Dr. Seuss was my first love. When my mom left me in the children’s section of the library I’d find Horton and the Cat. My mom hated the good doctor and refused to checkout his books. He was my secret, guilty pleasure. Eventually, I read about Narnia, Oz and Green Gables. When my mom grew too sick to visit the library, a friend brought her a stash of romances which she kept in a big box beside her bed. Weekly, this good friend replenished the box. My mom didn’t know I read her books; it was like the Seuss affair, only sexier. Reading became my escape from a horrific and scary situation. Immersed in a story, I didn’t have to think about the life and death drama taking place on the other side of my bedroom wall. Books were my hallucinogenic drug of choice. In college, I studied literature and fell in love with Elliot, Willa and too many others to mention. (This had no similarity to my dating life.) I’m no longer a child living with a grieving father and a dying mother, nor am I the co-ed in search of something or someone real, nonfictional. I’m an adult blessed with an abundance of love. I love my Heavenly Father and His son, my husband and family, my dog, my friends, my neighbors, my writing group, the birds outside my window. Because I’m a writer, I also love my characters. I adore their pluck, courage and mettle. I admire the way they face and overcome hardships. But, as in any romance, I sometimes I get angry with them and think that they are too stupid to live. At those times, I have to remind myself that they live only in my imagination, unless I share. Writing for me is all about sharing--giving back to the world that has so generously shared with me-- because I learned a long time ago that the world is full of life and death dramas. Sometimes we need a story to help us escape. And we need as much love as we can find. That’s why I write romance. I have won awards and contests, but since one disgruntled critic once told me, "If you're as good a writer as you think you are, you should show us, not tell us," I no longer trot out my winnings. In the world of storytelling, they don't really matter.
The Rhyme's Libraryby Kristy Tate
Crazy Aunt Charlotte is missing again. Blair Rhyme, Rose Arbor’s young librarian, doesn’t bother to check Charlotte’s regular haunts -- the Veteran’s of Foreign Wars lodge, the Four H-Club, or the bins behind Milton’s Fish shop – because Charlotte is dead. Blair discovered her body amongst the boxes of what-nots and whatevers in
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Crazy Aunt Charlotte is missing again. Blair Rhyme, Rose Arbor’s young librarian, doesn’t bother to check Charlotte’s regular haunts -- the Veteran’s of Foreign Wars lodge, the Four H-Club, or the bins behind Milton’s Fish shop – because Charlotte is dead. Blair discovered her body amongst the boxes of what-nots and whatevers in the library’s basement. Unfortunately, when she returns to the library with the police Charlotte is missing. Again.
Desperate to prove that she doesn’t share her aunt’s mental illness and that Charlotte really has been murdered, Blair tangles with a former lover, a disturbingly handsome stranger and a wacky cast of Rose Arbor characters.
At first Blair tries to dismiss the skin-pricking sensation of being watched, but as small disturbances grow increasingly threatening, she must confront the enemies, real or imagined, that drove her aunt to madness and death in the Rhyme’s Library.
- Kristy Tate
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In the second book that I have read from this author, she is fast becoming an author for me to watch for in the contemporary mystery genre. The Rhyme’s Library is a clever murder mystery, rife with family and small-town secrets and an engaging, intelligent heroine at its center. Blair is cleverly created, a librarian by default, she has a fascination with the “word a day” theory, in fact each chapter starts with a word and its definition; some obscure, some not. When she finds the body of her newly deceased aunt in the basement of her family home, turned library, the coincidences, secrets and suspicious characters just seem to appear in every person she encounters. Stalled or put off by the police, injured, threatened and nearly drowned in several rainstorms, Blair perseveres trying to piece together the puzzle that is her family. Kristy Tate has managed to craft Blair into an empathetic character that you do not pity, despite rather tragic and scary circumstances. While injecting a bit of humor into some of the situations, and adding several eccentric characters who manage to provide cryptic clues and miscues, the pacing never stalls, and there are more than enough suspects to wonder about. While never reaching a frenetic page-turning pace until the very end, this book was difficult to put down. A wholly surprising and satisfactory ending that hints at the potential for a romance leaves readers wondering just what the next book will bring. I received an eBook copy from the author for purpose of honest review as part of the Indie Authors Rock promotion on I am, Indeed. I was not compensated for this review: all conclusions are my own responsibility.