Symon Tremblay arrived at Toronto Pearson Airport as the draft began. He’d caught a red-eye out of Vegas the night before, not wanting to stick around for the inevitable ragers and generalized insanity of a bunch of drunk jocks with nothing better to do than blow and hookers on a black-jack table usually implied. Sy’s idea of a good time didn’t necessarily involve getting blasted or waking up next to someone he didn’t know. He’d leave his teammates and colleagues to it.
Definitions, as we’ve seen, are slippery slopes. Genres are notoriously difficult to define. Where do you draw the line between horror and thriller? Where do you draw the line between sci-fi and fantasy? How can you? Genres often overlap and intersect. The lines get blurred very quickly. We need them to help us identify the kinds of things we want to read, but they can also be easily misapplied. We may not always agree with a categorization. Someone might label something “sci-fi,” but you, as a hardcore sci-fi fan, don’t see it as sci-fi at all, but more a sort of soft fantasy or a technological thriller.
“Well, shit,” Danny said, and Matt nodded emphatically as they surveyed the scene of destruction.
Kat lifts her head slowly, meets the warm, blue gaze of one Reese Lockwood. He stares at her, shifts a little awkwardly, before finally looking away, toward the other end of the library.
Luke sighs with satisfaction and slams his suitcase shut. Everything just barely fits, but he’s managed to cram the essentials into his suitcase. He glances about, but Mason’s suitcase is still suspiciously empty. He frowns.
[The following is an excerpt from Going Under, available on Amazon.]
Gabriel ends up in the most generic devil costume ever. This is fine, he thinks, because he doesn’t really care, and it’s easy enough to ditch the horns and the pitchfork, and just walk about the party in a badass cape. He debated just going as himself, but Mel and Kat insisted that doesn’t count as a costume, not even if he wore his cap and goggles and brought a medal. Reese pointed out it was pretty cold for a Speedo, and Brody helpfully suggested that this costume would mean he’d get “all the bitches,” which was effectively the nail in the coffin.