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Excerpt: BAT EATER AND OTHER NAMES FOR CORA ZENG by Kylie Lee Baker

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ONE 

April 2020 

East Broadway station bleeds when it rains, water rushing down from cracks in the secret darkness of the ceiling. Someone should probably fix that, but it’s the end of the world, and New York has bigger problems than a soggy train station that no one should be inside of anyway. No one takes the subway at the end of the world. No one except Cora and Delilah Zeng. 

Delilah wanders too close to the edge of the platform and Cora grabs her arm, tugging her away from the abyss of the tracks that unlatches its jaws, waiting. But Delilah settles safely behind the yellow line and the darkness clenches its teeth. 

Outside the wet mouth of the station, New York is empty. The China Virus, as they call it, has cleared the streets. News stations flash through footage of China—bodies in garbage bags, guards and tanks protecting the city lines, sobbing doctors waving their last goodbyes from packed trains, families who just want to fucking live but are trapped in the plague city for the Greater Good. 

On the other side of the world, New York is so empty it echoes. You can scream and the ghost of your voice will carry for blocks and blocks. The sound of footsteps lasts forever, the low hum of streetlights a warm undercurrent that was always there, waiting, but no one could hear it until now. Delilah says it’s unnerving, but Cora likes the quiet, likes how much bigger the city feels, likes that the little lights from people’s apartment windows are the only hint of their existence, no one anything more than a bright little square in the sky. 

What she doesn’t like is that she can’t find any toilet paper at the end of the world. 

Apparently, people do strange things when they’re scared of dying, and one of them is hoarding toilet paper. Cora and Delilah have been out for an hour trying to find some and finally managed to grab a four-pack of one-ply in Chinatown, which is better than nothing but not by much. 

They had to walk in the rain because they couldn’t get an Uber. No one wants Chinese girls in their car, and they’re not the kind of Chinese that can afford their own car in a city where it isn’t necessary. But now that they have the precious paper, they’d rather not walk home in the rain and end up with a sodden mess in their arms. 

“The train isn’t coming,” Cora says. She feels certain of this. She feels certain about a lot of things she can’t explain, the way some people are certain that God exists. Some thoughts just cross her mind and sink their teeth in. Besides, the screen overhead that’s supposed to tell them when the next train arrives has said DELAYS for the last ten minutes. 

“It’s coming,” Delilah says, checking her phone, then tucking it away when droplets from the leaky roof splatter onto the screen. Delilah is also certain about many things, but for different reasons. Delilah chooses the things she wants to believe, while Cora’s thoughts are bear traps snapping closed around her ankles. 

Sometimes Cora thinks Delilah is more of a dream than a sister, a camera flash of pretty lights in every color that you can never look at directly. She wraps herself up in pale pink and wispy silk and flower hair clips; she wears different rings on each finger that all have a special meaning; she is Alice in Wonderland who has stumbled out of a rabbit hole and somehow arrived in New York from a world much more kind and lovely than this one. 

Cora hugs the toilet paper to her chest and peers into the silent train tunnel. She can’t see even a whisper of light from the other side. The darkness closes in like a wall. The train cannot be coming because trains can’t break through walls. 

Or maybe Cora just doesn’t want to go home, because going home with Delilah means remembering that there is a world outside of this leaky station. 

There is their dad in China, just a province away from the epicenter of body bags. And there is the man who emptied his garbage over their heads from his window and called them Chinks on the walk here. And there is the big question of What Comes Next? Because another side effect of the end of the world is getting laid off. 

Cora used to work the front desk at the Met, which wasn’t exactly what an art history degree was designed for and certainly didn’t justify the debt. But it was relevant enough to her studies that for a few months it stopped shame from creeping in like black mold and coating her lungs in her sleep. But no one needs museums at the end of the world, so no one needs Cora. 

Delilah answered emails and scheduled photo shoots for a local fashion magazine that went belly-up as soon as someone whispered the word pandemic, and suddenly there were two art history majors, twenty-four and twenty-six, with work experience in dead industries and New York City rent to pay. Now the money is gone and there are no careers to show for it and the worst part is that they had a chance, they had a Nai Nai who paid for half their tuition because she thought America was for dreams. They didn’t have to wait tables or strip or sell Adderall to pay for college but they somehow messed it up anyway, and Cora thinks that’s worse than having no chance at all. She thinks a lot of other things about herself too, but she lets those thoughts go quickly, snaps her hands away from them like they’re a hot pan that will burn her skin. 

Cora thinks this is all Delilah’s fault but won’t say it out loud because that’s another one of her thoughts that no one wants to hear. It’s a little bit her own fault as well, for not having her own dreams. If there was anything Cora actually wanted besides existing comfortably, she would have known what to study in college, wouldn’t have had to chase after Delilah. 

But not everyone has dreams. Some people just are, the way that trees and rocks and rivers are just there without a reason, the rest of the world moving around them. 

Cora thinks that the water dripping down the wall looks oddly dark, more so than the usual sludge of the city, and maybe it has a reddish tinge, like the city has slit its own wrists and is dying in this empty station. But she knows better than to say this out loud, because everything looks dirty to her, and Cora Zeng thinking something is dirty doesn’t mean the average human agrees—at least, that’s what everyone tells her. 

“Maybe I’ll work at a housekeeping company,” Cora says, half to herself and half to the echoing tunnel, but Delilah answers anyway. 

“You know that’s a bad idea,” she says. 

Cora shrugs. Objectively, she understands that if you scrub yourself raw with steel wool one singular time, no one likes it when you clean anything for the rest of your life. But things still need to be cleaned even if Delilah doesn’t like it, and Cora thinks there are worse things than leaning a little bit into the crazy parts of you. Isn’t that what artists do, after all? Isn’t that the kind of person Delilah likes? The tortured artist types who smoke indoors and paint with their own blood and feces. 

“Mama cleaned toilets for rich white people because she had no choice,” Delilah says. “You have a college degree and that’s what you want to do?” 

Cora doesn’t answer at first because Mama means Delilah’s mom, so Cora doesn’t see why her thoughts on Cora’s life should matter. Cora doesn’t have a Mama. She has a Mom, a white lady from Wisconsin who probably hired someone else’s mama to clean her toilet. 

Cora quite likes cleaning toilets, but this is another thing she knows she shouldn’t say out loud. Instead, she says, “What I want is to make rent this month.” 

Legally, Cora’s fairly certain they can’t be evicted during the pandemic, but she doesn’t want to piss off their landlord, the man who sniffs their mail and saves security camera footage of Delilah entering the building. He price-gouges them for a crappy fourth-floor walkup in the East Village with a radiator that vomits a gallon of brown water onto their floor in the winter and a marching band of pipes banging in the walls, but somehow Cora doubts they’ll find anything better without jobs. 

Delilah smiles with half her mouth, her gaze distant like Cora is telling her a fairy tale. “I’ve been burning lemongrass for money energy,” Delilah says. “We’ll be fine.” This is another thing Delilah just knows. 

Cora hates the smell of lemongrass. The scent coats her throat, wakes her up at night feeling like she’s drowning in oil. But she doesn’t know if the oils are a Chinese thing or just a Delilah thing, and she hates accidentally acting like a white girl around Delilah. Whenever she does, Delilah gives her this look, like she’s remembered who Cora really is, and changes the subject. 

“The train is late,” Cora says instead of acknowledging the lemongrass. “I don’t think it’s coming.” 

“It’s coming, Cee,” Delilah says. 

“I read that they reduced service since no one’s taking the train these days,” Cora says. “What if it doesn’t stop here anymore?” 

“It’s coming,” Delilah says. “It’s not like we have a choice except waiting here anyway.” 

Cora’s mind flashes with the image of both their skeletons standing at the station, waiting for a train that never comes, while the world crumbles around them. They could walk— they only live in the East Village—but Delilah is made of sugar and her makeup melts off in the rain and her umbrella is too small and she said no, so that’s the end of it. Delilah is not Cora’s boss, she’s not physically intimidating, and she has no blackmail to hold over her, but Cora knows the only choice is to do what Delilah says. When you’re drowning and someone grabs your hand, you don’t ask them where they’re taking you. 

A quiet breeze sighs through the tunnel, a dying exhale. It blows back Delilah’s bangs and Cora notices that Delilah has penciled in her eyebrows perfectly, even though it’s raining and they only went out to the store to buy toilet paper. Something about the sharp arch of her left eyebrow in particular triggers a thought that Cora doesn’t want to think, but it bites down all the same. 

Sometimes, Cora thinks she hates her sister. 

It’s strange how hate and love can so quietly exist at the same time. They are moon phases, one silently growing until one day all that’s left is darkness. It’s not something that Delilah says or does, really. Cora is used to her small annoyances. 

It’s that Delilah is a daydream and standing next to her makes Cora feel real. 

Cora has pores full of sweat and oil, socks with stains on the bottom, a stomach that sloshes audibly after she eats. Delilah is a pretty arrangement of refracted light who doesn’t have to worry about those things. Cora wanted to be like her for a very long time, because who doesn’t want to transcend their disgusting body and become Delilah Zeng, incorporeal, eternal? But Cora’s not so sure anymore. 

Cora peers into the tunnel. We are going to be stuck here forever, Cora thinks, knows. 

But then the sound begins, a rising symphony to Cora’s ears. The ground begins to rumble, puddles shivering. 

“Finally,” Delilah says, pocketing her phone. “See? I told you.” 

Cora nods because Delilah did tell her and sometimes Delilah is right. The things Cora thinks she knows are too often just bad dreams bleeding into her waking hours. 

Far away, the headlights become visible in the darkness. A tiny mouth of white light. 

“Cee,” Delilah says. Her tone is too delicate, and it makes coldness curl around Cora’s heart. Delilah tosses words out easily, dandelion parachutes carried about by the wind. But these words have weight. 

Delilah toys with her bracelet—a jade bangle from their Auntie Zeng, the character for hope on the gold band. Cora has a matching one, shoved in a drawer somewhere, except the plate says love, at least that’s what Cora thinks. She’s not very good at reading Chinese. 

“I’m thinking of going to see Dad,” Delilah says. 

The mouth of light at the end of the tunnel has expanded into a door of brilliant white, and Cora waits because this cannot be all. Dad lives in Changsha, has lived there ever since America became too much for him, except it’s always been too much for Cora too and she has nowhere to run away to, her father hasn’t given her the words she needs. Delilah has visited him twice in the last five years, so this news isn’t enough to make Delilah’s voice sound so tight, so nervous. 

“I think I might stay there awhile,” Delilah says, looking away. “Now that I’m out of work, it seems like a good time to get things settled before the pandemic blows over.” 

Cora stares at the side of Delilah’s head because her sister won’t meet her gaze. Cora isn’t stupid, she knows what this is a “good time” for. Delilah started talking about being a model in China last year. Cora doesn’t know if the odds are better in China and she doubts Delilah knows either. All she knows is that Delilah tried for all of three months to make a career of modeling in New York until that dream fizzled out, smoke spiraling from it, and Delilah stopped trying because everything is disposable to her, right down to her dreams. 

Cora always thought this particular dream would be too expensive, too logistically complicated for Delilah to actually follow through on. Worst-case scenario, they’d plan a three-week vacation to China that would turn into a week and a half when Delilah lost interest and started fighting with Dad again. The idea of flying during a pandemic feels like a death sentence, but Cora has already resigned herself to hunting down some N95 respirators just so Delilah could give her modeling dream an honest try. 

Because even if Delilah tends to extinguish her own dreams too fast, Cora believes in them for all of their brief, brilliant lives. If Cora ever found a dream of her own, she would nurture it in soft soil, measure out each drop of water, each sunbeam, give it a chance to become. So Cora will not squash her sister’s dreams, not for anything. 

“I’ll just put my half of the rent on my credit card until I find work,” Delilah says, “so you won’t need a new roommate.” 

Then Cora understands, all at once, like a knife slipped between her ribs, that Delilah isn’t inviting Cora to come with her. 

Of course she isn’t. Delilah has a mama who speaks Mandarin to her, so Delilah’s Chinese is good enough to live in China. But Cora’s isn’t. Delilah would have to do everything for her, go everywhere with her because she knows Cora would cry just trying to check out at the supermarket. Delilah could do it for her, but she doesn’t want to. 

Cora suddenly feels like a child who has wandered too far into a cave. The echoes become ghosts and the darkness wraps in tight ribbons around your throat and you call for a mom who will never come. 

Cora’s hands shake, fingers pressing holes into the plastic wrap of the toilet paper, her whole body vibrating with the sheer unfairness of it all. You can’t string someone along their whole life and then just leave them alone one day holding your toilet paper in a soggy train station. 

“Or you could stay with your aunt?” Delilah says. “Then you wouldn’t have to worry about rent. It would be better for both of us, I think.” 

Auntie Lois, she means. Mom’s sister, whose house smells like a magazine, who makes Cora kneel in a confessional booth until she can name all her sins. Delilah has decided that this is Cora’s life, and Delilah is the one who makes decisions. 

Delilah keeps talking, but Cora can’t hear her. The world rumbles as the train draws closer. The white light is too bright now, too sharp behind Delilah, and it illuminates her silhouette, carves her into the wet darkness. Delilah has a beautiful silhouette, the kind that men would have painted hundreds of years ago. Cora thinks about the Girl with a Pearl Earring, and the Mona Lisa, and all the beautiful women immortalized in oil paint, and wonders if they said cruel things too, if their words had mattered at all or just the roundness of their eyes and softness of their cheeks, if beautiful people are allowed to break your heart and get away with it. 

The man appears in a flash of a black hoodie and blue surgical mask. 

He says two words, and even though the train is rushing closer, a roaring wave about to knock them off their feet, those two words are perfectly clear, sharp as if carved into Cora’s skin. 

Bat eater. 

Cora has heard those words a lot the past two months. The end of the world began at a wet market in Wuhan, they say, with a sick bat. Cora has never once eaten a bat, but it has somehow become common knowledge that Chinese people eat bats just to start plagues. 

Cora only glances at the man’s face for a moment before her gaze snaps to his pale hand clamped around Delilah’s skinny arm like a white spider, crunching the polyester of her pink raincoat. Lots of men grab Delilah because she is the kind of girl that men want to devour. Cora thinks the man will try to kiss Delilah, or force her up the stairs and into a cab, or a thousand things better than what actually happens next. 

Because he doesn’t pull her close. He pushes her away. 

Delilah stumbles over the yellow line, ankle twisting, and when she crashes down there’s no ground to meet her, just the yawning chasm of the train tracks. 

The first car hits her face. 

All at once, Cora’s skin is scorched with something viscous and salty. Brakes scream and blue sparks fly and the wind blasts her hair back, the liquid rushing across her throat, under her shirt. Her first thought is that the train has splashed her in some sort of track sludge, and for half a second that is the worst thought in the entire world. The toilet paper falls from Cora’s arms and splashes into a puddle when it hits the ground and There goes the whole point of the trip, she thinks. 

Delilah does not stand up. The train is a rushing blur of silver, a solid wall of hot air and screeching metal and Delilah is on the ground, her skirt pooling out around her. Get up, Delilah, Cora thinks, because train station floors are rainforests of bacteria tracked in from so many millions of shoes, because the puddle beneath her can’t be just rainwater—it looks oddly dark, almost black, spreading fast like a hole opening up in the floor. Cora steps closer and it almost, almost looks like Delilah is leaning over the ledge, peering over the lip of the platform. 

But Delilah ends just above her shoulders. 

Her throat is a jagged line, torn flaps of skin and sharp bone and the pulsing O of her open trachea. Blood runs unstopped from her throat, swirling together with the rainwater of the rotting train station, and soon the whole platform is bleeding, weeping red water into the crack between the platform and the train, feeding the darkness. Cora is screaming, a raw sound that begins somewhere deep inside her rib cage and tears its way up her throat and becomes a hurricane, a knife-sharp cry, the last sound that many women ever make. 

But there’s no one to hear it because New York is a dead body, because no one rides the subway at the end of the world. No one but Cora Zeng.

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The (Not-So-Secret) Secrets to Beautiful Hair: Let’s Talk Locks

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Okay, let’s talk hair. You know when someone walks into a room and their hair just gets your attention? Like it’s shining, bouncing, and basically living its best life? Yeah, that. Turns out, it’s not just magic (although a little hair flip confidence doesn’t hurt). There are a few low-key secrets behind those gorgeous locks — and no, it doesn’t mean breaking the bank or spending three hours in the bathroom every morning.

Let’s spill the tea, shall we?

1. Scalp Care Is the Real MVP

Think of your scalp like the soil to your hair garden (we’re going full metaphor here). If your scalp isn’t healthy, your hair won’t be either. Gentle exfoliation once a week, a little scalp massage while you shampoo, and maybe a lightweight oil now and then? Total game-changers.

2. Skip a Wash (Your Hair Will Thank You)

Over-washing is the silent hair killer. Natural oils are your friends — not enemies. Try spacing out your wash days and get cozy with dry shampoo. Bonus: less heat styling because you’re not constantly blow-drying? Win-win.

3. Heat Styling Without Heat Damage? Yes, Please

Listen, we all love a good curl or straightened look. But heat protectant is non-negotiable. Spray it like it’s perfume — liberally and everywhere. Also, maybe try some no-heat styles now and then (hello, overnight braids).

4. Trim the Dead Weight

You don’t have to chop it all off, but regular trims keep those ends looking fresh and healthy. Say goodbye to split ends, and your hair will actually grow better in the long run. Wild, right?

5. Hydration = Happy Hair

Drink your water (you knew that was coming), and treat your strands to some moisture, too. Deep conditioners, masks, leave-ins — find what your hair loves and treat it like royalty.

6. Satin Pillowcases Are the Upgrade You Didn’t Know You Needed

Seriously. They reduce friction, which means less breakage, fewer tangles, and your hair just wakes up looking more put-together than you do. It’s a small switch with big impact.

7. Don’t Stress the Frizz — Embrace the Texture

Newsflash: perfect hair is a myth. Frizz is normal. So is volume. So is your natural texture. Sometimes the best thing you can do for your hair is stop fighting it and start working with it. Let it do its thing.

Final Thought? Your Hair, Your Rules

There’s no one-size-fits-all routine. What works for your friend’s pin-straight strands might not fly with your curls — and that’s totally okay. The best “secret” to beautiful hair is figuring out what makes your hair feel good, and giving it some TLC on the regular.

Now go give your hair a little love — and maybe a dramatic toss for good measure?

Some products to achieve your best hair ever:

💆‍♀️ Scalp TLC Heroes

  • The Ordinary Multi-Peptide Serum for Hair Density – Light, affordable, and great for boosting scalp health and hair strength.
  • Briogeo Scalp Revival Charcoal + Tea Tree Scalp Treatment – Think spa day for your scalp: clarifying, cooling, and refreshing.

🚿 Shampoo + Conditioner (Wash Day Staples)

  • OGX Renewing + Argan Oil of Morocco Shampoo & Conditioner – Super hydrating and smells like a tropical vacay.
  • Olaplex No.4 & No.5 Bond Maintenance Shampoo + Conditioner – If your hair’s been through it (bleach, heat, life), this duo helps rebuild and repair.

✨ Deep Moisture Moments

  • SheaMoisture Manuka Honey & Mafura Oil Intensive Hydration Masque – Thick, nourishing, and curl-friendly.
  • Kérastase Nutritive Masquintense – A luxury splurge, but totally worth it if your hair is feeling dry or dull.

🔥 Heat Styling BFFs

  • Tresemmé Thermal Creations Heat Tamer Spray – Drugstore gem that actually works.
  • Living Proof Restore Instant Protection Spray – Lightweight, non-greasy, and protects up to 450°F.

💤 Sleep Upgrade Essentials

  • Kitsch Satin Pillowcase – Budget-friendly, cute colors, and so gentle on hair.
  • Slip Silk Pillowcase – Luxe, anti-frizz, and great for both hair and skin.

💨 Dry Shampoo Darlings

  • Batiste Dry Shampoo – Classic for a reason. Quick refresh, budget price.
  • IGK First Class Charcoal Detox Dry Shampoo – Heavy-duty (hello, gym days) but still feels weightless.

💖 Everyday Styling + Texture Love

  • Cantu Coconut Curling Cream – Amazing for curls, coils, and waves — adds moisture without crunch.
  • Ouai Wave Spray – For that undone, salty, beachy hair vibe without the beach.

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Book Review: Little Eve by Catriona Ward

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“My heart is a dark passage, lined with ranks of gleaming jars. In each one something floats. The past, preserved as if in spirit.”

PLOT SUMMARY:

“A great day is upon us. He is coming. The world will be washed away.”

On the wind-battered isle of Altnaharra, off the wildest coast of Scotland, a clan prepares to bring about the end of the world and its imminent rebirth.

The Adder is coming and one of their number will inherit its powers. They all want the honor, but young Eve is willing to do anything for the distinction.

A reckoning beyond Eve’s imagination begins when Chief Inspector Black arrives to investigate a brutal murder and their sacred ceremony goes terribly wrong.

And soon all the secrets of Altnaharra will be uncovered.

GRADE: A

REVIEW:

Little Eve by Catriona Ward is a gothic masterpiece that showcases her exceptional talent for crafting narratives laced with deception, suspense, and relentless twists. Set on a remote Scottish island in the aftermath of World War I, the novel follows a secretive, insular cult-like family whose dark rituals and fractured loyalties set the stage for a haunting mystery. Ward’s storytelling is labyrinthine—just when the reader feels they’ve grasped the truth, the narrative shifts, peeling back another layer of deception.

What sets Ward apart is her ability to embed twists that feel not only shocking but inevitable in hindsight. Each revelation deepens the emotional and psychological complexity of the characters, especially Eve, whose voice is both haunting and heartbreakingly human. The prose is atmospheric and immersive, rich with dread and beauty, drawing readers into a world where nothing is quite what it seems.

Ward doesn’t rely on cheap thrills; instead, she builds a carefully structured narrative where every twist feels earned. The result is a novel that constantly redefines itself, keeping the reader in a state of taut anticipation. Little Eve is a chilling, intricately woven tale that confirms Catriona Ward as a true master of psychological suspense and gothic horror.

*Thank you so much to NetGalley & Tor Nightfire for a digital copy of this book in exchange for an honest review!

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The Elusive Muse: AKA That One Idea That Shows Up at 3 A.M.

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Finding inspiration to write is a lot like trying to catch a cat that doesn’t want to be caught. You set the mood—make tea, light a candle, stare thoughtfully out the window—and… nothing. Your brain, suddenly as blank as the page in front of you, decides now is a good time to think about whether you ever paid that electric bill from 2021.

Then, of course, inspiration strikes at the most inconvenient times: in the shower, mid-argument, or three seconds before sleep. It whispers, “Hey, here’s the perfect plot twist!” And like a fool, you think, I’ll remember this in the morning. Spoiler alert: You won’t.

So how do you find inspiration? Trick it. Lure it in like a raccoon with shiny objects. Go for a walk, read something weird, eavesdrop on strangers (purely for research). Or just sit down and write about how uninspired you are—irony is a great muse.

Eventually, your brain gets jealous of all your effort and tosses you a crumb of genius. And just like that, you’re back—typing furiously, fueled by caffeine, chaos, and questionable grammar.

Inspiration: unreliable, unpredictable, but occasionally hilarious.

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Book Review: Paper Doll: Notes From A Late Bloomer by Dylan Mulvaney

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“The parts of us that they are attacking are the best parts of us, and that is what makes us special.”

PLOT SUMMARY:

When Dylan Mulvaney came out as a woman online, she was a viral sensation almost overnight, emerging as a trailblazing voice on social media. Dylan’s personal coming-out story blossomed into a platform for advocacy and empowerment for trans people all over the world.

Through her “Days of Girlhood” series, she connected with followers by exploring what it means to be a girl, from experimenting with makeup to story times to spilling the tea about laser hair removal, while never shying away from discussing the transphobia she faced online. Nevertheless, she was determined to be a beacon of positivity.

But shortly after she celebrated day 365 of being a girl, it all came screeching to a halt when an innocuous post sparked a media firestorm and right-wing backlash she couldn’t have expected. Despite the vitriolic press and relentless paparazzi, Dylan was determined to remain loud and proud.

In Paper Doll: Notes from a Late Bloomer, Dylan pulls back the curtain of her “It Girl” lifestyle with a witty and intimate reflection of her life pre- and post-transition. She covers everything from her first big break in theater to the first time her dad recognized her as a girl to how she handled scandals, cancellations, and . . . tucking. It’s both laugh-out-loud funny and powerfully honest—and is a love letter to everyone who stands up for queer joy.

GRADE: A

REVIEW:

I experienced this memoir as an audiobook which I think is the best way to experience it. Dylan Mulvaney delivers a memoir that is as full of heart as it is sharp with humor. Known for her viral “Days of Girlhood” series, Mulvaney brings the same charisma and vulnerability to the page, blending deeply personal storytelling with punchy, self-aware wit. The book is a kaleidoscope of moments—some raw, some hilarious, all profoundly human.

Her humor never feels performative; it’s the kind that springs from resilience, used not to mask pain but to reshape it into something empowering. She recounts awkward adolescence, awkward adulthood, and everything in between with a comedic timing that never undercuts the seriousness of her journey. Instead, it complements the memoir’s emotional core.

What elevates Paper Doll beyond a personal story is its quiet, powerful wisdom. Mulvaney doesn’t pretend to have all the answers. Instead, she offers hard-won insights about identity, self-worth, and the freedom of living authentically. Her voice is candid and warm, turning the memoir into a conversation more than a proclamation.

Paper Doll is ultimately a triumph of spirit—a joyful, honest, and sharply observant reflection of what it means to grow into oneself, and to do so with grace, grit, and a perfectly timed joke.

*Thank you so much to NetGalley & Harry N. Abrams for the audiobook copy of this book in exchange for an honest review!

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3 Good Habits to Embrace This Spring: Bloom Into Your Best Self!

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Spring has finally sprung! The flowers are blooming, the birds are chirping, and there’s a certain magic in the air that makes it the perfect time to refresh your routine and embrace some new, positive habits. Whether you’re shaking off the winter blues or simply looking for a little reinvention, now’s the time to shake things up. Here are three simple (and totally doable) habits to cultivate this spring that will leave you feeling fresh, energized, and ready to take on the season with a smile.

1. Get Outside and Move (But Make It Fun!)

Let’s face it: when winter rolls around, the couch is often our best friend. But with the sunshine now beckoning us outdoors, it’s time to ditch the blankets and step into the fresh air. Spring is a perfect excuse to get active, but no need to sign up for a marathon (unless you really want to, no judgment here!). The goal is to find something fun to do that gets your body moving.

Take a stroll through your local park, ride your bike around the neighborhood, or even try an outdoor yoga class (hello, sun salutations!). The key here is to find something you enjoy—something that won’t feel like a chore. Dance around to your favorite tunes in your living room, or join a friend for a game of frisbee. Moving your body in enjoyable ways is an instant mood booster, and the best part? You’re soaking up that vitamin D while you’re at it!

Pro Tip: Make it a goal to get outside at least 20 minutes a day. It doesn’t sound like much, but the fresh air and natural light will work wonders on your energy levels.

2. Start a Spring Clean (That Actually Feels Good)

Spring cleaning doesn’t have to be a dreaded task. In fact, it can actually be a form of self-care—yes, really! Take a look around your home: those dusty corners and overflowing drawers are just waiting for a little TLC. Instead of thinking of it as a big, scary to-do list, approach it like a mini reset for your mind, body, and space. You’ll be amazed at how clearing clutter can give you a sense of peace and accomplishment.

Start with small, manageable tasks. Organize your closet, tidy up the kitchen counter, or finally tackle that drawer full of miscellaneous stuff (we all have one). And here’s the secret: make it fun! Put on your favorite playlist, light a nice candle, and turn cleaning into a mini dance party. Trust us, once you start making progress, you’ll be surprised at how good it feels to have a fresh, tidy space.

Pro Tip: Declutter your wardrobe by donating or selling clothes you haven’t worn in over a year. Spring is the season of renewal, so it’s the perfect time to let go of things that no longer serve you!

3. Drink More Water (With a Twist of Fun!)

Okay, we know, we should be drinking water all year round, but in spring, it feels a little easier to sip on some refreshing H2O. You’re sweating a little more, the air is warmer, and your body needs hydration to keep you energized as you take on your new outdoor activities. So, why not make drinking water a habit that you can actually look forward to?

Spruce up your water routine with a little creativity. Add fresh fruit like lemon, cucumber, or mint to your water for a spa-like experience. Or try making your own iced herbal tea, and have a little pitcher ready to go in the fridge for easy access. Not only will you feel hydrated and refreshed, but you’ll feel like you’re living your best, health-conscious life, too.

Pro Tip: Keep a reusable water bottle with you throughout the day. Having it on hand will remind you to drink more, and hey—being eco-friendly is a win!

In Conclusion: Spring Forward with These Habits

So, there you have it: three simple habits to help you bloom into your best self this spring! Whether it’s getting outside and moving, decluttering your space, or hydrating like a pro, each of these habits will leave you feeling more energized, refreshed, and ready to take on whatever the season throws your way. Embrace the lightness of spring, and remember—it’s all about balance, fun, and making small changes that lead to big rewards. Happy spring, everyone!

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Book Review & Author Interview: Doomflower by Jendia Gammon

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But she didn’t realize it was the last normal day on Earth as she’d known it… the last normal day anyone had known.

PLOT SUMMARY:

The meanest teen queen in high school might be the world’s only chance against killer plants run amok!

Camellia Dume is the meanest teen queen in her Malibu high school, a rich daddy’s girl thanks to her father’s elaborate scams. But she might be the only hero for humanity as an extraterrestrial mutation sends plants tearing across the country and through people in bloody fashion. As if that weren’t enough drama, Camellia just might meet her own personal match or worst enemy, in the new student Wray, as sparks fly and opposites attract. Only by working together can they uproot a deadly conspiracy that may have torn Camellia’s family apart.

GRADE: A

REVIEW:

Mean Girls meets Day of the Triffids in this fast paced horror. Move over Regina George, there’s a new bad bitch in town – Camellia Dume. She’s disgustingly rich and very influential both at her school and online realm, where she’s both loved and feared. Upon her first encounter with Wray, things don’t go down very well, but soon the two are going to be faced with killer plants and life as Camellia knows it will no longer exist. These two unlikely heroes will capture your heart and have you rooting for them in this campy, yet very fun scary book!

Doomflower by Jendia Gammon is a relentless, fast-paced horror thriller that grips the reader from the very first page and littered with hilarious moments that will have you laughing! The narrative is a whirlwind of tension, with each chapter escalating the horror as the protagonist is drawn deeper into a nightmarish world. Gammon masterfully builds a sense of dread, using sharp, vivid imagery that keeps the reader on edge. The pacing is swift, ensuring that the suspense never lets up, while the horror elements hit hard with shocking twists and grotesque killer plants. Doomflower is a wild, adrenaline-fueled ride for fans of chilling, fast-paced terror.

*Thank you so much to Encyclopocalypse Publications for the digital copy of this book in exchange for an honest review!

SHORT Q & A WITH AUTHOR:

What inspired you to write Doomflower?

Doomflower was one of those secret-sauce ideas that bubbled up about 6 years ago, when I was getting to know Los Angeles better, and fell hard for Point Dume. I had been a fan of dark humor most of my life, so that’s reflected in the book; notably Heathers, as well as various high school dramedies over the decades, as well as pulpy slasher films of the 80s and 90s. I also love a mixture of sci-fi and horror, like The Thing, Day of the Triffids, etc.

And as I was a fan of antihero dramas like Mad Men and Better Call Saul, as well as growing up with How the Grinch Stole Christmas, I thought, “What if the absolute worst person in high school had to save the world? Who would want to follow her, and why?” And that’s Camellia Dume. She the richest and meanest teen queen in Killian High School, and her father is very much a shyster conman like Saul Goodman. They’re ghastly…but there’s a reason.

As I transferred schools in the middle of high school, from a county/semi-rural area to city school, I was suddenly faced with very wealthy cliques, and I was…not wealthy. So I identified a bit with Wray Blythe in that regard. I love fish-out-of-water stories.

I also love the enemies-to-lovers trope, especially when it leads to character growth.

And, frankly, I love L.A. Much of this story takes place in Malibu, and I lean into some Los Angeles tropes with love for the city I love and live in now.

Camellia is the ultimate mean girl when we meet her, but becomes the unlikely hero. Who could you see portraying her in a film adaptation or mini series?

It’s likely that at this point, she’d have to be a younger GenZ or a Gen Alpha actress, and I think in many ways this would be a breakout role for someone. I don’t have anyone particular in mind. I’d know her if I saw her audition. And I hope Doomflower IS made into a film or show, because I think a lot of people would enjoy it. It’s very cinematic, raw, funny, and filled with one-liners.

Several writers have explored deadly plants in the past few years such as Wilder Girls and Annihilation. What is it about plants that you find personally terrifying?

As I have a degree in ecology (which plays a role in the book), I’m not so terrified of plants as I am of genetic manipulation and the thwarting of nature to greed or malice. Given an extraordinary situation here–trying to avoid spoiling for readers–I’m reminded of Ripley’s quote in ALIENS that starts with, “You know, Burke, I don’t know which species is worse…” But in terms of monster appeal, I actually love pulpy horror, and nothing screams pulp like plant horror!

Can we ever expect a sequel to Doomflower?

If Doomflower does well, I do have framework for a sequel. So let’s hope it does. There’s definitely more to unravel! Meanwhile, I hope I get a movie or show option. Then you can be sure I’ll wrote a sequel!

Are you working on anything new?

Hot on the heels of Doomflower is my thriller/horror/sci-fi novel Atacama, out May 13, 2025. That has a more unsettling vibe, delving into mystery and grief (which both do play a role in Doomflower as well; I lost both parents in the past 5 years, and that definitely left huge effects on my writing). Atacama is a bit like The X-Files plus Annihilation plus Black Mirror and The Thing. Following that, I have a SFF short story collection out in July called To Wonder and Starshine, a dragon fantasy out next spring, The Vale of Seven Dragons, and a Choose Your Own Adventure middle grade horror out next spring as well, called Dungeon Crawl at the Haunted Mall. I’m also a publisher of speculative fiction at Stars and Sabers Publishing, and we have all sorts of books coming out from various authors there.

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Excerpt: Their Monstrous Hearts by Yigit Turhan

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Prologue

Perihan gazed at the opulent villas lined up like precious pearls on a necklace, feeling overwhelmed by their excessive beauty. The sight was almost terrifying, reminiscent of the antique pearls adorning her own necklace. As the dark clouds were illuminated by a sudden flash of lightning, she shook off her thoughts and quickened her pace along the deserted road. The gentle raindrops on her tired face felt like an omi­nous sign. The unexpected gust of wind, unusual for a mild November afternoon, added to her unease.

On her seventieth birthday, Perihan had indulged in a day of shopping at Milan’s most luxurious stores. Despite her age, she possessed a strong physique, with firm knees, agile move­ments, and enough strength to carry her shopping bags from the stores to her home. The kind store managers at Cartier and Valentino had offered to send the packages to her address with a courier, but she declined, insisting she could manage on her own. Though she lacked a family to celebrate with, her small group of friends had arranged to gather at the villa, refusing to let her spend the evening alone. They had asked her to leave the house and return around seven o’clock. Glancing at her watch, Perihan realized she was already half an hour late.

Oh my… Licia must have already set the table, she thought as she turned the corner onto Via Marco de Marchi, where she resided. Just then, another lightning bolt flashed across the sky, and a large monarch butterfly appeared seemingly out of nowhere. Despite the heavy rain, Perihan could hear the faint flapping of its wings. The butterfly had bright orange and black stripes, with one wing decorated with symmetric white dots. It seemed to hover in midair.

“What a miracle,” Perihan exclaimed, a smile stretching across her wrinkled face. “It’s been years since I last saw this one…and on my birthday!” Hastily shifting the heavy bags onto her shoulder, she wiped the raindrops from her eyes with her long red nails and followed the butterfly. It fluttered around in circles for a few moments, before darting straight ahead. Despite the downpour, the orange-and-black wings moved swiftly. Overwhelmed with excitement, Perihan dis­regarded the red light—and almost got hit by an old Ford passing by. The driver, an unattractive man with numerous moles and few teeth, leaned out of the window and cursed at her in an Italian dialect she couldn’t understand. Unfazed by his behavior, Perihan remained focused on following the butterfly, which flew rapidly and ascended into the sky.

“I wonder where it disappeared to,” she mused with a melancholic expression on her face. The rain intensified, the drainage problems in the area turning the road into a pool of water. Perihan’s bare feet were drenched as the rain seeped through the open toes of her green python slingbacks.

“You’re blocking my view.” The unexpected comment startled her. She looked at the stranger, hoping to recognize a friendly face, but it was no one she knew. She turned to notice the growing crowd of people with their faces hidden behind their phone screens. She wondered if they were filming her. Lacking an umbrella, her meticulously coiffed hair now wet, her makeup smudged, and her silk skirt ruined by the muddy street, Perihan was struck by the crowd’s indifference. They shifted slightly to the right, attempting to remove her from their line of sight, all the while continuing to record whatever had caught their attention. Curious, Perihan turned around and was terrified by what she saw. In shock, she dropped her red shopping bags, causing more muddy water to splatter onto her skirt and completely destroying her shoes.

“This can’t be happening,” she screamed to the sky at the top of her lungs. Her knees trembled uncontrollably, left her unsure about taking another five steps to cross the road. Peri­han noticed the cameras turning toward her in her peripheral vision, but she paid no mind to the desperation and terror that would eventually go viral on numerous social media networks in multiple countries. Her villa loomed in front of her, con­cealed by high walls covered with lush green bushes—now invaded by hundreds, if not thousands, of butterflies. They hovered over the garden, flapping their wings vigorously de­spite the pouring rain. The entire structure, partially visible through the bushes, seemed imprisoned within a butterfly sanctuary. When Perihan realized the creatures were all mon­archs, each one so exquisite and valuable, she paused. Beauty had a threshold, and beyond it, it became a captivating terror, holding people’s attention hostage to fulfill its own needs. She propelled herself into the flooded road, heading for the gar­den gate. With what little strength remained after the ordeal, she pushed her way through the floral Art Nouveau door.

“Licia! Where are you?” she shouted upon entering the gar­den. Before closing the door behind her, she turned to scream at the onlookers, “Leave! The show’s over! This is my prop­erty!” Yet, the crowd remained unaffected, mesmerized by the extraordinary natural phenomenon unfolding before them.

Licia, Perihan’s housekeeper and closest friend of nearly forty years, looked like a ghost. Her complexion was drained of color, her wet hair clung to her face in disheveled patches, and her shoes were ruined by dark mud. She trembled as she spoke. “Perihan… We did our best, but…” Licia glanced quickly at their small group of friends, who observed the scene from the kitchen window on the first floor of the house. Perihan brushed Licia aside with the back of her hand and made her way toward the large greenhouse on the left side of the gar­den. Orange butterflies continued to emerge rapidly through a broken pane in its ceiling, swarming through the air. Looking up at the vortex of butterflies resembling a brewing tornado, Perihan felt a wave of dizziness. Her bony hand reached for the intricately detailed metal handle of the greenhouse door, but fear gripped her body. She hesitated, afraid to enter, yet knowing she had no other choice. Slowly, she pushed the door open, entered, and closed it behind her.

Licia tried to conceal her sobbing behind her hands. Should she follow Perihan into the greenhouse or return to the house? The rain cascaded like a waterfall, obstructing not only her movements but her thoughts as well. She compelled herself to decide, but the sudden outburst from within the green­house froze her in place.

“No… No… No!” Perihan’s voice echoed, growing louder with each repetition—until the world fell silent, save for the raindrops tapping against any surface they encountered. The darkness beneath the swarm of butterflies gradually gave way to a dull light as they departed from the house. Licia collapsed onto her knees and allowed herself to sink into the saturated garden soil, her tears mingling with the raindrops. Once the first monarch butterfly Perihan had witnessed a few moments earlier found its way to her villa, it hovered briefly over the garden before heading in the same direction as the others. When the last of the butterflies vanished, no trace of the mi­raculous event remained.

Excerpted from THEIR MONSTROUS HEARTS by Yigit Turhan. Copyright © 2025 by Yigit Turhan. Published by MIRA, an imprint of HTP/HarperCollins.

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Book Review: The Haunting by Natasha Preston

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Haunted by the past . . . terrified of the present.

PLOT SUMMARY:

Penny knows she must forget about her ex, Nash. Ever since his father was revealed as the brutal serial killer who traumatized their small town last Halloween, Penny’s parents have forbidden her to have anything to do with Nash or his family. It’s hard not to think of him—but she’s trying.

That stops when she goes shopping with friends for a costume. What she finds instead is ripped from a horror movie: someone from school bleeding out on the floor of a dressing room. Stabbed.

People are quick to blame Nash and his sister, Grace, but as Halloween nears and the body count rises, Penny can’t help thinking this copycat killer is someone no one else suspects. . . .

GRADE: C

REVIEW:

Natasha Preston’s The Haunting is one of those books that offers an enjoyable escape, perfect for readers looking for something light and fun. With its chilling premise and short chapters, the novel presents a classic whodunit murder mystery, which immediately grabs attention. However, while it’s an easy read, it lacks the depth and engagement that some readers might crave.

One of the most appealing aspects of The Haunting is how quickly it can be devoured. The chapters are short, and the writing is straightforward, making it perfect for readers looking for a fast-paced, no-frills story. It doesn’t demand much of the reader’s attention or deep thinking. You can easily pick it up and read it in short bursts without losing track of the plot. For those who just want to unwind with a book without much complexity, it definitely serves its purpose.

However, while The Haunting is fun, it doesn’t quite offer the level of engagement that would make it a truly memorable read. The characters, for instance, are rather one-dimensional. Their development is minimal, and their personalities can feel somewhat stereotypical. The relationships between the characters don’t feel very authentic, and as a result, it’s difficult to form a real emotional connection with them. The plot, too, can feel predictable at times, with a few obvious twists that don’t pack the punch they could have. For readers looking for something with a bit more substance, The Haunting may leave them wanting more.

The Haunting by Natasha Preston is an easy, enjoyable read that offers just enough suspense to keep you turning the pages. It’s perfect for a quick read when you’re in the mood for something light, but it may not be the most engaging or thought-provoking book out there. It’s fun while it lasts but won’t necessarily leave a lasting impression.

*Thank you so much to NetGalley & Delacorte Press for the digital copy of this book in exchange for an honest review!

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Sip, Sip, Hooray! Healthy Drink Options Besides Water

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We all know water is the MVP when it comes to hydration, but sometimes, we crave something with a little more pizzazz—something with flavor that still keeps us feeling good inside. Luckily, there’s a whole world of healthy drink options beyond water, and they’re packed with nutrients, flavor, and sometimes even a little fun. So, grab a glass, and let’s dive into some refreshing alternatives that are just as good for your body as they are for your taste buds!

1. Herbal Teas: Sip Your Way to Calm and Clarity

Herbal teas are a fantastic way to hydrate while treating yourself to a little zen moment. Whether you’re sipping on a warm cup of chamomile before bed or a cool glass of peppermint tea in the afternoon, there’s an herbal brew for every mood. Plus, many herbal teas come with added health benefits—ginger tea is great for digestion, while peppermint can help with soothing headaches. Feeling a little extra fancy? Add a slice of lemon or a dash of honey for some extra flavor and sweetness!

Pro Tip: Try iced herbal teas in the summer months. They’re a great way to hydrate and cool down without the sugar spike from regular iced teas!

2. Kombucha: The Fizz That’s Actually Good for You

If you’re looking for a bubbly, fermented drink with a bit of a tangy kick, kombucha is your new best friend. This fizzy tea is packed with probiotics, which are awesome for gut health and digestion. Plus, it comes in a ton of fun flavors—ginger-lemon, berry, and even lavender—so it’s hard to get bored with your kombucha choices. Just keep in mind, kombucha does have a bit of alcohol due to the fermentation process (don’t worry, it’s minimal!), so it’s best enjoyed in moderation.

Pro Tip: Start with a small serving of kombucha if you’re new to it; the tangy taste might take a little getting used to, but it’s totally worth it!

3. Infused Water: Water, But Make It Fancy

If plain water just doesn’t do it for you, infused water is an easy and flavorful upgrade. Simply toss some fruit, herbs, or even veggies into your water, and you’ll get a refreshing, nutrient-packed drink. Popular combos include lemon and mint, cucumber and lime, or strawberries and basil. You get all the hydration of water with a fun twist of flavor—and bonus, the natural ingredients provide vitamins and antioxidants.

Pro Tip: Keep a pitcher of infused water in your fridge for easy, on-the-go hydration. It’s an easy way to get extra nutrients without any added sugar.

4. Coconut Water: The Tropical Hydration Hero

Coconut water is nature’s version of an energy drink! Packed with electrolytes, it’s perfect for rehydrating after a workout or a hot day in the sun. Plus, it has a naturally sweet taste that’s refreshing without being overly sugary. It’s a great alternative to sports drinks that are often full of artificial colors and sweeteners. And if you’re in the mood for a tropical vibe, you can’t go wrong with a chilled glass of coconut water—it’s like a vacation in a cup!

Pro Tip: Look for coconut water that’s 100% pure and free from added sugar or preservatives to keep it as healthy as possible.

5. Fresh Fruit Smoothies: A Meal in a Glass

Smoothies are the perfect way to pack a bunch of nutrients into a single drink. Throw in some spinach, berries, banana, and a splash of almond milk, and you’ve got a delicious, healthy snack that’ll keep you satisfied for hours. You can even sneak in some chia seeds, flax, or protein powder to give your smoothie an extra nutrient boost. They’re versatile, customizable, and a fun way to mix up your usual drink routine.

Pro Tip: Blend in some frozen fruit for a thicker, creamier texture that feels like a treat!

Bottom Line: Drink Happy, Drink Healthy!

You don’t have to stick to just water to stay hydrated—there are plenty of healthy, tasty alternatives that can keep your body feeling good and your taste buds satisfied. Whether it’s a soothing herbal tea, a fizzy kombucha, or a fresh fruit smoothie, there’s a healthy drink out there for everyone. So go ahead, try something new, and raise your glass to healthy hydration!

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