Happy Birthday to Us!

  We’re two years old today. Hooray! Happy Blogiversary!

Source

As many of you know, this blog began first and foremost out of a extreme, crazy love of all things reading, especially young adult books. Sooo we’re a little (OK, a lot) older than the YA target market. We’re just happy to spread the love.  And since I personally spent many hours on the phone or Facebook or e-mail blabbing to my pal, Vee, about things like Michael Moscovitz or my need to have sweet kisses in all of my books, or how much I hate Jacob, a blog seemed to be the natural solution.

It’s been a fabulous ride.  We have had wonderful support from friends, publishers and the authors we fangirl over, but more important we’ve made friends along the way. Thank you for being a part of that.

Here are a few fun stats:

What You’re Reading: The most popular page or post we’ve ever done is my Boyfriend List.  This makes me so happy. I have no idea why it is of such great importance to me not only to list my favorite male book characters but then to make sure everyone knows about it.  It just is.

Another popular post is our review of Blue Bloods. That just cracks me up because who knew?  Jack Force probably did because he is insanely awesome, but still. I had no idea.

Chatty Cathys: We’re so thankful for every person who takes the time to comment. Our recent top commenters are Candice from The Grown Up YA and Maggie from Gone Pecan. I love these ladies! 

Where You’re Coming From: We get the most referrals from two of my favorite blogs, Forever Young Adult and The Broke and The Bookish.  I would tell you to stop by and visit them, but you obviously already do!

All in all it’s been another great year. I’d like to say that I’ve organized some amazing giveaway or contest, but I haven’t. I’m clearly not very organized. So let me just say thanks. We appreciate your support, your suggestions and your awesome comments more than we can ever properly express.

Have a great day!

Happy Birthday to Us

by Tee

As of yesterday, our little blog turned one year old. Isn’t that sweet?  Too bad we were too busy obsessively re-reading passages about Michael Moscovitz reading, sleeping and planning my almost six year-old daughter’s under the sea themed birthday party (I know. Why can’t I just go to Chuck E. Cheese and call it a day?  Because I’m crazy, that’s why) to actually plan something for our blogeversary.  In fact, we only noticed it was coming as of Sunday.

Not much has changed in the last year, except that we’ve read a ton of amazing books, fan girled even harder over new authors we love (and the old ones too)  and we’ve made alot of friends.  What remains true is the reason we started this blog: because of our insane, passionate love of young adult books, the hope that they represent and, let’s be honest, a desire to blab about them with people who feel the same way.  So to celebrate, we’re offering up our very first post, all the way back from November 1 of last year. Enjoy and thanks so much for being a part of this awesome ride with us!

Tee & Vee

You know you wish you were eating this.

Once A YAer, Always a YAer

So often I’m sitting at my daughter’s gymnastics class with my latest YA —complete with cheeseball cover (sweet fancy Moses, why are the covers so bad? WHY?)—in hand and I have the urge to hide my book from the prying eyes of those around me.  Or I’ll be having a conversation with someone who thinks they’re all Snootypants McGrownup and I feel sort of self-conscious for getting my books from the Teen section at the library.  It’s not so much that I think YA is bad—quite the contrary.  I know it’s epic—but I hate getting The Look.  You know, the look which basically says that:

1) I’m an idiot (which may or may not be true,  but has nada to do with my choice in reading materials)

2) I’m in midlife crisis mode (which deeply offends me because really? I’m not that old am I?).

Sometimes I just don’t want to deal with the uptight ladies who either don’t read or who are gripping their latest Oprah Book Pick as if by reading that they are somehow channeling the Great One’s awesomeness.  That’s not to put down Oprah’s picks—I’ve read quite a few of them—or to denigrate adult fiction in any way.  In fact, I think there’s a plethora of great books in that category.  It seems that every day there’s a burgeoning fiction writer so gifted I’m tempted to dive into their stories again and again.  So really.  I read adult books.  I even like them sometimes.

Too often though, I find myself faced with books about women who are dissatisfied with marriage and family, men who are cheater pants or people whose misery I can’t relate to.  As I often say to my gal pals, if I wanted to listen to women complain about their husbands and kids, I’d join a Bunco group like all the other moms (sidenote: Bunco kinda rocks.  Crabby housewives, not so much).  Still, what I love about YA has less to do with what is lacking in adult lit and more to do with the merits of the genre as a whole.

YA fiction is full of life.  The authors have tapped into the magic of youth, not only in fantasy pieces like the mother of all book series, Harry Potter, but also in stories about every day life.  And since I have a pretty short attention span, I appreciate that young adult books today are generally fast-paced, emotionally intense and brimming with characters who pack a punch.  The good characters, the ones I want to read about, are the people who make mistakes, who don’t always do the right thing and who make every decision—even the ones that aren’t a big deal in the long run—feel like it’s of immense proportion.  YA shows the heights of the freedom of youth and depths of self-destructive behavior.   It captures first love and the force with which it pounds our hearts.  Perhaps even more important, it showcases the relationships that have what I believe to be the greatest impact on us in our younger years, our best friends. These stories, when truthfully told and well crafted, never fail to move me as though I’m living and breathing those same moments with the characters (and thank the Lord I’m not.  Been there. Done that. Have the embarrassing pics to prove it).

So why do I read YA? Not because other genres aren’t good enough, but purely because it’s good.  Because it’s fun.  Because it’s entertaining and swoonworthy and all that good stuff.  What better reason could there be?

Once a YAer, Always a YAer

by Tee

So often I’m sitting at my daughter’s gymnastics class with my latest YA —complete with cheeseball cover (sweet fancy Moses, why are the covers so bad? WHY?)—in hand and I have the urge to hide my book from the prying eyes of those around me.  Or I’ll be having a conversation with someone who thinks they’re all Snootypants McGrownup and I feel sort of self-conscious for getting my books from the Teen section at the library.  It’s not so much that I think YA is bad—quite the contrary.  I know it’s epic—but I hate getting The Look.  You know, the look which basically says that:

1) I’m an idiot (which may or may not be true,  but has nada to do with my choice in reading materials)

2) I’m in midlife crisis mode (which deeply offends me because really? I’m not that old am I?).

Sometimes I just don’t want to deal with the uptight ladies who either don’t read or who are gripping their latest Oprah Book Pick as if by reading that they are somehow channeling the Great One’s awesomeness.  That’s not to put down Oprah’s picks—I’ve read quite a few of them—or to denigrate adult fiction in any way.  In fact, I think there’s a plethora of great books in that category.  It seems that every day there’s a burgeoning fiction writer so gifted I’m tempted to dive into their stories again and again.  So really.  I read adult books.  I even like them sometimes.

Too often though, I find myself faced with books about women who are dissatisfied with marriage and family, men who are cheater pants or people whose misery I can’t relate to.  As I often say to my gal pals, if I wanted to listen to women complain about their husbands and kids, I’d join a Bunco group like all the other moms (sidenote: Bunco kinda rocks.  Crabby housewives, not so much).  Still, what I love about YA has less to do with what is lacking in adult lit and more to do with the merits of the genre as a whole.

YA fiction is full of life.  The authors have tapped into the magic of youth, not only in fantasy pieces like the mother of all book series, Harry Potter, but also in stories about every day life.  And since I have a pretty short attention span, I appreciate that young adult books today are generally fast-paced, emotionally intense and brimming with characters who pack a punch.  The good characters, the ones I want to read about, are the people who make mistakes, who don’t always do the right thing and who make every decision—even the ones that aren’t a big deal in the long run—feel like it’s of immense proportion.  YA shows the heights of the freedom of youth and depths of self-destructive behavior.   It captures first love and the force with which it pounds our hearts.  Perhaps even more important, it showcases the relationships that have what I believe to be the greatest impact on us in our younger years, our best friends. These stories, when truthfully told and well crafted, never fail to move me as though I’m living and breathing those same moments with the characters (and thank the Lord I’m not.  Been there. Done that. Have the embarrassing pics to prove it).

So why do I read YA? Not because other genres aren’t good enough, but purely because it’s good.  Because it’s fun.  Because it’s entertaining and swoonworthy and all that good stuff.  What better reason could there be?