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

Sarah and Candy are incommunicado for three days because of Sarah’s lack of internet, and THIS is what they start talking about first thing Monday morning.

Candy: Hey, how’d the moving go?

Sarah: Moving went well. LOVE the new house. We not only hired movers to move us, but we hired movers to PACK which was a WEIRD experience. They packed EVERYTHING. And I mean, every thing. My mother in law helped us unpack because I am limited in energy and it is far too easy for me to hurt myself, and she opened a lovingly wrapped paper bundle of… takeout Chinese duck sauce packets.

Sidebar: Can evidence of arousal in Chinese romance/erotica heroines be likened unto duck sauce? Discuss!

Candy: I love that the movers packed your duck sauce packets! BWAH! And I’m glad you asked about comparisons to duck sauce, because seriously, you could’ve said fish sauce. Or sweet-and-sour. Or oyster.

Sarah: See, I’m a big fan of duck sauce, though not from women, and while I don’t think I’ve ever had fish sauce, or oyster, I have had sweet-n-sour and lobster, and I don’t think they match the true erotica heroine consistency I’m looking for.

Of course, then we have to discuss the hero: egg roll? Kung pao chicken roll? Chicken skewer?

Candy: I’m pretty sure you’ve had oyster sauce. If you’ve had stir-fry or fried rice, you’ve had oyster. Few people realize that the distinctive taste of Chinese stir-fry is almost entirely due to oyster sauce. The sauce itself is thick and gloopy and brown, and it’s not a dipping sauce at all--it’s used strictly for cooking, near as I can tell. I have a giant bottle in my refrigerator at all times for the making of the stir-fry.

It would be too funny if in the Chinese version of the Catherine Coulter novel you told me about, the hero had used oyster sauce to lubricate the heroine’s cunny instead of cream.

As for what the hero should be: pork ribs? Or if he’s especially large--beef shank in herbal broth?

Sarah: Stirfry is oyster sauce? No kidding! No wonder stir fry makes me ill. Just about all the valve-type shellfish, like clams, oysters, mussels, etc, make me iller than ill. I be illin’.

Oh my GOD yes. Midsummer Magic, with oyster sauce! UGH!

Pork ribs would be GREAT. Perhaps we can work this into the character generator script? He’s as big as an egg roll, or some chicken satay on a skewer, or a shishkabob - the whole thing. Useful if one is a sheik, no?

Candy: Hey, if the hero’s a sheikh, then we need to include leg of lamb. Or mutton. He’s baa-aaa-aaa-d to the bone.

And the heroine’s sauce would be some kind of yogurt-tahini combination. HAAAAA.

Sarah: Totally, if the hero is a sheik, there needs to be mutton or some kind of shank (har har shank). Or, if he were seriously teeny, a pine nut. And tahini would work. Or, on a bad day, hummus. 

Candy: YES to the hummus. CHUNKY hummus.

Or chunky kefir.

Wow, that just made me throw up a little in my mouth.

Sarah: Hummus with Roasted Garlic and Pine Nuts!

Candy: Screw the pine nuts! This heroine wants cucumber! An UNCUT cucumber!

Sarah: Don’t forget the yogurt sauce.

Ok. Now I’m nauseated, too. 

Candy and I have been kicking ideas back and forth regarding advertising on this site. On one hand, I solemnly swear on all four of my cats, and on Candy’s cats, that we will never subject you to epileptic seizure advertisements, popup windows, or those bastard sliding ads that get in your way and won’t let you see the actual content. So fear not- annoying ads are not in our plans.

Neither, for the time being, are Google ads, which are content-specific, and, as Candy pointed out, the number of times we mention backdoor lovin’ might bring some seriously questionable advertisement blocks.

So - I came up with an idea, and I want to ask you, our noble - and somewhat titled - readership what you think. We’d like to offer dedicated advertisement space on a weekly basis for authors, publishing houses, editors, and writers. We’d link to reviews or point-of-sale sites for your book, and feature a graphic, and a small blurb about your book or product. Candy and I are still discussing rates - and your suggestions in that department are certainly welcome - but since we are both happy with the number of writerly-sorts that frequent this here bitcherty, we thought we’d make the discussion about advertisement as much of an opportunity for you as it is for us.

So: *puts on Linda Richman voice*: Advertisements for authors and books. To host or not to host: discuss!

All of my books, save exactly three pregnancy books and a novel, are packed in boxes that, given the priority system Hubby and I worked out, will probably stay in wrapped confinement for a week or so.

So yesterday in the Super Stop n’Shop, after doing the Mother of All Target Runs, I passed by the paperback aisles and took my usually gander at what was new, hot, and popular enough to stock at the grocery store. I didn’t go to the book section of Target because that’s just asking for some heavy impatient sighing from Hubby. But the SSnS book aisle had the romance conveniently wrapped around the end so you passed it on your way to the checkout lines.

I glance over, and hello Suzanne Enoch? Writing contemporary? Well color me surprised. I think Enoch and I think “London/rake/scoundrel/cravat/valet/pelisse.” I surely do not think of contemporary cartoon covers about cat burglars and business tycoons.

So, in my first ever ‘I am going to have to review this for SBTB. Wonder if I can claim it on my taxes?’ purchase, I have procured said contemporary, written by a known-historical author, and I shall let you know how it goes.

However, this phrase from the Amazon synopsis does give me pause: Though some readers may be disappointed by the lack of a traditional happily-ever-after, others will cheerfully await Sam and Richard’s next adventure.  First, a not HEA? Dang. That’s why I read romance, people. Come on now, don’t take my guaranteed HEA away from me. Second, continued adventures? What, is everyone JD Robb now? Writing series with heavy romantic elements? Dang, again.

Darlene Marshall (writer of that swishbuckling classic, Pirate’s Price) has notified me that Bookaza, an e-book retailer, is selling at least one of her titles without authorization. Her publisher, LTDBooks is trying get them to cease and desist, but so far they’ve apparently been unsuccessful. Darlene and her publisher get zip when you buy something of hers from this store. This is so far the first and only confirmed case. (See update below.) Other e-book authors: do you have any experiences with this retailer?

Anyway: Bad e-book retailer! Stealing is naughty!

Update: Darlene just notified me of another way Bookaza is engaging in thievery: According to J.K. Rowling herself, there are NO authorized e-book versions of any Harry Potter books, yet Bookaza offers them anyway. 

Candy: Wow. Is there a name for people who like having group sex with mannequins? Les freaques aux plastiques? Jesus. And I thought Furries were bad.

The hand placement for the guy on the right is also muy, muy creepy. Makes me think he’s about to pop her head clean off, then run around the house swinging her head manically before hanging it from the ceiling fan.

Sarah: I have often asked myself, “Self, what ever happened to Clay Aiken?” Self, now you know.

Nothin’ sexier than a skinny man with no shirt. And a shoulder-sunburn. From being buried up to his clavicle.

Victorious Star Cover - NOTE: NOT WORK SAFE

Candy: Aaaaahahahahahahahahahahahahaha.

*stops for breath*

HAAAAAAAAhahahahahahahahahahaaaaa.

Oh God. That woman sure has some bitchin’ bangs and maroon eyeshadow, though I guess I should be grateful it’s not aquamarine. And the way the man’s hand is curved around her right hooter makes it seem as if it has no give at all. You’d think in the far future that plastic breastables would be more realistic, but apparently not even science that allows us to conquer faster-than-light travel can make breast impants lose that jello mold look. WORST. COVER. EVER.

Also: it hurts me to see how low Jason Mewes has sunk in his efforts to bolster his heroin habit.

Snoochie boochies! (But maybe “Snoochie coochies” would be more appropriate in this instance.)

Sarah: Candy totally has me beat on the “Dude, who does that dude look like?” contest. That dude totally looks like Jason Mewes. That’s so sad. Jason Mewes with a Legolas hairdo.

I have to ask Hubby who the other dude looks like. Damn, Hubby can’t figure it out, either. Ok, someone has to help me figure out who that dude looks like.

And that is the most horrid cover I have ever seen. Dear God. I need to lie down.

Candy: Guy: Unhhhh! Unnnh! Oh baby!
Girl: YES! OH YESSS! Ram that fleshy sword of love into my love chunnel, you stud!
Leopard: RAARR! Take it up the ass, bitch!

Sarah: Leopard 1: “I say, Jerome, there appear to be some rather beefy people engaging in some, shall we say, activities out in yonder swamp. “
Leopard 2: “Never!”
Leopard 1: “True, I am afraid. At this moment, in fact. Hear them?”
Leopard 2: “I do, indeed. Hm. Well, I am feeling a bit peckish.”
Leopard 1: “Oh, it has been a long time since you’ve eaten. Go on.”
Leopard 2: “Are you sure?”
Leopard 1: “Oh, yes. Go on. Enjoy. Bon appetit.”

Candy: Guy: I’m either constipated, or like Keanu Reeves, this is my Look of Passionate Intensity.
Girl: Is it in yet? I’m kind of bored.
Leopard: WOO, TITTY! Even ghostly leopards need titty. Oh yeah. OH YEAH. Much better than that chick’s from Victorious Star.

And once this guy leans over he’s going to get it up the ass, too.

Sarah: “Even ghostly leopards need titty.” A truer saying was never, er, said. *sniff* Just the price of a cup of coffee each day could give ghostly leopards their own titty. Imagine the difference you could make.

I won’t even go near my normal “What was the art department thinking?” ruminations. I can’t even imagine, unless their goal is to Not Sell Books. 

Maili interviewed me for her website! Go check it out. The critics have weighed in, and this is what some of them have to say:

“Great interview!”

“Brilliant as always.”

What are you waiting for? Go! Read! Because I plan on spending most of this weekend reading, and Sarah is smack in the middle of moving-in hell, so God knows what kind of content you’ll find on the site this weekend.

Congratulations to kt for guessing the correct answer to this week’s personal ad challenge! Kneel, kt, for we Smart Bitches dub thee:

It’s Friday - so let’s guess that heroine. Winner, as usual, gets coronated with fine Smart Bitch nobility.

Plucky animal-loving heroine with soft hands seeks big, tough, alpha law man to help solve murder, and learn to love all creatures small and hairless. Must be brave and somewhat calloused, but with soft interior, especially when family and pets are concerned. 

OK, I previously noted that I didn’t necessarily give a shit about what an author believed in, because if I restricted my reading to books by authors whose views I entirely agreed with, my list of authors would probably shrink to, like, two people. As of today, I have revised this policy for three notable exceptions:

1. Authors who hold obviously homophobic views.

2. Authors who hold obviously racist views.

3. Authors who hold obviously sexist views.

This applies only to authors who are still living and, presumably, enjoying royalties from books purchased new from the bookstore. I’m not saying I won’t ever, ever read books by racist/sexist/homophobic authors, mind you--I’ll just get them from the library, borrow a friend’s copy or get it used.

What brought this on, you ask? I just recently read this assheaded article by Orson Scott Card on why teh gheys don’t deserve to marry. In particular, this sentence made me laugh and gasp and ABSOLUTELY FUCKING FURIOUS at the same time:

“Regardless of their opinion of homosexual “marriage,” every American who believes in democracy should be outraged that any court should take it upon itself to dictate such a social innovation without recourse to democratic process.”

I see. I’m not American, but I would like to direct all you democratically-minded Americans to feel outrage about the following court rulings that led to massive social innovations:

Brown v. Board of Education

Loving v. Virginia

Both were pretty controversial and unpopular rulings at the time--for example, a Gallup poll taken in 1965 (a mere two years before the ruling for Loving v. Virginia) showed that 72% of Southern whites and 42% of Northern whites supported bans of inter-racial marriages.

Anyway, I have a lot more to say on this issue, but I’ll shut my trap now. Let’s just say that though I’ve wanted to read Ender’s Game for a long time, I’ll now just check it out from the library.

(Link to Orson Scott Card asshattery courtesy of PBW.)

Jennifer Jackson’s blog entry on Romancing The Blog today covers various opinions from her family members on romance novels. Which has inspired me to cover my family’s (hypothetical) responses.

Mom: I CAN’T READ. That’s right, you kids nowadays have it good, we actually sent you to school and paid for everything including college. And what do I get? Phone calls that are usually late because you forget about the time difference. CALL MORE OFTEN. And when are you coming home for a visit?

Dad: If it’s not in The Star or The New Straits Times, it’s not worth reading.

Brother No. 1: Romance novels? What do you think I am, some kind of fag?!?

Brother No. 2: Romance novels? What do you think I am, some kind of fag?!?

Brother No. 3: Romance novels? What do you think I am, some kind of fag?!?

Brother No. 4: Romance novels? I’m a fag, and I refuse to read them. Oh, wait, I did use to sneak them into my bedroom when I was a teenager, especially some of the spicier Penny Jordan titles. Anyway, they’re trashy. Nowadays I confine myself to fine literature with titles like Fag Hag and Bitch Goddess.

Sister: You don’t like Linda Howard? What’s wrong with you?

p.s. Didn’t cover my sisters-in-law’s responses because I don’t know their reading habits all too well, though I know SIL Numero Dos reads almost exclusively romances, mostly category titles.

Based on the many recommendations and the word of people who have read a lot more chick lit than I have, I now realize that there are plenty of chick lit novels out there that don’t feature stupid, broke-ass conspicuous consumer heroines. I gladly concede that I was talking out of my ass on that issue, and that I just had a streak of bad luck in my initial choice of chick lit reads. (And hey, like I said, it took me SIX YEARS before I found a romance novel I loved.) Thanks to all of you who recommended lists of books for me to try, by the way. My TBR shelves, on the other hand, are cussing you out soundly--seriously, they’re even calling your MOTHER names, that’s how rude they are--for consigning them to carry even more weight. (And speaking of my TBR shelves: I just noticed the other day that they’re actually curving from the weight of the books. What the hell?!? My shelves are now medium-density fiberboard versions of Deenie, only without the masturbation and… wait, it does hold books featuring masturbation. Help, the ghost of a Judy Blume novel has possessed my bookshelves!)

One thing, though: For those of you who think that I hate all chick lit, that I think all chick lit is stupid, that romance is somehow a far superior genre (which, given the endless, tiresome bitching I indulge in about this particular genre, is a truly odd conclusion to draw), or that I’m even somehow trying to dissuade people from reading chick lit by bashing it--you seriously have the wrong end of the stick. I’m not even trying to dissuade MYSELF from reading the genre. Re-read the rant. Pay close attention to the disclaimer. Please. Will nobody think of the poor, lonely little disclaimer?

OK. Back to bashing only romances for a while--that is, until I read and review the first chick lit book I don’t like for the site. I might very well get “666” tattooed on the back of my head just for that blessed occasion. It’ll only confirm what some chick lit readers/writers already think about me, anyway, hee!

Hey, readers! We’re finally getting off our asses and making an About Us page and an FAQ page. This is your chance to ask all the burning questions that have been eating you up about Sarah, Candy and the site. (That other burning? You need some miconazole cream for that, hon, nothing we can do for you here.) Answers are not guaranteed to be honest (I mean, c’mon, as if we’d answer honestly if you asked us ‘What’s your mother’s maiden name?’ and ‘What are the last four digits of your SSN?’) but they WILL be amusing. And feel free to go nuts. Ask us some real off-the-wall questions. We’ll answer them. Honest. (Or not.)

Here are some sample questions to kick start the inquisition:

Aside from ID and a book to read, what is one thing you won’t leave home without?

If you were a Chick Lit heroine, which shoe brand would you obsess over?

Are you guys smiley Nazis, or what? What’s with your hatred of the LOL? And animated GIFs?

Leave your inquiries in the comments, and we’ll answer and categorize accordingly. And, if there’s something about the site you think we ought to explain, please feel free to put down a few lines on that, too. And then, snort them. Can’t waste the good powder, now.

Candy gave me the nudge to self-pimp: my Romancing the Blog post is up. How to break up with books, when one is moving. *sigh* My shelves are SO bare. 

Disclaimer: This is not a slam on the genre, it’s just my personal take on things, and no, I haven’t read REALLY extensively in it so feel free to let me know when I’m talking entirely out of my ass and recommend titles to me that won’t get my panties in a bunch.

(Addendum: Disclaimer is now in bold because people seemed to be skipping right past the poor thing and latching onto selective bits of the rant, and it was starting to pine from neglect and lack of attention.)

(Addendum, part deux: Before you defenders of chick lit get your knickers in a twist, please read this follow-up after you read this post. If you want to link to this entry as Yet Another Heinous Attack on Chick Lit [hey, did you read that disclaimer first? just wondering], be fair and link to the other one, too.)

Right. Chick lit. I don’t HATE it (then again, I don’t hate any specific genre of writing, unless you count Jack Chick tracts as a specific genre of especially bad fiction), but I have to say I don’t really get it. I tried reading Bridget Jones’ Diary when it first came out and was so bored by page 10 that I abandoned it entirely. The movie didn’t wow me either, though it was pretty amusing. I guess MaryJanice Davidson’s Undead series is paranormal chick lit, and I did enjoy the first one quite a bit. I’ve since tried paging through a bunch of different titles, and none so far have grabbed me.

I’m pretty much the ideal demographic for chick lit books. I’m in my twenties, I’m urban, I have an office job I am indifferent to when I’m not hating it intensely, I have an inordinate fondness for shoes, I’m snarky, I’m overweight. Why don’t I enjoy reading about women facing many of the same struggles and much of the same bullshit I am?

Part of the answer, I think, lies in the stupidity of many of the heroines--or at least, what I perceive to be their stupidity.

Candy:

OK, first of all? This novella is marketed as historical erotica by its publisher, Amber Quill Press. The reality? I’ve read hotter, more detailed love scenes in short stories from mainstream anthologies. I was expecting nookie—oceans and rivers and fountains of it—and instead found one four-page love scene in 54 pages of story. It’s even a pretty standard in-out, in-out scene, though BONUS! A bodice (OK, chemise) does get ripped. Somewhat unfairly, this impacted my opinion of the book, and really, this is not necessarily Draven’s fault. It’s:

1. The publisher’s fault, for labeling the novella inaccurately; and

2. My fault, for being a smut-hungry hussy who feels cranky when she expects copious scenes of inventive sexx0r, only to be denied.

And second of all: this is not a complete story unto itself. There are many, many loose ends (including the love story and HEA) that Draven will wrap up in a sequel. Again, an indication that this is the first installment in a series on the publisher’s part would’ve been good.

The story features a pretty standard Wrongly Accused Hero plot. Colin Wyndham is the illegitimate son of the Earl of Montcleve, and when right on the cusp of manhood, is quite conveniently found clutching a bloody knife next to daddy-o’s lifeless body in the study. I’m not sure why innocent people are so enamored with splashing themselves with blood and grabbing the murder weapon when they stumble upon a grisly death; common sense would normally dictate that one throw up, then scream like a little girl and run for help, but on the other hand, whole writing careers have been built with this sort of scenario, so why break with tradition? At any rate, Colin runs off and becomes a pirate captain—probably because being a pirate bo’sun doesn’t have quite the same heroic ring to it.