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paranormal romance

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I did it; I caved. I downloaded “Chapters,” one of the myriad of mobile storytelling apps. Listen, I’m not proud of it, but boredom is a powerful motivator. Since rediscovering my love for urban fantasy last year, I was thrilled to discover one of the “books” offered in the app was a clusterf*ck of a love story: ordinary human girl, Ari, discovers her mother made a deal with the devil. At the ripe old age of 18, her mother’s contract expires, and Ari must strike another deal: her mother will live, on the condition that Ari goes to Hell, is courted by each of the devil’s seven sons (modeled after the seven deadly sins), and then marries one. Whichever son she chooses is suddenly elevated from Prince to King of Hell, and has complete dominion over it.

With the exact tone and emphasis of Chandler Bing, could I be any more basic? Yes, friends, it’s finally October, which means sweater weather is actually a thing, the sun has stopped trying to turn my hair into a giant, static-shocked frizz ball, and I have pulled down all the “spooky” books on my shelves to whip myself up a TBR. There aren’t any horror novels on the agenda this year (sorry), but my best friend somehow convinced me that starting The Vampire Diaries TV show now, at the ripe old age of “too-old-for-the-CW’s-bullshit-especially-the-stuff-pre-2012” was a good idea. I lasted four seasons and 12 episodes before slapping myself across the face and reclaiming my sanity. I may still be watching The Originals, but that’s neither here nor there.