The Cranky Reader

Okay. Here's the thing. I am reading blogs written by other wonderful writers. And my favorites are all listed to the left here and I really mean it when I say these are all great blogs and you should take the time to get to know them and read them.

However. I am depressed. I find myself gripped by lassitude and indifference. I shrug my shoulders and go "humph" when I read the wonderful reviews at one blogger and then another blogging about Harlquins. I am finding that I couldn't care less and its not so much a romance slump as a feeling of futility.

I used to think there were very few wonderful books in the world and that the cream would always rise to the top. Since I was on that book award committee last year, I have come to the opposite conclusion. There are too many wonderful books being published every day and too many wonderful writers writing out there that will never be fully acknowleged or understood in their lifetime or perhaps ever. Too many great books are published, live out a shelf life of a couple of weeks, and then sink into the dross, never to be heard from again.

Authors complain the business sucks, that they have a hard time getting published. And I hear you. I'm there and I too have gnashed my teeth about lack of response time, snarky comments, rejection letters, etc., My life would be alot easier if I didn't have this mad desperate desire to write. What the hell is wrong with me anyway? I toil away for hours on end, with the understanding that recognition if it ever comes, will be at most fleeting. And forget about making millions. I have a better chance of winning the lottery. If I could kill my muse, rip her to shreds, and stomp her onto the floor until she is absolutly dead and unresponsive, I'd do it. Being a writer sucks.

Well maybe not so much the previous thoughts. If I could kill other writers' muses I would, and leave the field clear for me. I wish publishers would publish less. I almost wish it was harder to get published. Why? Because if publishers published less, maybe fewer people would be writers and go be high school English teachers or something. Nothing wrong with being a teacher. Good pension plan and health benefits which is more than I can say being a writer. As it stands now, its not that there are too few books being published, its that there are so goddamn many, it is virtually impossible for a really really good writers to be discovered and make a living at it.

And who reads all this crap anyway? Between TV and the Internet and the Ipods and whatnot, people just don't read as much for pleasure anymore and you can't count all these wonderful bloggers -they are in a small select minority. So I read these reviews for all these wonderful books that I am not going to read. Mayber ever. And I am a serious reader, but here I am reading reviews and admiring all the hard work which went into the review with the sense its all for nought. Because I won't be reading all these wonderful books. I have a mountain of books beside my bed and I have vowed to not buy another book until I have made a dent in this stack.

So. What do I think should happen next? I wish publishers would think smaller, instead of bigger and stop constantly flooding a non-reading public with tons and tons of new titles all the time. Just stop it already. I would rather see publishers concentrate on quality works (in whatever genre) and promoting those writers that are good and maybe not as well known. Why does it have to be a hundred, a thousand, a million, great writers competing for your attention all the time? I can't see it does the serious reader any good -wading through all the dross and the non-serious reader is quickly overwhelemed and learns to ignore most books anyway. So what good is all this "stuff" anyway?

Don't Know Much About Historicals...

So Julia Quinn killed the Regency. Click here for this opinion and the reasons why some readers don't like regencies anymore -not this reader but more on that later. I have heard this opinion making the rounds lately. Lots of people complaining that historicals aren't historical enough, that Regencies have gotten too generic/too fluffy/too lacking in uniqueness, etc., And I suppose, if I were a critic and analyzer of the genre and needed something to write about, I might be tempted to say these things too, just to have something to say. After all, I do have not one, but TWO advanced degrees. One a MA in English, one an MLS and if I know nothing in this world, I do know how to critically analyze literature. But I choose not to.

Why? I have too much fun reading romance. And I am a bit mystified as to why certain bloggers and reviewers have the idea historical romances need to be every bit as accurate as a history text book. They give high marks to books that contain alot of what they feel are very necessary historical detail and look frowningly upon books they deem too "wall-papery". Who are these people who want to learn history from a romance book? Why in the world would you want that? I am genuinely mystified and trying to not be snarky at all. I tried to read a very highly rated historical romance from a well known author the other day and had to put it down. I found the details too distracting. I wanted more attention paid to the relationships between the hero/heroine and less about the food and setting. Because this is what I read romance for. Also, while the author had done considerable research on the time period, she had not bothered to research human nature and the female character was more than a little over the top and ridiculous.

So here's how I read romance. For enjoyment. And I will be honest, I am a lazy reader. I want to be swept away. I want to not have to think. If you are writing about a war -I don't really want the war to be too real. Because real war kinda sucks, ya know? I don't ever want to feel as if the historical conflict will overwhelm the potential for happily ever after. And I sure as hell don't want to be constantly reading details about the war and the rifles and how far they marched and the battle tactics and the shininess or dullness of the brass buttons. Boring.

Maybe this is the reason I don't like Ante-Bellum romances anymore though they've kind of gone the way of the dinosaur and good riddance, as far as I am concerned. I know too much about the real historical details of slavery in the Deep South to ever be able to put on my rose-colored glasses and pretend to not see. When I was oh, about thirteen or so, I read a book wherein the heroine's best friend was a female African slave and the hero (I shit you not) was a ship owner and one of his ships was in the slave trade. I think the hero (such a Prince) even sold the female African slave or put her aboard the slaver and stood stoically by while the heroine cried. And, if I am remembering correctly, he did this after he had promised her he would never get into the slave trade. His action I think, was to prove his Alpha credentials or some such nonsense. As young and stupid as I was, I DID NOT BUY IT. Not because it was unrealistic because it was very realistic for the time period, but because it proved the hero was a complete jerk with no real regard for human life and not worthy of the heroine's love or a HEA. In other words, I did not want the hero to be a real cash strapped man, living in Pre-Civil War South. I wanted him to look the part and talk the part but behave like a twentieth century post Civil Rights era white man with all the correct sensibilities.

This is why reading real history is such a bummer. You just wouldn't want to live at anytime but 2010, once you know even a little about less enlightened times. You wanna know the number one cause of death for women before the twentieth century? Childbirth. The number two cause of death was fire. Seems that all those wonderful long skirts women had to wear back then were just perfect for catching any stray spark emanating from an open fire in the kitchen. Nothing sexy or romantic about this at all.

So why in the world do the critics and the analyzers lament the lack of accurate detail in their Regencies and Historicals? Too much real detail and quite honestly romance land becomes a place I wouldn't want to visit, let alone live in for three or four hours. Gah -the less detail sometimes, the better!

I read romance because I want ROMANCE. I want a sexy Alpha male (with big muscles and a big, you know) and a heroine who needs him and is strong, yet vulnerable in her own right. I want them to psychologically real and to talk to each in a way I can imagine real people talking. I want the conflicts to be real, yet solvable. And I want the setting and the history only if it contributes to the romance. If it doesn't, I couldn't care less. AND I want the hot sexxoring.

I can forgive just about anything in a romance, but the lack of romance. Which is why Julia Quinn has not ruined the Regency. As long as she gets the romance part of it right (and I think she does), she's fine by me.

So what about you? Do you like your historicals with as much detail as possible? Does lack of accuarate detail bother you? How much knowledge is too much?

My Wrting Time

So I call my friend. I call my husband. I blog. Check my email for the one hundred and fiftieth time. No, no acceptance letters yet from major publishers with my million dollar advance. I read my blogs. Comment when I have something to say. I want them to comment on mine -so I gotta comment on there's -only fair, right? Read all the news sites because as a writer I have to stay informed. Stare out the window. Get a cup of coffee. Get a doughnut to go with my coffee. Any business I have to take care of? My daughter's pre-school aceptance letter. Yes! It's something that has to be done. Right now. Can't wait! I call. Darn Can't make the appointment to pre-register -no one's there! Any bills to pay? No...I paid them all on Friday. Any paperwork I have to do? No....and I did the food shopping yesterday. Laundry! Okay! Hubby has no underwear. Hubby doesn't like to free ball it! So I have to do the laundry -can't have hubby upset. Very bad for the marriage. This will take about oh, fifteen minutes. Get back to computer. Ready to write. Realize I am editing to day. Grrr......Hubby left for work, otherwise I'd be tempted to have sex today. That's good for about an hour. Shoot, it's our anniversary. Nuts. Does phone sex count? Call hubby again. Can't have phone sex -his supervisor is in the office. Funny -he seems irate that I have called him twice in five minutes. It is our anniversary after all! Sigh. Chew my nails some more.

I open the file. Stare at the comments. Press a key. Now I am ready to write.

Writing When You Don't Want To

So why the hell am I blogging? Well, why the hell not? I have three books completed (not finished, completed that's an important distinction!) and a request to revise and submit one of them from an actual real live editor at a real live publishing company and I am not doing it right now. Why?

Because I can't.

And I ain't gonna say more about that, because, you know, that's like all personal and stuff. And I don't wanna go there on this blog.

So I still want to write and in fact am completely miserable when I don't. Hence, the blog. We'll see if I can keep it up.

So if you wanna read, go ahead. What am I going to talk about or do on this thing? Well, basically anything I want. Probably will include political rants at some point and if that bothers you, then don't read. I'll probably talk about books that strike my fancy -but unless I really hate a book, I probably won't talk about it at all. Why? I can't be bothered. It would seem too forced and I am just not about forcing the writing muse at this point in my life. I can't write about books or movies which don't arouse strong feelings. It's just too hard. So if you are looking for reasonable, well thought out critical discussion about books, go somewhere else. If you want unmitigated ranting or raving, then maybe you'll like this blog. Or maybe not. Up to you, really. Ditto for movies and religion and politics and just about anything I want to write about.

So go ahead. Enjoy. Or not. Have fun.