Blank
The algorithm serves up titles, and click on one romance text, suddenly, the machine memory thinks I like romance. Hardly. But I do accept suggestions, offers, and ideas for new material. Blank was one such title.
Blank
I started the breathless text only to roll my eyes, repeatedly, in the first opening passages. A novelist writing a novel about writing a novel. But there was much advance accolades, I persisted.
Personally, and this is just me and my own opinion, but I get annoyed with writers writing about writing as a plot device. It’s tough to do a good job with that kind of challenge.
Really tough to write right about writing right.
Blank
Woke in the middle of night, had about a third left to finish reading the novel and I breezed through in the late-night glow of the tablet, scrolling, reading as fast as I could.
Maybe a third of the way through, almost halfway? The novel was “Upper Middle Class,” formerly rock star (like), Hollywood B-Roll celebrity status, and sinking fast. Then everything shifted, and the pacing picked up — like a lot.
The analogy I thought about? The plot was like a train on tracks. Coming out from a tunnel, there’s a long bridge over a gorge. Predictable, pedantic, intensely pretty setting, and enough technological currency to be in the game.
Suddenly the train veers off the track, plunging into the icy depths below, and protagonists are surely doomed. Eek! At the last minute, out pops a figure with a parachute, it opens, and they land safely.
Then — they all live happily ever after.
Blank
Hardy Boys
The pacing was so similar to a good thriller novel, only the backdrop and setting was totally different, plus the histrionic look at the game of “big publishing” was really fun. Careful, one should always exhibit some care when nibbling at the hand that might feed her.
Exciting, and somewhat different novel for me. Would recommend, and it should be available on the amazon, by now — Blank.
