I've become rather aware lately of a certain book that is all the rage at the moment. So many tones of a certain bleak colour - or something along those lines. You know the one I mean.
Someone sent me a link providing the first chapter, and so curiously, I decided to have a read. There were no steamy bits (excuse the pun) in the first chapter, but how on earth anyone managed to read passed the chapter is beyond me. What dribble. Had there not been any hype about the book, it isn't one I'd have bothered with if I'd picked it up on the library shelf and read the first page or two. And yet, I'm seeing many comments on social media about how wonderful this book is and how people 'can't put it down'. What? Is it glued to your hand? I had no trouble putting it down. It was utter rubbish, and I think those desperate for a little naughty literature would find that if they bothered to read many of the other great books on offer on our shelves, they would find there were more than one with something that may tickle their fancy (again excuse the pun).
It got me to wondering - what kind of person writes one of these books? If knowing how to write basic english is all it takes, then hey, maybe I should give it ago. No, there again, how embarrasing would that be? I mean, either you'd be going off your own experiences, (and somehow I don't think The Bloke would appreciate his 'skill' being played out in paperback form), or you'd be telling complete and utter porkies (oops, another pun of sorts).
Either the writer of this book has a wild imagination which they've managed to put in to (very basic) words, or they've managed to embarrass themselves in front of their captivated audience. Imagine the expectations of any lover of such writer. Talk about leave nothing to the imagination - and let's face it, sometimes imagination and the story between the lines is the sexiest part of all.