After careful reflection, I acknowledged I wasn't enjoying my role as a reviewer, and by extension of that, I was potentially doing a disservice to some of the authors and the works I was critiquing since I was not their intended audience. The bottom line is, when you receive ARCs through any sort of book touring site, they're often not titles you would have picked up on your own. And that's pretty vital, that initial spark of reader interest. If it's lacking even before page one, it can make for some long and painful reading. I tried to be fair by only posting reviews I rated three mugs and above, so I hope that tempered my personal preferences and the fact that some of the stories were far removed from what I would have chosen to read during my free time. I am taking away some valuable insight from this experience: As an author I'll continue to offer my own stories as ARCs, but only to those who have expressed an interest. I will, of course, continue to post reviews here on my site. I'm a bibliophile and love to spread the word when I've found a book that's resonated with my heart and touched my soul- but those reviews will be independent and just my personal musings.
Now, on with the show!
To Catch Her Death by Boon Brux was an incredible read, and as I clicked to the last page at two in the morning, it nearly convinced me to stay on as an official reviewer if only to get the opportunity to read more books just like it. But that's the thing, To Catch Her Death truly is one of a kind. Paranormal suspense, drama, comedy, touches of horror, with the potential for the sequel to fall into romance; Ms. Brux's tale fits all of these categories and keeps the reader enthralled from the first sentence to the final, delicious paragraph.
Need a peek? Here you go:
The cold October wind swirled around me and slipped between the collar of my black polar fleece jacket and neck. Shivers rippled along my shoulders. I yanked the zipper up and walked to the front door, tilting my chin toward the sky so I wouldn’t breathe on the collar of my jacket. I hated when my breath flash froze the material to my face. It was like a mini wax job. And considering the lack of attention I’d given my upper lip over the last year, I wasn’t taking any chances.
I pulled open the glass door to the convenience store and held it for a large, bald guy with bad
manners and a worse looking trench coat. He didn't even say thank you—rude bastard. Normally I
would have made some snarky comment, but something about the way he skulked past sent a
serious case of the heebie-jeebies through me. Instead I ignored him and headed for the soda
machine. Something about fountain pop made it better than drinking it out of a plastic bottle. Maybe there was more fizz, less sweetness. Maybe it was the straw. A lot of things taste better with a straw. Mr. No Manners slinked past me and around the back of the store to the refrigerated section. I focused on getting my jumbo beverage, not making eye contact with him.
The crinkle of snack cake wrappers sounded behind me and I glanced over my shoulder. The first
thing I saw was firm, male buns. The man straightened and perused the artificial ingredients on
a package of pastries.
I silently scoffed. From his trim physique and well-rounded tush, it was obvious this guy had never enjoyed the luscious processed goodness of a mass-made pastry. He was too fit—too outdoorsy looking, with his healthy glow and casually tousled brown hair. He definitely gave off an, I hike and compost Alaskan man vibe. People like him rarely bought anything that contained more than three ingredients and those pastries were only eaten by hardcore junk-foodies. I never touched them myself. The texture reminded me of soggy florist foam or
crumbling sheet rock. Not that I’d ever eaten either.
I might have been a grieving widow but I wasn't dead, so I gave Mr. Snack Cake one more
appreciative look before returning my attention to filling the vat of soda.
I’d just snapped on the cup’s plastic lid when a deep voice shouted, “Give me all your cash.” (To Catch Her Death, page 10-11)
Told from first person point of view, readers are introduced to Lisa Carron, widowed a year, mother of two teens, oh yeah, and newly appointed Grim Reaper. Give this one a read folks, it will not disappoint. As soon as Ms. Brux has the sequel available, I'm going to snatch it up. Five mugs!