Doing it Wild (Doing It, #1)-Clarissa Wild
Guess not, and this story is a classic example of what is wrong with the self publishing industry. While Wild has a better grasp of English than the usual writer of bad fiction, in this case bad erotica (it is supposed to be erotica, right?), she still exhibits a number of other glaring faults.
Basic plot is poor, little rich girl, Grace, who controls her weight because she has no control of anything else is being forced by evil, greedy, controlling fat daddy to choose a husband from a large group of rich losers so he can expand his business interests and mega-fortune. PLRG wants to find true love and thinks she’s found it with the construction worker, Finn, working across the street. She runs away, runs into guy from across the street and goes home with him. A classic plot and in (a lot) more talented hands it still works. But now let’s address the more glaring issues.
Let’s talk continuity, shall we? Clarissa, do you have even the slightest idea what this is? Because your story doesn’t show it. Night had set in, five paragraphs later, the sun hadn’t set yet. Night as defined by Webster’s: the time from dusk to dawn when no sunlight is visible. So which is it, Clarissa? Then she encounters Finn, our hero, again and he says, “I’ve only just finished my shift.” Is he putting in some overtime or did you just not think this through?
“I just like to hear you scream.” Really? How could he? She hasn’t screamed in his presence so this is wrong. He might want to HEAR her scream but since they’ve only just met that morning and haven’t spent the day together and he’s just getting started on the Big Sexy Scene, no, he hasn’t heard her scream.
Here I have to stop and just say I hate Grace. She’s stupid. And selfish. And shallow. Everything you don’t want your heroine to be especially since you are writing at least one more short little story about her and Finn. And Finn, he’s stupid, too. He has spent 7 years in a place where he could have learned to read and, nope, didn’t happen.
But I can’t blame them for be the dumb, throw away characters that they are, that’s on you, Clarissa. Maybe a little more time thinking things out would have improved the overall quality of both characters and story. Because this has the feel of something that took all of 24 hours from start to finish.
Wild also has succumbed to another annoying SPA fault, trying to sound smarter/more literate than she is/needs to. Why is it that so many authors do this?
And worse, he would definitely pull me from his heritage and that would leave me with nothing. I’m guessing you mean he would write Grace out of the will, right? Just say so.
There was a lot of clunky, awkward sentence structure and more very strange word choices. For example:
I folded my arms together to show him my dedication. Ah, no, I just can’t. Clarissa, explain this.
The blue, fresh air outside was welcome right now. If the air is blue it’s not fresh.
petit customers Petite, petite.
I watched him put the bottle to his muggy lips. Guess what, nobody wants to kiss muggy lips, Clarissa.
I snorted and flicked my head to the sidewalk, looking at the people walking by. Ka-lunk, ka-lunity, clunk, clunk.
Keeping my mouth shut, I waited for him to finally return me a look. Clunkity clunk.
I could tell that much from the cover I saw gaping at him from afar. NO. Did you get anyone to edit this or even just read it before you published this? Is this really the quality of work you want to pass off to paying customers? WHERE THE HELL IS YOUR PRIDE?
I just sat there, my arms folded up, breezing. Some help here.
With a smug on his face he set his mug down, while looking at me. See why I think this wasn’t edited?
The moisture building up between us was hot and tasty… Maybe from his muggy lips?
What is it with the word barged? Grace barged here, there, everywhere. I expected her to wrap up in linen, hang some faience from her neck and wrists, dye her hair black, grab an asp, and call herself Cleopatra.
The door and floor were dirty of his muddy footsteps. No.
peeking glances Synonyms, look it up.
I’d not seen this side of him before. Maybe because you just met him that morning? And haven’t spent even the whole day together. But just wait a few paragraphs and you’ll be seeing the hide of him.
The towel draped off me…,…gorging on my lips,…his tough thumb skid across…,I let out a complying sound… I can’t even.
kissing me rabidly Frothing at the mouth is soooo not sexy.
fluid building up between my inner parts Trying to picture this, don’t really want to.
exposing his huge bulge, thumping up and down in his boxers. Does anybody, besides Clarissa, find this remotely sexy? Hilarious, yes. Sexy, no.
Entangled in a furious love battle. I. Think. Not.
My boobs flung up and down from the thrashing going on in my pussy. SEXXXXXY. NOT.
“God, Grace, you’re so tight and wet,” Okay, this explains some of it, Clarissa has been reading Laurell K Hamilton’s Anita Blake.
The sex is depressingly unsexy. A sad lack of steam. It is funny. Unfortunately for Clarissa who tries and fails to be original in terms used for what she wanted to be hot, mind-blowing sex.
Another small quibble, Clarissa, delinquent is not the word you use to describe someone who has spent 7 years in prison.
The end is really not, there is another installment maybe more to follow. But I won’t be following.