Somebody on my flist linked to this and I can't figure out who. Whoever you are? Thank you for almost waking up my children. I was seriously shrieking last night as I read through. It's a link to a couple of scanned pages from a published novel, where the scanner said, "There was no way to simply say, 'I read a really bad description in this book last night.' I had to scan it and share it for you to understand just how bad it truly, truly was. It is the sort of bad that causes pain and must be shared with other people so you can feel better."
And OMFG she's absolutely right.
Small sample:
Her spine was a snake. It was the track of a snake. It was the groove the water snake makes in the glossy mud of the riverbank. Her spine was a viper, an anaconda. It was the strength of the anaconda. It was the anaconda's unknown hieroglyphic. Her spine was a ladder, a rod; it was a chain, a canal, it was a caravan. Her buttocks were fresh-baked loaves; they were ivory eggs, they were the eggs of the lonely phoenix. They were a fist.
Now, if you get turned off by buttfists, which sounds ever so much kinkier than it really is, you can follow this next link, provided by another kind soul on my flist whose name I failed to bookmark in order to properly thank them. It's a review of Knight Moves, another published romance:
http://dearauthor.com/wordpress/2009/03/05/review-knight-moves-by-jamaica-layne/
Brief excerpts: ( text, cut for profanity and serious queeb )
(Reviewer says) ...After the aforementioned erotic sex scene (and by erotic, I mean sex so terrible that even the idea of my parents’ coupling is preferable to revisiting this), we are treated to some post coital love talk:
"...If you desire proof, you only need consider the three very real climaxes you just had in your lady-softness.”
My eyes fly wide. “How did you know I came three times?”
He grins wider. “Your lady-softness told me herself when she was wrapped round my codpiece.”
... I know. There are no words. Or rather, there are a whole lot of words. Bad, bad, libido-killing words. I have to wonder if my own brain will ever recover from this experience; I shudder to imagine what this may mean to my lady-softness.
ETA: It was
cassandrathevil. Living up to the last part of her username with gusto :D :D :D
And OMFG she's absolutely right.
Small sample:
Her spine was a snake. It was the track of a snake. It was the groove the water snake makes in the glossy mud of the riverbank. Her spine was a viper, an anaconda. It was the strength of the anaconda. It was the anaconda's unknown hieroglyphic. Her spine was a ladder, a rod; it was a chain, a canal, it was a caravan. Her buttocks were fresh-baked loaves; they were ivory eggs, they were the eggs of the lonely phoenix. They were a fist.
Now, if you get turned off by buttfists, which sounds ever so much kinkier than it really is, you can follow this next link, provided by another kind soul on my flist whose name I failed to bookmark in order to properly thank them. It's a review of Knight Moves, another published romance:
http://dearauthor.com/wordpress/2009/03/05/review-knight-moves-by-jamaica-layne/
Brief excerpts: ( text, cut for profanity and serious queeb )
(Reviewer says) ...After the aforementioned erotic sex scene (and by erotic, I mean sex so terrible that even the idea of my parents’ coupling is preferable to revisiting this), we are treated to some post coital love talk:
"...If you desire proof, you only need consider the three very real climaxes you just had in your lady-softness.”
My eyes fly wide. “How did you know I came three times?”
He grins wider. “Your lady-softness told me herself when she was wrapped round my codpiece.”
... I know. There are no words. Or rather, there are a whole lot of words. Bad, bad, libido-killing words. I have to wonder if my own brain will ever recover from this experience; I shudder to imagine what this may mean to my lady-softness.
ETA: It was
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