The Mazerunner Series - James Dashner

James Dashner is from my neck of the woods, and I'm a big fan of supporting local authors.  My precocious oldest son, Beckett, had already read the first book and loved it, so with that recommendation I decided to give it a try.

Most of the books I read have a female protagonist, and so this was a very different point of view.  I never thought it would have made a difference, but it turns out that it was different enough that I had a difficult time getting into it at first. After some adjustment, I found the main character someone I could sympathize in, and the reading went quite a bit easier.

The gist of the story line is that there is a group of boys that are trapped in this walled little town of sorts, and every day they have to go outside the gates to find their way through the maze to escape.  None of the boys have any idea how they got into the little town, nor do they have any memories at all before the day they found themselves there.  The only thing they know is their way out is the maze, and if they don't find it before dark, then monsters are going to eat them.

I give this series a 3.5*.  It was good - not a "wow everyone must read this" kind of good, but definitely worth your time.  Two of the three books had "A must read for fans of the Hunger Games" written on their cover.  I'd agree that there's some common themes there, but they are not the same caliber of book.  I've read The Hunger Games 3x because I loved it so much.  I don't regret this read, but I'm unlikely to read it again.

Dodge Viper for a Rockstar

Once in a while, something awesome happens when we can pretend we're part of the rich and famous crowd.  Ya, we don't have a lot of money, but we have a really great life.  We've got healthy kids, and most of the time get our needs met with just a little left over for savings. 

It'd be nice to have some of the more expensive things in life, but let's be real... you can choose to be wealthy, or you can choose to have kids and be a stay at home mom.  Some people get both, but most of us don't.  We made that choice without a seconds hesitation with our first pregnancy, and haven't regretted it for a second each year that has passed.

But still - it's nice to get a chance to pretend just the same.

My husband's boss had a Dodge Viper that he let him borrow.  I don't know how he talked him into that - other than my better half can sell ice to eskimos.  Somehow, we ended up with one for a weekend.

It was a big car that has a tiny little cockpit - I barely fit since I'm six feet of Amazon.  It was super fun, but my joy was more for my husband than me.  Let's take stock of how lucky I am here.

I have a husband who's made it a priority to go without so that I can do the stay at home mom thing.  He's not complained once as I try to do school - hopefully so one day we can both give our kids opportunities that we haven't had.  Best of all he believes in me - footing the bill for professional editing and publicity.  He's put all his dreams on hold for his wife and kids.

He's a rockstar.

So, for this one weekend he got to live this fantasy, and I stepped aside so he could share it with his boy.  Beckett was not nearly as impressed, as you can see, but I was super happy to see this grin eat up my husband's whole face when he rolled up in this monster.  It was great - two of my most favorite men in the world, rolling along in a Viper.  Does it get better than that?

The immeasurable weight of words

I haven't slept more than a couple hours a night now, not because I'm afraid, but because I just can't seem to shut it off.  When I close my eyes, the words expressing how upset I am, expressing the things I wish I could say to the guy who got into my house, have been spinning around and around.  They spin so fast that it almost seems like cintrifigul force springs my eyelids back off my eyes every time I try to slip off to sleep.

One family member had painful things to say about our situation, devoid of any compassion, and not helpful in any way.  Those words added to the weight - there's a reason why someone can feel completely emotionally crushed by someone else.  I kept trying to shut it all down, think of something else, anything else, my 4:30 alarm buzzer looming closer and closer as the time ticked by.

The words kept me up for hours, spinning...spinning...spinning...even in my sleep, because after only a few hours I was awake again, thinking the same thoughts from before I slept.  There was no escape in site.

Since I'm unwilling to let a little B&E completely wrap up my daytime mind too, I tried writing again.  The nagging story edging into my editting time with my last book is very alive and well.  I've got most of it outlined out/written out...in my head.  With such a long commute, I have spent hours with the radio off, the only sound the tires and the evolving story, words pinging off the cavern walls of my mind, like a reverse echo, growing into something better every time I hear it.

Words have been leaving me dizzy, with a rolling belly all night.  But words have also been my salvation.  Focusing on those daytime words, they have become a paperweight, holding down my thoughts from the wind, billowing with my anxiety.  

If there was a way I could thank fiction for being a safe harbor, I would.  Instead, I am just grateful of a place to escape from all the things that have troubled me lately.

Burglary and the Sins of Planning Ahead

So I got robbed.  As in, gave my friendly dogs giant bones, guaranteeing BFF status.  As in, left a condom on my floor, and taking every dime of my money I'd saved for my editor - and left in cash in my bedroom to prevent accidental spending - and vandalized my house.  To be fair, the thief DID leave a quarter in the place of my envelop of cash.  You'll have to forgive me if his generosity just feels like a na na nana na...

It's HORRIBLE.

Three years ago, I got my truck stolen by a creepy dude that I had known, but refused to have any kind of friendship.  I had taken my children shoe shopping, and when we walked out of the store, I found myself looking for my car.  You know the feeling...you're sure you parked it in a certain place, but your mind eventually jumps to the possibility of theft.  Right about that time, you usually stumble onto it, and you sheepishly put that idea out of your head.  

Not me.  It really was gone.  Plus, there were only maybe 20 cars in the parking lot, and not many places for an aging 4Runner to hide.  I ended up getting a ride home, reporting it stolen, and then starting what would prove to be the end of my relationship with my insurance company.

My truck was old, so I honestly hoped that if the thief was going to inconvenience me by stealing my car, he should at least have the decency to set it on fire or destroy it in some other complete sense that would result in a check to buy a new one.  Imagine my frustration when it was found, walking-distance from the store, not a charred oozing marshmallow, but perfectly intact, including most of the dirt coating the outside.

I say most, because the creepy guy wrote "I love you" with his characteristic smilie face.  There were beautiful, perfect fingerprints on the glass window beside the affectionate note, but the police that recovered the vehicle did not take them.  In fact, they felt I was extraordinarily lucky to get the truck back at all, and the missing subwoofer in the back was a small price to pay for the lesson of...what?  Leaving my door unlocked?  Key in the ignition?

The fact is I had done neither thing, and since they steering column was not broken, the only possible method of theft was a key.

Did you know that when you go to a dealership, you only have to provide proof of ownership to get a key cut from any VIN number?  And that proof can be something as flimsy as a photoshopped DMV registration, altered from any existing one.  With a fake id, anyone can do it.  It does not need to be notarized, or official in any other way.

When I opened my truck, with the cop peeking over my shoulder, I found my registration on the seat, laid flat to clearly show my address.  My garage opener was missing, and the unspoken statement was that I know where you live, and you'll never know when I'm coming.

So...we were renting...we moved!  Yes, it took a few months to get out, and in the meantime I was so afraid.  You can not know how frightening it is to not have a place you feel 100% safe to sleep unless you have been through it.  I had endless nightmares.  I bought a gun.  

It's been a couple years, and now this happens.  I bought my house... I can't leave.  I still have editing fees to pay for my book that was scheduled back to me last Wednesday, but is still in the process of being made more awesome..  I still have house payment and other expenses.  

I am such a planner, and being a student means we already cut all the corners we can.  I already bought school clothes and supplies for the next year, but might have purchased differently, more conservatively, if only I'd been robbed sooner!

Yes, I know how ridiculous that sounds.  But I'm not getting the money back.  It's gone.  The cops say they've got no way to help me, and I should just change my locks and be more diligent, changing my habits and leaving all my damn lights on all the time.  Somehow, though the cop was a great guy, clearly really trying to help, I walk away from this situation feeling like somehow, I'm the one who dropped the ball, rather than the person who robbed me shouldering the blame.