Song reviews are something I’ve been waffling about on for a few months now. I want to do them because songs give me a lot of random epiphanies and even more frequently, funny moments. I chose this first one out of hilarity factor.
Go ahead and listen to this song; I love it, despite my usual disdain for female singers. At first, this song started playing on Radio Station #3, that’s preset number 3 in my car, i.e. one of 3 stations I flip through when the others are playing something I don’t like.
Anyway, this song is a pretty deep discussion on God’s Will and how we know it’s best even when our situation feels pretty awful. I think that’s why it’s such a powerful song; it’s so easy to relate to.
As for the hilarity: the chorus goes something like this.
“Thy will be done. Thy will be done. Thy will be done.” Pretty simple right? Well, of course it is. For the first several times I heard this song, I swore the artist was singing, “I will be dead, I will be dead.” I thought: that’s a really dumb song. Oh yea, everything sucks and the world’s going crazy but who cares, I’ll be dead? Then, finally, the real lyrics hit me. Like face smash hit me. OOHHH, that’s what she’s saying. So, I’m in the backseat of the car, hubby and mom in the front seat. I go, “I know she’s saying ‘Thy will be done,’ but I keep hearing ‘I will be dead.’ That’s real inspirational.” Cue peanut gallery laughter from the front seat.
Well, now I know all the lyrics and actually like the song now that I know what it’s saying but every time my husband hears the song he sings along, “I will be dead, I will be dead!”
It’s been awhile since I’ve posted any new writings. Mostly because it’s the time of year when I barely have time to shower let alone write and post. But also because I’m still trying to determine how to word what I want to say.
Well, last month the hubby and I took a brief vacation from the world of St. Louis (it was perfect timing, I slipped out of MO the day before the big debate) and went home for awhile. It had been 3 years since I’d been home (to northern NYS).
We rented a car, drove all around the state visiting friends and family. We dropped in on a few of our old haunts including our home church and the college we graduated from. It was really great to get to see a lot of people. But it was also kind of disturbing.
After all, here I am 3 years since my last visit and it feels like I’ve been gone a lifetime. I can navigate the roads with my eyes closed. I know how to get to the Walmart; I remember the best place to buy a Michigan. But it doesn’t feel like home anymore. It feels like I’m visiting some nostalgic land of foggy dreams. Like I had forgotten my hometown actually existed. It doesn’t make sense because St. Louis doesn’t feel like my permanent home either. It’s just the place where I live, the place I lay my head at night.
Maybe it’s just a part of growing up. Maybe it’s my writer-ly imagination messing with my head. Anybody else ever ran into this kind of thing?
*Sigh* I picked this author up on the recommendation of some readers and writers I trust. And, of course, I agree with a lot of the good things I’ve heard them say.
Which is why this book is kind of hard for me to review. I really loved the writing; the main character had good voice and I was easily drawn in by the story.
Unfortunately for me, some of the content was vulgar. I mean, most of us know what goes on between inmates in prisons. However, I read to escape the real world a bit and am not at all interested in reading about some of the gross stuff. Another example, one of the murders in this novel includes forcing one victim’s severed body part down another victim’s throat. Ick.
I’m also a little torn about the main character. He’s interesting to read because he’s so much different than the standard mc in a lot of thrillers. But I also felt like some of his behaviors were reflective of emotional immaturity that isn’t resolved in this novel (perhaps later in the series). Overall, I’m not really sure how I felt about this book. I like the writing; I can easily tell this author is good. But some of the content is just not my cup of tea.
Great. The phone buzzed obnoxiously as she stepped out of the tub.
“Yeah?” she shouted over the sound of water spiraling down the drain.
“I’m outside; you coming or what?” Her boyfriend’s tin-can voice asked.
Patience, geez. “Almost. Just getting out of the bath.”
“Well, hurry up! We’re gonna be late,” he huffed.
Bet he’s bouncing his knee and drumming his fingers. “I gotta dry off first; give me ten minutes.”
“Just throw on some jeans and a tee and get out here,” he argued.
We won’t be late anyway. “It’s easier to get jeans on a dead body than wet legs,” she spouted.
“How would you know?” He laughed.
You’ll see. “I interned at a mortuary one summer.”
It’s a great day when I get to watch Graceful at work. The cowlick in his hair gets tossed around by the salty breeze. The sun glints across the words printed on the broad back of his wetsuit.
World Surf League.
The best triple whammy is headed our way.
I know if I can just grab onto the back of Graceful’s board, he can teach me to be like him.
I let out a groaning “Whoops!” as I pry shards of Graceful out of my teeth.
Today’s post is short story I wrote for another flash fiction contest (http://jetreidliterary.blogspot.com/2016/07/the-alot-of-books-writing-contest.html). It wound up significantly less than 100 words, but I got a mention for “great start for a novel.” I hadn’t thought of it that way. Honestly, I’m a little afraid if I was to try to write in that genre, my villains would be a bit one-dimensional (evil for the sake of evil).
Enough lolly-gagging; here’s the story:
Some people say that I’m obsessed. I prefer the word focused. Or fixated. Do it 100 times, then 100 more.
I flash a devilish grin as I kick off my slippers. A girly, ribboned pair that I special order in bulk. Sometimes pink; sometimes purple. But basically the same pair.
So far, none of the crime scene techs has noticed.
Let me first of all say, this is not in my usual genre range. I like YA novels; I like dystopian fiction. But the whole girly, pageant-like vibe is not something I’m interested in. It took a lot of arm yanking and three recommendations from people I trust before I even started watching Once Upon a Time. Because as my mom now says, “Let’s watch the fairy princess show!”
But for some reason, the cover caught my eye when I was walking through a bookstore. I’ll admit, I set it back down. I thought it looked interesting but was worried the author wouldn’t deliver. After all, I had never heard of her; honestly, that says much less about her than it does about me. Anyway, I told myself I’d look it up later to make sure it was clean (minimal swearing/sexual content etc). I forgot. Only when I was stalking a blog and found a raving review did I remember that I had thought it might be a good book.
Bought it the next time I was in the bookstore. Got razed by both husband and mother…”I can read a girly book if I want to! And besides, I bought this one too.” *points to a somewhat boyish spy thriller akin to Tom Clancy*
Well, I read it and loved it. While there was some minor sexual references, the book was mostly clean and the story was engaging. This tomboy is going to pick up the rest of the series…