Times have changed and so have heroes and heroines, but the core of what makes readers happy has remained the same: Does the material touch you, resonant with you, stick with you? Do you feel yourself in the pages, see yourself walking in another person's shoes, hear the voices as they speak? Are you in love with the way they are in love?
J.R. WardI cannae believe you let me touch you.โ His voice grew hoarse. โI shall remember this for all my nights.โ Tears speared into her eyes. Dearest Virgin Scribe, for all her life, she had waited for a moment like thisโฆ. โDo not cry.โ His thumb went to her cheeks. โBeautiful female of worth, do not cry.
J.R. WardGod, he was probably too young to be this old, but life had a way of being about experience, rather than calendar days.
J.R. WardIndeed, Xcor stayed away for the wrong reason, the bad reason, an unacceptable reasonโin spite of all his training, he found himself choosing Throeโs life over ambition: His anger had taken him in one direction, but his regret had led him in another. And the latter one was what won out.
J.R. WardDestiny was a machine built over time, each choice that you made in life adding another gear, another conveyor belt, another assemblyman. Where you ended up was the product that was spit out at the endโand there was no going back for a redo. You couldnโt take a peek at what youโd manufactured and decide, Oh, wait, I wanted to make sewing machines instead of machine guns; let me go back to the beginning and start again. One shot. That was all you got.
J.R. Ward