It's that time. That time where I confess something as unsavory as it is unexpected: I have read, and dare I say it, enjoyed the Twilight Saga! OK, "enjoyed" is a strong word. Sometimes it was lame, downright boring and even occasionally disturbing; but, all in all, the word that kept coming up in my mind: Contemplative. I even found myself engrossed in the story, at times. Now, I'm not going to go shout about it from the rooftops by any means, but somewhere in my mind I know I can never bash the books again like I used to -before I had actually read them. Because some part of me has a little respect for Stephanie Meyer for coming up with such a series at exactly the right time to sweep the nation during the height of vampire fever. Almost every tween in America with or without an imagination has invested anywhere from 40-99% of their thought life to her story since it's release, I gotta respect THAT. Even if it was a bit ridiculous, I will brave the scoffs and the jeers, the pity and the looks (all from those who HAVEN'T read the series, mind you) and say that I will think back on Twilight as a well-rounded tween-level tale. And it made me laugh out loud on several occasions. There's nothing unsavory about that.
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