And as much as I want to give you more, I won’t. This book was….how do I even describe this to you. So where am I going with this? Well, Flock happened to be the most amazing culmination of Kate and Angelica that I couldn’t even imagine in my dreams. Angelica wrote twisty and erotic romances and Kate Stewart wrote unforgettable stories. When I learned that Angelica Chase was none other than Kate Stewart, it was like two worlds colliding for me. Trust me on this and thank me later.īut back to my point and where I was going with this.
And if there’s one piece of advice I can give you, is that you do the same thing. Since then, I’ve been greedily devouring each of her releases without even bothering to read the blurb. All I remember is cracking open Excess and falling head over ovaries for this woman’s words. I don’t know about you, but my love affair with Kate Stewart actually began with her books under her pen name. The distorted kind that leaves scars and jaded hearts. The only love I’ve ever known or craved is the kind that keeps me sick, sick with longing, sick with lust, sick with need, sick with grief. Until I have book two in my hands, the only existence is my currently over caffeinated and slightly manic state of OHMYGODWHATDIDIJUSTREAD!!!! And I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s simply impossible.
#Flock kate stewart how to#
How do I even go on living after this book? HOW? I’ve been sitting in my room, staring blankly at the wall for the past 3 hours, just trying to figure out how to go on with my life. My biggest fear is to be in all-consuming love. My greatest hope is to be in all-consuming love. Looking back, I’m convinced I willed my story into existence due to my illness. At least that was the case for me and the men I trusted my foolish heart to. You can’t re-live your own love story, because by the time you’ve realized you’re living it, it’s over. That’s the novelty of fiction versus reality. But in order to keep them, I had to be in on their secrets. Triple Falls wasn’t at all what it seemed, nor were the men that swept me under their wing. I gave into temptation and fed the beating beast, which grew thirstier with every slash, every strike, every blow. When I lived this story, my own twisted fairy tale, it was unbeknownst to me at the time because I was young and naïve.
I grew up believing that real love stories include a martyr or demand great sacrifice to be worthy.īecause of that, I believed it, because I made myself believe it, and I bred the most masochistic of romantic hearts, which resulted in my illness.
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