Thrillers: Because Apparently My Anxiety Needs a Hobby

I recently started reading another thriller. It’s very good so far… but it has already made me a nervous wreck. As if I needed help in that department. My anxiety does a fine job all on its own, thank you very much.

The book opens with a woman going out for an evening jog. She and her husband recently moved to a small town a few months ago. As she runs, she reflects on memories and thinks about the art exhibit she’s attending later that night at the town gallery.

So far, normal.

But here’s where my editor brain and general common sense start twitching. She goes jogging with no phone, no ID… just her house keys. Who does this?

Anyway, she returns home after the run, a little winded, probably feeling accomplished, ready to shower and get ready for the exhibit. She goes to unlock the door… and the key doesn’t work.

Odd.

She knocks, assuming her husband will answer.

He doesn’t.

Instead, another woman opens the door.

And here’s where things get delightfully insane. The woman looks like her. Sounds like her. And—just to make it extra creepy—is wearing the exact black velvet dress the jogger planned to wear that night.

Then the woman calmly says her name. The same name as our main character. Naturally, the husband appears at the door next… and doesn’t recognize the jogger at all. He believes the woman standing beside him is his wife.

Yikes.

This sounds crazy. And messy. And exactly the kind of thriller rabbit hole I’m about to dive into.

Stay tuned. I have a feeling this one is going to make my blood pressure spike.

A Tiny Paperback and a Reality Check

I recently went to my local library to return a book and—my favorite part—pick up two books that had come in that I’d placed on hold.

Naturally, I had to stop at the main display case when I walked in. You know the one. The “new arrivals” section. The one that whispers, You don’t have enough books yet.

Of course I grabbed one.

Anyway, I made my way to the desk and happily chatted with one of the librarians. They all know me there. Not only am I their local author, but I’m also in there constantly because… well… I love books.

So she checks out my books and slides the stack toward me.

And that’s when I notice it. One of the books I placed on hold is a paperback.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I love paperbacks. But this wasn’t just any paperback. This was one of those tiny paperbacks.

You know the ones. The very small ones that used to be popular years ago—back before publishers started printing books in sizes humans could actually read without a microscope.

I’m pushing 50. My eyes, even with glasses, are not what they once were.

So now I’m staring at this tiny little book with what I can only assume is microscopic print.

Did I say anything? Of course not. I smiled politely, took my stack of books, and walked out like a normal person… while internally thinking, There is absolutely no way I’m going to be able to read this.

I guess I have two options now: Start requesting large print editions, or actually pay attention to the size of the books I place on hold.

Lesson learned.

Maybe.

What about you? Do you have a favorite book format or size? Hardcover? Trade paperback? Large print? Or are you one of those magical people who can still read tiny print without squinting?

Since When Did We Decide This Was A Word??

 Unputdownable.

I’d like to know who sat in a marketing meeting one day and said, “You know what this book needs? A word that sounds like it tripped down the stairs.”

Un-put-down-able.

It feels less like a word and more like someone lost a fight with a hyphen.

Since When Is This a Thing?

At some point, perfectly normal phrases like:

• “I couldn’t put it down.”
• “I read it in one sitting.”
• “I stayed up way too late.”

…apparently weren’t dramatic enough.

Now we have:

“A completely unputdownable thriller.”

Completely? As opposed to partially unputdownable? Like you could put it down briefly to microwave popcorn but not long enough to fold laundry?

Let’s Break It Down

“Put down” = normal.

“Put-down” = insult.

“Putdownable” = questionable.

“Unputdownable” = chaos.

This is what happens when English realizes there are no adult supervisors.

The first time I read “unputdownable,” I genuinely paused and thought:

1. Is this a typo?
2. Did my eyes glitch?
3. Did someone’s autocorrect go rogue?

But no. It’s everywhere. Thrillers. Rom-coms. Cozy mysteries.

Apparently, every book is now aggressively unputdownable.

Is it even real? Technically? Yes. It’s in dictionaries now. Which feels like the linguistic equivalent of: “Well… fine. I guess.”

English is a living language. It evolves. It grows. And sometimes it duct-tapes words together and hopes no one notices.

The real question is…

If a book is “unputdownable,” does that mean:

• You physically cannot release it?
• It adheres to your hands?
• You develop a mild panic if you attempt to set it on the nightstand?

Because if that’s the case, I have concerns.

What’s Next?

• Unwalkawayable?
• Unsnoozeable?
• Unleftthehouseable?

Please. Let’s pace ourselves.

Do I roll my eyes a little when I see “unputdownable” on a cover? Yes.

Will I still pick up the book? Also yes.

Because as much as I pretend to be above it, I am absolutely susceptible to dramatic adjectives and bold blurbs. And if a thriller actually keeps me up past midnight whispering, “Just one more chapter…” Fine.

Call it unputdownable.

But I’m still judging it a little.

Best Seller, or...

 

I apologize in advance. This is going to be a little long. But I'd like to talk about the whole best-selling author thing. What exactly does that even mean?

Growing up, I always thought a best-selling author was someone who sold tons of books and made tons of money—authors like Stephen King, Dean Koontz, Mary Higgins Clark… you get the picture.

But once I stepped into the world of self-publishing, I started noticing something interesting. Many indie authors were calling themselves “best-selling authors,” even though, when I checked their books on Amazon, they had maybe five reviews (sometimes less!) and plenty of typos and errors.

So how can that be? How can someone with a handful of reviews and a poorly edited book call themselves a best-selling author?

Well, here’s what I’ve learned through experience:

A flashy cover and a catchy blurb can sell books—at least at first. Friends, family, and curious readers might buy your book because it looks good. But once they actually read it, if the story falls flat, if it’s full of mistakes, or if it just isn’t well-written, those sales won’t last. The reviews (if any) won’t be glowing, and most readers won’t come back for more—unless they’re family or friends who feel obligated to support you (and are quietly cringing inside).

So, back to the “best-selling author” label. I decided to dig a little deeper into what it really means—and what I found might surprise you.

What “Best-Selling Author” Really Means

So, here’s what I found out. The term “best-selling author” isn’t as glamorous—or as official—as it sounds. There isn’t one universal rule or authority that decides who qualifies. It all depends on where you’re selling and how those rankings are tracked.

Take Amazon, for example. Their “Best Seller” badges are based on hourly sales rankings within specific categories. That means if your book sells more copies than others in your category for even one hour, you can technically claim “Amazon Best-Selling Author.”

Sounds impressive, right? But here’s the catch—some categories are super niche. If you publish your book in something like “Paranormal Mystery Featuring Left-Handed Detectives,” you might only need a handful of sales to hit #1. Voilà! You’re a best-selling author.

That’s not to say all best-seller labels are meaningless. Hitting a major list like The New York Times, USA Today, or Wall Street Journal is a whole different story. Those lists track verified sales across multiple retailers, not just one platform, and competition there is fierce. That’s the kind of best-seller status that truly reflects widespread readership and recognition.

So yes, someone might be a legitimate “Amazon best-seller,” but that doesn’t necessarily mean they’ve sold thousands of books or become a household name.

The bottom line? The best-selling author label can mean very different things depending on context. And while it’s exciting to celebrate milestones—because every sale is an achievement—it’s also important to stay grounded and honest about what those titles really mean.

At the end of the day, titles and labels are nice, but they don’t define your worth as an author. What truly matters is the quality of your work, the connection you build with your readers, and the growth you achieve with every book you write.

Anyone can slap “best-selling author” on their bio, but not everyone can write a story that touches someone’s heart, makes them think, or inspires them to pick up your next book. That’s what lasts.

So instead of chasing labels, focus on your craft. Keep improving. Hire good editors. Learn the business side of publishing. Build genuine relationships with your readers and other writers. Because while “best-seller” might look great next to your name, being a storyteller who makes an impact is far more meaningful—and something no ranking can ever measure.