I'm completely over the moon for a series by Darynda Jones about a grim reaper and private detective named Charley Davidson. These are spit-out-your-nachos-all-over-you-plate in a huge guffaw kind of funny. As an aside, I did that once (spit my nachos all over my plate) while eating in a fairly fancy restaurant with my sister and a friend of hers. They were not amused because some of the nachos ended up on their plates. Who gets that mad over a extra food? They should have been thanking me.
Regardless, Charley Davidson is a stitch. She is hilarity embodied. I pre-ordered the twelfth book, which is just not something I do. I just don't plan my reading that far ahead normally, since I never know when I'm going to actually have time to read something in between all the junk that must happen to keep this household moving in a somewhat orderly fashion toward whatever it is we are keeping it moving toward.
Once, I met Darynda Jones at a conference and all of my plans to charm her with my wit disintegrated into ash, whereupon I thanked her for a critique she did for me once on a synopsis and then mumbled incoherently for a couple of seconds until she agreed to pose for this picture. (Knowing she loved that synopsis gets me through the wash of rejections it gets whenever I give in to the urge to pitch that book).
So, today, in honor of me coming across this picture, I'm going to encourage you to go and buy the first Charley Davidson book right now.
