Don’t get me wrong. I love books. I love writing. I have so much respect and regard for anyone who manages to publish a book or succeeds as a storyteller. That said, I know what I like and there are just some subjects or themes that make me run for the hills.
Please stop. I like Christmas. Whoohoo! Let’s celebrate and share and give and ooooh lights! It ends there. I’m not an overly nostalgic or sentimental person. Nor am I traditional. So books written about Christmas or because of Christmas are big misses for me.
I don’t care if a book takes place over the holiday season. There are holidays, so that is real life. But I can’t stand to look at or read books that couldn’t exist if it wasn’t because of Christmas. It’s gimmicky! It’s unoriginal! Stop it!
For the most part, I don’t feel guilty or ashamed of what I like or what I don’t like. When it comes to historical fiction, I’m embarrassed that it doesn’t appeal to me. I may never be able to get into a historical romance, but I wish I was more entertained by late 19th century or early 20th-century fiction. Not exactly books written back then, but books that take place between the American Civil War and World War II. I just can’t do it! By and large, they don’t entertain me and sweep me away like my reading tastes demand.
Books about Animals:
I mean come on! We’ve all been there. Old Yeller. Where the Red Fern Grows. Marley and Me. Shit! I’m an animal lover in general, but books about dogs are a definite no-no. Have you seen the movie I Am Legend? It’s a pseudo-horror movie about the last man on earth due to a major vampire plague. Still, the most upsetting part of that movie for me and the reason I will never watch it again… SPOILER ALERT… the damn dog dies. His last companion in the whole entire world. I was screaming-bawling. And yes, that’s a movie. I’m just using it to paint the picture.
Some people are sick of vampires. Others are sick of zombies. Well, I’m sick of werewolves or the entire shapeshifter movement. I’m a big fan of the supernatural and the show Supernatural, as it were. Still, thanks in part to Stephanie Meyer, werewolves get a big eye-roll from me now. (You shouldn’t interpret that as me being a Team Edward fan. It didn’t really go down like that either.)
I’m also a bit creeped out by the number of romance novels that feature Heroes turn from big alpha male men to big alpha pack leader animals. And women eat this shit up in a very Lions and Tigers and Bears, ohhh my! kind of way. To me, it’s very awkward and who are we kidding here? It borders on beastiality, no?
When I was a preteen, my grandmother and I used to sit together and watch The Young Riders. It was a TV show starring Josh Brolin in an ensemble cast of Pony Express riders as the nation sat on the brink of Civil War. I loved it! That was the last and only Western-themed thing I’ve ever found entertaining. Well, I guess maybe The Apple Dumpling Gang counts also.
In any event, I’m not carrying a torch for cowboys or ranchers, which is a huge niche within romance. I also don’t like Western as its own genre. I’ve never seen a John Wayne flick and I’m not even a little bit sorry about it.
What types of books never light a spark for you?