Because I had a good teacher I go into every book looking for what the author did well and what they could have done better. Not to steal, necessarily, but more to learn, to better help figure out my own style, where I’m lacking, and how I can be better. I couldn’t find a damn thing in this book to pull apart and make better. I tried because that’s what perfect books do to us, right? It’s like a dare. Nothing. The Hunger, by Alma Katsu, was solid, pure perfection. Not a character went unneeded, not a scene went undeserved. I was somehow in awe of the beautiful writing, yet sick to my stomach at the unapologetically horrific scenes. Systematic order in chaos. So much beauty in a pleasewakemeupnow nightmare.
Bury me with this book.
This is how writing is supposed to be. I love every well-placed moment, every thought, every word. Yeah, I mean it. Every word. Read it, if you want to know how that’s possible.