Fleur McDonald has written nine books, very much centred around life in rural Australia and – as a farmer herself – it’s a world she knows well and one she captures brilliantly in her writing.
I’ve now read three of her romantic suspense novels, two featuring Detective Dave Burrows. It’s not at all necessary to have read others in the series as no backstory / additional context is needed.
This is the fourth book I’ve read by Kathryn Croft though she’d (also) written two books before I discovered The Girl With No Past in 2015.
The last four have been released in pretty quick succession over the past couple of years, which keeps me happy, as Croft authors the kinds of psychological thrillers that are my reading bread and butter.
I adored this novel. The plot is great, but it’s our lead character, Cat and her voice… which in essence reflects Caz Frear’s writing that I really loved. I’ve mentioned this before, but I only notice prose or an author’s writing if it’s really good or bad a bit ordinary / lazy. Otherwise I get wrapped up in the plot and it fades seamlessly into the background.
But in this case I was really drawn to Cat and the way her mind worked. To her thinking and her internal dialogue. In fact, perhaps I’m a little biased in that respect because Frear writes exactly how I would like to write. If I wrote.
Last year I had weight loss surgery. I’ve talked about it briefly here and there and I temporarily opened a separate Instagram account so I could share stuff and follow similar accounts. But – before starting I knew that account would be short lived. I know myself pretty well you see and knew that it would take over my life if I let it. And I did not want my life to be about my weight loss surgery, as it had been (perhaps still is) about food and weight and so forth. (Indeed, I eventually ditched my Diet Schmiet blog for that exact reason!)
I DID NOT WANT IT TO DEFINE ME.
I wasn’t sure if I’d struggle with this book. I was in my early 40s before I gave up on meeting the man of my dreams. Or just someone who wanted to spend their life with me…. and started contemplating motherhood solo.
Dreary stories about sperm donors, artificial insemination and IVF aside… it didn’t happen for me and – as a result – I’m occasionally bitter and twisted about the whole thing. (Something others take for granted etc etc).
So, it was with some trepidation I embarked upon this story on motherhood.
First let me set the scene a little. It’s 1988 and I’m 20yrs old. I’ve deferred from my undergraduate Commerce degree and haven’t yet commenced my Psychology studies. I spent almost a year working as a revenue accounting clerk at World Expo 88 in Brisbane and am now in a finance role at an Australian (National) Football League club. It’s an exciting time. My life is about all-things-sport.
I live with my two best friends* in a share house in East Brisbane, along with a weird guy who lives in the ‘basement’. I’ve (only) recently started drinking alcohol and go out regularly to places like Cafe Neon, The Underground and Rosie’s Tavern. We dance to INXS, The Choirboys, Salt ‘N’ Pepa and Rick Astley.
When I first saw this book, it was around the time I’d requested a children’s picture book to review with my 6yr old godson Pickle, and – as I do love a good life lesson – the title of this book, PUG – How To Be The Best You, sounded perfect.
However, this book isn’t actually about a cute dog. PUG, stands for Philosophical Universal Guidance. Yep… it’s actually a book for we grown-ups. (Ahem… yes I am including myself there.)
I do believe I’ve talked before about the series I read cos they comfort me. Not in a hot toddy and blanket way. Although maybe that is exactly how they comfort me… if a hot toddy involves alcohol of some sort…. but either way, what I’m saying is John Sandford’s Lucas Davenport and Virgil Flowers (aka that f*cking Flowers) series are a couple I rely on to get me through the hard times. And the easy times.
Any time really.
It recently occurred to me that there are two types of people in the world. Those who hate pockets in dresses or trousers. And insane people who seem to like having additional width added to their girth. Yes, really.
I suspect the pocket thing is an even hotter topic than the one I’m broaching today… but this post isn’t about pockets. It’s about travel. And a thought that jumped into my head the other day.
I’m not the sort of person who travels. I’m not a traveller.
Follow me!