I love going to the bookstore. There’s something about walking into a place full of books, leaving the outside world behind, and opening yourself to the countless worlds found within the pages of books. It never fails to astound, and it always makes me feel good.
However, I’ve noticed some startling, and quite saddening, trends. Particularly in the form of what hits the shelves in the form of new releases.
- Would someone please tell would-be and former politicians to stop publishing books? It’s not that I’m not interested in what you have to say, but do you really expect me to believe you wrote that cookie-cutter crap? I’m willing to bet that there’s some computer program that takes popular political stances, as well as personal “anecdotes”, and randomizes them into the form of an “autobiography”.
- Writing may be a fun past-time for certain former lawyers, but the suspense/thriller is seriously overdone. Maybe instead of playing with fear and work for that page-turner, challenge your readers’ minds, or perhaps some other emotions. To John Grisham: no more lawyer/court stories. To David Baldacci: let’s see, times are great, but wait, someone wants to take over the world, but ooh, someone catches onto them, and uh oh, someone dies and a good guy nearly catches on but then is wrong, only to realize the truth and thwart the evil plot once and for all. I think that nails the plot (or lack thereof) in most of your books.
- I no longer trust anything that says New York Times Bestseller, as it seems every book I come across falls under that category. And honestly, with such authors as James Patterson and Nicholas Sparks constantly on there, I have every reason to avoid such books, unless they come with a recommendation from someone, or merit a read on account of sounding at least vaguely original. James: yours are some of the only characters for whom I hate even the protagonist(s), and the choppy chapters only serve to cause your reader to wonder “why are all the chapters only five paragraphs long?” instead of getting lost in the story. Nicholas: just step out of the closet and admit to the world that you’re a romance novelist. It’s okay, there’s nothing wrong with fiction, and I’m sure the field is quite open to men writing such books. And both of you, no more novelizing letters or diaries. Ever.