Manda Kay

I haven’t read fantasy since I was in middle school. I haven’t read romance since I was in high school. The world and themes just don’t appeal to me in books all that much. When the boy gets the girl (or the boy gets the boy or the girl gets the girl or whatever the story calls for), I am instantly bored. I like the chase. I like unrequited feelings throughout. The longing. The hurt. The rejection.

Why the fuck did I pick up A Court of Thorns and Roses by Sarah J Mass, an adult fantasy romance?

The answer is simple: BookTok kept on recommending it to me, and I decided to see what all the hype was about. It’s part of a series, so I picked up the first book fully expecting to sell it later when I ultimately added it to my DNF pile.

Folks, Void, I couldn’t have been more wrong.

Brief Synopsis

A Court of Thorns and Roses follows Feyre, a young huntress who kills what she thinks is a wolf, but is actually a faerie. She is taken into custody by Tamlin, the masked High Lord of the Spring Court, to serve out a life sentence in exchange for not killing her for her crimes. When she makes it past the wall and into the realm, however, it’s not as it seems. She’s not treated as a prisoner, but as a guest. Constantly mistrustful of the High Fae, she tests her boundaries and tries to find a way to escape back to her family. But as time goes on, Tamlin starts to grow on her, and she’s not so sure she wants to leave anymore.

Manda Kay (@___mandakay) • Instagram photos and videos

(It’s Beauty and the Beast with faeries. Just so we’re clear.)

Faeries and Orgies and Worms, Oh My!

While I was reading this gem, I had to take little breaks between scenes to laugh to myself if I was alone or do a dramatic retelling if I was with my fiancé. You might be wondering to yourself, “Manda, what do you mean by dramatic retelling?” Void, I mean breaking it down to its most bastardized version for some fucking laughs.

Two examples stick out in my memory. The first takes place in the first half of the book. Feyre is in the middle of realizing her feelings for Tamlin, and there’s a party going on that she has to stay in the castle for.

Here’s the exchange between Andrew and myself:

Me: Dude. DUDE.
Him: What?
Me: So she mad.
Him: Okay?
Me: There’s this faerie party with a bonfire that’s gunna happen. And do you know what?
Him: What?
Me: She’s not fucking invited. She’s real upset.
Him: Why isn’t she invited?
Me: Well, one, she’s not a faerie. So that’s a thing. And two, the other faeries kinda want her dead. But she still wants to go.
Him: You know, I can see where she’s coming from. Not getting invited sucks.
Me: Yeah, she gunna go anyway. I’m calling it.

*a handful of pages later*

Me: DUDE!
Him: What?
Me: She’s not invited because it’s a faerie ORGY party!!
Him: Whoa.
Me: Yeah! And she totally went and this other faerie had to save her from getting straight up no-no squared and Lucien is upsetti because now Tamlin is going to SMELL that she was THERE and holy SHIT BALLS.
Him: …Why are they having an orgy without her?
Me: Because Spring. And she mad because Tamlin is gunna do the dirty with another faerie and I just…I just cannot!

This exchange would have gone on for the next big scene, but Andrew fell asleep. How he could do that just when things were starting to get juicy I’ll never know.

Imagine this, but with being pinned against a wall and bitten. Whoa. — Photo by cottonbro on Pexels.com

The second example that sticks out was just a moment by myself on a night I promised myself just one more chapter and ended up finishing the rest of the book in one sitting. Feyre has to complete some trials Harry Potter style in order to save the entirety of the realm from an evil force. For the first trial, she is flung down into a maze and has to put her hunting skills to good use. She has to fight a creature of monstrous size with an innumerable amount of razor sharp teeth. Its name: the Middengard Wyrm. But I know the truth. I know where the worm really came from. From a land underwater. Near a pineapple.

It was an alaskaN BULL WORM!

This scene, this entire fucking scene, is so epic. Great fighting sequence, the stakes are astronomical, and I was afraid she wasn’t going to beat the fucker. But god damnit, I died when the beast had its big reveal.

Some Final Thoughts

I went into this with my expectations on the lowest setting. I hadn’t read anything like it in such a long time when horror and other disturbing books took the forefront. After this journey, I’m hooked, plain and simple. I have the second book on the way that I’m currently waiting impatiently for. I am so invested in Feyre and the rest of the crew in a way I wasn’t expecting.

If you get nothing else out of this, I urge you to get out of your comfort zone. Whether it be a new genre or a new author, don’t keep yourself in your own little box. Expand your horizons. Sure, sometimes it’s a total letdown, but other times, well, I’m planning on buying the whole series, so that’s a thing.

Rating-wise, I’d give A Court of Thorns and Roses a solid 7/10. There was nothing profound hidden in the pages, the start up was a little slow for me while it set up the world (nothing against the novel but rather something against fantasy books in general in my ever so humble opinion), but it was a fun read and easy to devour after I got into it. The story is straightforward, and the sexual tension is sprinkled throughout, and there is some truly violent, awesome scenes that give it that edge that kept me interested.

So here’s where I turn it over to you, Void. Have you ever picked up a book you thought you would hate but were pleasantly surprised by it? Let me know below!

Book Reviews

Coraline (or a spider’s recommendation of buttons and thread)

August 1, 2021July 31, 2021 Manda Kay

Hi there. Jerry here. Manda’s off doing some kind of writing thing, so I thought I’d pop in and give you a piece of my mind. Secretly.

I’m serious. If she knows I exist, she’ll throw things at me until I squish. Even though I pay my rent on time. Landlords, am I right?

Anyway, she wrote a scary, 100% accurate tale a while back about the spider mafia and the mind control it uses to make good people do bad things. I’m not a part of the spider mafia myself, but it’s a system I respect. You gotta respect what you fear.

So, like I was saying, Manda’s busy, and she’s falling behind on the internet updates. So I figured I’d help out. I’m a reader of sorts, and she does a lot of these book reviews, so I found one that looked right up my alley and decided to give it a try. It’s a little thing called Coraline by Neil Gaiman.

Coraline is a book for kids that like nightmares, otherwise known as “little masochists.” It’s about a girl who has a name that no one cares to remember that is bored and goes to an alternate dimension for fun, only to find terror behind the door. Not that in-your-face terror. It’s that creeping terror, that general unease that crawls under your skin, just out of reach.

Dead button eyes see all and detached hands masquerade as spiders (a costume that is only slightly offensive to me and my kind, given the circumstances). Unfair games and dirty tricks on both sides level the playing field. It’s a tale of darkness and whimsy—something that sits well with my kind.

I give Coraline an 8 out of 8. Even though it was written for children, I think it holds enough merit to keep adults entertained, too.

Excuse me while I bug out. She’s coming back from her tea break.

Jerry out!

Book Reviews

The Non-Traditional Vampire (or how I fell in love with an old trope all over again)

July 18, 2021June 20, 2021 Manda Kay

Nothing puts me in the Christmas mood quite like a good story. If that story were to involve horrors beyond your imagination that make reading it uncomfortable, if not make you want to put it down for just a hot minute, well, that’s just a bonus.

There are two authors that I read who don’t have a single book I haven’t dived head first into without bothering to come up for air, where I am so enthralled in the story that I want nothing more than to be in it in some way. One, as I’m sure you’ve gathered already, is Caroline Kepnes. The other, who ranks above her simply because they have more books/they write my genre, is none other than Joe Hill.

The Most Dangerous Game (or all the fun of being a detective with none of the pressure)

July 4, 2021June 12, 2021 Manda Kay

Well, hey there, precious Void of mine. I am here to give you a bitty break from book reviews and throw some sweet, sweet life at you. By that, I mean I wanna take a second to tell you about something I hold near and dear to my heart. And no, I’m not going to go on another You tangent.

Date night. I want to talk about date night.

I am one of those introverts that craves human interaction from specific people. Specifically, my fiancé. Pre-Covid, whenever we would do a date night, it would always involve the same thing. Routine. It was routine date night. Dinner. Movie. Bam. Done-zo. In a word: boring. It cost a shit ton more money than what either of us wanted to spend, and while the predictability was comforting, it was also the complete opposite of exciting.

You get the picture.

Romance isn’t always romantic — Photo by Taryn Elliott on Pexels.com

Pre-Covid we didn’t get to do a whole lot because while we live in a sizable town, it’s run by a council of rich white dudes who want things to stay the same as they were back in the fifties, but lamer.

Then Covid happened, and everyone had to stay inside. Our date nights were now homecooked meals and Netflix. Cheaper, but still grossly routine.

Most introverts find peace in the same old same old. I, unlike them, get horrendously anxious. However, there wasn’t a choice, so what can you do.

Fast forward a bit, we get the Rona and are stuck inside for two weeks unable to smell or eat or do much of anything but lay around and wait for it to run its course. I plenty of unhealthy phone time scrolling endlessly through Facebook, waiting for something to happen. I’d seen ads before for mystery puzzle boxes, but one called Hunt-a-Killer would show up most often. I’d seen their Blair Witch box before, but I was bored, so I decided to do something I never like to do (why? so I can feel like I’m outsmarting the system?) and clicked on the fucking ad.

Void. I’m glad I did.

Hunt-a-Killer is your typical mystery box, but the Blair Witch edition is special because 1) it deals with horror tropes and 2) it’s episodic. That means multiple boxes on the same mystery, babyyy. The Blair Witch has six episodes, which means six whole months of date nights that don’t involve watching a screen and letting our brain rot away (also for someone who talks about tv rotting your brain as much as I do, I sure do love to sit in front of the tv for binge sessions).

In The Blair Witch, you are a detective helping Rosemary Kent find her son, Liam, who went missing in the woods. What starts out as a simple case though soon evolves into something more sinister, more supernatural, than she would have ever believed.

https://www.instagram.com/p/CQBvLayA4mz/

This box not only follows the lore for The Blair Witch; it expands it tenfold. In each box you receive pamphlets and maps and pictures and books and more. It’s much more involved than I would have ever imagined. My favorite piece so far has been a creepy carving of a tall figure. I opened it up and literally said, “Nope,” and promptly zipped it back up. Damn thing gives me the creeps. Not only do you receive the box every month, but you also periodically get emails from Rosemary with new information, like pictures or links to podcasts. At the end of each episode, you are given a website to a tip line where you answer the question that came with the box, and when you answer correctly, you get to listen to a clip from Rosemary with clues as to what will be included in the next box.

Anyone who’s followed the movies and the game will recognize the easter eggs scattered throughout the documents you receive. I, for one, ADORE the first movie. I watched it well after its release, but even though technology has advanced since its making, it still gave me chills. I think I’m right in saying that it is the pioneer of the found footage horror genre, and nothing made since has ever succeeded in capturing the charm and terror that those film students caught on their camera.

We are currently on box four and have box five on standby since our work schedules have been all over the place. The Hunt-a-Killer boxes have something we both enjoy: Andrew likes the puzzles, and I am here for the lore. We have had to use their spoiler-free hint site twice for puzzles in episode three because we just weren’t grasping what they wanted, but even though we cheated (or at least what I consider cheating), it still was a rewarding experience when we came to the answer.

I think if I could change one thing about the monthly boxes, it would be to have the option to slow down shipments. I say this because there is an option to receive the next box early if you solve the puzzle and want to move on. I like getting the emails from Rosemary in the small batches, and I feel like when I get the next box before I have solved the one I’m on, it takes away from the experience. It’s like Rosemary, baby, cut it the fuck out and slow down, let me solve your son’s disappearance on my own time. 😉

If this sounds like a fun time to you, you should definitely check them out. I’m not being sponsored to write this or anything like that; I just know when I’ve found a good thing and this is a good thing. There’s options for monthly episodes or all-in-one kits for a fun dinner-party style experience where you want to solve the whole thing in one go. You can find them at http://www.huntakiller.com. These boxes are soooo worth the money spent!

Book Reviews

The Wives (or that rollercoaster you hate)

June 6, 2021May 9, 2021 Manda Kay

So, there you are. Rollercoasters usually aren’t your thing, but this one came so highly recommended that you couldn’t not go for at least one ride. The line was long, but you powered through to get to this point, this moment in time. You climb in, you strap up, and the guy running the machine comes and clicks the bar down. He smells like vinegar, but you give him the benefit of a doubt. It’s a hot day outside, and who knows how long he’s been working. He makes it to the end of the cars, then saunters back up to his podium to press that button that makes the contraption go.

And that’s when you remember: You fucking hate rollercoasters. You always have. They thrash you around and make you think you might fall out of your seat because the seat belt is worn and the bar is never snug against your legs except when you flip upside down and gravity teases your body. Every time you’ve gone, you’ve made it out alive, but every time you’ve gone, you’ve also gotten sick in the bin and had to go home for the rest of the day feeling miserable.

So you raise your hand up to ask to be let off, that you have made a mistake and are supposed to meet up with someone else anyway, but even though the vinegar man running the thing sees your hand, sees your distress, he pushes the button anyway, and you are flung into a three minute ride into the depths of hell.

That’s what reading The Wives by Tarryn Fisher was like: a rollercoaster ready to fall apart. I have a lot of mixed feelings about this one, so bear with me here.

Spoiler-Free Synopsis

The Wives follows a young woman by the name of Thursday who is in a relationship with a man named Seth. Seth is also in a relationship with two other women he refers to as Monday and Tuesday. Thursday doesn’t know the identity of Monday or Tuesday, and Seth prefers it that way, keeping his life between the three of them separate.

Modern day polygamy at its finest.

It isn’t until one day Thursday happens to see a receipt hiding in Seth’s pocket that gives her a name that her interest in the other women piques into jealousy and obsession. Thursday is determined to find out who his other wives are, and she will stop at nothing to simultaneously save them and destroy them.

This Is A First

I don’t think I’ve ever read a book that I’ve enjoyed where I’ve hated every single character thrown my way. I mean every single one. All the wives: horrible. Seth: atrocious. All the side characters that usually breathe some life into the rest of the novel: good god no. I cared so very little about them all, but I couldn’t put the book down.

Fuck you and fuck you and fuck you — Photo by Aleksandr Burzinskij on Pexels.com

It was like watching trashy tv like Honey Boo Boo or Real Housewives. Or like looking at a bad train wreck, I guess. It’s bad, but I can’t fucking look away. I need to know what happens next.

This whole concept is bizarre to me. Usually I at very least love to hate someone in a book, but this gave me nothing to work with. I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that has nothing to do with the author and everything to do with me. Like, they all seemed real and reacted in a way that people would really react, but none of these people were my people, you know what I’m saying? Like, I hated Roland from The Dark Tower with an undying passion but his mannerisms and actions enthralled me to the core. Tarryn Fisher gave me nothing to work with here.

I think I’m just bad at making friends.

Plot Isn’t Everything—Except for When It Is

I don’t like to read books for the plot. I know there are readers out there who do, but I don’t fall into that category. I’m more interested, normally, with the characters in the book. That’s why books like The Cell didn’t jive with me. That book was a lot of things, but a great study on character was not one of those things.

Fuck, I sound like a snob, but I’m being honest. I have a point here somewhere. Just roll with it for a hot minute while I gather myself.

Okay, so the relationship between myself and the characters were lacking. That’s fine, different tastes, all that jazz.

But I kept reading. I kept on and I didn’t throw the book in the corner to think about what it’s done like I did with The Cell (also this isn’t my book so I had to take extra good care of it). What saved it for me was the very thing I don’t usually read a book for. The fucking plot.

Tarryn Fisher is amazing at cliffhangers. There, I said it. She left me constantly wanting more even though a part of my brain was like “nah, don’t care” and she kept me in that state up until the final page, and even then I was flipping it over expecting there to be just a little more, just another few sentences, just GIMMEE that FIX Tarryn and I SWEAR I’ll be GOOD.

Folks. Void. It worked.

I didn’t have to like the characters because the story wasn’t about the characters, you dig? The story was about this crazy fucking thing that happened to these people I don’t want to keep in contact with but I still love to hear about them getting kicked around because deep down I know they all deserve it. And I’m probably throwing my own foot in my own mouth because I know for a fact there is someone out there who adored Thursday and understood Seth and craves more of their story, but that someone just isn’t me.

But fucking a. For what it’s worth, it was still a damn good read.

Little Side Notes

It should be obvious that this book didn’t paint polygamy and polyamory in a good light, and it should also be obvious that that was not this book’s intention. Believe it or not, there are healthy relationships out there that are not monogamous—far from it, actually. It’s all about consent, folks. That, and minding your own business if it’s not your thing.

I’m not polyamorous (too jealous), but I have a friend who is, and they make that shit work just fine for them. They are happy, and I think that’s all that matters.

I just wanted to touch on that point because I feel like that lifestyle gets a bad rap because the rest of society is so focused on the cult-style polygamy where the women are held captive and are raped by their dad, but that’s just one side, the dark side, where it’s not about consent and being a free spirit.

Being a comment on society isn’t what the author intended. They intended a thriller and they fucking delivered a damn good thriller. Tarryn Fisher dived headfirst into the mind of Thursday, who both accepts and resists her situation, no censorship whatsoever, no sugarcoating it for the feint of heart, and she did fantastic at that.

A Gift from Me To You

Since polyamory is a theme of this book, and since I love Breaking Benjamin, here’s a song for you to listen to. It’s a good one. 😊

For what it’s worth, I enjoyed this book despite not enjoying the characters in it. I was promised an edge-of-your-seat thriller, and it fucking delivered. My arbitrary rating system says it’s a solid 9/10. I want you to go read it with an open mind, no outside influence. Go in blind and see how you come out. You might love the characters and roll your eyes at the plot! You might write Tarryn Fisher and demand she delve deeper into Thursday or do a retelling through the eyes of one of the other wives! Don’t ever take anything negative I have to say about anything too much to heart. I’m just a girl who wants to be published but instead is a pro at getting rejections. What you should take to heart is all the good I have to say instead. You know, like how it’s a damn fine thriller and you won’t regret reading it.

Why am I still sitting here justifying my opinion?

Anyway, here’s to you, Void. Is there something you’ve read or watched that had key elements you normally look for that it failed on but you kept pushing through for the satisfaction of what happens next? Let me know!

Book Reviews

You Love Me (or a casual rambling about Joe)

May 23, 2021May 9, 2021 Manda Kay

The stalker (almost) everyone loves and (most) people never want to meet is back in fucking cashmere and I couldn’t be more thrilled. The sick part of my brain absolutely thrives on this series. It’s an equal mix of dark and funny and pure, unadulterated hair-pulling anxiety that I couldn’t put down. I had to be physically pulled away to go do things other than read. I lost time with my fiancé for the two days it took me to read this book and I would do it again in a heartbeat.

As a matter of fact, I will. Just as soon as I finish the Netflix series one more glorious time, I’m going to go back through the books and savor each and every one.

Manda Kay on Instagram: “Fuck. Me. I finished this book several weeks ago and my mind is still reeling over that ending. All the fun stalker tendencies, this time…”

A Spoiler-Free Synopsis

Joe Goldberg is living on an island after getting out of prison and volunteering at the local library, where he meets Mary Kay DiMarco, the librarian. Match made in heaven. They hit it off right away, but there’s complications and a few road bumps along the way that lead to a destination you’ll never see coming.

To put it into perspective, I had an idea of how it was going to end, and the real ending was so much more a punch to the face that I never asked for but really honest to God needed. Just strolling along and things are looking good and BAM I’m knocked out for a week and wake up crying wondering why my face hurts so fucking bad.

Good Joe

I love Joe. I know I just wrote up a post about the second book in the series, but I never really articulated what it is about him that makes me want to dive into his mind again and again. I skipped out on it the last time because I felt like I wasn’t going to be able to put it into words. Then I read the third installment, and I think I understand it a little bit better now.

Before, I justified it by saying that he fit into my own personal narrative of life, being that anyone is capable of anything. That’s a cop-out, though. That’s the same explanation I use to describe anyone who does bad things that are interesting to me, ie Hitler or John Wayne Gacy, or if we want to keep it fictional, Walter White or Brady Hartsfield. But as good as Breaking Bad or Mr Mercedes was, I’m not ready to dive into their world headfirst a mere few weeks after finishing their stories. I’d chalk it up to Caroline Kepnes’s writing style settling so perfectly in the mush that is my brain, but it’s not that either (though the run-on sentences still give me life).

No. I love Joe because I can see a disturbingly large amount of myself in him. Minus the murder. Definitely minus the murder. Also minus the lying. I’m the worst liar on the planet. If I am ever in a situation where I have to lie to survive, I am straight up fucked.

So very different but so very much the same — Photo by Elias Ficavontade on Pexels.com

Hyper-Fixation Is Just Another Word for Obsession

Whenever I get stuck on something that gives me that sweet, sweet shot of serotonin, I will absorb it like a fucking sponge. Immersion isn’t enough. I’ll break it down, dissect it, wear it like a second skin, until my attention wavers and I am drawn to the next high. In the past, people have referred to me lovingly (and not so lovingly) as obsessive. I prefer the term hyper-fixated. It sounds less destructive. To me, at least.

For instance, my current hyper-fixation is the You series. I devoured the books, and I’m going to devour them again. I devoured the show not once but twice, and I still have this itch in the back of my head that says, “Just one more time.” I’ve watched an insane number of interviews on YouTube—guiltily, mind you—and have promptly deleted the search history after watching them. Why? Because people might think I’m obsessing, and obsessing is bad.

I delete my viewing history. I reread the books in private. I ignore the buzz in my brain that says, “Talk about it talk about it talk about it to everyone,” because then they will know that this dose of serotonin or dopamine or whatever it is has taken over my entire brain and they will think I’m crazy.

TL;DR – I hyper-fixate and I’m paranoid. Guess who else does that? Joe. Guess who else? Almost everyone, if they are being honest with themselves. The difference lies in the object people choose to delve deeper into. I choose fiction. My fiancé chooses cars. Joe Goldberg chooses women. The concept of relating to a stalker/murderer isn’t so scary when you break it down to its most basic form, really. I would be as bold to say that there’s a little bit of Joe in us all.

Book Joe VS Show Joe:::FIGHT

This section does not belong in this poor excuse for a book review, but I want to touch on it anyway because it’s something that absolutely fascinates me. When you talk about Joe, depending on if you are watching the Netflix series or the books, you are talking about two completely different people. Crazy, right? A show differing from the book? Taking away key details and events and completely mucking up the story one way or the other depending on your tastes?? Wow, that doesn’t happen!

Said no one. Ever.

Television cannot do what books do. The same goes for vice versa. Book Joe would not make a hit series. Show Joe wouldn’t be a NY Times Bestseller.

Here’s the casual breakdown, in my ever so humble opinion:

Book Joe:

Charismatically creepy
Self-important douchebag in disguise
Lone wolf 24/7 except with typewriters
Funny as fuck, often times unintentionally so
Cool, calm, collected (mostly) turn that creepy vibe way the fuck up
Borderline sociopath—if not full blown bonafidably so
Finds happiness in what he thinks is love, but is actually control

Show Joe:

Charming in a quiet way
Self-importance muted and misunderstood
Only real friends are children
Sense of humor and jokes are random and a little cringy at times
Mellow or awkward in interactions—there is no inbetween
Less sociopath vibes, more innocent puppy who doesn’t know better vibes
Thinks he wants love, but really just wants the chase

These two men are from alternate universes. They share a name. They share a face (because Penn is exactly who I imagined in my head when I was reading the book and that basically never happens). Their core beliefs are the same. They don’t think they are killers, they just so happen to get in bad situations where killing is the only way out. Book Joe just seems like he’s better at handling it than Show Joe.

But the events and the people around them are so different and have changed the man they’ve grown into. It’s phenomenal in the best of ways because it all feels so very in character for them both, and that doesn’t always happen in film adaptations. Normally, something is lost in translation in a way that makes one or the other unwatchable or (dare I say it?) unreadable. And that hasn’t happened here.

So very much the same, but so very different — Photo by Thiago Matos on Pexels.com

This is it. This is why I love both book and show so god damn much, because they exist in alternate universes and they still manage to make sense. You couldn’t have the book be like the show because this character that Caroline Kepnes has breathed into life wouldn’t be a man that people would root for. They tweaked what needed tweaked and added plot twists and characters to make him a more sympathetic person, because otherwise it just wouldn’t work. That’s why shows like True Blood and movies like The Dark Tower failed—shit strayed from the source material so far that it got tarnished and rusted out and decayed before viewer’s very eyes. Not because it was different than the original. Rather, because it declined into a pit of plot holes and unbelievable character motives.

The Power of Creativity

This is a little off topic from the You series and more a comment on the arts in general. The thing I love most about creative works is the community of creativity that comes after it. They always feel like a love letter to the source material in a way that’s more touching than screaming from the rooftops that in this moment in time, you enjoyed what you consumed.

A person starts out with a thing, people like the thing, so they create a thing in tribute to the thing, and other people see that and are inspired to create their own thing. The cycle continues until you have fan fiction and art projects and poetry and videos and dramatizations and crafts and clothing and cosplays and so much more. It’s so beautiful, watching other people create. It’s my favorite part of jumping on a bandwagon that’s existed before I came around. Just taking the time to absorb everything that it’s about and everything it means to those around me.

I just love seeing what other people can do. It’s my favorite.

I Love You, You Love Me

I want to rate this book a billion/10, and it’s my arbitrary rating system, so I fucking will. It is hands down my favorite in the series thus far, and I can’t wait for Caroline Kepnes to release more news on the next installment. I love watching Joe grow and learn from his mistakes and cringing right along with him when he fucks up time and time again. He is and will forever be my favorite guy I never want to meet, and I feel like if I were to meet him, we would be fast friends, and he would use that to his advantage to pin a murder on me (like Dr. Nicky) and I’d be fine with it as long as we could still idk be pen pals or something. Because I’m sick in the head and have that whole putting people on a pedestal thing. Whoops.

Let me just say that I’m glad I have the friends I do have because if I were friends with bad people I would do mental acrobatics and make excuses for them until the day I died. Being an enabler is bad for all involved to be honest.

Tell me about something creative you’ve done, Void. Myself, I have several unfinished Phantom of the Opera fanfictions lying around. They all rank somewhere between terrible and weird, but they were what got me into writing in the first place. (Erik is the real OG of stalker/murderer/hopeless romantic types.)

My Work

Sexual Frustration (or why won’t you touch me)

May 9, 2021April 12, 2021 Manda Kay

Hey there, Void. This title is misleading. It makes it sound like I’m going to put my own sex life on blast, which I’m not. No offense, but we barely know each other, and my mom reads these. Annyyywayyyyy… So I’m working on some preliminary stuff for another novel, and I had some music playing in the background, and I got inspired. I’m not ready to write this thing quite yet, but I typed out this little drabble. I can’t give you any background info or any sort of set up because I don’t have it yet. This is just a fleeting little scene. Let me know what you think! 🙂

***

I have these times when I’m alone in the house (face it, girl, you’re alone in the house more than there is company over) where I wander the halls aimlessly. It’s never-ending. For the life of me, I haven’t the faintest idea why he chose this place to call home. It’s far too big for two people, let alone one person. Did he live here alone before he brought me along? I think he must have been. I don’t think this reclusive thing he has going on started with me. I think it’s been a thing for a long time. Call it a hunch.

I travel up and down the halls, through the maze of rooms, wandering while blasting music from the speakers in the living room. It used to be rock music, but lately, I’ve taken up classical. I’m not that kind of girl, even though I’m sure he’d want me to be, but it fits the aesthetic he has going on so much better. It makes my time alone whimsical.

I’m always expecting to find something bad, like a dead body. The music shifted to something low and creepy. Instead of one dead body, I imagine hundreds, all spilling out from the floorboards. A guy in a mask has to have some skeletons in his closet, you know?

It always turns out that the more I look, the less frightened I am and the more excited I become. I don’t know if it’s because I don’t expect to find anything sinister lurking in the shadows or if it’s because if there were something, it would make sense. It would end this nagging feeling in the back of my mind.

It’s his house, but it’s my house, too, and if I want to go body hunting, well fuck, it’s my right to do so.

I never travel too far, though. Let’s not get overzealous here. This house is like a castle, and while it’s huge enough on the outside, it’s even bigger on the inside. I have this reoccurring fear of getting lost on my way to the kitchen and starving to death before anyone can find me. It’s stupid, I know. It’s big, but it’s not that big. It’s just a feeling, I guess.

Is it that weird to be afraid of a house?

Is it weirder to be afraid of my husband?

He’s never done a thing to me, and yet…

I don’t know. I’m being paranoid. Too much time alone in this Mall of America-sized living space has got me on edge.

This just isn’t at all what I had envisioned my life to be like, you know? I thought there would be way more glitz and glamor than there is. I stay home while he goes and makes women hot for him on stage. I know for a fact I’m not the only one who stared at his hands and wondered what they could do on someone like me. There’s a whole reddit group dedicated to the man’s fucking hands, for gods sake. He can do things beyond your wildest dreams, and still, he will not touch me.

Is it me?

Is he repulsed by me?

I can remember one time a few years back, it must have been a few days after we got married, and I was on his bed waiting for him. We hadn’t had sex yet. I thought he was trying to build up the sexual tension, and I got tired of waiting, so I took matters into my own hands. I sprawled out in lingerie and waited for him to come home. It was a look that won me a lot of favors with other men, lesser men than him, and when he walked in, I thought he’d take me right then and there.

Instead, laid on the bed next to me, watching behind that mask of his, lips parted just enough. I reached out to kiss him, and he recoiled. Not a lot. He didn’t cause a scene, he just moved, just out of reach, and so I didn’t pursue. Since he wouldn’t let me touch him, I touched myself. He reached his hand out toward me, gloved, as always, and floated just above my skin. He never touched me once, but I could almost feel him all the same.

I rolled onto my back, really getting into it, and he scooted in closer to me. Never touching, but almost. His hand ghosted over my body, and I think he was hard, but I was too focused on me to take much notice. Now, of course, I wish I had looked. Maybe then I wouldn’t be doing this to myself.

“Vivian,” he purred in that deep voice of his. I love it when he says my name. “Come.”

And I did. I gave it my all and came harder than I had in my entire sexual existence. You would probably think I was lying or overselling it, but I swear to you that I’m not. In two words, he made me come, and I reached out to him to cling on for dear life, to ride that final high, and—

He moved out of reach faster than I could grab, a self-satisfied smirk on his lips. I clutched a pillow instead, rocking into it in time with my heartbeat, wiping my hand on the fabric and in one blissful moment not giving a single fuck about any of it.

I laid there, satisfied but empty, hollow. He bid me goodnight and turned away, closing the door behind him.

I wonder if he heard me cry?

I haven’t tried anything like that since.

Not with him, at least.

Book Reviews

Hidden Bodies (or how to find the will to keep writing when you find a book you’re in love with)

April 25, 2021April 11, 2021 Manda Kay

I. Adore. Caroline. Kepnes.

Let me backtrack. I read You a few years back and was enthralled by it. I have a soft spot for crazies, what can I say. The more fucked up, the better. I bought Hidden Bodies soon after, and there it sat on my bookshelf for years. It was one of the many that gathered in the to be read pile that I kept pushing back for one reason or another. I loaned it out, and a few weeks later, I took up the series on Netflix. I tried to space it out, as I do, and I had to binge it, as I do, and I needed the book before I could continue on to season two.

So I did what any other rational adult would do. I went all the way to the nearest Barnes and Nobel, which is a whole four hours away from where I live, to buy another copy. I let the person I loaned it out to keep it, both to be nice and because when I get fixated on something I become the most impatient person on the planet. Whoops.

An Excuse to Gush

Why do I adore Caroline Kepnes? Motherfucking runon sentences. They sound crazed and desperate and that’s my favorite type. Most books I read, whenever the POV gets handed over to the bad guy, that’s the way he thinks, he rationalizes. In my own writing, I have thrown it in at emotional moments where the character isn’t thinking clearly, that panicpanicpanic sort of feel.

Caroline Kepnes took a whole book, a whole series, and managed to push out the entire thing with runon sentences galore. I am a sucker for it. It’s easy to read and understand. It sounds like thoughts sound. I’m in love with her writing style, at least for the You series. She has another book that is a standalone, but I haven’t been able to track it down yet. Never mind that it’s literally a click away, but when I do my book shopping, I like to do big hauls in a physical store so I can smell them (don’t pretend like you don’t), and it doesn’t have the same rush online as in person. When I find it, I want to grab it and be like “Fuck yeah, I’ve been looking for this forever.” Online is too easy.

That’s enough rambling. Moving on:::

The Briefest Spoiler-Free Overview of Your Life

Hidden Bodies is not like season two of You. The show and the book exist in alternate realities. The book follows Joe as he moves to LA in search of his ex. Instead, he finds Love, a rich girl with a psychic twin thing going on. The two are from two completely different worlds, both financially speaking and upbringing, but they find a way to make their love work.

With a few bodies piling up. Naturally.

It’s truly a phenomenal book that will have you equal parts creeped out and laughing in a way that just works.

Reading Like A Writer

Back to my rambling. But it has a point. Just trust me on this.

Oh god I’m back on my bullshit — Photo by cottonbro on Pexels.com

When you read a book, you just read it and enjoy the story that plays out before your very eyes. It’s 100% enjoyment, or at least it should be as long as the book is a good one. I haven’t read a book in that way for way too many years.

I’m one of the ones who reads a book like a writer. It’s the same thing, but fine-tuned in a way that makes you zero in on things like word choice and subplots and pacing. It’s like reading, but also studying at the same time. What works, what doesn’t, all that jazz.

Do I read like a writer right? No idea. Is reading like a writer honestly different than reading like a reader? I think so. I mean, I also sort of think that people who focus too much on it ruin the fun of reading the damn thing and come off as snobbish, but hey, I still think it’s a thing. Am I trying to come off as snobbish? Nope, but I have a point to this whole thing, this whole post.

You ready?

Okay. Two words:

Author Envy

I read like writer because a writer is what I am (or at least what I want to be if the query gods wish it to be true). I pay attention to what works and all that bullshit because I’m researching ways to be better in everything I do. When I find something that works on all levels, I am elated, because that rarely happens where literally every single thing is on-point. Or maybe I’m just picky.

That’s not the point.

The point is, I found these books (there is a third one that I literally just finished before writing this post up that I still can’t stop thinking about), and they work SO DAMN GOOD. It’s the run-ons. I’m confident of it. And they speak to my black little heart. And on one hand, I’m in love. And on the other hand, I’m fucking depressed. It’s not because I’m caught up and I have to wait around for the next book and the next season. It’s because I don’t think that I can ever create something half as good as what she has built up to be one of my favorite (if not the absolute top) series of all time.

This is embarrassing to put out there. It feels petty, and if anyone I looked up to read it, I would roll in a hole and just die. But, I feel like it’s something that doesn’t get talked about enough. So here I am to try my best to justify my feelings.

You work hard to create whatever it is you want to create—it doesn’t have to be writing—and you put your everything into it. Then, when someone else comes along and brings it harder, creating perfection…do you know what I mean? It’s like one-upping without one-upping because what the two of you came up with are completely different things, but the bones of it are the same, but they just look better. It’s like having a sibling that wins beauty pageants while you’re shoved to the background for family photos. It’s like getting a C on a test and you’re stoked for the professor to grade it on a curve but your classmate got a fucking A++. It’s like the statue of David next to a stick figure drawing.

It’s exactly like all of that, but it’s not like any of it at all, because creating isn’t supposed to be a fucking contest. The rational part of me knows this, and knows that there is nothing wrong with my own voice when I dabble in that tip-tap-type way of life. But when I read something perfect, not perfect to the world, mind you, but perfect to ME, it’s hard not to get down on myself.

I can’t be the only one who does this. I have this overwhelming need to justify myself and overexplain and everything else, but this is running long as is. You don’t want to read it, and I am just going to talk in circles.

Finding the Will to Overcome

Getting back into the swing of things is hard when you’re down on yourself. I have found that acknowledging what is going on in your brain helps speed up the process. I felt myself drop into low territory on and off throughout the book, and it hit harder on the last page. My emotions are a mystery to me on the best days (you’d think I’d have this figured out by now), so just vocalizing (quietly) that I feel bad because I feel like my work is shit, while it didn’t make me necessarily feel better, it did put my feelings into perspective.

And stop treating yourself like a fucking product — Photo by Jeremias Oliveira on Pexels.com

Distance is another something that helps move it along. Not in the sense of getting rid of the books, because um, hell no. More in the sense of time. More time passes=more time to process=less owie feelings. Almost like when someone dies, but less serious.

I’ve also found that acknowledging that while your feelings are real and valid, you’re freaking out over absolutely nothing. It’s a weird realization to come to, since it should be obvious, but it’s not always obvious in this brain of mine. Am I or will I ever be on the same level as another famous author? Statistics tell me hell to the no. But does that mean I should just give up? Hell to the fuck to the no. And neither should you. It doesn’t matter what you’re doing, whether it’s writing or drawing or singing or anything at all.

So you found someone you admire, someone you envy just the tiniest (or biggest) of bits. So what? Use that as inspiration. It’s okay to enjoy someone else’s work. You can allow yourself that enjoyment without making it all about you. At the end of the day, it’s not a competition—unless you entered into a competition with them, which hey, good on you for taking the initiative—and you should quit acting like it is—unless it actually is, but whatever, you get what I’m saying.

Grant yourself permission to enjoy the things you love, and stop fucking trying to be the best. It makes life a helluva lot easier. I promise.

As for me, I’m going to stop killing myself over not being good enough, and start reveling in the fact that someone else out there loves run-on sentences and crazy people just as much, if not MORE, than I do.

I’m also going to post this embarrassing trash and hope the right people read it and the wrong people don’t. Um, that’s right people=like mindset dealing with writer’s envy and wrong people=literally anyone else.

Final Thoughts

This is where I leave you, Void. But not without my arbitrary rating system, obviously. Hidden Bodies gets a fucking 15/10. It’s off the charts for me. Joe is a maniac, and I am here for it. Supercunt is my new favorite word, and you have him to thank for that. Just read it. Read You, then read it. You’re not going to be disappointed.

Annnywayyy, comment section. Have you ever read or seen something so good that it just made you mad? Let me know so I don’t feel so alone in this bubble. Until next time…

Book Reviews

The End (or coping with the ending in your head hitting harder than the ending you were given)

April 11, 2021April 4, 2021 Manda Kay

Void, imagine with me, if you will, the coziest of places. You have your beverage of choice, some warm lighting in an otherwise dim room, and that blanket that drapes over you (more for softness than for warmth, naturally). In your lap, you have a new book. The story enthralls you; whenever you put it down, the impact of what you’ve just read replays in your head, tempting you—no, demanding you—to pick it back up and keep going. The pieces are laid out, the stage is set, and you are on your way to that big end, that climax, and you know just how it’s going to go. You aren’t upset by this—not every great story needs a twist after all. In fact, knowing how it’s going to play out is satisfying in its own right, it’s exciting, it’s breathtaking, it’s, it’s…

…Not at all how it was supposed to go.

Huh, well, it’s an ending. It’s…huh… It’s a little like a visit from the minutemen if you know what I mean, but, you know…it’s an ending and it ended and I suppose that’s all it had to be…

Enter The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes

This one has been out for a bit. I don’t know if I had originally intended to read it or not. It’s the prequel to The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins. I read the first book in the series turned blockbuster several years ago and loved it, but I never got around to getting ahold of the following books. This one was leant to me by a coworker. I think I just needed a reminder of why I loved that first book. The story blew me away.

Stickers on books are the absolute worst — Manda Kay (@___mandakay) • Instagram photos and videos

The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes lures you into a false sense of security before hitting you full force with brutal violence without warning, oftentimes without reason. It was so in-your-face, keeping the reader on the edge of their seat, especially after the reaping. Collins puts a lot of focus on the tribute from District 12, Lucy Gray. As often as she successfully steals the spotlight, there is no separating her from her mentor, a boy from the Capitol: Coriolanus Snow.

Snow Lands on Top

Coriolanus Snow is everything I love in a narrator. He’s unreliable. He’s untrustworthy. He’s bad news shoved in a nice body, and he uses his charms to get exactly what he wants, even at the cost of his fellow classmates. Snow is the kind of guy I would hate in real life (lord knows I know a few Snows), but I absolutely adore on the page. He’s a kind of menacing that’s interesting. He’s fucked up in the head and he plays people with a smile on his face and they are none the wiser.

What I loved most about him was his “love” for Lucy Gray. It’s not true love (thank god; romances make me puke). It’s pure, unadulterated ownership. He wants to use her to win the favor of the Capitol, and when the tingle of her kiss stays on his lips, he wants to own her. He doesn’t want a relationship. He wants a goddamn puppy. He’s jealous of her past affairs and acquaintances. He’s quick to snap when she doesn’t say or do the right thing. He loves her in the same way Eminem loves Rhianna in Love the Way You Lie.

That’s the kind of love that gets my blood pumping. That fucked up, controlling side of love that is horrible, terrible, wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. It’s a whole branch of romance that can turn any book into a horror novel. Maybe that’s why I like it so much.

No Spoils Found Here

I want you to read this book, so I’m not going to delve into all the little plot points and whatnot that made it great. Even if you haven’t read or watched The Hunger Games, you should be aware of the general premise. Kids from different Districts are rounded up for a fight to the death. Only one survives.

That being said…

The One That Could Have Been

What I will tell you, using as small amount of detail as possible to avoid spoilers of the real thing, is my own personal headcannon of an ending. Brace yourselves for huge amounts of vague confusion.

Snow slips Lucy Gray something to help her win the Games. After a long and grueling battle for life, she survives, keeping the something he gave her. Snow reveals to her his plans to keep her with him, not allowing her to go back home to District 12 to be with her self-made little family. Lucy Gray sees the madness in his eyes, understands his crazed obsession with her, and decides to play along. Then, the first moment she gets, she commits suicide. Snow finds her on the ground and holds her, crying at the loss of his girl, his toy. Before Lucy Gray draws her last breath, she tells him that she will never be his, that she is as free as a bird now. Snow, grief-stricken and sick, but most of all pissed off, grows to be the ruler of Panem. He holds onto his hatred of the girl who got away, and uses that hate to fuel the continuation of the Hunger Games.

Dark? Of course. But there’s meaning behind it. It ties up some otherwise loose ends. It’s not cannon, but it’s real in my heart.

If you love me let it die — Photo by Akshar Dave on Pexels.com

You Brought Me Up Just to Let Me Down

Everything up until the last twenty pages or so was phenomenal. You stick with Snow through his ups and downs, his wins and losses. There’s so much emotion in the story that burst through full force in the simplicity of it. When evoking emotion from the reader, I’ve always felt like less is more, and Suzanne Collins is an absolute master of this. The most impactful scenes ended with a short string of words, forcing me to put the book down for a hot minute to fully digest it before itching to pick it back up again to see what happens next. It made me laugh, cry, and feel absolutely disgusted and enthralled. I enjoyed it all the way up to that ending. Ugh.

So, on my arbitrary scale, I’d rate it a solid 9/10. The rest of the book is just too good to downgrade it more than a point.

So here’s the point where I turn it over to you. Have you read The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes? What did you think of the ending? Have you read a fantastic book with a horrid ending that you just can’t get out of your head? Let me know!

My Mind

Stay Right Here (or why I gotta get through this)

March 28, 2021March 21, 2021 Manda Kay

Get that happy however you can — Photo by Polina Kovaleva on Pexels.com

Self-care isn’t pretty. Or at least that’s what a post said that made the rounds on social media. It’s not always bubble baths and soft music. Sometimes it’s learning boundaries and telling people no. Sometimes it’s coming to terms that your actions are toxic to yourself and others and dealing with the aftermath.

I’d like to expand on this, and I would go so far as to say that sometimes, self-care doesn’t make sense. And you know what, Void I scream into sometimes? I think that it doesn’t have to. So long as it helps ground you and keep you here on this wildly spinning, ever-changing planet, that’s all that matters.

So, Void, I present to you my arbitrary list of things I have to stay alive for. Here we go:

I need to see Final Fantasy VII Remake in its entirety. I’ve waited almost my whole life for it.
Phantom of the Opera in New York for the second time needs to happen.
Giant pretzels in Vegas.
There’s still a book or two left in me before I go.
Gotta live or my mama would be sad.
Getting married is important to me.
I think my fiancé would forget to feed the dogs. Not all the time, but definitely sometimes. Plus, he’d get engrossed with something and not notice when they have to pee and that just makes the carpet smell nasty.
There’s still concerts I need to go to.
I want to ask Joe Hill a question the next time he does a book tour because last time I was too afraid.
I want to meet Caroline Kepnes because she seems pretty cool.
I don’t know what I want done to my body when I die yet.
There are still so many more books I want to read.
Tea and thunderstorms go so good together and I would miss it.
I’d miss the strong feeling that happens after I work out.
Being dead means no more blanket forts and I’m not about that life.
It would probably take a long while for them to replace me at work.
Can’t watch an endless stream of YouTube videos if I’m dead.
I still need to prove the fuckers wrong who roll their eyes when I tell them I write.
Good horror movies aren’t a thing when you die.
Lifeless fingers can’t reach out and grab things in stores that look soft.

The code to happiness — Photo by Ivan Samkov on Pexels.com

I could keep going, but I think you get the picture. It doesn’t matter why you continue to wake up day after day. Your motivation to keep pressing on can be as big as a religious need or as small as finishing your favorite anime. At the end of the day, it’s your reason for living, and anyone who tries to make you feel bad about that is a fucking piece.

Self-care doesn’t have to be pretty or productive or make sense. Self-care just has to ground you for a hot minute and remind you that there’s a reason to keep on keeping on, even if that reason is selfish—hell, ESPECIALLY if that reason is selfish. You’re allowed to be selfish every once in a while, you know. No one needs to give you permission to put yourself before others.

That’s all I really have to say this time around. I’m in a weird spot, but I’ll stay here. If not for you, then for my mama, or for thunderstorms, or for blankets (does it really matter why?).

I hope you’ll stay here, too.

Author: Manda Kay

The Beauty and the Beast and the AlaskAN BULL WORM (or an adventure in the land of fairy porn)

Coraline (or a spider’s recommendation of buttons and thread)

The Non-Traditional Vampire (or how I fell in love with an old trope all over again)

The Most Dangerous Game (or all the fun of being a detective with none of the pressure)

The Wives (or that rollercoaster you hate)

You Love Me (or a casual rambling about Joe)

Sexual Frustration (or why won’t you touch me)

Hidden Bodies (or how to find the will to keep writing when you find a book you’re in love with)

The End (or coping with the ending in your head hitting harder than the ending you were given)

Stay Right Here (or why I gotta get through this)