Rooms, Rooms. Too Little Room.


In accordance to my usual ritual when reading books I know I’ll like, it took me awhile to actually sit down and read.  Since 2015, when the local library first got the book, to be exact.  After checking it out at least five times and reading the first twenty pages over and over again, I decided enough was enough.  Summoning my inner Sandra (a lead character in the book), I kicked up my feet and began devouring Lauren Oliver’s Rooms.

“Everything comes up in the end.”  That’s what Sandra, one of the two ghosts haunting Coral River, said.  Indeed, when the owner of the house, Richard Walker, died and left his alienated family to pack up his belongings, it seemed that secrets would be uncovered.  Sandra and Alice (the other ghost) pass the time bickering, watching the Walkers, and reminiscing their pasts.  While his sister, mother, and niece were busy packing and preparing for his father’s funeral, Trenton began to communicate with an new ghost, and the spirit and human worlds collide.

Filled with smart dialogue, vivid descriptions, and frighteningly relatable characters, Rooms buzzes to life, and is as painful and reassuring as it is mysterious and haunting.  From its eerie beginning and climatic middle and bittersweet ending, Ms. Oliver’s ghost story and family drama will stick with you long after you’ve turned the last page.  It’s like a fine, aged wine.  It starts out tasty and gets better with every drop.

I easily rate this a five out of five stars.


Ended, Begun

Kisses spent, blood spilled,

That was how it ended.

Lovers met, throats slit,

That was how it begun.

Copyright © 2016 by Nita Pan

All rights reserved.  This post or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a review.

Cooler Than Elsa

Most of you probably don’t know, but I’m on hiatus, and suppose to be working on my book.  I decided to be a rebel and treat myself because, well, I just finished a huge turning point and now all I have to do is cruise along and write the middle (or as I like to call, ‘the Meat’) and wrap it all off with a sparkling and mind-blowing conclusion.

Did I mention that the deadline’s in twenty-nine days?


I had a massive breakdown at the end of last month that resulted in a session of ‘why mes.’   I’m surprisingly chill about the whole situation.  In fact, I’m as chill as a frozen cucumber.  I’m putting Elsa to shame!  All I have to do is write 1,120 words per day.  I can do that half-asleep!  I make it sound so easy.  This will be fun.  It shall be a great adventure.  I won’t need any help!  Any support would be greatly appreciated.

 I’ve recently decided to extend the deadline to February 14th, 2016.  Otherwise my book would be rushed and, well, stink.  Also, I’m not hating my book as much because of it.


This is one of the first short stories that I wrote, and finally got up the courage to share with you.  I hope you enjoy it!

Amelia Rochester sighed as she stepped out from the women’s room. Being the loner she was, socializing was always difficult, but school was the worst. Thus, when a couple of girls had started gossiping about her and pretending she wasn’t there, Amelia barely squeezed past them.  What could she do that wouldn’t start more gossiping?

An angry shout from a girl nearby overcame Amelia’s attention.

The girl tapped her leg and furrowed her eyebrows.

“What do you mean ‘my accent is fake?’ How would you know? Have you met a Brit before?” the red head growled through her cell before shutting it.

“Who was that, Rose?” a deep and soothing voice asked the girl.

Amelia gasped and stumbled against a row of lockers.

“No stinkin’ way!” she muttered as she observed the owner of the voice.

He looked like the love child of Ryan Gossling and Jamie Campbell-Bower, but with the build of Thor from The Avengers. His mane of sun bleached locks were much longer then the last time Amelia saw him. They curled this way and that, much resembling a kite string in a hurricane, nearly blocking his eyes from view. But there they were. Gray that turned a soft shade of green when he smiled, and that of a slate when he experienced emotions like hate, desire, and suprise.

The same suprise which echoed through them when he locked his eyes on to Amelia’s hazel ones.

His eyes widened, but flashed back to Rose.


Amelia narrowed her eyes.

That was her nickname.

That was when she decided to do something unpredictable.

Right as Rose ran up to him to embrace him, Amelia sprinted over and kissed his nose.

“Hey, jerk-off!”

She flipped him off and took off running. Going far away as she could. Away from the boy who used her and the poor girl who he was unfaithful to.

She wasn’t going back.

Copyright © 2014-2015 by Nita Pan

All rights reserved.  This post or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a review.

Happy Birthday to Me

Slapping my cheek, I shake all negative thought out of my mind.  “They’re just caught in traffic.” I ramble to no one particular.  “Yeah, and they have no cell phone signal.”

Lies.  Nine hundred people live within the town limits.  No one gets caught in traffic.

Florescent blue flakes fall on my lap as I pick at my nail polish, and my eyes flicker between the clock and front door.  Would it hurt for them to at least call? 

The second hand ticks away at a fast, agonizing speed.  3:30, 3:31, 3:32, 3:33, 3:46, 3:50…  The time ticks away, and I begin to pace.

Where are they?

Falling on the love-seat, I scream into a throw pillow.  After a much needed meltdown, I angrily chuck a candle holder at the clock.  Glass showers the carpet.  Reading the clock, I feel a little bit of the frustration dissipate.  It will be eternally stuck at five ‘o’ clock.

The phone rings and I dive over the coffee table.

“Hello?” I rub my severely bruised shins.  “May I ask who’s calling?”

My heart sinks as a gruff voice echoes from the other end.  “Tell Phil that he has until tomorrow to bring me what he owes, or else-”

Slamming the phone on the receiver, I unplug it, throw it to the ground, and stomp on it.  A broken piece of plastic runs into my foot.  I kick it away.  Biting my palm to stop from crying in pain, I hobble into the kitchen.

Milk.  I need milk.  Milk calms my nerves.

Opening the fridge and grabbing the milk carton, I hiss out a blasphemy when it slips out of my grip and smashes down on my foot.  My vision blurs with tears.  Why didn’t they at least call?  I crumple to the ground and sob into my now soiled shirt.  I imagine my friends at our favorite coffee shop and laughing over their choice drinks.

Laughing at me.

“Happy birthday to me.”

Copyright © 2015 by Nita Pan

All rights reserved.  This post or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a review.