I write a lot of books. I tell a good story. And I share these stories with the world for the smallest price Amazon will allow me to charge: a dollar.
Like any woman in the world who knows what she wants, I know how I like my heroes and I write them that way. Women who read my books love that about them. But I’ve been getting a lot of reviews lately from men who aren’t happy about it at all.
As a romance author, I’ve raised the bar on what women should expect from a guy. And that means trouble for all of the computer-programming, cheese-smelling, anti-social basement dwellers out there. It’s bad news for the antler-collecting, shit-kicking, tobacco-swilling, homophobic bigots. And it’s dating death for the pink polo-wearing, Bible-thumping, daddy’s Lexus-driving prep school pre-meds who find a way to actually insert “pre-med” into every sentence they speak.
Women know what they want. And every spiteful, hateful review of a romantic book posted by a bitter, over-sexed, petulant wanker of a boy just proves it a little more.
But don’t blame me. Try taking a shower instead.