Kerry Allen

… 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.”

In the latest issue of RWR, not one, not two, not three, but FOUR letters to the editor deliver a smackdown in response to the letters in the previous two issues which, among other things, declared today’s romance novel heroines “sluts” and stated writers were “prostituting” themselves by writing smut.

I attempted to compose my own letter but was unable to produce anything remotely as tactful and adult. As much as I wanted the opposing view to have a voice, I thought it best to keep my belligerent, name-calling pottymouth shut.

Happily, Kalen Hughes, Alice Brilmayer, Natalie J. Damschroder, and Toni Blake took up the gauntlet on behalf of everyone who supports the existence of all types of romance, from sweet inspirational to polyamorous fetish erotica, regardless of whether it suits our personal taste.

Well done, ladies.

WARNING: Many mixed metaphors ahead. Proceed at your own risk. 

Maybe it’s just me, but the insistence that I don’t know what I really want to read—that I’m on some merry-go-round of crap reading because publishers print only crap so readers have only crap to buy so publishers continue to print the crap because that’s what sells—really pisses me off.

Look, I understand that you may be dissatisfied with the books you’re reading, but don’t try to drag me into that boat with you. I’m not drowning here; I’m swimming quite contentedly, as a matter of fact. I really, truly, genuinely enjoy many of those books that dissatisfy you and really, truly, genuinely buy them on purpose, not because I’ve been brainwashed into thinking that’s what I want.

Yes, I get the occasional wallbanger, but I lack your sense of entitlement that the entire publishing industry should revolve around my needs. When I get the occasional Peanut M&M that tastes like a dirty sweatsock, I bleh and scarf down more to get the nasty taste out of my mouth, whereas you probably advocate forsaking Peanut M&Ms altogether.

You do that. I’ll eat your share.

And Ye Olde Banana Analogy you think supports your “you don’t know what you want” theory?

“If the grocery store sells nothing but bananas, you have no choice but to buy bananas.”

Not helping your cause. Because, you see, I do have a choice. There’s another grocery store with a wider selection down the road, and then there’s the farmer’s market and also online shopping, where the food is packed fresh and delivered right to my door, not to mention digital foodstuffs if I have a craving for something really exotic. If the Banana Grocer doesn’t sell a shitload of bananas, they’ll be forced to expand their stock if they want to compete and stay in business.

But maybe they’re catering to a niche market of banana addicts you know nothing about, banana hater. There are people who do like bananas, regardless of how offensive you may find them.

I’m not wild about bananas straight from the skin, but I’m quite fond of them in banana nut bread, banana splits, and Bananas Foster.

I do not want to live in a world without Bananas Foster.

You have every right to despise bananas, but enough with trying to convince the rest of the world bananas are the root of all evil. Face the fact that pomegranate fetishists are a minority and might have to drive that extra mile to get what they want.

Myself, I’m violently allergic to pomegranates, so I’ll be at the Banana Store, stocking up.

Dessert at my place later.

Today we continue tackling those negative stereotypes about romance. I will offer one, followed by what I think is a reasonable response. Since the goal is to present a united front, not create an army of rhetoric-spouting puppets, you should feel free to add your own touch. (If, like me, you have smartass and/or aggressive tendencies, just remember to wedge the thoughtful response somewhere between the sarcasm and jabs to the larynx.)

Negative Stereotype #6

Romance novels are brainless fluff requiring no thought.

Well-Reasoned Response

“I have recently read romance novels which addressed such thought-provoking issues as the subjectivity of the concepts of good and evil, substance abuse, domestic violence, social decay, natural disasters, terminal illness, racial tension, and international diplomacy, not to mention the ever-fascinating topic of interpersonal relations inherent in all romance novels, a subject to which entire fields of study are devoted.

I freely admit the romance novel I’m currently reading doesn’t challenge my perception of the universe in any meaningful way, but it’s fun, a precious commodity, the value of which those suffering from intellectual snobbery often fail to appreciate. Fun lowers blood pressure, thereby reducing risk of stroke, heart attack, and death. It strengthens the immune system, relieves pain, prevents ulcers, and staves off frown-induced wrinkles.

In addition to the numerous proven health benefits, laughter (a common side effect of fun) stimulates both sides of the brain, which enhances one’s learning ability. It eases muscle tension and psychological stress, resulting in the brain being more alert and retaining a greater quantity of information.

Furthermore, lack of humor causes thought processes to stagnate, so a reading regimen comprised of nothing but serious, bleak, and/or weighty works actually diminishes one’s mental agility.”

(Information regarding the wondrous benefits of laughter heavily excerpted from Helpguide.org. For the full text, see here.)

Kerry’s Personal Touch

“Fun also removes sticks from asses. Try it some time.”

I’ve given this stereotype all the thought I can, and this is the best I can come up with on my own. Contribute your suggestions to the movement, and together we will construct the Ultimate Defense of Romance!

The 2008 Harlequin Romance Report has the theme Confessions. Confess your sins here and be absolved. Or just provide fodder for the mockery cannon that gets aimed at romance readers every time this thing is released.

Harlequin puts a great deal of time and expense into producing and distributing the Report. Do they take the opportunity to showcase the diversity of romance readers and portray them as intelligent members of society who have a soft spot for a good love story? Not this year. This year, we’re going to Hell because we are ssssinners.

I’ve come to expect something along these lines from the Report. What blows my mind is that people are participating in the degradation. Here are the total posts by category as of this writing: 

Lust (190)

Greed (10)

Envy (20)

Pride (16)

Anger (23)

Sloth (17)

Gluttony (17)

Other (42)

I gotta admit, I’m curious about Other.

Note the preponderance of entries under Lust because, of course, romance readers are all sex-obsessed.

What I would like to see is a category where those of us who choose not to expose our inner evil for a publisher’s publicity campaign can say so, so that when the results are tallied, the more circumspect portion of the romance-reading community is represented along with the seven deadly dwarves, Lusty, Greedy, Envy, Pridey, Angry, Slothy, and Gluttony, and their mutt who answers to Other.

Am I alone in thinking painting one’s customers with a big brush of biblical reckoning is tacky? Offensive? Insulting? Bad business? Or is this “all in good fun” and I’m missing out on a ripping good time?

I love paranormals. My 10-year hiatus from reading romance would be a permanent rejection of romance if paranormals had not lured me back to the genre with—finally!!!—something fresh. Therefore, it baffles/infuriates me when I blog hop and see people treating paranormals like the family bastard who made out like a bandit at the reading of Uncle Fester’s will, with contempt and resentment at the same time.

It is not a trend. It is not going away. If it’s not for you, don’t read it—simple as that. There are numerous books I don’t read, but I don’t endlessly bitch about their existence.

But that’s a subject for another post. (Seriously, I have a venomous rant about it over on Blogger, and next time my ire is roused, I’m reviving it here.)

This post is for those of you who haven’t tried paranormals for whatever reason. I’ve heard some of the reasons, and I’ve overcome resistance with the following responses:

“I’m scared of things that go bump in the night. If I met a vampire in real life, I’d throw garlic at it and run away.”

That’s how a lot of the love interests in paranormal romances react initially to their non-human attraction, so you might actually be able to relate there. Very rarely does the intended say, “So you’re not human. I can live with that,” right from the start. Getting over the “eek” factor is frequently a process that has to be dealt with during the course of the story.

“Vampire stories are all the same.”

That couldn’t be less true. They aren’t all Bram Stoker vamps or Anne Rice vamps or whatever you’re basing your vampire stereotype on. Every writer puts their own spin on the mythology and the mystique. Besides, not everything paranormal is a vampire, and everything with fangs isn’t necessarily a vampire, either, in the traditional sense.

I’m trying to think of a book where the plot was about vampirism (or whatever condition) and drawing a blank. It’s more a complication than the main conflict. Main conflict: Woman in peril. Complication: “You’re on your own until the sun goes down, babe.” That kind of thing. (And if she can’t take care of herself that long, she probably deserves to die anyway, just like in any other kind of story.)

I think the heroines in paranormals tend to be a little stronger. It takes more moxy to make it work with a supernatural stud than with a Windows systems analyst.

“The living for eternity thing doesn’t appeal to me.”

Sometimes it’s not for eternity. Sometimes there’s redemption in love that lifts the curse of immortality (which, face it, is not the joy ride some people would have you believe). Sometimes nobody’s immortal to begin with. Even if it really is happily ever after, the book ends eventually, so it’s not like you have to live with these people forever if you don’t want to.

And when it really is forever, you know the love is real if she’s willing to put up with his annoying habits literally for eternity. I couldn’t do it for a month. (”So help me, if you leave toothpaste spit in the sink one more time, I’m going to stake you in your sleep!”)

Besides, you know men mature less quickly than women. After a couple hundred years, there’s some hope they might grow up enough to not be complete idiots…

The appeal of paranormals to me is a new level of conflict. I still read other types of romance, and they can be well written and sexy and engaging, but very rarely will I say, “Huh, I’ve never heard that plot twist before.” I want something different from what’s been out there for the past 30 years. I’m ready to be taken to a new world, or at least a side of this one that ordinary mortals never get to see.

So if there’s some particular thing about paranormals that turns you off, talk to anyone who reads them on a regular basis. They’ll very quickly offer you a book that doesn’t include that particular thing. There’s plenty of variety.

Don’t be scared.

Much.

The “Up Close and Personal” column of the August 2007 edition of Romance Writers Report contains the sentence “RWA is working a ‘new image’ for the genre of romance,” contradicting an earlier statement I made that they’re doing nothing to further this cause.

I still can’t find any other evidence of it. What are they doing? How are they doing it? Whose input are they seeking? Not mine. Yours? If not, whose?

But it’s sweet that they say they’re trying, at least.

Unfortunately, I imagine it will be another piece-of-fluff campaign like Harlequin’s perennially embarrassing Romance Report (view any of them here—but you might want to have a drink first).

I strongly believe the only time people who don’t read romance think about romance is when they see someone holding a romance and that smirk hijacks their lips. Therefore, the front line of defense for romance is always going to be the person on the receiving end of the smirk and inevitably forthcoming snotty comment. The only effective way to do that is to arm yourself.

Do you prefer a blade, firearm, or cudgel?

Words. Arm yourself with words. Of course that’s what I meant.

(But cudgels are on sale at Target this week. Right next to the cordless drills, which also make… No. Forget I mentioned it.)

Detractors will never respond to a generalized public statement that “you’re wrong about romance” because they will never feel it’s aimed at them, because of course they’re right about everything. But when you, the assaulted reader, get in somebody’s face and make it personal to them because they chose to make it personal with you, there’s no getting around the fact that it is meant for them.

(Yes, I do so love the wondrousness of italics.)

Therefore, I continue to encourage you, romance reader, to study Self-Defense for Romance Readers. Share your concerns, your experiences, your guerrilla assault tactics. If each of us makes one person think twice before saying something ignorant and insulting to the next romance reader they see, the world will truly be a better place for romance.