Alex Cross

An actual picture of my personal Alex Cross collection, spanning 3 VERY FULL boxes on my bookshelf.  Yes, they’re in order.  I’m not a monster.

According to there are 25 Alex Cross books in James Patterson’s detective series.  I personally consider the 2 “extra” books (Merry Christmas, Alex Cross and Alex Cross’ Trial) to be a part of the series.  So for me there are 27.

I’m obsessed.  I reread them.  Seriously.  I reread the entire series from start to finish in honor of the one goodreads considers to be the 25th.  It took me about 4 weeks because I can read one of these badboys in a day.

Today I finished #27, which I got for Christmas.  I’m feeling nostalgic.  Let me explain why I love Alex Cross.

When I was young (so young that it’s that period of time when I cannot remember how old I was, let’s call it high school adjacent) someone (lets say my parents) bought me a copy of Kiss the Girls.  This had to be around the time they decided to make a Kiss the Girls movie, because my cover is the movie-inspired cover.  Anyway, I read it.  I was WAY into mysteries at the time.  I loved books that surprised me and had me trying to solve mysteries.  Casanova was HANDS-DOWN the scariest villain I’d ever read.  I (stupidly) started reading the book at night.  It was quiet in my house, everyone else was sleeping, and I was sitting in bed reading by a book light.  I was SHAKING with fear and had to keep reading to see if this detective could bring it all back to safe ground.  I read the book in one night.  The sun came up and helped light the room to help me finish.  It was AMAZING.  It was my first all-night read.

I soon found out that Kiss the Girls was part of a series.  I bought myself Along Came a Spider (the first book) at a used bookstore.  It was equally as good, with an equally scary villain, one who goes down as a personal favorite in the history of villains.  This one took a delve into psychological more than I expected and followed our hero for much longer after the arrest, which I loved.  This book gave me chills.

I continued hunting down and reading the books in order.  By the time Roses are Red was published (2000) I was caught up.  I was also in college, so I didn’t buy this one the second it came out.  Instead, I bought a book club copy a few months later from my favorite used book store for about $4.

At the time I remember being convinced Roses are Red would be followed by Violets are Blue and it would be the last Alex Cross book because it seemed fitting for these titles to end it.  They go so well together!  If you’re not up on the series, those were books 6 and 7 (so I was really wrong).

I got my grandmother (an avid reader herself) hooked by book #9 and we developed this great (to struggling college student me) system.  She bought the book BRAND NEW when it came out, read it in about 48 hours, and handed it off to me.  It was a wonderful system.

Fast-forward to today, when I am still reading all James publishes about Alex.  They’re my favorite James Patterson novels, I still read them quickly, and I got my husband hooked on them too.

Alright, a few more quick facts and then I’ll quick geeking on Alex Cross until the next book.

My Original Favorite: Kiss the Girls (first loves, man)

My New Favorite (after rereading entire series): Roses are Red (it’s just great writing)

What About the Movies: Thumbs WAY DOWN, they got it all wrong every single time

Why Alex: He’s a genuinely good guy, like in his core.  His family is amazing and I just want to sit down and have family dinner with them.

How do I see it Ending?: I was SO WRONG last time, but here goes.  James can’t quit Alex, man.  I am not sure he ever will.  BUT if he decides to stop writing Alex it’ll be because someone close to Alex dies and Alex can’t continue.  Honestly, I’m worried about Nana.  I don’t know if I could handle it, Mr. Patterson.  Be gentle.

I’ve Never Read One, Should I?: YES.  They’re amazing.  You don’t need to read them in order to fall in love, I promise.  If you’re not an avid reader naturally maybe try one of the bookshots first (they’re shorter).  Otherwise I’d suggest one of the first 10 as your first.  They have more character development to help you fall in love faster.

Alright, that’s all from me.  Thanks for reading about one of my obsessions.

Here’s some links, if you’re interested.

The expert himself, James Patterson and links to the books:

My book review blog, where I’ve reviewed the most recent (and probably most of the others if you scroll around):




I have been having this recurring dream lately.  I wake up in the morning, before the alarm clock, no clues about what may have caused me to wake up.  In that exact second, I can remember the entire dream.  I wonder why I have been having the same dream.  I want to close my eyes and fall back into it.  I want to play it out.


This morning it occured to me that I should write a story about it.  I should write down the dream, play it out, and write the story. It’s obviously coming to me over and over again because it wants me to write it out.  The characters are begging me to write their tale.


But then it begins to fade.  Little by little the details drip out of my memory until they’re gone.  I can’t remember what I dreamt about at all.  I can’t remember if it was in a house or a campground.  I can’t remember if it was a lady, a man, kids, or animals.  I can’t recall a single detail.


Tonight I hope I’ll dream the dream again.  I hope I’ll have that time when I realize it’s the same dream.


Maybe tomorrow I’ll even have enough to write down in the morning.


Stream of Consciousness

I have five minutes.

I shouldn’t start something.  I only have five minutes.

I can probably write something, if I write it fast.

My hair is in my way.  I need a haircut.

Alright, I need a brilliant idea.  Of course I only have four minutes in which to turn said brilliant idea into writing.

Four minutes.  That’s a good amount of time.  Here we go.  Create post.

What could I write about?

It’s kind of cold in here, I should find a sweater.

Alright, three minutes left.  But I’m in my sweater now, so all good.  Cozy and warm. Wonderful.

What should I write about?  Let’s see, I could start a new story.  Something about a magic plot of land.  Maybe when you plant something there it instantly grows to full size.  Drop an orange seed and BOOM orange tree.  But what are the limits of said land?  (Two minute left, I should hurry).  Can you, for example, drop an entire apple and create a tree or must it be the seed?

Alright will jot down this idea for future, seeing as I only have one minute left of my break.

And…time’s up!  Thanks for spending my break with me, folks.

Hope your day is well!

First Line Prompt

The Challenge: Take the first line “I have to do something to help that child” and write a story.

“I have to do something to help that child,” she whispers.

I lean closer, rest my palm on her leg to hold her still.  “Absolutely not.”  I try to hit her with my best I-mean-business glare, eyes narrowed and lips pursed.  The look I used to get from my High School English teacher when I talked out of turn.  “You do nothing.”

I feel her relax, slightly.  Her weight shifts back toward her rump.  “Fine.  Whatever.”

Across the room, the child scribbles something and sighs.  The sound is too loud, too dramatic, for the situation.  We both turn our attention to her, watching.  She throws both her hands up, sandwiching her face between them and sighs again.  “I don’t know how to do this,” she whines.

Again my partner’s weight shifts.  “Let me just go see if she’s made–”

“No.  Just let her struggle.  Watch, wait.”  The truth is, I don’t know if this plan will work or not.  All I know if we have fought with this child about her homework every single day for the last month.  There have been tears from both parties.  There have been assignments that I know were not successfully completed.  There have been assignments that we gave up on.  This week I have convinced my wife to let me handle homework in a different way.  This week I decided to let her fend for herself, our eight year old, and see what comes of it.  It’s Wednesday  We made it through Monday easily.  We made it through Tuesday with only a little bit of struggle.  Now the real battle has kicked in.  It’s the paragraph that did it, I think.  I keep hearing my little girl whine about “five whole sentences” and I’m sure that’s the part that’s done her in.  Of course it would be easier to “suggest” ways to write the sentence, but then we end up with the fighting and the tears.  No, this is the way this week.  She will get through it.  “We have to let her do this.”  I say the last thought out loud, sharing it, willing it to be true.

At the table, the pencil is pinched between the fingers again.  The tongue finds its home at the corner of the mouth, slowly wiggling along the upper lip as the words begin to form on the page in front of her.  There’s writing for a full minute before the pencil is flung back down.  “DONE!” she bellows.

“Do we check it?” my wife asks.

“Do you have enough sentences?” I call.

“Yes.” Not even a glance down at the paper.

“How many?”

Pause, looking at the paper.  “Five.”

“Good job.  Did you answer the question?” I ask.


A whisper from my elbow, “She could be lying.”

I shrug.  “Are you lying?”

Her little blonde hair goes flying as she whips her head around to shoot me with a glare that perfectly communicates her irritation with my doubt.  “No.  It’s good.  Do you wanna read it?”  

I smile.  “Nope.  I trust you.  Put it in your backpack and go wash up for dinner.”

I wait until she has disappeared around the corner before smiling at my wife.  “There, done.” I kiss her gently on the lips.  “And no one cried.”

Her lips tip up to the right, her I’m-still-not-admitting-defeat smirk.  “It’s only Wednesday, bub.”

“Just admit it, I’m right.  This is working.”

She chuckles.  “One, we haven’t seen the grade for homework this week.  Two, that was painful to watch.  Three, and most importantly,” she rises and heads for the kitchen, “we have two more nights of this and spelling sentences are tomorrow.”

She flicks her hair over her shoulder as I feel my confidence drop like a concrete brick in the water.  “Oh God, spelling sentences,” I whine.  

Homework is going to be the death of me.