Jul 12 2008
Because…
… I hate hijacking other people’s blogs with my 5,000-word rants in response to a response to a comment of reasonable length I made:
Until a Sneering Cynic actually reads a romance novel she likes, there is no conversion to “romance reader.” Sneering Cynic doesn’t wander into the romance corner at B&N on impulse and decide to give it a chance. The only way Sneering Cynic finds that book is through a romance reader she knows and respects putting that book in her hand and insisting, “Try it.” Sneering Cynic has never been impressed by an author or reader or reviewer discussing characterization and conflict and world building and research and all the other nonsexual elements involved in crafting a romance. (Never mind that writing a good sex scene is an art unto itself.) The internet abounds with such discussions, but Sneering Cynics never seem to find those, and that is because they seek evidence to support their existing prejudice that romance novels are silly, ill-crafted smut. Do they go to Teach Me Tonight? No, they go to the 16-point reviews at Mrs. Giggles because that proves they’re right.
I continue to not care what Sneering Cynics think. They’re the ones missing out on some amazing storytelling—the genre with its $1+ billion annual sales isn’t missing them, and neither am I. I continue to oppose revamping the genre to make it more appealing to people who don’t want to be appealed to because that’s a slap in the face to the millions of readers who are already here and loving it for everything it is—including sexy.
There’s sex in music, movies, TV shows, non-romance fiction, advertising everything from beer to eyeglasses, and I’ve even heard some people have it in real life. So why should a sex scene in a romance novel be a dirty little secret?
I firmly believe romance is so easy to pick on because so many people are embarrassed to be associated with it, and that does far more damage than any potshots from Sneering Cynics.
I do my part by not hiding my reading material in shame and by suggesting to Sneering Cynics I know that if they think I’m a worthwhile human being, maybe there’s a worthwhile reason I’m reading that romance novel. (I’ve converted a few, too—never strangers, though, because strangers have no reason to listen to anything I say that conflicts with their opinion.)
As for those Sneering Cynics I don’t know and who are never going to have any effect on my life, rather than surrender even a teeny bit of control over my behavior to them, I’m gonna stick with “fuck ‘em.”
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July 13th, 2008 at 3:06 pm
You can hijack anytime :-)
For me, it’s not as much caring about what the cynics think — it’s more that I’m so irritated and annoyed by how easily and willingly they sneer at the genre. Because my annoyance — or my effort to ignore and not be irritated — is, well, an effort. And I don’t want to expend it on them, anymore than I want to inadvertently support someone and read somewhere else that my mention of ‘hawt’ has added to it. More annoyance, more effort (and all mine, grr). But — because I also know that the cynics will find the ammunition they want — that’s why I feel there really is no point to changing the way I do things on my blog, which is my (so-called) personal, public face. And I’m damn well not going to change the way I write or change my reading habits to impress anyone.
And I think you’re right about refusing to apologize for our reading, or the books we write — as long as we give the impression that there is something shameful about romance, there is no reason for anyone to change their mind about it.
“by suggesting to Sneering Cynics I know that if they think I’m a worthwhile human being, maybe there’s a worthwhile reason I’m reading that romance novel.”
This is exactly how I got my husband to stop sneering. He doesn’t read them (and probably never will — but he’s more a nonfiction guy, anyway). And I don’t expect everyone to suddenly love the genre and be converted … but, damn, those sneers are annoying.
July 13th, 2008 at 7:00 pm
My reluctance to hijack wasn’t “Meljean will take offense” (because I didn’t think that would be the case) but an awareness that I can be a rampaging bitch on the topic of “If you don’t adhere to WWND, you’re reflecting poorly on every romance writer, reader, and publisher in the universe and we’ll blame you for every derogatory remark made henceforth,” and if I calm down later and have second thoughts about an inflammatory turn of phrase, I can edit or delete it in my own dojo if I feel such measures are necessary, whereas I’m committed to being a rampaging bitch if I dump it at your place.
For the record, in case I wasn’t clear over there, I don’t think you should change a thing. People end up at your blog because they’re looking for YOU, not a WE ARE SERIOUS LITERATURE campaign. What a drag that would be for your existing readers, just to look respectable on the off chance some sneerer stops in looking for something to sneer at.
Be you, that’s all.
July 14th, 2008 at 2:50 pm
I think even if I tried to be serious, the ME part would slip through :-D
No, I totally get that. There is something to be said about being professional when professionalism is called for … but I get really, really, really uncomfortable when that bleeds into “squashing fan enthusiasm, especially when they are squeeing over crappy books/the hawtness” (and counting myself as a fan). Authors are in a weird position, I think — trying to walk that line between professional and admitted fans of the genre (and everything that entails.)
I actually am more concerned about readers within the genre who are made uncomfortable by the blatant sex in the marketing than I am about how it appears to someone from outside. But that is one topic that I think will never be resolved to the satisfaction of every reader: some love the man-titty, for example, and some don’t. Heck, even the recent cover contest made me realize how different my own tastes are from the apparent majority (apparent, because even the selections we were given didn’t reflect, IMO, the current covers on the market I’ve seen readers die over).
Even within the genre, nothing is going to please everyone. Take away the sex (in covers or in the novels) and someone is going to scream. Put sex in, and someone is going to scream. So trying to please anyone outside the genre? … yeah.
July 15th, 2008 at 8:00 am
I’m already expending too much time and energy trying to please folks who already love the genre. I sure don’t have time to try to earn the respect (or even avoid losing the respect) of those who don’t.
As Robin Williams is wont to say, “Fuck ‘em if they can’t take a joke, and joke ‘em if they can’t take a fuck.”
July 15th, 2008 at 10:05 am
I’m subjected to a great many awkward “you’re smart and funny and a blast to be around” statements as part of the You’re-Too-Good-To-Be-Single movement. I interrupted one of those the other day with a squee about a book somebody’s girlfriend was trying to hide (not on my watch, sister), and he curled his lip and said, “Oh gawd, why do you read that crap?”, to which I responded with my best sardonic brow lift, “Because I’m smart and funny and a blast to be around.” Poor guy became terribly confuzzled at that.
I subsequently had a profound thought that any change to the genre’s image would be dependent on readers reflecting on the genre, not the other way around. You know, “Selah’s all kinds of awesome, so that book in her hand must be awesome, too.” But I don’t see how that will ever happen when so many people behave as if they’re defined by someone else’s negative opinion of the BOOK in their hand.
Oh noes, some pimply-faced teenage checkout boy gave me The Look when I slapped The Lithuanian Zillionaire’s Feisty Virgin Administrative Assistant’s Sexual Harrassment Lawsuit in the Making on the counter. I should care because why? Under what other circumstances would I give a flying toaster what that person thought of me? That’s placing an awful burden on a BOOK. You could walk around with a Bible or Mein Kampf in one hand and a romance novel in the other, and guess which would get more attention. It’s ludicrous and therefore deserving the full-blown rubber/glue treatment.
July 15th, 2008 at 11:49 am
You know what’s really sad? On the last three gift-giving occasions I encountered (two birthdays and a baby shower — attendees were asked to bring a gift for mom as well as baby because mom is on bed-rest) I asked family members and friends, “What kind of book would she like?”
In all three cases, the answer was, “She doesn’t read.” With no particular judgment attached to it. Nary a rolled eye or a sad shrug…likely because the folks I asked aren’t readers either.
This is what we’ve come to: Not reading — as in “she doesn’t read ANY kind of book, EVER” — will get you less shit than reading romance.
July 15th, 2008 at 12:41 pm
And then there’s me, who read while I was in labor. As far as I was concerned, the nurse was there to save my page during pushing times. I somehow don’t think shoving 7-1/2 pounds and 20 inches of person out of my lady bits would have been nearly as pleasant without something to read.
(The screaming banshee in the next room could have used a good book. Brother, was she ever milking the occasion as an excuse to be a bitch to everybody.)
New ad campaign: “Romance novels—better than an epidural.” They’d sell like hotcakes.
July 15th, 2008 at 4:19 pm
I read during my first labor — THE STAND, because Uncle Stevie is my go-to comfort read — but not during my second, because I forgot to snag my copy of IT during the mad thirty-minute rush between my water breaking all over the kitchen floor and my daughter’s sudden and somewhat bloody arrival.
If I were to do it again, I’d go with NEEDFUL THINGS.
July 15th, 2008 at 5:36 pm
I was supposed to take a “focus object,” so I killed two birds (pigeons, so don’t get all PETA on me) with one stone and took the most prettiful book evah, Tender Torment by Joyce Myrus. Better than J.Li’s Tender Rebel? Yea verily. It’s lavender and tangerine with PURPLE FOIL embossing, dood!
Hey, my scanner works now that I’m not encumbered by Vista. My Eighties clinch cover, let me show you it…
Plus, the feisty red-headed heroine was raised by her uncle, who owned a bar, so it was probably the first book I’d ever read where the heroine wasn’t a slave to societal mores by virtue of being some fancy lady, so she could do improper things with total abandon and (here’s where it all comes together) NOT CARE what everybody thought of her.
Plus+, Quinn and the dandelions. *swoon*
That one’s been a comfort read since I was 11.