Yes, I admit it. I drink and shop. (Don't judge.) Last night, after two manhattans and a cheap steak at my favorite local piano bar, I walked across to my favorite local bookstore and purchased this beauty:
It cost me $3.50 and I can't wait to read it. The dude on the cover looks kinda like my boyfriend, if my boyfriend was blond, wore glasses, and looked anything like that. The first teaser paragraph inside the cover reads:
Appin Dungannon - The great cult author had written 26 books about Tratyn Runewind, the golden Viking warrior. Or maybe he'd written one book about Tratyn Runewind 26 times. In any case, the 27th would be the last. For the 5'1" schmuck with the Mickey Rooney face was no more, dead, murdered. And somewhere out there, amid the swarming fickle fen and fatuous femmes of the annual fantasy convention, Rubicon, lurked the killer.
This is gonna be great. And by that, I mean it's going to be so, so bad.