The odd thing about writing fiction is that you're constantly trying to put meaning to a world that you made up, events you created, and yet because you're digging around in your subconscious you find universal truths without realizing it. Today I read about the horrible events in Steubenville, where a young girl was carried dead drunk party to
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I also found it funny that Laurell K. Hamilton also occurred to you as well in the context of this discussion. I was a fan of hers when she wrote Nightseer and the early days of the Anita Blake series. I still read her books, but for a while I have been rolling my eyes at each new reason she has for the characters to disrobe. I keep hoping she would get back to that earlier style of writing and keep the sex more firmly rooted to the reality of the plot that is supposed to be the driver of the story rather than be the reason for it. But I guess when you saw success come your way for writing one style of story it is hard to give that up and go back to what people ignored. Anyway, sorry for the tangent.
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Personally I loved Anita the monster smiting woman. Anita the sexual monster completely throwing her old natural human morals to the winds not so much. Which I guess is why I stopped reading the series. she had what? about a dozen books of the old anita. Which I would have read and reread except for the fact she eventually converted into hot and sweaty monster.
Oh well enough sour grapes. Hope everything goes well with your writing!
The Deposed King
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