Sep 13, 2007 | Reading, Writing |
I have a pretty good TBR pile at any given moment. It's because I can't resist the lure of new books. I buy them even when I know I have so many I haven't even read yet. Yesterday, I picked up one that I'd had for a couple of months. It had a nice cover, and it promised me a military hero. It was a single-title mass market book and the spine labeled it as a romance. The back cover copy promised me romantic suspense. Right up my alley!
Things went downhill pretty quickly. I thought that the hero's involvement with whips and chains and sex toys was a cover. Um, no. I started skimming, hoping I was wrong, hoping it would all turn out right. About the time the hero forced the heroine into a sex act involving, ahem, alternative orifices, I'd had it. Naturally, though she protested and didn't want to do it, and he forced her anyway, she found immense pleasure in it by the end. To say I was uncomfortable and a bit furious is probably an understatement.
Now, I am no prude. I will read erotica. I have recently read and very much enjoyed Sydney Croft's
Riding the Storm, which is very well written and has a STORY that suits the subgenre. I have Colette Gale's
Unmasqued on the TBR pile and I look forward to it. But to force me into reading something that should more properly be labeled erotica when I'm not expecting it?
Angry. And I feel like I wasted my money on a story that I thought was going to be the particular kind of story I like most. Not even close!
Laura Kinsale wrote a historical (
Shadowheart) featuring bondage and whipping that was pretty amazingly done. The difference, I think, is that the character who liked to be hurt liked it for a specific reason. Allegreto would never, ever perpetrate pain upon the heroine. Maybe I was more sympathetic to Allegreto because I'd read
For My Lady's Heart many years ago and got to see him as a boy first. Though I was still somewhat uncomfortable with the bondage and whipping, I trusted Kinsale to write an amazing story.
And I fully realize that my own biases are coming into play here. I find NOTHING sexy about pain and humiliation. A hero who likes to hurt women, even women who like to be hurt, isn't deserving of the hero label as far as I'm concerned. But that's just me. Others are certainly entitled to feel differently.
You can bet that I won't ever pick up another book by this author. If I could take this one back for a refund, I would. A look over her Amazon comments tells me that people either love or hate her. And those who love her know what she's writing. I didn't, and I'm mad for being duped into buying a book I thought was going to be something else.
There's a place in fiction for this type of story, obviously, but don't fool me into buying it by labeling it as a straight romance. It wasn't and I'm not amused.
Have you ever bought a book that turned out to be something entirely different? Were you mad or did it introduce you to a type of story you might not otherwise have read? If you were me, would you throw this book away, keep it as a prime example of you can't judge a book by its cover, or donate it to the library (anonymously, of course)?
Sep 11, 2007 | General, Writing |
I'm not a celebrity gossip kind of person. I don't care who is dating whom or what is going on where, and I'm heartily sick of Paris Hilton. But, dang it, I was really really rooting for Britney at the VMAs. I wanted her to kick it old school, you know?
I didn't watch, didn't even know when it would be on, but then my hubby told me yesterday that Brit blew it (he was reading CNN online). So I went and read it. And viewed part of the disaster. OMG.
Yeah, I know she has more money than sense, and that she's been pretty privileged so far, but I think it's the writer in me that wanted her to show everyone she still had it. I wanted her to strut out there and leave them all wowed. Far from it, she's actually attracted more pity and censure.
When we write, we're supposed to really sock it to our characters. We have to stick them so far down in the muck that it seems impossible they'll ever get out. And then we watch them change and grow and claw their way back even better than before. You ask yourself what's the worst thing that could happen to your character and then you make that happen. The beauty of a romance novel, however, is that your character will survive. She'll get it all back and then some.
And I love that part of the process when I'm reading. I love it when a writer is able to wrench at my emotions and make me root for the character. I love it when the character emerges triumphant.
But life isn't always like that. Britney didn't kick it old school. She sunk even further into the muck and it was damn painful to watch. She's made some dumb choices (K-Fed, anyone?) and earned a lot of rancor with her train-wreck lifestyle these days, but I still hope that won't define her. I want her to come out on top so I can go back to ignoring her the way I always did. I want her to show that young women sometimes choose the wrong guy, and give up their careers for a man, but that they can get it all back again, that they can emerge stronger and wiser for the experience.
I hope she ignores the comments about her belly (puh-leeze, most of us would love to have that body, even with the post-baby jiggle). I hope Madonna calls her up and tells her to persevere. I hope she rebounds. Yeah, if she were my character, I'd probably take her down a few more notches before letting her succeed.
Is Britney really an underdog? My hubby says no. I say yes, at least in my writing brain where characters get kicked around a lot before they manage to pull themselves up by the bootstraps. I'm just a romantic at heart. 🙂
(Note: pic isn't from the VMAs. It's an older photo of a more successful Britney.)
Sep 6, 2007 | Writing |
Since moving closer to relatives, they tend to come visit more often. This isn't a bad thing, but it sure does mean I don't get anything but the barest of essentials done. It's the darned Southern hostess gene. The gene that dictates you must see to your guests' comfort at all times, that you must accomodate their wishes and be available to fix them nice lunches or big dinners every day.
I can't work too well with people in my house. I feel guilty, like I'm ignoring them, even when they don't seem to require my attention at that moment. It's easier, as an uncontracted writer, to drop everything and go take care of them. And then there's the cycle of guilt that comes from that, from knowing that a real writer wouldn't drop a thing to make sure his or her father-in-law has his coffee at the crack of dawn every day.
But, the two week cycle of company is over for now (and we had a blast with our first guest, the very self-sufficient and always fun Mark who posts here on occasion — though he did drag me to a botanical garden in high 90 degree heat). I have to reorient my brain to work. Today's lunch with Problem Child should help me think writing again. And this weekend, Heart of Dixie has a big writing workshop that I'm looking forward to.
What's on your writing plate these days? Getting lots done, or trying to dig out from the post-holiday malaise?
Aug 13, 2007 | Writing |
Making the rounds today, I popped over to JA Konrath's blog where he had a post about pride. Joe always manages to say something interesting. I loved this snippet:
While no one likes a braggart or a boaster, and being around someone who talks about themselves constantly is a major bore, I believe that many writers became writers because of a need to show off. After all, it takes a large ego to write words down on paper and believe that others will not only enjoy them, but pay you for the privilege of reading them.
I'd never quite thought about it that way. Do I have a big ego? Do I write because I want to show off? It's possible, sure. I bet there are a lot of people who will object. Who will say, “No, I write because I love it” or “I write because I can't do anything else” or “I write for me.”
Well, I can't do anything else either. Believe me, I've tried. I don't enjoy the elses and I'd really, really prefer someone pay me to write so I can do it exclusively.
I also write because I love it and I write to entertain myself. But I damn sure want the check and I want other people to read what I write and to want more of it.
It's funny how this post got me to thinking about being a show off. I'm an introvert, like many writers, and yet I absolutely love it when I do something well and someone compliments me on it. I was fiercely competitive in my academic career — not against others, but simply against myself. I had to get the A, had to get the kudos. Life simply would not be complete (I thought) if I didn't make Phi Kappa Phi.
All the A's and honor societies in the world haven't made much of a difference in my post-academic life. But I had to have them.
So now it's writing. I really don't think of myself as having a big ego. I'm pretty easy going. I love it when my CP likes something I've written, though, and I guess there could be a big ol' monster lurking inside who believes that others will too.
Do you think it takes a large ego to write? Or does it take a large ego to want to share the writing? Is one different from the other? It's certainly something to ponder, especially for the introverts who like to stay holed up all day and can't imagine having to get dressed and go network for the sake of their words. Hmmm.
Aug 10, 2007 | Life, Writing |
So last night, at 2:17 AM, my hubby's cell phone rings. He finally manages to realize it's ringing, to grope for it on the nightstand, and to answer it. Finally, he says, “You have a wrong number.” What happens next is kind of funny. I can't hear what the person is saying, but hubby says, “Yes you do. I'm not him.”
Person argues.
“Do too.”
More arguing.
“Do too.”
And, finally, “Goodbye.”
By now, I have to use the facilities. When I return, the phone rings again. I hit ignore and silent. It keeps ringing for AN HOUR. Not that I hear anything, but I can see the face light up again and again, even though I've turned it over. Then I hear the ding of a text message. And another one. Finally, after laying there and getting more and more pissed that someone can't understand they have the wrong number, I fall asleep.
This morning, there were 11 missed calls, two unrepeatable text messages to the effect that she hoped his sorry ass was enjoying the b*tch he was cheating with, and two voice messages that indicated a high level of either drug or alcohol induced rage. Whoever this guy is, his sorry *ss is in BIG trouble. Home girl is going to tear him a new one. In fact, I wonder if I'll see something on the news later about it.
It's funny, but sad too. This woman was pissed off and venting her rage. Yet, she was venting it to the wrong person. I wonder if her boyfriend/husband/whatever was really out cheating or if it's all a big mistake. At any rate, she thinks she told him off good, but she didn't. She told my husband off. Her man has no idea she's out to get him.
So have you ever been the victim of mistaken identity? Was it funny or scary? Could you see potential plot ideas in it?
