17. Megan Crane’s English as a Second Language: There’s something vacantly delicious about chick-lit. The only thing I can say about it is, it’s fun to read, thoroughly predictable, and usually has it’s laugh-out-loud moments. At least this one was set in England and had fun Anglican phrases like, “let’s get pissed (drunk)” and “bug off” and “well, aren’t you a daft bloke?”
18. Charlaine Harris, Dead in Dallas: Okay, I’m over these Sookie Stackhouse novels. They’re lame and disjointed and kind of embarrassing to admit that I read them. The only consolation I have is that I know someone who has read more than me in the series and we sit around and joke about them and their awfulness, then wistfully plan our opus to get rich and famous, because seriously, if this lady can do it, I can do it. Although, I’ve decided vampire love is overplayed. Maybe I’ll reinvent human-goblin love. Throw in a few zombies and/or the boogey man. What’s he doing lately?