Kristy Berridge's Blog, page 22
August 3, 2013
Book Review: Lord of Misrule by Rachel Caine
This is the fifth book in the Morganville Vampires series - Lord of Misrule - simply put, an action-packed read that once again does not disappoint.Claire Danvers takes starring role, supported by her friends and roommates, Michael - recently turned vampire, Eve - goth chick extraordinaire, and Shane - love interest with a passionate dislike for all things fanged.
These four are inevitably in the thick of any Morganville drama, and in this installment, we have front row seats to the brewing war between the town's founding vampire, Amelie, and her sadistic father, Bishop. Humans are no longer protected by their vampire sponsors as everyone is fighting to survive under the threat of Bishop's immense power and seemingly unquenchable blood-lust. Throw in a manic storm with a raging tornado, and burning buildings and crazy vampires seem to be the least of everyone's problems.
Once again, I found myself drawn into this little world of constant tumultuous activity. There's never a dull moment as the author even finds time to spot us just a little bit of romance.
I can't say that the writing is filled with brilliant imagery or that the words read like poetry in motion, but I can say that my interest in the story never wanes. My heart sets a rhythmic beat of excitement paired with a simple enjoyment for this fast-paced series that's filled with endless plot arcs and surprises.
Another four out of five fangs novel.
Synopsis:
In the college town of Morganville, vampires and humans coexist in (relatively) bloodless harmony. Then comes Bishop, a master vampire who threatens to abolish all order, revive the forces of the evil dead, and let chaos rule. But Bishop isn’t the only threat.
Violent black clouds promise a storm of devastating proportions. As student Claire Danvers and her friends prepare to defend Morganville against the elements—both natural and unnatural—the unexpected happens: Morganville’s vampires begin to vanish one by one. Discovering why leads Claire to one last choice: swear allegiance to Bishop... or die.
July 27, 2013
Cover Reveal - Diary of a Teenage Zombie
Well hello guys!
I must say I'm super excited to show you the cover for my brand new novel 'Diary of a Teenage Zombie'. This book is going to be a ripper - violence, sex and lots and lots of gory humour. I'm like a proud mama with this one, and thus, I've selected a cover to aptly represent poor old Katie Palmer and her Zombie-fied state.
Get it into you, get excited and get ready for an awesome literary adventure!
Synopsis:
Dear Diary. Today I ate the mailman. My bad.Being seventeen is hard―Katie Palmer has to deal with school, pimples, hormonal boys, and malicious cheerleaders. After the Zombie Apocalypse, though, she no longer sweats the usual teenage drama.Athletics star by day and flesh-eater by night, Katie’s done well to hide her transformation from friends and Zone-sanctioned security, but now someone or something’s onto her secret and if she doesn’t feed soon she’ll start falling apart.Dead bodies are piling up and all the evidence points to Katie’s blood-stained hands. Will she end up killing the competition before security discovers she’s rotten underneath?
I must say I'm super excited to show you the cover for my brand new novel 'Diary of a Teenage Zombie'. This book is going to be a ripper - violence, sex and lots and lots of gory humour. I'm like a proud mama with this one, and thus, I've selected a cover to aptly represent poor old Katie Palmer and her Zombie-fied state.
Get it into you, get excited and get ready for an awesome literary adventure!
Synopsis:
Dear Diary. Today I ate the mailman. My bad.Being seventeen is hard―Katie Palmer has to deal with school, pimples, hormonal boys, and malicious cheerleaders. After the Zombie Apocalypse, though, she no longer sweats the usual teenage drama.Athletics star by day and flesh-eater by night, Katie’s done well to hide her transformation from friends and Zone-sanctioned security, but now someone or something’s onto her secret and if she doesn’t feed soon she’ll start falling apart.Dead bodies are piling up and all the evidence points to Katie’s blood-stained hands. Will she end up killing the competition before security discovers she’s rotten underneath?
July 17, 2013
Football Mania
I may be unpopular for saying this, but I freaking hate football. And when I say football, I don't mean soccer (that game actually involves some skill).
So it's footy season in Australia, and this thuggish game of kick the egg-shaped ball around the paddock in teeny tiny shorts has overcome the nation. In lounge rooms everywhere televisions are boasting AFL and NRL in wide screen and high definition. Teenage boys are slapping their mates on the asses and girls are swearing like troopers. Families are gathered to fist the coffee table in support and the die-hards are wearing nothing but striped t-shirts and stubbies (otherwise known as the teeny-tiny shorts).
Meanwhile, people like me try to commandeer the remote or simply turn the television off. But what do you do on State of Origin night when the entire neighbourhood is screaming 'go you stupid, f@cking idiot, kick the ball!' in super high volume? Do you play ABBA? Do you slam windows and doors closed in the hopes they get the message?
I suppose you could pull a Julie Andrews and belt out 'The Sound of Music' from your balcony or driveway, tap on the front door with a loaded shotgun and then cock it when their over-cheery face greets you with surprise.
No. You simply suck it up, cringe through every outburst and then write a scathing post about it.
Football blows.
*knock knock*
I suspect that's someone at the door now, coming to offer rebuttal.
Have a good one, even if it's the football,
Kristy :)
So it's footy season in Australia, and this thuggish game of kick the egg-shaped ball around the paddock in teeny tiny shorts has overcome the nation. In lounge rooms everywhere televisions are boasting AFL and NRL in wide screen and high definition. Teenage boys are slapping their mates on the asses and girls are swearing like troopers. Families are gathered to fist the coffee table in support and the die-hards are wearing nothing but striped t-shirts and stubbies (otherwise known as the teeny-tiny shorts).
Meanwhile, people like me try to commandeer the remote or simply turn the television off. But what do you do on State of Origin night when the entire neighbourhood is screaming 'go you stupid, f@cking idiot, kick the ball!' in super high volume? Do you play ABBA? Do you slam windows and doors closed in the hopes they get the message?
I suppose you could pull a Julie Andrews and belt out 'The Sound of Music' from your balcony or driveway, tap on the front door with a loaded shotgun and then cock it when their over-cheery face greets you with surprise.
No. You simply suck it up, cringe through every outburst and then write a scathing post about it.
Football blows.
*knock knock*
I suspect that's someone at the door now, coming to offer rebuttal.
Have a good one, even if it's the football,
Kristy :)
October 3, 2011
New Blog posts!
Sorry guys, but I have a blog site now http://kristyberridge.blogspot.com so you can catch all my crazy Shenanigans there instead!
August 3, 2011
Owies!
I have an 'owie', and said 'owie' is a result of stupid behaviour.
I've recently been dabbling with a bit of construction around the house. At first I was painting - a relatively harmless trade in comparison to my latest antics. I should have stuck to that. Paint in my hair was not as bad as having a inch long rusty nail embedding itself in the bottom of my foot.
I must admit I was good. I didn't swear like a trooper as I fully intended and I didn't kick stuff around in fury. I took it well, biting my tongue and hobbling my way indoors to wash it out under clean water.
Truth be told I had a little cry when I thought no one was looking, watching all the blood disappear down the drain and dashing my hopes of walking for the next few days. I then slapped on some antiseptic, a Band-Aid and sunglasses to cover my suspiciously swollen eyes and headed back out into the sunshine.
Needless to say that said owie needed to be accompanied by a tetanus shot which I'm almost certain was more painful than the bloody nail.
Oh well.
That will teach me for wearing thongs instead of boots.
I've recently been dabbling with a bit of construction around the house. At first I was painting - a relatively harmless trade in comparison to my latest antics. I should have stuck to that. Paint in my hair was not as bad as having a inch long rusty nail embedding itself in the bottom of my foot.
I must admit I was good. I didn't swear like a trooper as I fully intended and I didn't kick stuff around in fury. I took it well, biting my tongue and hobbling my way indoors to wash it out under clean water.
Truth be told I had a little cry when I thought no one was looking, watching all the blood disappear down the drain and dashing my hopes of walking for the next few days. I then slapped on some antiseptic, a Band-Aid and sunglasses to cover my suspiciously swollen eyes and headed back out into the sunshine.
Needless to say that said owie needed to be accompanied by a tetanus shot which I'm almost certain was more painful than the bloody nail.
Oh well.
That will teach me for wearing thongs instead of boots.
July 29, 2011
Delivery Day
Do you remember when you were a kid, you woke up super early on Christmas morning, dashed out into the living room and practically screamed the house down with excitement?
I do.
In fact, I remember making as much noise as possible so my mum and dad would get their butts out of bed so I could open my pressies.
Well, today was kind of like that. I received my delivery today - 500 copies of my book 'The Hunted'. At first I was clapping my hands in excitement as I watched my husband and the delivery man unload them off the back of the pallet. But then I realised the presents weren't as shiny as I remembered them as a kid. All of sudden all I could see were thirty-six boxes stacked precariously, tottering to one side, five of them completely bashed in with lids missing.
My hopes dashed, I spent twenty minutes begging my sweaty, over-worked hubby to 'hurry the hell up' so I could take a peak inside. It never occurred to me to help unload, I was far too worked up.
Of course the delivery man high-tailed it out of there the second he got a signature. I was still madly searching through every box, praying that every page and spine was unblemished.
Definite success. Despite the shifty state of arrival, the end result put me back in a fantastic mood. Only problem was, I finally went back inside, cleaning up the mess I'd left in the driveway unpacking boxes.
What did I find?
My dining room table was buried under a mountain of fiction. My hubby said it just means we have plenty of good taste. Bad pun? Definitely. But at least delivery day turned out to be a relative success.
I do.
In fact, I remember making as much noise as possible so my mum and dad would get their butts out of bed so I could open my pressies.
Well, today was kind of like that. I received my delivery today - 500 copies of my book 'The Hunted'. At first I was clapping my hands in excitement as I watched my husband and the delivery man unload them off the back of the pallet. But then I realised the presents weren't as shiny as I remembered them as a kid. All of sudden all I could see were thirty-six boxes stacked precariously, tottering to one side, five of them completely bashed in with lids missing.
My hopes dashed, I spent twenty minutes begging my sweaty, over-worked hubby to 'hurry the hell up' so I could take a peak inside. It never occurred to me to help unload, I was far too worked up.
Of course the delivery man high-tailed it out of there the second he got a signature. I was still madly searching through every box, praying that every page and spine was unblemished.
Definite success. Despite the shifty state of arrival, the end result put me back in a fantastic mood. Only problem was, I finally went back inside, cleaning up the mess I'd left in the driveway unpacking boxes.
What did I find?
My dining room table was buried under a mountain of fiction. My hubby said it just means we have plenty of good taste. Bad pun? Definitely. But at least delivery day turned out to be a relative success.
July 2, 2011
Painting
Okay, so I was going to paint the outside of my house today, but my best laid plans were ruined by the weather. At least, that will be what I tell anyone who asks me why the house remains unchanged.
I have to be honest - I hate painting. My hair is hijacked by suspicious looking spots that look like coloured dandruff, my fingernails get wrecked, and my skin is accosted by an over the top exfoliation caused by too much paint splatter.
What happened to the good old days when my husband would kiss me on the cheek and say 'No worries, love, I'll paint the house for you,' and come back three hours later - a job well done.
Oh yeah, that's right - he discovered Facebook.
I guess we'll paint the house next weekend instead ...
I have to be honest - I hate painting. My hair is hijacked by suspicious looking spots that look like coloured dandruff, my fingernails get wrecked, and my skin is accosted by an over the top exfoliation caused by too much paint splatter.
What happened to the good old days when my husband would kiss me on the cheek and say 'No worries, love, I'll paint the house for you,' and come back three hours later - a job well done.
Oh yeah, that's right - he discovered Facebook.
I guess we'll paint the house next weekend instead ...
June 27, 2011
The Problem with writing
You see, the problem with writing is that sometimes, you just don't know when to stop. Lately, it feels like all I do is write. Whether I'm sending e-mails, blogging, updating my website, checking Facebook, joining book clubs or twittering, my hands are never still.
So it should come as no surprise that with all that writing, mistakes can be made. Today I made a whopper ...
I was sent a rather rude message via SMS on my phone which I'm choosing to assume was not meant for me.
In a devilish plan to write back some equally smart-ass comment comment, I ended up SMSing my husband and telling him he was a %#@!ing moron.
Nice.
I think I'm going to stop writing for today. I have some explaining to do ...
So it should come as no surprise that with all that writing, mistakes can be made. Today I made a whopper ...
I was sent a rather rude message via SMS on my phone which I'm choosing to assume was not meant for me.
In a devilish plan to write back some equally smart-ass comment comment, I ended up SMSing my husband and telling him he was a %#@!ing moron.
Nice.
I think I'm going to stop writing for today. I have some explaining to do ...
