I’m totally going to pimp one of the funniest freakin’ blogs I’ve come across. That’s Smart Bitches and Trashy Books, where the object of the game is to review and discuss romance novels, publishing, generalized awesome topics, snark at dickheads, and just flat out make me glad I’m not on their bad side. I was practically holding my sides at this review of a particular book that was so overburdened by metaphors and similes that the reviewer could not even finish the book.
The opening paragraph stopped me cold. Mostly because it is two sentences long, but oh, what sentences they are. Here is where I resolve never to use another metaphor or simile again, because clearly I don’t know what the hell I am doing.
Honey would sometimes think of Dusty, and it was like she twisted a dial and opened a steel door to a safe in her heart where she kept her grandest jewels—bittersweet memories, surrounded by a poignant moat. Some were vivid as fallen red bougainvillea petals, while others drifted by aimlessly, as vague and faded as old photographs in a dark flooded cellar.
I feel like I’m watching one of those informercials about educational programs guaranteed to improve your memory. Safe! Jewels! Poignant moat! Petals! Photographs! Flooded cellar! French drains! Homeowner’s Insurance! Flood Policy!