Oh, I am so jealous. Beth has seen the most colorful one of them all. She is his neighbor. Blago the Boffo jogs past her house! Wow.
No snark. Bad puppy. No. (Review stuff.)
A two star Amazon review on His American Detective: "Bodice ripper about gay men by a woman." and I'm longing to comment "don't you mean a waistcoat ripper?" God, no. Stop me. The reviews rarely rattle me any longer -- except when I spot a truth in a bad one. When that happens, I actually lose sleep. This means I still care about writing. Speaking of reviewers and writers: A couple of days ago, a writer said she was tired of getting white ladies writing reviews of her books. She had an excellent point in the long run: her stories are meant for a particular audience and she wants them to resonate with those people and get more reviews from them. But that first line was just....horribly obnoxious. I say this from my POV of course. Not a white lady who writes reviews -- but as a review grubber. Anyone who disses any reader (especially ones that give honest reviews) deserves to be cast into the pit of being ignored.
Yes, and I've always been tempted to shout at him: "Have a nice indictment, mofo!" Now I wish I had. Here's hoping I'll get the chance again some day.
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