So I’ve been reading a lot.
A lot.
And since I had no idea what to write about here today I figured I’d give you some recommendations based on my recent experiences sorting through the world of book-dom. Most of these books will be by indie or self-published authors, just because that’s where most of my book-buying dollars go right now. And I might whine a little about cliffhangers, but that’s kinda what I do, so get over it.
Let’s start with a series I just finished up on a couple days ago. This weekend was all about teh football, so it’s only fitting that I alternated between watching football and reading about space football with Scott Sigler and his Galactic Football League series. Starting off with The Rookie, this (currently) three-book series traces the career of young Quentin Barnes, one of the most talented humans to ever play football. But this is football some seven hundred years in the future, so humans aren’t the only species playing! With wide receivers that can jump twenty feet in the air, giant monster linemen that would literally eat a quarterback for lunch, and linebackers that deliver fatal tackles, this bunch makes the Raiders look like guests at a tea party.
Sigler obviously loves his football, and the descriptions of the games are amazing. I love the arc he’s taking this character through, as well. Barnes is a fallible, annoying, pretentious shithead of a quarterback, but buried inside him is a moral compass that just keeps steering him towards the right answers. When he can get his head out of his ass long enough to listen. The supporting cast is just as awesome – John Tweedy is a psycho linebacker that reminds me of the crazy dude in The Replacements, Don Pine is the old vet on his way out, and the others well-crafted and fill the archetypes of a team really, really well. There are cut scenes with sportscasters that are funny as hell, and the only thing in the books that drag a little are the “excerpts” from historical texts that set up information that we as readers need, but they get a little info-dumpy and could probably be cut altogether and not hurt the story at all. But that’s a little quibble, and harder SF fans than me will love that kind of deep galaxy-building stuff. So go buy the first one, it’s awesome!
By the way, I don’t get bupkiss if you click the link here. I’m not an Amazon affiliate anymore because Amazon and the state of NC got into a staring contest a couple years ago and Amazon cancelled the affiliate program for NC residents. So I just provide the links for convenience, I don’t actually get anything out of them. On Smashwords, I get a little kickback if you buy the book through my affiliate link.
But since I finished the third book in the GFL series (SIGLER YOU BUTTMONKEY I HATE CLIFFHANGERS!!!) (sorry, that just kinda happens sometimes, I think my fingers have Turrette’s) I’ve been splitting time between Chuck Wendig’s 250 Things You Should Know About Writing and Patrick Rothfuss’ The Name of the Wind. Wendig is maybe the most delightfully profane writer I’ve discovered since Garth Ennis, and Rothfuss is maybe the best writer I’ve discovered since Neil Gaiman. So I’ve reading Wendig’s advice on how to be a better writer so I don’t puke myself to death over not being as good a writer as Rothfuss. If you’re a writer, you should also follow Wendig’s blog, Terribleminds. If you’re not a writer but would like to see exactly how batshit crazy we all are, you could still read Terribleminds.
And why does my spellchecker not recognize batshit as a word? Dumbass machines. Obv. we are NOT ready for SkyNet today. Unless they’re masquerading as dumbass machines to hide that fact that SkyNet has already happened, in which case they’re really smart machines and we’re dumbass humans. Which makes more sense. But scares the crap out of me.
After that last paragraph I’m going to go hide in the bathtub with my kindle and a four-foot stack of Transmetropolitan trade paperbacks. What? You haven’t read Transmetropolitan? How are we even friends? Now I’ll be in my tub with my kindle, my Transmet, and a jar of moonshine marvelling at my illiterate friends and drinking myself blind. See you Friday.
