Yes, yes. Clutch your pearls. Plaster your wrist to your brow. Aim for the fainting couch.
Over the months and months of random confessions here on the Word Whores blog, I may have admitted my largest literary pet peeve:
I despise guessing with whom I am supposed to identify. I begin to foam at the mouth if reading resembles learning to drive a manual-transmission automobile. Herky. Jerky. Barfy. Tossy. I have wasted far too much money on far too many novels in which the author fails to rise to a basic challenge of the craft. Put me in one character's mind -- not per sentence, not per paragraph -- PER SCENE. If an author cannot stick to one Point of View per scene, then getthefuckoutta my bookshelf.
I developed this peeve after I started writing. Back when I was an avid reader -- before I devolved into an OCD struggling writer -- I noticed head hopping, but it didn't stop me from reading the book. Back in those days, paranormal romances clawed at the edges of mainstream. Back in those days, a relatively new author was releasing the third book in a new series that twisted the vampire myth. The author had mixed together Greek goddesses, scrumptious somewhat-dead champions, and ordinary human women. What I love best about this series is the banter among the men. I keep the third book in the series because of one exchange that still slays me:
"Ahh, Tally, me lub you too."
"Shut up, crotch-sniffer. You're not allowed to make lovey noises at me, only my honey is."
So, for all that this makes me an epic head-hopping hypocrite, my guilty pleasure is Sherrilyn Kenyon's Night Embrace (that's book three in the Dark Hunter series, aka Talon and Sunshine's story, for you Kenyon fans).