OHAI.

My ability/desire to plough through books (trashy or other) waxes and wanes with no discernible pattern, so, suffice to say, I have not been reading a lot.

What I have been reading is The Mercedes Thompson Series, which is kind of like AB:VH but without all the rage-inducing miasma of suck. It’s about this lady who fixes cars and turns into a coyote. And was raised by werewolves. And gets into shit, like, a lot. Her vagina is not magical, which has become my top priority when being introduced to any protagonist in any work of fiction (or um, I guess non-fiction as well). There is no fucking; some implied romancey bits, but a WIDE departure from orgies every twelve pages. Refreshing! A story can be worth following without graphic sex! WHO KNEW.


Obviously everyone knew. And don’t get me wrong – there is a time and place for graphic sex. The world would be a duller place without it. But the entire premise of your book should 1) not rely solely on fucking, because that makes it porn, and lets call a spade a spade, shall we, and 2) not count on fucking to get you out of a plot hole, because thinking that people will forget the illogical clusterfuck you’ve just given us because of the whirling dervish of dicks and tits we now have to deal with is, frankly, insulting.

ANYWAY. Hello, tangent stick.

I realize I owe a recap of whatever godawful soul-numbing AB:VH book is next on the roster, and I’ll get there. Eventually. I swear.

Snuggles and kisses.

D