Friday, May 11, 2018

 

From Meg Little Reilly, comes a stunning thriller that will keep readers up turning pages long into the night, EVERYTHING THAT FOLLOWS! Grab your copy of EVERYTHING THAT FOLLOWS today!

  

CAUGHT IN THE BACKWASH, THEY HAVE LOST CONTROL OF THEIR LIVES…

For fans of Megan Abbott and Chris Bohjalian comes a novel of moral complexity about friends who must choose between self-preservation and doing the right thing in the wake of a fatal boating accident. Set in the moody off-season of Martha’s Vineyard, Everything That Follows is a plunge into the dark waters of secrets and flexible morals. The truth becomes whatever we say it is…

Around midnight, three friends take their partying from bar to boat on a misty fall evening. Just as the weather deteriorates, one of them suddenly and confusingly goes overboard. Is it an accident? The result of an unwanted advance? His body disappears quickly, silently, into the dark water. The circumstances are murky, but what is clear is that the other two need to notify the authorities. Minutes become hours become days as they hesitate, caught up in their guilt and hope that their friend has somehow made it safely to shore. As valuable time passes, they find themselves deep in a moral morass with huge implications as they struggle to move forward and live with their dark secret.

Grab your copy of EVERYTHING THAT FOLLOWS here!

Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Google Play

iBooks | Kobo | IndieBound | Audible



  EXCERPT: It didn’t seem dangerous until the rain started. Not really. Until then, the evening still felt largely unwritten and within their control. But as the fog changed to mist and then to hard wet rain that soaked their boozy skin, the night started to get away from them. Doors were closing, options vanishing. And by the time Kat was being pulled by Kyle unwillingly toward the edge of the boat, the approaching danger was inescapable. Kat blinked the water out of her eyelashes. When her vision cleared, Kyle’s face was just inches from her own. Someone watching from behind might have mistaken them as a couple in an intimate embrace, that suspension of breath before a first kiss. But that person would have been wrong. Their closeness was not voluntary. Kat twisted her torso around and tried to get a clearer view of where behind her Hunter was seated, but Kyle’s fingers dug harder into her waist. He was leaning back against the wall of the whaler’s stern, pulling her weight toward him. All she could see beyond his body was the black, churning ocean. Three of them were on the boat—Kat, Kyle and Hunter—so maybe the encounter didn’t really look romantic. Three people made it something else. But what, Kat couldn’t pinpoint. She twisted around again, trying to catch Hunter’s attention, but it was useless. Hunter had passed out somewhere around the last finger of whiskey and hadn’t budged since. Now he was slumped along the white leather bench at the bow, his face pressed into the smooth cushions that formed a half-moon. He didn’t flinch as the rain pelted his tanned skin. Kat turned back to Kyle. His face was too close, distorted. The sharp angles of his jaw, his prominent nose and dark eyes. He looked surprisingly hideous at such proximity. The night wasn’t supposed to end this way. Nothing they planned pointed to this. It was supposed to be a celebration. And yet, there they were, alone on the Atlantic in the driving rain. Kyle shouldn’t have been there, either. That, it seemed now, was where they’d taken a wrong turn. If anyone were to be out on that fishing boat late at night, it should have been Kat and her boyfriend, Sean, and their friend Hunter.It was Hunter’s boat. They were supposed to be celebrating her biggest sale ever: a large, blown-glass sculpture she called The Selkie. The Selkie was the size of a toddler and twice as heavy, and its sale would pay for a year’s worth of rent. Glassblowers don’t make a lot of sales like that—not even on Martha’s Vineyard—and so a night of overindulgence might have been expected. But the party at the bar went on too long, and the after-party shouldn’t have happened at all. With or without Kyle, the boat had been a bad idea. Kyle’s shoulders swayed with a gust of wet wind. He looked around nervously at the choppy waters and used one hand to steady himself on the edge of the boat before returning it to Kat’s waist. Was that hesitation she saw? A second thought about where he was taking this? In his inebriation, Kyle seemed to be oscillating between asking permission and not asking. He was a beggar and a predator both at once. But his grip on her body didn’t relent for long. Kat still felt trapped. “Kyle, let’s drive back in. It’s starting to really come down.” “We will, we will,” he said. “In a few minutes.” Even if she broke away from him, where would she go? Kat was usually good at this—recognizing untrustworthy characters and threatening scenarios. It was a skill learned of necessity, unfortunately for her. But the whiskey had dulled her powers. And Kyle had seemed so desperate to impress, too passive to be a threat. She didn’t see this move coming. She’d overlooked the signs, and at some point along the way, the evening simply got away from her.

EXCERPT 2 Sean felt his arm pull back before he could think to stop it, and then the skin around his knuckles was tightening, and with one furious swing, his fist exploded into the side of Hunter’s left eye.
Hunter’s hands rushed to his face just as his knees buckled and the blood around his cheekbone started to pour. “Fuck, man!” He fell to the dock.
Kat ran toward him.
Ashley ran in after her.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to go down. Sean looked on in horror as the women tried to pry Hunter’s fingers from his face so they could examine the damage. They looked at his busted eye, and then back and Sean, and then back to the eye. This wasn’t what he’d intended to do. It wasn’t Sean’s plan.
“Fuck, man!” Hunter yelled again as he stumbled up to his feet. He let his hands drop to his sides and everyone took a good long look at what Sean had done.
It was hard to make out the injury in the moonlight, but not impossible. Hunter’s eye was red, the socket soon to be bruised and the broken skin beneath it was a bloody mess. But it was a standard punch, probably no permanent damage incurred.
Sean was relieved to see that he didn’t seem to have broken anything, butwas no less ashamed. He hadn’t thrown a punch since ninth grade, and even then—after he caught Bryan Alpo trying to steal his bike—he couldn’t believe he had it in him. There may have been times in life when a punch was justified, but that didn’t mean all men possessed such an impulse. Sean always thought he wasn’t the punching type.
Hunter stared at Sean, and everyone held their breaths. Would he punch back? If he wanted to, Sean wouldn’t block it. That wouldn’t be right. He would let Hunter take a big, premeditated swing as he stood there. He wanted it now because this was almost worse than a punch. Hunter just stared in anger, like he was considering every revenge possibility, and the longer he stared, the more violent his busted eyes looked.
Just fucking punch me, Sean thought.
Hunter drew a wet breath. “I’m not sleeping with Kat,” he whispered. “I’m not.”
Sean looked at Kat, who had been watching him. He believed her. He believed both of them now. He turned back to Hunter and suddenly felt more horrible than he had ever felt in his whole life. They really weren’t sleeping together. Something was going on with his girlfriend, but it was clear now that it wasn’t an affair. And he’d allowed himself to be seduced by outlandish theories from a near stranger. Ashley.She was still there. Jesus, why was she still there?

“Taut with moral complexity and a subtly building tension, this is the kind of story that punishes you if you dare to put it down. ”

— Kim Cross, New York Times best selling author of WHAT STANDS IN A STORM

   

Add it to your Goodreads Now!

   

“[a] skillfully wrought tale of atonement in a frame of psychological suspense.”— Booklist

 
    About Meg Little Reilly: Meg Little Reilly is the author of the novels EVERYTHING THAT FOLLOWS and WE ARE UNPREPARED. She's a public radio commentator, essayist, and outdoors enthusiast. Prior to writing novels, Meg worked in national politics and the White House. She holds a B.A. from the University of Vermont and an M.A. from the George Washington University. These days, she lives in rural Vermont with her husband and two daughters.      

Website | Twitter | Instagram | Goodreads


REVIEW: This novel took me about 2 days to finish. I found it to be compelling, confusing, and absorbing. While parts felt predictable to me, which is probably due to how much I read the genre, I was still utterly amazed at the story Meg Little created. The characters are believable, to the point where you end up wanting to punch them in the face or shake some sense to them. At a few points I wanted to throw this book across the room because I could NOT believe what had happened. Since I read this electronically I didn't throw my Kindle but the desire to was real. I also found myself shouting at the characters because I felt they were being idiotic at certain points, that's how engrossing this novel is! It was hard to anticipate the ending, which I appreciated, and I feel like the ending worked. I will be looking up more of Meg Little's work in the future. 
   

Tuesday, April 24, 2018

Tinfoil Heat Pub Day!!

Today we are sharing the release of TINFOIL HEART by Daisy Prescott. Tinfoil Heart is a Romantic Comedy, standalone title. Check out the buy links below and a chance to win a signed paperback and a Tinfoil Heart box of fun!

Purchase Now

Amazon US | iBooks | Kobo | Nook

Amazon UK | Amazon CA | Amazon AU

Follow Daisy's newsletter for exclusive news and giveaways!

  

Tinfoil Heart by Daisy Prescott Now Available!

BOOK BLURB:

A new romantic comedy about love, letting go, and little green men from USA Today Bestselling author Daisy Prescott.
My father was abducted by aliens.
Or so I believed for the last eighteen years.
After my mother's death, I moved to Roswell, capital of all things alien. I’m going to find out the truth and nothing will stop me . . . except Boone Santos.
Compared to the intergalactic tinfoil hat brigade, he's a god amongst mere mortals. Too handsome for his own good (and mine), with a grumpy arrogance, and the most beautiful smile ever—he smashes my plan to pieces like a UFO crashing into the desert.
I need a tinfoil hat for my heart.
Do I believe in aliens? I’m not sure.
What do I believe? I’m not going to fall in love with Boone. Definitely not . . .

ADD IT TO GOODREADS

 

Enter the Release Giveaway! 


----------





AUTHOR INFORMATION:

 

USA Today Bestselling Author Daisy Prescott writes romantic comedies about real love. Her Modern Love Stories feature characters in their thirties and forties finding and rediscovering love in unexpected and humorous ways. Her Wingmen books star regular guys who often have beards, drive trucks, and love deeply once they fall. Daisy's Love with Altitude latest small town, rom com series is set in Aspen, Colorado. Bewitched is a magical serial set in Salem, Massachusetts. Don't miss her standalone, Tinfoil Heart, a rom com about love, letting go, and little green men.      

AUTHOR LINKS: Website | Twitter | Facebook | Goodreads | Amazon | Newsletter


Monday, April 23, 2018

It's International Book Day Y'all!

Morning Everyone!

Yup. You get at least 2 blog posts today. This one is a little more personal, and definitely one that I've been drafting in my head for a couple of weeks now.




Today is International Book Day. Amazon is celebrating by having you Read the World with 9 free Kindle books, though this offer may only be available in the U.S. Bookstagrams are alive with the photos of currently read books, shelfies, and those beautifully crafted posts that make me get teary because they're so pretty and I love seeing others love books.

For this Book Day I'm feeling an honest sense of gratitude for my books, a handful specifically.

1. The book that made me love stories...



2. The book that saved my life, even if it didn't save the author's...



3. The book that got me through high school... (the librarian of my high school actually gave me a copy for graduation. I still treasure it to this day.)



4. The book that started my entire history degree before I even knew that's what I wanted to study...



5. The book that helped me make sense of my father's death, as much as any of them could...



6. The book that made my grief feel normal, acceptable, and less threatening...


7. The book I will read a million times over... 



So today, go forth and read. Or listen to an audiobook. Celebrate literature, literacy, books, the written word in all it's forms. Read outside your comfort zone. Read something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue. Read something, anything, and let it stay with  you, let it linger and become a part of you. You'd be surprised and who you'll become. 

Until Next Time, 

XoXo
BrainyHeroine




Thank You, Thank You, Thank You, APP Round 2! (Plus a Bonus Training!)

Good Morning All!

About a month ago now our Alzheimer's Poetry Group was lucky enough to do a second facility visit. This time we were at the Nevada Senior Services Adult Day Care Center. Similar to our first facility visit the group was mixed, there were patients with Alzheimer's, dementia, and various others who joined in our group. The group size this time? 50!! 50 people and about 5 more when you count in staff members. We were all nervous about the group size. Jennifer had a powwow with Gary prior to our visit, and we had a pre-visit meeting at my house simply because going from 15 to 50 is a jump! Plus our program runs on a timeline, the intimidation of the group size was real y'all.

And then, and then, and then, we got there.

All our worries were easily moved aside when we realized how engaged this large group was. Upon our arrival they were in a horseshoe shape, which made connecting with them easier. Those who were more willing to participate were closer to the front, they had their chairs turned towards us, and were sat with their friends. There was one gentleman, who after ever poem and activity screamed THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU with so much joy and enthusiasm, it was hard to keep a straight face. This round we did use a microphone, which was awkward at first, and limited the speaking persons range of motion, but this group seemed clued into "pay attention to the person with the microphone." (This facility does several activities throughout the week, so they're certainly active!)

We'd decided to go in with a theme this time, so we all did bird poems, and we even included Arthur, Charlene's tree, because birds live in trees. It is also lovely to see that sparkle in people's eyes when she starts doing 'Trees', that glimmer of "I know this one" is beautiful.

Like before the session ended with us creating a group poem. Andrew wrote down the answers to the questions I asked the group, and this is where I felt the most pressure from a group of 50. Many answers came from the same 10 people, and Jennifer and Charlene were walking around to say answers louder if we couldn't hear them. I didn't want anyone to feel ignored, and in the end I think everyone got to contribute their snippet, many giving us the same snippet. Being a bird seems to leave everyone with the same feelings.

If I were a bird I'd fly high!
I'd fly to Europe, 
I'd see the ocean.

If I were a bird I would live in a tree!
Tall trees!
Oak trees!

I would be a red bird,
A blue bird,
A predator bird, like an eagle!

I would be a free bird, 
I would be a singing bird.

If I were a bird I'd never stop flying.

At the end of our time with this group we got several more exuberant thank you, thank you, thank yous, and we felt like we'd really given this group something to remember. Before we left we did have one more thing for them. Poet Nancy Nelson had joined us, and spent about 10 minutes reading her poems and talking about her story of being diagnosed with Alzheimer's with the group. Seeing everyone in the group utterly wrapped up in Nancy's work, in her story, in what she was saying was amazing. They were so focused, and some seemed relieved that someone "gets it". I'd encourage everyone to check out blueriverapple.com  to learn more about Nancy and her amazing work.

Left to Right
Dee Dee Woodbury (Activity Director) Charlene, Andrew, Jennifer, Ami Rebecca, Nancy Nelson




























About two weeks later we were able to get a personalized training from Gary Glazner himself! It was a fun time discussing our visits, asking our questions, and learning more about bringing students into the program as well! Thanks Mr. Gladness!! 
Left To Right Top Row
Chalese, Jennifer, Charlene, Ami Rebecca, Andrew, Bruce
Front Row
Vogue, Gary Glazner


Until Next Time,

XoXo
BrainyHeroine

Thursday, April 5, 2018

   

Wife, Widow, and Warrior in Alexander Hamilton’s Quest for a More Perfect Union

From the New York Times bestselling authors of America’s First Daughter comes the epic story of Eliza Schuyler Hamilton—a revolutionary woman who, like her new nation, struggled to define herself in the wake of war, betrayal, and tragedy. Haunting, moving, and beautifully written, Dray and Kamoie used thousands of letters and original sources to tell Eliza’s story as it’s never been told before—not just as the wronged wife at the center of a political sex scandal—but also as a founding mother who shaped an American legacy in her own right.

 

Order your copy of MY DEAR HAMILTON today!

   

A general’s daughter…

Coming of age on the perilous frontier of revolutionary New York, Elizabeth Schuyler champions the fight for independence. And when she meets Alexander Hamilton, Washington’s penniless but passionate aide-de-camp, she’s captivated by the young officer’s charisma and brilliance. They fall in love, despite Hamilton’s bastard birth and the uncertainties of war.

A Founding Father’s wife...

But the union they create—in their marriage and the new nation—is far from perfect. From glittering inaugural balls to bloody street riots, the Hamiltons are at the center of it all—including the political treachery of America’s first sex scandal, which forces Eliza to struggle through heartbreak and betrayal to find forgiveness.

The last surviving light of the Revolution…

When a duel destroys Eliza’s hard-won peace, the grieving widow fights her husband’s enemies to preserve Alexander’s legacy. But long-buried secrets threaten everything Eliza believes about her marriage and her own legacy. Questioning her tireless devotion to the man and country that have broken her heart, she’s left with one last battle—to understand the flawed man she married and imperfect union he could never have created without her…

 

✭✭✭ ORDER MY DEAR HAMILTON TODAY✭✭✭ Amazon | B&N | GooglePlay | iBooks | Kobo | Autographed Paperback

Add to Your Goodreads

Get a FREE Bonus Book – through April 9!

Join Stephanie and Laura’s VIP mailing list

     


EXTRA CONTENT: EXCERPT TIME!!!

So after nursing my newborn, I took Philip for a short but painful stroll to the printer, then up Broadway past the hospital to the nearby apothecary shop. “Mrs. Hamilton,” the apothecary said in a scolding tone, his bushy brows knitted behind the counter. “You’re so soon out of childbed. I’d have come to you if you’d sent a servant or Colonel Hamilton to fetch me.”

“I just needed some fresh air, raspberry leaves for my cramps, and a little lavender oil for my aching head.”

While I kept my curious boy from reaching for one of the many fascinating corked glass jars on the counter, the apothecary rummaged through the drawers and we chatted about the various states that had ratified the Constitution—six by my count, five by his.

“You forgot Massachusetts,” I said, just as the roar of angry voices reached our ears.

We both looked up toward the street to see a horde of angry men marching from the direction of the battery. A mob. I’d once seen a group of men like this armed with feathers and tar. This time, they had sticks and, as I was about to learn, a far more righteous rage. “Grave-robbing bastards!” someone shouted, just before a brick sailed through the glass window, sending a spray of shards at my feet. Instinctively, I grabbed my son and pulled him behind the counter. But from where I crouched, I saw the swarm move right past us on the street.

I could guess their destination.

The hospital. For the Constitution was not the only divisive thing in the newspapers that year. It had been reported that medical students, in need of cadavers to dissect, dug up bodies in the Negro Burial Ground outside the city. No one of prominence had seemed to care until the corpse of a white woman from Trinity Churchyard was also dug up and stolen.

Now the public was in an uproar.

I knew the importance of cadavers to the field of medical science, but I couldn’t help but shudder at the gross indignity of having anyone I loved violated and dissected in such a way.

As we heard the crash of more windows farther down the street, the apothecary rose to wrap a sheltering arm around my shoulder. “I’ll get you and the boy home,” he said, rushing us out the back. Across the way, furious citizens broke the hospital door to splinters and overran the hospital, sending young medical students running in every direction. Over my shoulder, I saw a young doctor climbing from a window. And my son stared as shouting men hauled cauldrons of dismembered body parts out of the hospital, the stench of it recalling the war immediately to my mind.

We saw a bloody foot, a swollen human head in a bottle, and some poor fellow’s pickled genitals hanging from a string before we fled up Broadway, only to come against hundreds more furious men blocking our way. The jostling crowd swept us up like a tidal wave, separating us from the apothecary and nearly tearing Philip’s hand from mine. Breathless and frightened, having quite forgotten about aches and pains, I realized the mob was descending upon the original nearby buildings of the old King’s College—which had been recently renamed the more republican Columbia College.

“Bring out the butchers!” someone in the mob cried, and I knew they were looking for medical students to punish.

“Keep walking,” I whispered to Philip. But my son made of himself a dead weight, pointing with one hand at something I couldn’t see. And then the crowd parted to reveal my husband on the college stairs, pleading with the mob to see reason.

Hamilton was a great orator, and his military voice could just be heard over the fray. “The mayor has already jailed the culprits. Allow the law—”

The mob pushed past him, breaking open the doors to the chapel, the library, and the dorms of the college he’d recently helped reopen.

Then he caught sight of us and dodged the rioters until we were all together, and he tugged us into his arms. “Dear God, Betsy, what the devil are you doing here?”
   
       
Stephanie Dray & Laura Kamoie’s MY DEAR HAMILTON – Blog Tour Schedule:
April 2nd
Books A-Brewin' – Excerpt
April 3rd
My Book Snack – Review & Excerpt
Smexy& Fabulous – Excerpt
April 4th
Always a happy ever after –Review & Excerpt
Ficwishes – Excerpt
Quirky Lady Bookworm Reviews – Review & Excerpt
SJAT's Books and More – Review & Interview
April 5th
Hearts & Scribbles – Excerpt
Literature Goals – Excerpt
April 6th
Books After Fifty – Excerpt
History Undressed – Review & Excerpt
Under the Covers Book Blog – Review & Excerpt
True Book Addict – Excerpt
Zili in the Sky – Excerpt
April 7th
3 Degrees of Fiction Book Blog – Review & Excerpt
Evermore Books – Excerpt
KDRBCK – Review & Excerpt
April 8th
BookCrushin – Interview
Liz's Reading Life – Excerpt
Vagabonda Reads – Review & Excerpt
April 9th
Book Bug Blog – Review & Excerpt
Devilishly Delicious Book Reviews – Review & Excerpt
Read-Love-Blog – Excerpt
April 10th
Miss Riki – Review & Excerpt
My Fictional Escape – Review & Excerpt
Oh, for the Hook of a Book – Review & Interview
April 11th
Sofia Loves Books – Review & Excerpt
April 12th
Denny S. Bryce – Review & Excerpt
Good Drunkard – Review & Excerpt
Ruth Downie – Interview
Margie's Must Reads – Excerpt
April 13th
A Bookaholic Swede – Review
Creating Herstory – Review & Interview
Historical Fiction Reviews – Review & Excerpt
April 14th
Book Nook Nuts – Excerpt
Deluged with Books Cafe – Review & Excerpt
Leigh Anderson – Review
Nerdy Soul – Review & Excerpt
Teatime and Books – Excerpt
Two Girls with Books – Review & Excerpt
  About Stephanie Dray: Stephanie Dray is a New York Times bestselling author of historical women’s fiction. Her award-winning work has been translated into multiple languages, illuminating women of the past so as to inspire the women of today. She is a frequent panelist and presenter at national writing conventions and lives near the nation’s capital.      

Stephanie Dray Website |Newsletter | Facebook |Twitter | Dray & Kamoie Website



   About Laura Kamoie: Laura Kamoieis a New York Times bestselling author of historical fiction, and the author of two nonfiction books on early American history. Until recently, she held the position of Associate Professor of History at the U.S. Naval Academy before transitioning to a full-time career writing genre fiction under the name Laura Kaye, also a New York Times bestselling author of more than thirty novels.        



Monday, March 19, 2018

Making the Memorial

Morning Again Readers, 

I wrote this to survive the onslaught of grief, sympathy, and well intentioned yet misguided touching that occurs at a memorial. The idea was borrowed from a friend, and the facts check out. I found it to be so helpful for the people that were at the memorial I either didn't recognize or remember, or even the ones I flat out didn't know. 

If you ever find yourself in that situation, I encourage something like this. 

XoXo
BrainyHeroine

1. Please DO NOT ask BrainyHeroine how she is doing or if she is okay. You will not get a positive response, and she will retreat to a safer conversation. Speaking of retreating, did you that Wombats poop cubes so that they can build walls around their burrow, forcing potential predators to retreat? 

2. BrainyHeroine may not want to hug or shake hands. Today is overwhelming and she asks that you respect the rules of bodily autonomy. Just be glad she isn't a male octopus; if she was you would be running a 1 in 8 chance of shaking hands with a penis. 

3. If you'd like to do something for BrainyHeroine and ChemiSecure food is always a good option. They really appreciated when people brought dinner or sent pizza. Additionally, grocery store gift cards are nice as well. They shop at Smith's and Family Dollar. Please coordinate with them privately. Because while BrainyHeroine is a Leo, and in the wild female lions do 90% of the hunting, she's exhausted. 

4. If you'd like to make donations to honor her mother's memory, please make them to a local theatre, or pay if forward at Starbucks. Also, when a hippo sweats, the sweat is pink! 

5. Please make tonight as happy as you can. Share funny stories, random memories, motivational Skeletor memes, anything you have that's happy. Please do not say you're sorry, BrainyHeroine is fully aware of how sorry everyone is and can't fully appreciate or process it in public. Like a chameleon, she will blend into the background to avoid uncomfortable situations or repeated expressions of sympathy. 

All kidding aside, BrainyHeroine and ChemiSecure are appreciatetive to those who have reached out, done something, and just want everyone to have fun tonight in remembrance of both her parents. It truly is what they want. 

New Emotions & New Goals

Morning Readers,

A while back I posted about moving Lit Goals away from just reviews and more towards actual literacy; keeping with that I'd like to let you in on my newest project. Emotional Literacy During Grief.

Emotional Literacy is a term that is used to describe one's ability to understand and express feelings. It involves a self-awareness and recognition of how you feel, and how you're able to manage those feelings.

On March 6, 2017 my father died. I've written about that and about the books I read during that time to try and understand what I was feeling, how I should have been feeling, but mainly about how I wanted to escape those feelings. 345 days later, February 14, 2018 my mother died. While her death was less unexpected than my father's, it fucking hurt. Her last 12 days were hard and I'm not over it. Time moves on, and a month and 5 days later I'm in a better place to talk about it. Her memorial was last week, my father has been dead for a year. These are facts and dates on a calendar, but they're also carved into me. My calendars still say it's February, because somehow not changing them is giving me a foothold to cling to.

Which brings us to the newest goal, Emotional Literacy During Grief. ELDG. When my father died I read a handful of books, and then mainly started reading fairy tale re-tellings because escapism was a real thing and I had a dying mother to care for. This time around I can't escape from anything because escape for me implies a certain level of "hey, this thing happened and continues to happen." This time around I went a little crazy buying books, and they're geared towards helping me process what I'm feeling.

The list from before includes:
- Thanks, Dad
- The Once and Future King
- H is for Hawk
- Smoke Gets in Your Eyes
- Every Last Word
- The Last Lecture

And my list now includes:
- It's Okay That You're Not Okay
- Grief Works
- Modern Loss
- Dead People Suck
- My Father's Wake
- From Here to Eternity
- The Dead Moms Club
- It's Okay to Laugh (Crying is Okay Too)
- How to Survive the Loss of a Parent
- The Orphaned Adult

I'm currently reading The Dead Moms Club by Kate Spencer. She was 27 when she lost her mother to cancer, I'll be 27 this August, I lost my mother to cancer, and on page 11 she brought up this stupid blue book "Gone From My Sight" that you get when hospice care starts, and I kid you not I finally felt like someone got it. I got that stupid blue book three times and set one of them on fire.

I'll be spending the next while reading and sorting through emotions. And then reading to find some happiness.

Until next time,

XoXo
BrainyHeroine

Side note, I wrote something amazing to make it through my mother's memorial. I'll post that next.