“One battle of good vs. evil can ruin your whole day.”
Taken from the author’s website.
The Story:
It’s your not-so-typical Girl meets Demon story, where our heroine discovers she’s the Chosen One who must prevent the conception of the Antichrist. Her only helpers are the ghost of her useless almost-ex husband and a talking French Bulldog in a pink sweater. Looks like God likes rooting for underdogs.
The Inspiration:
I am a total horror movie sissy, but I am completely addicted to the History channel (Armageddon Week is like my Shark Week). I started thinking about what if the devil’s army and God’s army were just like us? In other words, there might be demons out there who were stuck in middle management and bored with their jobs. I fleshed out that idea a little more, and voila, now you have “Every Demon Has His Day” in which every other chapter is narrated by a pair of disgruntled demons hoping to get ahead, and God’s Chosen One is, well, just like you and me.
Anyone who knows me, understands that I frequent my library at least twice a week, and am always reading no less than three books at once. I’ve simply started wandering around the library, and picking up random books based on cover art or genre or whatever strikes my fancy at the time.
Another random library find FOR THE WIN!
Want to know what initially grabbed my attention?
It was the “Demon” in the title, paired with the picture of the dog in a pink sweater. I mean, how can you not be immediately intrigued?! Which becomes even more amusing when you realize that the dog’s name is Frank.
Yes, Frank. As in, he’s a male.
Apparently, his owner, a pop-princess moron/mother of the Antichrist couldn’t even tell the sex of her pet?!?
Awesome.
This novel was a quirky, hilarious, and quick read. I simply couldn’t put it down!
Plus, I absolutely adored the demons! Yes, I said demons.
Yaman and Shadow were two of the most humanesque demons I’ve ever encountered. And funny!
Their rapport was stand-up comedy.
Yep. I was hooked immediately. I highly recommend this book to anyone who enjoys a good paranormal romance. Or anyone who appreciates Janet Evanovich’s Stephanie Plum series. It was the humor that got me. 😉
ABOUT CARA
I grew up in Mesquite, Texas, which for those of you who like livestock shows, is the home of the Mesquite Rodeo. Ironically, Mesquite was named after Mesquite trees, only none of them now exist in the city, which is about fifteen minutes east of Dallas. No, I don’t own a pair of cowboy boots, although I do own quite an impressive collection of black shoes. My Dad is a third-generation Japanese-American, and my mom is a second-generation Texan who’s mostly English, or at least claims to be because of her anglophile nature.
I went to school at the University of Pennsylvania, only I’m not sure how I got in. I think these days they only accept students who can solve String Theory. Anyway, I majored in English, and because my dad said “and just what are you going to do with an English degree?” I went to work for the school newspaper. After college, I spent four years as a newspaper reporter, working for an overly exciteable editor who sent me running anytime the police scanner went off. I was working insane hours for next to no pay. I was actually sent to cover a grass fire on my 25th Birthday. Let me tell you, it smelled bad. I think some mice may have lost their lives. But that was about it in terms of excitement. Happy Birthday to Me.
So, I decided after I had taken to hiding from my editor in the bathroom at the office anytime the police scanner went off, that journalism probably wasn’t for me. I went to work for a marketing firm and discovered that most everyone else didn’t stay until ten o’clock every night writing up their riveting story about grass fires. I also decided that I would take advantage of that free time to write some fiction. That’s when I started writing “I Do (But I Don’t).” A year later, I finished it, thanks to the help of my friend, Shannon, who wouldn’t let me slack off and kept asking me for chapters.
And that’s how I became a writer. Except that it still feels weird to say, “I’m a writer.” I keep expecting to wake up tomorrow and have to go cover another grass fire.
Random Musings 