So I finally got caught up enough to allow myself to go to the library. It was a very short visit; within 10 minutes I had picked up more books than I could carry and was on my way home. I used to read a lot when I was little, but stopped during college. Before college, I used to stay up til 4 AM reading Jane Austen, Edgar Allan Poe, Alexander Dumas, and other dead guys. My post-college literary tastes have grown ever-more sophisticated; I just read How To Be Single, a novel by Liz Turcillo.

I know, I know, but please, don’t jump to conclusions. It was research, I swear. And don’t worry, I got what I deserved for opening a novel with a title as stupid as that. The book was awful, really. The writing style was so cliche, I felt like I was reading something by the author of Twilight. The story itself was so contrived and devoid of real emotion, it truly was painful. The first chapter was so horrible, I almost quit right then, but I decided to stick it out. I’m sorry but seriously, Jane Austen must be turning over in her grave if she saw some of the crap her genre has produced.

I’m really not against “chick lit”, to be honest. I just read two books by Jane Green which made me cry (in a good way). Her characters were believable and their stories were realistic, but with the right touch of good luck fantasy that makes you giggle with excitement (like a ron-and-hermione-are-finally-together giggle).

So I’m going to keep reading my girly books, to see if I can find anything better. I just started something by Emily Giffin, and it seems promising. I have a feeling though, that if I want a satisfying story, I’m just going to have to write it myself.