There was a time when I could count on genres to mean something. What happened to that? It used to be I could be I could pick up a YA book and find little to no obscenities and definitely no sex. Plenty of emotion but sex, if it happened at all, happened behind closed doors.
Today, not so much. It seems like language and sex are no longer avoided and this makes me sad. I've always felt comforted knowing that if I wanted a tamer book, I could just pick up some YA and be a happy reader. If I wanted something more adult, I knew where to go for that.
What happened to the separation? What happened to knowing that hey, the book might be about a kid but it's not YA so it's geared for adults?
Or maybe it's just me. Maybe I'm having a hard time with the whole concept of changing times.
INK SLINGER HAS MOVED
This blog has moved to Cheryl Murphy Writes: Chronicles of an Ink Slinger. It became too hard to mirror to this site. Lots of glitches and such. I don't do much to maintain this site anymore so if you're wondering why things might look a bit wonky, that would be it.
If you've navigated here and discovered this dead blog, using the "Subscribe via email" feature in the sidebar will subscribe you to the new site feed, so that's a plus. ;)
An RSS feed of the new site is embedded below.
I hope you'll join me at my new home!