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This place is just too frickin precious, the cop said, eyeing a guy dressed in a hot pink leisure suit with makeup to match. Give me rednecks and home-grown beer any day of the week over this X-culture bullshit.
J.R. Ward
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Times have changed and so have heroes and heroines, but the core of what makes readers happy has remained the same: Does the material touch you, resonant with you, stick with you? Do you feel yourself in the pages, see yourself walking in another person's shoes, hear the voices as they speak? Are you in love with the way they are in love?
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Man, some open doors were not welcoming, and that was so the case here—less hi-how’re-ya, more come-in-so-your-skin-can-be-used-to-make-a-super-hero-cape-for-one-of-Hannibal-Lecter’s-patients.
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