This link is to a literary rant called:

Why I Now Hate Erotic Romance

I do so enjoy a well-executed rant! Here’s a choice quote, for flavor:

Those who wish to write literature at least value the English language in all its unruly glory and recognize that it takes time to craft a novel. One would not suppose this to be the case for certain writers of erotic romance who seem to be under the mistaken impression that merely putting periods after words constitutes narrative progression and that the development of a love story can be totally reduced to declarations of “I love you” around a mouthful of cock. Based upon this sloppy and ugly use of language, I can only suspect their desire is less about art and more about cashing in on a lucrative publishing trend.

I did not always loathe erotic romance with this level of contempt or even at all, but persistent crimes against narrative have taught me not just cynicism, but hatred. There are, of course, exceptions. There are always exceptions. But if the ability to speak the English language has convinced some that it is easy to write it, then erotic romance is a genre that suffers the additional handicap of people thinking that just because they have fucked, that they can write convincingly about fucking. Let me be very clear: It Does Not. The overwhelming amount of badly written, narratively perfunctory, ethically problematic drivel being produced under the heading of “erotic romance” is as numberless as the sands of the Sahara. If I were a writer of erotic romance, I would be enraged by the crapulence daily glutting my genre and obscuring my own work.

There’s actually much in this particular rant I quite disagree with. In particular, the ugly slam at the end about “adolescent sexualities grafted onto the bodies of middle aged women” is neither supported nor justifiable. So, as always, linkage does not equal endorsement. But it’s fun to watch an author get up a good head of steam and then write it out. That happens here.

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