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I’ve recently discovered something about myself. When I finish a good book, one that dragged me into its world and even after I close the covers the tendrils of it catch me and hold me there, I tend to slam it down like a victor after battle. I look about me triumphantly and practically preen if I should catch someone’s eye.

Frost Burned was like that. Patricia Briggs started out by tickling my senses when I picked up my first read from her and each subsequent book has nudged her further up the ranks of ‘favorite author’. She now stands firmly among her comrades: Jean Auel and Piers Anthony.

Frost Burned was a novel that inspired me to write. I started it in one evening, had to force myself to put the book down and catch a few winks, and today what should have been a short work break turned into a reading session wherein I finished it. There aren’t words to encompass the depth of my feelings about this series. It is one that I never want to end as the world is almost real to me. I can not see a world with no Briggs in it. I now force myself to consume her books at a slower pace than I once did (reading the books back to back) because I never know when she might end the series. That would be a sad day. My fervent hope is that Briggs takes a page from Anthony and makes this series Xanth-like and thus never-ending.

If you haven’t read the Mercy Thompson series, you need to. Stat.

On another note, I now have to spend a few more hours working and needed something to transfer me out of the carefully constructed and incredibly real world back into the much more mundane and utterly boring world that is reality. The LaFontaines are currently doing that for me. Got to love a good Scottish band.

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