I know what you're thinking because I'm thinking it too: daaang.
I bet you wish every critic in the world looked this good.
But vanity aside for now.
But vanity aside for now.
My name is Shelby Boyer. I am a twenty-year-old just entering my junior year at college where I'm studying English and editing. I suppose I'm an aspiring writer, working on that breakout hit at this very instant (well, not literally. Because, actually, I'm typing this at this very instant. But the sentiment's real). And if I can't make millions off of that, thus setting myself up for life, my plan is to get into publishing. My dream job would be work as an in-house editor for a literary agency.
Actually, my dream job would be something where I'm sent on expensive trips to lavish hotels, doing all sorts of things and eating out everywhere just to tell people what's best in the area. Literally being paid to do nothing really productive.
That, or working in close proximity to Taylor Swift.
But, alas, those are merely dreams. And I think I can settle for being paid to read every day. Because I love it. I'm actually quite a voracious reader. And I like saying that. I think I'll name my dog voracious, just so I can have an excuse to say it. All. The. Time.
Fun fact? Comfortably (i.e. naturally), I read about 700 wpm. And I read the final Harry Potter book is seven hours, which is pretty cool. Yet completely irrelevant.
Another irrelevant fact? I hate the word "illegible." One, because my handwriting is exactly that and I get defensive when people call it such. Two, because it has to be the stupidest word ever. I think it had to be a prank. I mean, you look at it and read "ill-egible." And then you scratch your head and wonder what the heck that means, it has to be a spelling mistake.
...please say you agree. Because it drives me nuts. It's the bane of my existence. I don't think I can even say it. At least, I have to think about it really hard.
No judgment.
Anyways. I started this blog with a big ego, expecting to be able to look at a cover and tell you exactly what would happen in the book. But I failed. So I settled in as a straight-up critic, a role with the shoes of enough snobbery and wisdom that I feel comfortable filling. Now it's a rather simple formula: I pick a pretty book, decide straight up if it will be good or bad, read it, and then tell you if 1) I was right, and 2) what was so good/bad about it. Because I'm a really big believer in pretty books. I hate ugly covers. It's like facing a person wearing socks with sandals: no matter what they say, you just can't take them seriously. So if a book has an ugly cover, I just can't bring myself to give it a chance.
I'm that shallow. Yet I tend to have pretty good taste.
Hence the blog.
