It was around this time a year ago, when I sent my friend (a loyal Pepper Pace reader) a text exclaiming:
“That’s it, I’m done with Pepper Pace.”
I had just aborted reading one of her books. Frustration, anger, and a whole lot of I told you so invaded my headspace. This made three attempts to read her work. Three unsuccessful attempts at something I usually love; reading. Understand that an unsatisfying book to me is like sitting down for a hearty meal at a highly recommended restaurant, only to have bland sprouts and twigs placed in front of me (true story). Shit is real.
But okay, back to my point. Recently that same (Pepper Pace fan) friend encouraged me, no insisted, I check out Crash. I was emphatic that I would not read another Pace book. But my friend stayed persistent. I relented, making it clear that I would only give this book a go upon reading the sample and determining it was worth my money and time to continue. We made a deal and I secretly went off to prove her wrong. After all, Pepper Pace could not write a book I had any interest in reading.
Fast forward a couple hours later and surprise surprise. I was proven wrong.