A Stinky Book Review

I’ve been blog slacking big time lately.  There really should be a word for that.  It’s probably because a few months ago I discovered a company that was looking for bloggers who are writing book reviews to use for advertising.  So of course I thought ‘I could write a bunch of those and earn myself some advertising dollars!’.  Then, when a week went by and I hadn’t started doing it, I felt guilty and put it off for another week.  Then, I read something that wasn’t that bad, but wasn’t that great, and it didn’t seem worth writing about.  Then, I just put it off for a while.  And so, much later, here we are…

In other words, I really need to get to it.  I’ve got hundreds of books sent by authors who have been hoping to receive a review in exchange for taking their time to package them up and take them to the post office (have I told you that my postal carrier absolutely loves it that she has to get out of her vehicle at least three times a week to drop off yet another book-sized package that just won’t fit in the mailbox?)

I actually received one delivery the other day that was a little different.  Instead of simply sending me one book, this self-published author mailed me a box containing his entire trilogy.  Sure, that was a nice gesture, but…

I opened the box with Graham next to me, waiting for his opportunity to take possession of the perfect cat-sized box.  And, as I pulled the stack of books out of the box, I had a three-word review instantly ready to go – These books stink!

And I was meaning that in the completely literal sense.  Graham actually hopped right into the box and, before all four paws had even hit the cardboard bottom, he’d hopped right back out and dashed off to the garage (where I presume he crashed in his litter for a few minutes to try to keep down his lunch).

Whoever wrote those books was a HUGE smoker, that’s for sure.  And apparently, each and every puff he ever took, he blew out directly into that box.  For years on end.  Phew!

Okay, to be honest, those books wouldn’t have been first on my priority list, but I don’t think I’ll ever read them.  I’m scared to pick them up again, and I can only wonder what each page smells like.  And how could I ever write a fair review when all I could think was ‘This chapter really stinks!’.

I’ve been hoping to receive a copy of Neil Gaiman’s American Gods or Lisa Lutz’ The Passenger (books I’ve been wanting to read anyway), but here I have this mini stack of books I don’t even know what to do with.  Throwing them away just seems mean, but it’s either that or leave them on the floor in the corner untouched and unloved where even the cat gives them a wide birth.  Tomorrow’s trash night though so I probably just need to do it – find a pair of tongs to pick those books up and carry them out to curb.  Who knows, maybe they could be well-written pieces of American fiction that just haven’t been discovered yet, but sorry, my eyes are already watering just thinking about the smell of them.  And after all, I’ve got future advertisers to worry about.  If I ever get around to it that is…

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