A Bibliophile Gives Thanks
By E.J. Mellow
With Thanksgiving gobbling around the corner my reflective self naturally steps forward. I’ve devised a list of ten bookish appreciations, thank goodness for literary romances and sweet baby Jesus, YES reading items I’m grateful for. Maybe you’ll relate to a few.
My warm, fluffy, reading socks. You know the kind. The ones that are too thick to fit into any shoes. Too…loved to be appropriately seen in public. That rogue toe sticking out? An injury acquired after a leg stretch from the strenuous Lisa Kleypas reading marathon. Whew, what a morning, afternoon, evening, night that...Oh, and that thinning around the heel? The unfortunate wear and tear of treading to refill my tea then back to the couch again. *wipes brow*. Such exercise is hard work! Yes, you and I have been through a lot, my dear, warm, fluffy, reading socks. The demise of characters, multiple heart-fluttering romps in the literary sheets *wipes brow again*, and cliffhanger endings. Thank you for being my sole-mate.
Romance tropes. I see you hate-to-lovers, second chance romances, best friends to hot and heavy bed pals. I see you all and I bow down in thanks. You have kept many beach hangs sizzling, cold winter nights steamy and every second of in between moments filled with doe eyed sighs.
Size 6 font. Thank you itty bitty letters on my e-reader for being able to become even more itty bitty. You have saved me from many awkward moments during those crammed, butt-to-back-to-front-to-hip-to-armpit subway commutes while reading. I see you judgy eyed man to my right, breathing on my shoulder. And if you must know, that sentence does read, “her moans became mewls.” Now kindly avert your eyes so I can read what else comes, I mean becomes!
Romance novels where the male protagonist’s name is Chris, Christophe, Kristopherson or Christopher. My husband’s name is Christopher…need I say more?
Erotica romance novels where the male protagonist’s name is Chris, Christophe, Kristopherson or Christopher. I mean, can you blame me?
The word “gaze”. His glacial gaze met mine across the room. He gazed at me as if I were his final meal on death row. I looked up, finding his lust-filled gaze. He sat there, motionless, a dark shadow of strength, gazing at me until my skin burned, ached for him. His gaze traced the line of my jaw, down my exposed neck, over curves that had his throat emanating a low growl. His gaze met my gaze and it wasn’t just any gaze, it was orgazemic.
My Book Beau. Thank you for being the protection for my literary darlings. I love how I can just slip all my reads in you.
Warm tea, cold tea, room-temperature tea. You’re there in the beginning. You’re hardly there at the end. You’re always there when I need you most.
Thank you chairs, couches, beds, toilets, stools, ottomans, bathtubs, stairs, chaise lounges for always being in the mood to support me and my insatiable reading habits.
A happy ending. No comment.
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About the Author
E.J. Mellow is the award-winning author of the contemporary fantasy, The Dreamland Series. The Animal Under the Fur is her first standalone action romance. With a Bachelor’s Degree in fine arts, E.J. splits her time between her two loves—visual design and writing.
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