Books I’ve Read in 2017 & TBR

I’ve disappeared for a while. A new job, a new city and not enough reading and blogging. I thought I’d jump back in by posting a quick post featuring the books I’ve read this year and what I plan on reading next.

Books I’ve completed in 2017:

At 15 novels read so far, I’m unsure that I’ll make it to my goal of 50 books for 2017. I will aim to beat last years 36 books though.

Here are the books I’m reading next:

I will finally be checking The Nightingale off my list of must reads, finishing the final book in the Mistborn trilogy, the second book in the King Fountain series, reading Elizabeth Strout’s newest novel, diving into another classic Neal Stephenson book after I devoured Seveneves and starting two new fantasy series!

I’ll be posting 1-2 book reviews a month so please check them out!




Happy New Year and January TBR List

Happy New Year!!

It’s officially 2017 and my reading goal for the new year is a big one. I’m aiming to read 50 books in 2017. That will be 14 more books than my 2016 total of 36. It’s almost one book per week and I’m excited to get through many books that I’ve been dying to read for months and even years.

Here is my To Be Read list for the month of January:

  1. Commonwealth by Ann Patchett–Fiction, Contemporary
  2. Hag-Seed by Margaret Atwood–Fiction, Contemporary
  3. The Bronze Horseman by Paulina Simons–Historical Fiction
  4. The Thief’s Daughter by Jeff Wheeler–Fantasy, YA
  5. All the Light We Cannot See by Anthony Doerr–Historical Fiction
  6. Walk on Earth a Stranger by Rae Carson–Fantasy, YA



The water is a seemingly unending creature. The river swallows the surrounding land; it has forged its way through the dense forest landscape. The drop at the far end of the swollen river lends toward the power of it all. Crystal clear water. The smell of it permeates everything.

A swallow shoots across the spotless blue sky. It dips low, almost touching the water. With its wings spread out, it sails parallel to the surface. When the floor drops off and the waters crash downward, a devastating plummeting of mass, the swallow continues forward, now hundreds of feet in the air.

The shores of the river are perilous. An oak tree slips into the water, and disappears in an instant. Loose dirt and visible roots show a history of the waters disregard for permanency of the surrounding boundaries. The waters push forward and the world is sucked in. The river refuses to quiet, it refuses to allow its surface to turn to glass. The currents swirl. The trees shift. The water drops.


She smiles warmly. Welcoming. The light doesn’t reach her eyes. She’s the kind of friend you think you miss. She dropped out of high school when she was seventeen but she’s all knowing. She tells you she’s better off. That you’re better off beside her. She’s comforting, at first. She’s freshly baked bread and warm hugs. Until she’s not. There’s a sense of familiarity that echoes off her skin. She says she wants to make you a better person. She holds you to your promises. She ties you down to forgotten values, to past versions of yourself. She tries to stop time. Her body is aged and she moans when you make your exit.


The sky is low and full of clouds. Beneath the sky a woman sits on a tabletop at a park, picking at a scab on her knee as she waits for some unseen person. A car pulls up to the lot beside her and she smiles, her resolve already fading away. He sits beside her and they laugh and they talk and she is not alone and it is enough for the day.


There are days I long to grasp in my hands. I wish to melt into the grass and the breeze and transform myself into something that would be content in that one spot for the rest of my life. But there are always ideas, notions of something better out there, something I should be working towards, something I need to earn, or just something different. The thing that makes the person I am now acceptable is the idea that my position is only temporary. Maybe someday when my youth is behind me, I’ll admit defeat. A seventy-year-old woman who never escaped the banal position she defaulted into. But now I am a twenty-three year old with dreams of importance, of traveling and writing and turning the ordinary into something spectacular. So I’ll let go of the days, of the minutia of what surrounds me, and I will turn my attention towards tomorrow.