The Best New App for Bibliophiles


Just a quick post to say that I am obsessed with Litsy, a new app that’s kind of like what would happen if Instagram and Goodreads had a baby, and you should all go download it and be obsessed along with me.

You know when you’re reading a book and you just want to yell out all the random thoughts you have about a character, a scene, a quote? But then, no one else around you is reading it, so no one else will care? Now you can find the people who care. You can write down anything you want about the book you’re reading, take a photo of a quote you love, write a little mini-review … and it’s all focused on BOOKS. You have to enter the name of the book your post is about before you’re even allowed to post it.

It’s free, it’s fun, it’s 100% for bibliophiles, and you should go download it (and be my friend: I’m wanderlustywriter, naturally) now!

Photo by NordWood Themes on Unsplash

Learning from the Masters: Voice


I’ve written about voice in YA contemporary (twice), I’ve written about voice in YA historical, and today I’m going to talk about the voice of a writer who’s not YA at all. Because while it’s absolutely crucial as a writer to read within our genres, there is a tremendous amount to be learned from other genres, also.

So here is this week’s voice example. Perhaps we can play “guess that super-famous author/novel”…

Frannie leaned one hand against the warm metal of her car, took off her sneakers, and put on a pair of rubber thongs. She was a tall girl with chestnut hair that fell halfway down the back of the buff-colored shift she was wearing. Good figure. Long legs that got appreciative glances. Prime stuff was the correct frathouse term, she believed. Looky-looky-looky-here-comes-nooky. Miss College Girl, 1990.

Then she had to laugh at herself, and the laugh was a trifle bitter. You are carrying on, she told herself, as if this was the news of the world. Chapter Six: Hester Prynne Brings the News of Pearl’s Impending Arrival to Rev. Dimmesdale. Dimmesdale he wasn’t. He was Jess Rider, age twenty, one year younger than Our Heroine, Little Fran. He was a practicing college-student-undergraduate-poet. You could tell by his immaculate blue chambray work shirt.

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