Page 20 of Money Shot

SIENNA

July 9th,2014

I had three books to review, was out of wine, and was about half as drunk as I needed to be. One of the books was an absolute disaster, written by someone who was so full of herself she wouldn’t even take my constructive criticism as advice. In my opinion, if an author of a book didn’t know the difference between two, to, too, four, fore, for, or their, they’re and there, they had no business publishing a book without the assistance of a professional editor.

And if the author was so pretentious she believed a book reviewer couldn’t have an effect on her ability to sell said book, she was dead wrong. My offer in the form of a private message to help her with a few things was met with a response that was beyond rude and completely uncalled for. I glared at her message decided a response wasn’t necessary, only an appropriate review.

Sienna,

I appreciate your opinion, but remember, I am THE AUTHOR. Putting my thoughs on paper is my job, and yours is to review what I gave wrotten. If you don’t like my choice of wrods, maybe you should write your own book and have me review it.

Thanks anyway.

Not.

Diamond

She couldn’t even write me an email without making mistakes. The sad thing was that the book had a reasonably interesting storyline, but the problems with syntax, grammar, and her weird prose prevented me from enjoying it, and from completing it. The opinions on not finishing a book and providing a review were all over the place, but I was of the opinion if I did my best to read a book, and because it was a disaster was incapable of finishing it, my follower should know my opinion.

I stared at the screen and tried to decide the best thing to do. After a moment, I began to type.

My Sister, My Lover, by Diamond Phelps was interesting enough for me to attempt to read it, but I was incapable of finishing it due to the constant errors and problems with her shifting from past tense to present tense and from first to third person - sometimes in the middle of sentences.

“I walked to the edge of the pier, wondering what he was going to do about our baby. Strangely, I wasn’t even sure it was his. He walks up beside me and held my hand, shows me he loves me without speaking, and pats me on the back softly. I snap out of my subconscious state and turned around, and he lifts my chin and says “it’ll be just fine” with his green eyes.

Words were not spoken, but they didn’t have to be spoke. He says all that he needs to say because we were loving each other, and we were always going to be lovers.

You never should walking away from a man who deep down inside loved you like he loves me and I knew this, but the fight within me building with each passing moment.

The fire inside of me was intense, and it burns eternally….”

I think the above excerpt says it all.

Now, to pre-squash the question I’m sure throngs of people will ask, “Sienna, is it fair that you one-starred a book you DNF’d? You didn’t actually finish it.” I will offer this answer in advance.

If I started the book, decided to go on vacation to Belize, and didn’t finish it for that reason, only to DNF and one star the book, yes. Yes, that would be wrong in my eyes.

Or, if I started the book, set it aside to go get a glass of wine, and tripped over the carpet in the living room where it meets the hard wood (which I am known to do on my 2nd or 3rd glass), and ended up in the hospital with a broken hip and a terrible case of ‘I’m stupids’, only to return and find my Kindle had been stolen? Yes, that would be bad of me to DNF and one star.

But, life is too short to read bad books or wear ugly shoes.

So, I CHOOSE to not finish this book based on the fact there are many others out there worthy taking up space in my head.

One star. DNF.

I read the review, decided using the excerpt from the book was probably best, and pressed the button to publish it. It was an extremely short review, but I believed it provided the prospective reader with enough information for them to develop their own opinion.

As I stared at my notes from the second book, the doorbell rang. Slightly startled, but becoming fractionally more used to the sound of the doorbell since I met Vince, I walked to the window and pulled the blinds to the side. I hoped it was him, but before I even glanced toward the porch I knew it wasn’t, because the sound of his motorcycle didn’t come first.

Much to my surprise, what appeared to be Vince’s silhouette stood waiting on my porch. Dressed in my plaid pink pajamas and a wife beater, I considered changing clothes, but quickly decided not to. So far, neither my P!NK sweats nor my jeans had much of an effect on him, and I hoped my most adorable pajamas would cause him to see me a little differently.

I ran to the living room, attempted to pace my breathing, and pulled the door open slowly. Vince stood before me with a smirk on his face and a vase filled with flowers in his hand.

“Good evening,” he said.

Feeling almost as if I was in shock, I stood and stared.

“I wanted to say thanks for everything,” he said as he handed me the flowers.