Today is Alex's Genre Favorite's Blogfest, which I perchieve, perchance as a great way to kick off a Monday.
You can join, or find more details by clicking the Blue link.
While this makes me appear to be one boring, Neanderthal-knuckle-scraping dude who lives in a mental Man Cave, I did once (!) have a romance-reading bone in my body... see below... (although I lost the desire to simply read about romance upon entering pub eatery.)
|Stephen King (Credit: Shane Leonard)|
Though some may scorn the commercial fiction works of authors such as Tom Clancy, Stephen King and John Grisham, it’s their books I (have) turn(ed) to when I want to escape to my imagination, whether aboard a U.S. Navy ship, under a drain in Derry or inside a Mississippi courtroom.
(Why anyone would want to escape to a raucous courtroom, a sinking submarine or clown around in a Maine drain is another tale...)
For crime thrillers, I love Dennis Lehane and his ongoing series with those wonderfully flawed characters Patrick Kenzie and Angela Gennaro.
Now, when it comes to guilty pleasures, I love, love, love memoirs.
Are we still on the guilty stuff?
I’m a voracious reader, so if there’s no book around, I’ve been known to read the ingredients on the shampoo and conditioner bottles and the toothpaste tubes (did you know how little fluoride is actually in a tub of adult toothpaste… less than three percent... it’s shocking :)In that vein, one genre I used to read, (there was few other choices growing up in Ireland,) was my mom’s bodice-ripping romances, which led to me reading a *lot* of Catherine Cookson, Barbara Taylor Bradford and Jackie Collins.
|Jackie Collins (L) and Ann Margaret|
Those ladies certainly knew how to spin a tale and totally helped me ask many awkward “What does 'thrust' and 'moaned deeply' mean?” questions while at the kitchen table.
PS: Thanks, Alex for making me write about bodice-ripping and Catherine Cookson in one sentence…Where do I go to surrender my ManCard?