be so around book loving friends.

So here we are. Here I am after I read Scythe. The first in a duology I believe by Neal Shusterman who also wrote the well known YA series Unwind.


Thou shalt kill.

A world with no hunger, no disease, no war, no misery. Humanity has conquered all those things, and has even conquered death. Now scythes are the only ones who can end life—and they are commanded to do so, in order to keep the size of the population under control.

Citra and Rowan are chosen to apprentice to a scythe—a role that neither wants. These teens must master the “art” of taking life, knowing that the consequence of failure could mean losing their own.

I expected a lot from this book. In the past year I feel like I have seen it everywhere. To me this had to be the next sort of big thing in the realm of dystopian YA novels. I was pumped going into the story and the entire concept the story held of people being chosen as death to a world where humans can never really die.

I expected badass characters and action plot lines that would make me want to read and read and read until I hit the last page. Unfortunately though, my expectations might have been a bit too high as they were not met.

Though the badassery was there in moments of when we were trying to pick a villain within the book, they didn't feel quite grounded for me to even care about the outcome. I was more trying to make sure I finished the book and see what happened rather than enjoy it even though I am usually a sucker for books where the protagonists are randomly taken from their normal lives to "save the world" or at least something to that effect.

“Hope in the shadow of fear is the world's most powerful motivator.”

And when that didn't happen, I was at least hoping for some fantastic characters that I could find myself really getting into and going on this slightly played out adventure with. But alas, instead of strong companionship between the characters that in the first pages seemed to have so much in common with each other, a romance was attempted even though the two characters did not even talk to one another to an extend throughout the entire novel which spanned months.

I love romance in all books, and if it was played out right, I have a feeling I would have really loved it in this one two. Instead all I felt was confusion and myself rooting less and less for these characters to even see each other again, let alone get together and live happily ever after under the immortal earth's sky.

I have a lot to say I feel negatively about Scythe, but I will not say that I didn't like it. Though the story did not immerse me and make me happy to be reading it, it was an overall ok and pleasant read that didn't frustrate me to the point of no end. I think the problem was that the tone of this book lost its mark without the necessary tension, and the pace felt very slow with not much happening that wasn't already outside of our main character's hands.

I am a character driven girl, and sadly these characters of Cita and Rowan all in all did not make me want to keep reading on to the second book, Thunderhead.

I forget who read these books first. Me, or the girl who sat nearby in my geometry class freshman year of high school. Sadie was a senior, and both of us sucked at math, but none of that matter as we both raved about this new fantastic book, Throne of Glass. We talked about how badass our favorite new YA heroine, Celena Sardothian was. We gave recommendations and set up goodreads accounts so that we could continue to give recommendations to one another long after she graduated. Everyday though one thing we always managed to sneak into conversation? We couldn't wait for the next book to come out.

Aelin has risked everything to save her people―but at a tremendous cost. Locked within an iron coffin by the Queen of the Fae, Aelin must draw upon her fiery will as she endures months of torture. Aware that yielding to Maeve will doom those she loves keeps her from breaking, though her resolve begins to unravel with each passing day…
With Aelin captured, Aedion and Lysandra remain the last line of defense to protect Terrasen from utter destruction. Yet they soon realize that the many allies they’ve gathered to battle Erawan’s hordes might not be enough to save them. Scattered across the continent and racing against time, Chaol, Manon, and Dorian are forced to forge their own paths to meet their fates. Hanging in the balance is any hope of salvation―and a better world.
And across the sea, his companions unwavering beside him, Rowan hunts to find his captured wife and queen―before she is lost to him forever.
As the threads of fate weave together at last, all must fight, if they are to have a chance at a future. Some bonds will grow even deeper, while others will be severed forever in the explosive final chapter of the Throne of Glass series. 

I read and reread and each time after I got over the perpetual fear that I would never write a book of my own as grand, SJ Maas, little did she know, through the years of her Live Journal blog (that has since been edited to only show blogposts since 2012-ish) encouraged me forward into my writing. Encouraged me to write a world I could escape into much as she did when she first started writing herself. It is amazing what a single book can do, and Crown of Midnight was the first book I ever pre-ordered.

Now it has been about seven or so years and in my hands I now hold the final book in the Throne of Glass series. I have read everything that SJ Maas has written and published, perhaps even loved her other series of A Court of Thorns and Roses just as much as Throne of Glass, if not more. Yet holding Kingdom of Ash feels different. It feel like a grand journey that I started was finally coming to an end. And I was ready when I opened up to the first page.

And I also wasn't.

“Once upon a time, in a land long since burned to ash, there lived a young princess who loved her kingdom …” 

But once I picked up Kingdom of Ash there was no way to stop it or set the book down. Scene by scene with some of my favorite characters I knew so well, I had to know what happened next.

The characters per usual were wonderful. I may even have a new favorite character within these books, Fenrys, which I honestly did not see coming. We all apparently need a good hearted person to stand by us Fenrys I feel like. In the moments of darkness and sorrow, somehow he managed to bring me back to whatever book reality in the same way he connects Aelin to being true to herself in all ways past, present, and hopeful future.



Each character and story line played out toyed with my emotions until my stomach was weighed down by dread, frustration, happiness, sadness, and of course, simple amazement. They are flawed in all the confusing sorts of ways, yet even in the darkest moments that they face in this final book I still found myself rooting for them whether it be in their battles of war, love, or believing in a better world.

A better world which I couldn't help but think by the end we all need a little piece of these days, even if it is only captured between the covers of hardback.

“To whatever end,” he whispered.Silver lined her eyes. “To whatever end.”A reminder—and a vow, more sacred than the wedding oaths they’d sworn on that ship.To walk this path together, back from the darkness of the iron coffin. To face what waited in Terrasen, ancient promises to the gods be damned.”

We see it all in this book and all the questions I may have ever had were finally answered in Kingdom of Ash in a delightfully terrifying and magical way (along with a bit of sass as anyone could imagine would happen with Aelin around).

There simply is so much to say and so much not to say as I take it how far this story has come and how far I have come with them.

Oh, I love these books. My heart aches in a strange way to say the end. These books have been a journey I will not forget and will be sure to reread throughout the rest of my reading years to come to remind me where I have been and what inspired me to keep moving forward.

The Author

“Let’s make this a fight worthy of a song.” 

Man. What a ride. Seriously, this show was probably one of the best binge sessions on Netflix I have had yet. The Haunting of Hill House based on the Shirley Jackson novel from 1959 kept me on the edge of my seat (or bed rather) and held me throughout while this ten episode series took its twists and turns in all the best possible and creepy ways that may make this is the best October hauntingly Halloween show to watch. Ever.



Flashing between the past and present, we first see the family of seven living in the large mansion of Hill House in attempt to flip the home over the summer and eventually finds themselves in a house that is not just a spill of nightmares, the show lays a foundation that had me constantly questioning and needing to know what happened in the past even when we flashed forward to present day. In the present, we see the five children grown and effected variously by their time in Hill House. One is a bestselling author of paranormal novels, one is an undertaker, one is an addict, one is a child psychologist, and another from the first episode we have a lot of questions to find out about.

While watching be sure to note that there is no room not to go with the flow. The past and present switch back and forth when you least expect in a never ending consequential timeline. As I watched, it is slowly (so so slowly in the best suspense filled way) revealed what happened in the house on the fatal night of when the kids were rushed with their father away from the home, as well as what is inside the mysterious red room which gave the appropriate amount of The Shining vibes just from saying it aloud.

My heart pounded even more than that silly film in comparison though, because though the children may have gotten older and left the house, some of them still may be carrying the ghosts and memories with them-- both figuratively and literally and both that managed to pull me further in to this scary wonderfully written web, equally.

Images via Netflix

Beware the jump scares that are just the beginning of what sorts of trauma is inflicted upon the characters and viewers like myself. I was forced to watch and watch and watch to find out what happened next while a sense of dread seated itself directly in my stomach. Each twist and turn only caused the dread to get  larger and larger until I thought I could be tricked no more in such a haunted house-- but then was wrong.

I never thought I would ever say I am a fan of horror films or series, but this series. Oh, this series may have converted me. At the very least it set the bar for all horror paranormal shows from now on. The Haunting of Hill House kept me in my seat with the perfect combination of suspense, tension, fear, and a strange camaraderie with the characters themselves in a way that made me feel as if I was walking into each situation right along side them, even if I was screaming for them not to go in there. You know, like a sensible person. From the camera work, to the many actors that worked together to create the past and present in one beautiful work of memory confetti, The Haunting of Hill House is a work to be admired and viewed possibly only in the daylight unless you have a friend watching right along side you.

The many many hours was worth it. The show was completely messed up. I loved it.



Netflix (10 episodes total) released on Fri., Oct. 12.