Smart Bitches Trashy Books | All of the romance, none of the bullshit.

The Jan Butler kerfuffles have reminded me of this snippet of the Colbert Report about the connection between gay marriage and marriages of the herpetological kind.

Go. Watch. Snort-laugh.

p.s. Snakes on Plane! Coming out August 18th! I’m going to see it the day it comes out, almost definitely with a friend who’ll be wearing a Snakes on a Plane T-shirt (which I bought for him, ‘cause I’m the awesomest friend you could ever have), and possibly with another friend who’s going with a stuffed snake sewn all over with tiny planes. SNAKES! ON A MOTHERFUCKIN’ PLANE! POSSIBLY MARRIED TO GAYS!

Today, for your delectation, three different links kindly supplied to us by assorted members of the bitchery, and a little bit of drive-by snark to go with each:

Item the First: An article in Publishers’ Weekly asks: Why don’t indie bookstores carry series romance novels?

Two possible answers to that, neither of them mutually exclusive:

1. Indie bookstores tend to be snobbish. The ones staffed largely by book-loving nerds with college degrees, like Powell’s Books here in Portland, are the worst. They take pride in being different, they take pride in stocking the relatively obscure and hard-to-find, and they take pride in excellence in literary taste. Romance novels, to their mind, are none of those things, much less series romances, with their lurid titles.

Not that luridness is always a bad thing, but newly-released series romances are far too new to have nostalgic camp cachet, the way pulp thrillers, westerns and stroke books do. Hipsters and book geeks may display pulp westerns, SF and pornographic novels on their bookshelves with no shame, but most wouldn’t be caught dead with a romance novel. Romance novels are embarrassing, not kitschy.

It leads to a vicious cycle, too: A while back, I remember reading an article about Powell’s Books, and the reporter asked the owner, Michael Powell, why the dearth in romance novels in the store. He shrugged and said something like “Our customers don’t seem to ask for them all that much.” That’s as may be, but I know I’ve headed into Powell’s several times looking to buy a specific romance novel, only to walk right back out again with empty hands, and then giving my dollars to an Evil Chain like Amazon or Borders because they DID stock what I wanted. I wonder how many other readers like me have done the same thing? Nowadays, I don’t bother doing my romance shopping at Powell’s; I just go straight to a chain bookstore or order them on-line instead.

2. Limited shelfspace. This isn’t perhaps as big a problem for behemoths like Powell’s, but many of the smaller stores have little real estate on their shelves, and they need to stock only what sells. In certain neighborhoods, or for bookstores that try to appeal to certain niches, stocking series romance novels just isn’t practical, since so many of them are released every year.

Next item: Alessia Brio links to a news story in which a woman’s romance novel-writing past is biting her in the ass in her bid to run for state comptroller of Texas. Sort of. Except not really, because Susan Combs, the comptroller-candidate-cum-former-romance-novelist, has a huge budget and her opponent, who’s apparently making a big fuss over the trashy pornography she wrote? Has no money. Really, his indignation over the glorification of pre-marital sex in romance novels makes me shake my head and wonder how old he was before he got any.

Other minor details: Combs’ spokesperson dismissed the book as a “paint-by-numbers formula writing,” and certain phrases in the article made me wonder how accurately the reporter for this particular article was reporting the situation.

And now for something completely different: The Goku-Lytton awards for Worst Opening Lines of Erotic Fan-Fiction. Be sure to have several pairs of spare pants nearby, for you will pee them when you read some of these parodies.

Thanks to Robin and whomever posted and updated a page of the RITA finalists, we can announce the 2006 RITA Winners from last night’s gala. We hope it was much better than last year - someone give us an update how it went, please!

And in the meantime, WOO HOO and YAY and all sorts of obnoxious fist pumping and elegant grunting to the 2006 RITA winners.

Best First Book
Show Her the Money
by Stephanie Feagan

Best Contemporary Single Title
Lakeside Cottage
by Susan Wiggs

Best Inspirational Romance
Heavens to Betsy
by Beth Pattillo

Best Long Contemporary Romance
Worth Every Risk
by Dianna Love Snell

Best Long Historical Romance
The Devil to Pay
by Liz Carlyle

Best Novella
‘The Naked Truth About Guys’ in The Naked Truth
by Alesia Holliday

Best Paranormal Romance
Gabriel’s Ghost
by Linnea Sinclair

Best Regency Romance
A Reputable Rake
by Diana Gaston

Best Romantic Suspense
Survivor in Death
by J.D. Robb

Best Short Contemporary Romance
The Marriage Miracle
by Liz Fielding

Best Short Historical Romance
The Texan’s Reward
by Jodi Thomas

Novel with Strong Romantic Elements
Lady Luck’s Map of Vegas
by Barbara Samuel

Best Traditional Romance
Princess of Convenience
by Marion Lennox

Bitchery reader Jane sent me a link to a Boston Globe article about an ages-old rejection of a manuscript submitted to Harlequin. Part examination of the romance genre, and part trip down memory lane, the writer re-examines her 53,000 word novel that dealt with forced marriages AND sexual harrassment in the work place.

Sadly, her efforts were rejected then, and now, by the Harlequin editors. So - let’s talk rejection.

Bitchery reader Ostrea linked to Rejection Collection where the rejectees go to commiserate and compare notes - or letters from publishers and agents. What do you do with your rejections? What’s the worst or best rejection you’ve received?

And most importantly, what’s your advice to someone who got the one page “no thanks” form letter in the mail?

Alert Bitchery reader S sent me an email pointing me to some wonderful examples of dumbassery, AND a contest spawned by dumbassery. In the Smart Bitch world, there is no higher honor given than to those who come up with a fine competition out of someone else showing their behind.

Seems Blaze Jennifer LaBreque weathered of the experience of a scathingly mean review on Amazon.com. The reviewer, J. Wallace, was particuarly offended by an opening scene, and said “[s]ome may rush out and buy it, and any author who can convince her publisher to run with this deserves the income.”

Owwwwlch. One swipe and down go the readers, the publisher, the editor AND the author.

Now, one might quirk a brow at a Smart Bitch quirking her own brow at such a low blow in a review. I must point out that when we Bitches write a review, we are careful to pay attention to the plot and not the people behind it, and we rarely harsh on the author. There are exceptions to that rule, reserved mostly for authors whose books steadfastly and savagely suck up to stale stereotypes, but for the most part, we try to review fairly and explain why when we raise the scimitar of stank.

So while you may be thinking our pot may seem to be throwing glass houses at our kettle, I will continue with this fabulous tale.

Seems La Brecque has a damn fine attitude about such things, and says, “Gee I wish I could PAY her for that review,” because J. Wallace didn’t reveal the disgusting plot point that so turned her stomach, and in refraining from doing so, spurred sales of LaBrecque’s book.

And LaBrecque writes,”I don’t usually come with a money-back guarantee, but I’m making an exception in this case. If Ms. Wallace will stop by my table at RWA’s National Literacy signing (she’ll be there, according to her website), I’ll have $6 in cash with me at my table to reimburse her. That should cover the cost of the book, tax, and the mental/emotional trauma she obviously suffered during the read. She can keep the change for her scintillating review because I suppose I really should pay her.”

But then, Alison Kent explains the oh-so dishy and fascinating part of the story: not only does J. Wallace plan on attending RWA (per her own website, which several readers found by clever use of Google) but she’s an aspiring author whose manuscript is indeed in front of the very editor whose publishing house she offhandedly dissed in her review.

All together now: DOH!

I wonder if the query letter read, “You shouldn’t have bought that. So buy this instead!”

Alison was also clever enough to do a random drawing for three copies of Highland Fling which, of course, folks are clamoring to read, because if there’s hot naughty bits, we are ALL OVER IT. After that excerpt on Alison Kent’s site, I want to read this book. Srsly, once you have a whiff of that fine eau d’controversy, there is nothing better for sales.

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Cassie Edwards Articles

• A centralized document of the Cassie Edwards texts (Rev. E, 2/21/2008, Tracks 22 Books, Added a Table of Contents)

One Big-Ass Bastard

• Bill Napoli, who’s a real sexist ass-hat
• Engaging in some friendly Googlebombing
• Another Napoli Update
• Smart Bitch Endorsed Art Auction
• WE WIN AT THE INTERNET