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

It’s time we had some more fun with Photoshop, right? I mean, it’s been awhile since we’ve Gone Too Far!

So! Behold: the Smart Bitch Inspirational Cover Art Contest.

Verily, you taketh the image below, or another image of the Adam & Eve diorama at the Creation Museum in Kentucky, and you maketh a Inspirational Romance cover out of it.

Title of your choosing, author name of your choosing - and oh, the blurb of your choosing. Just make sure that uber mantitty Adam and strategically-placed-hair-over-her-breasts-omg-think-of-the-children Eve are on the cover.

Send it in to & by June 7, and we’ll post them for voting and vitriol on June 8. Voting will commence then and end June 12, and we’ll announce the winners June 13.

Winners get a $25 gift certificate to Amazon, a Smart Bitch Title, and if you want, a nightlight in the shape of Jesus. He’s iridescent. Yes, I am absolutely sure Jesus was and is iridescent. I hath seen it with my own eyes.

Go forth in peace to love and serve the Lord, by which we mean the Man-titty.

EDITED TO ADD: And behold, a two-part contest! Let we rely to heavily on the power of the Photoshop, once we select the winner, a cover copy writing contest will follow. Stay tuned!

Hat tip to smart lady Pam Rosenthal for sending over a link to a Salon article about the opening of… wait, before I say it. Candy, sit down. No, really, sit down and maybe put your head between your knees for a minute. Ok. Are you near any cutlery? Ok, good.

Behold: The new anti-Darwin Creation Museum in Petersburg Kentucky.

That brings a whole new meaning to the word “breathtaking” in my world.

Of particular note is the shot of the diorama of Adam and Eve. In the Garden of Eden. In the event that your browser can’t see the link with all the Salon members-only stuff that loads, here is the photo, which is Copyright 2007 by Monica Lam:

Pam Rosenthal’s email to me called it “esthetique de romance cover.” I call it a straight-up ripoff of my very favorite Up-the-Hershey-highway cover:

Or wait, maybe it’s this one:

Good heavens, the possibilities are endless. Perhaps we need our own creationism cover art contest. Stay Tuned.

But it’s only because he loves her and can’t resist her, am i rite?

More toil and trouble at Triskelion: Gail Northman has resigned, and a whole host of authors have followed suit, many asking for their rights back.

I’ll admit to feeling curious as to specifically why Northman is resigning, and to what extent the massive Internet kerfuffling has influenced her decision, but of equal interest: what are you Triskelion authors going to do/have done? Are you going to stick through this rough patch, or have you already left and asked for your rights on the way out? Anyone want offer opinions on how things came to this state?

Replace “bear” with “mother/stepmother/evil former husband/ex-boyfriend/other utterly foul person.”

C’mon. Even if you like her books, you know it’s true.

Watch for more Romance Novel Truths Expressed in LOLCAT Format in the coming days, sports fans.

Dr. Frantz, aka Baroness du Bacqueseate, has let me know that it is Last Call for Y’all on the CFP for The Mind of Love:  New Approaches to Popular Romance. You want to send in your extra- smart ideas on academia and romance? Hook them up by 1 June 2007.

I do hope that Dr. Frantz publishes her SBTB title on the cover of the book. Because that would be teh awesome. 

Another reader needs our help, O Readers! Reader Brianne has the following description of the book she lost:

I’m sure you don’t remember every book, but I was hoping either you or your readers could help me find the name/author of a book - my very first romance novel to be exact. I found it stuffed in a drawer in my sister’s guest room and started reading out of sheer boredom, but never finished the book. I slowly started to get into the genre and find myself wondering how that very first story ended. Here’s everything I can remember from the book:

The woman trying to escape an unwanted betrothal is travelling to live with some female relation who is married and a new mother. A big storm closes a road and she is forced to spend a few nights in a small country inn. The inn is owned by the family of some nobleman who, oh so coincidentally, finds himself stranded in the same storm. They meet, spend 3 days entertaining each other, then the road opens back up and they each continue their journeys. She makes it to her relation’s house, longs for him, etc. Some time later (I skipped ahead, I admit, too much pining boring introspection) he finds her, or she finds him, or her relation’s husband finds him....I don’t know, somehow they meet up again, he takes her away on a long carriage ride to...somewhere.

That’s as far as I got in the book. I can’t help but wonder how it ended, did they get their HEA and whatnot? If y’all could point me in the right direction, that’d be fantastic!

I suggested Mary Balogh’s Slightly Wicked, since it seemed extremely similar to this book, but that wasn’t it. Any of you other bitches have any ideas?

That Nora Roberts. She gives any author or writer many, many things to aspire to, from positions on bestseller lists all over the world, to a backlist as big as my backside, to knowing that at any moment, should you wish for a Nora Roberts novel translated into Aramaic, someone probably sells it. It’s a lot to comprehend, that writing career of Nora Roberts.

And now we have a marker that few will ever attain, a moment of recognition so huge that I stop in awe and think, “Holy crap, I so want to drive to Maryland.”

Seems Ms. Roberts is a huge baseball fan - and I bet, from my bitter position in last place of my Rotisserie leage, that HER Rotisserie fantasy baseball team is in first place from opening day until October. And it seems the Hagerstown Suns, a single-A minor league team, have decreed July 6 Nora Roberts Day at Municipal Stadium.

And behold, the moment of recognition that few shall attain: The Nora Roberts Bobblehead.

The first 1000 fans who arrive at the stadium will receive the very first ever created Nora Roberts Bobblehead Doll.

Take a moment and consider the awesomeness that is your own Nora Roberts likeness nodding away at you from your desk. You can use it to build your own WWND Shrine. Working too hard? Should you take a break for chocolate?

Nora nods, “Yes!”

Someday, will you personally be the single greatest author the world has ever known?

Nora nods, “Yes!”

Is your every written and spoken word a stroke of inimitable brilliance?

Nora nods, “Yes!”

What could be better than nonstop gravitationally-guaranteed affirmation from a world-famous best-selling author? Few things, unless that bobblehead comes with a free bag of boiled peanuts, but I don’t know if such delicacies are sold as far north as Maryland.

Either way, I’m seriously considering a road trip.  Do you think I can convince my husband to drive 5+ hours to Hagerstown for a baseball game with an 18-month old in the backseat in mid-July heat when I am pregnant out to here?

Nora nods, “Yes!”

I made a Bad Book Pact with Sarah: If she reads and reviews a Cassie Edwards, I’ll read and review Karen Kay’s Red Hawk’s Woman.

I’m 20 pages into the book, and I’m really not sure how much longer I can last, especially because the book is littered with word misuses like these: “At once, Clark’s teeth stopped chattering, the shaking subsisted, and with a long, scraping breath, the elderly gentleman fell back against his bed.”

This is going to hurt. And not even in a fun, kinky way. More like, “getting my finger trapped in the garage door only to have the neighbor lady run over to help me but after finding out the door was stuck, praying loudly to Jesus to take my pain away instead of running to get somebody else to help free the door” levels of pain and comedy.

Man, the things I do for the Internets....

Congratulations to this week’s Guess That Lonely Heart winner Sarah Frantz who correctly guessed that our Lonely Heart was Zoey Redbird, from PC Cast and Kristin Cast’s Marked: A House of Night Novel. After many an attempt to guess our Lonely Heart, Professor Frantz has come in for the win.

Kneel, Sarah and arise a member of the Peerage:

It’s time for that bucket of Friday fun: you tell us the name of the character, the name of the author, and the title of the book, and be the first to do so, and we hook you up with a hoff-tastic Smart Bitch Title™.

Tag, you’re it.

Young independent-minded woman, tagged suddenly to spend a totally different adulthood than she’d counted on, seeks similarly-minded slightly older man to help her navigate a new boarding school, a new life without involved parents, and a whole new set of bloody rules to live by. Must be willing to fit in with my brand new friends, and to tolerate my ability to consult with somewhat secretive night deity, and my instinctive dislike of self-involved fake girls who lead societies of secretive progeny and who’d totally like to get in your pants. That wench is so going down. 

It’s an all-day celebration and continued proof that Satan is indeed in control of publishing.

First, there’s Hoff. And his hassel.

And now? An opportunity for you, the esteemed Bitchery, to snark till you drop. Consider it an early Memorial Day present (even if you’re not in the US? Just take Monday off and barbecue something, k?)

Presenting: The cover that offers itself to you for limitless beating. Courtesy of Bitchery Reader Michelle.

Well, of course, Candy did have one comment…

It seems that Candy, who suffers from Internetus Interruptus for long periods of her day, did not know of the miraculous miracle that is David Hasselhoff’s Autobiography.

Email from Sarah to Candy:

Sarah: So which one of us will read and review David Hasselhoff’s new autobiography?

Candy: WHAAAAAT?

You’re shittin’ me. Please tell me you’re shittin’ me.

Sarah: You know it’s called, Don’t Hassel the Hoff right?

So, yeah. Don’t hassel the Hoff. Read his book!

Candy: You’re lying. Liar. LIARRRRRRRRRR.

It can’t be true. I refuse to believe, because I’m a rationalist and a skeptic, and if his book is published, it pretty much proves Satan is in charge.

Sarah: Get thee behind me, Satan. It was published May 17. Here, have an official book description.

The Los Angeles Times called him a “counterculture icon,” and TV Guide dubbed him one of “TV’s Ten Most Powerful Stars,” but true aficionados simply call him “The Hoff.”

Don’t Hassel the Hoff follows David Hasselhoff’s phenomenal career, from his earliest childhood role in Peter Pan to his latest adventure, starring in Mel Brooks’s Tony award-winning musical, The Producers.  There is no better time to celebrate Hasselhoff’s life and a career that continues to grow and thrive. As the star of the extremely popular classic television shows, “Baywatch” and “Knight Rider,” Hasselhoff is an international mega-star, with platinum album sales and starring roles on Broadway and London’s West End.

As this fascinating memoir reveals, there’s more to this handsome superstar than great hair, and legs that look good while running down a beach. “The Hoff” is also a smart, caring man with a huge heart.

“This book is my opportunity to print something from my heart, to tell the truth about what happened to me on the long and winding road from Baltimore to Baywatch to Broadway – and beyond.  And the truth is not to be found in tabloid stories but in my actions: I am a good father and tried to be a good husband.  I love people and the emotional rollercoaster that goes with human relationships. I love all the bewildering, crazy and wonderful things that life has to offer. This book is about my successes and my failures, my strengths and my weaknesses.  And, above all, it is about the hope contained in the Knight Rider slogan: “One man can make a difference.” --David Hasselhoff

Full of behind-the-scenes looks at Hasselhoff’s television series, celebrations of his proudest moments, and the truths about his struggles with relationships and alcohol, Don’t Hassel the Hoff is both highly entertaining and deeply personal, making this an engrossing page-turner from start to finish.

Long live “The Hoff.”

Candy: AAAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

Oh my word. Oh my...Oh my OWWWW.

It sounds like The Onion wrote this. It really, really does.

Sarah: No, it’s fur realz.

Satire that good has to be real.

It’s probably a bad idea to post this, because it’s late at night, I’m really tired (I just got done watching The Host with a couple of friends, and I highly recommend it--best. dysfunctional. family. EVAR) and I haven’t thought this through properly, but what the hell--I loves me some living on the edge. And by “living on the edge,” I mean “rambling half-cocked about something that just occurred to me.”

It was all inspired by Joanna’s comment about her (no longer especially) secret love for secret babies in our recent sheikh romance entry. To wit, she said:

However, I have my limits.  I cannot deal with purist secret baby.  It is just TOO wrong for the heroine to simply not to tell the hero about the baby because it’s “her problem” (argh!).

Now, much as I love to bitch about secret baby plot devices, I have to admit I’ve read a few that were decently entertaining. A couple are even on my keeper shelves. But that comment made me think about annoying ways to bring about (or exacerbate) a secret baby situation, and ways that don’t make me pull out my hair. Certain types of misunderstandings I can buy, if handled right, as well as situations involving one-night stands. However, pairing the secret baby with another groan-inducing plot device, e.g., amnesia, is right up there in the makes-Candy-feel-all-crotch-punchy stakes.

But I think the most distasteful way to create a secret baby is for the heroine be a stubborn ass and decide to not inform the hero for no particular reason at all. She instead staples a board onto her upper lip to ensure proper stiffness, and decides that All The Baby Needs Is Her. And what drives me right up the wall is how the heroine is often portrayed as doing something noble and inspired, when all I want her to do is make her figure out some sort of equitable paternity arrangement with the hero.

And that’s when it hit me: there’s a rather strange stigma that stains paternity payments. I have an impression that most unmarried women who pursue paternity payments from the father of their child are often viewed with a jaundiced eye--not quite money-grubbing whores, but there’s a distinct “Oh, she trapped him into it” feel to the whole business. Not only that, there’s a certain value placed on doing things the hard way--even when it’s subjecting the person to needless difficulty--that often lends a sheen of nobility to that sort of enterprise.

Am I wrong? Because I’m thinking that some of the authors who have the Intrepid Heroine Who Strikes Out Alone Like a Dumbass are reacting to that cultural assumption. Feel free to hash this out in the comments, and let me know how full of shit I am.

p.s. Sorry I made this entry live before I finished it. Heh. What’d I say about blogging while ass-tired?

And this week’s theme: Terrifying plant life. Move over, triffids! You have nothing on these fine specimens.

From Erin:

Candy: Poor Madmartigan. First he was stuck with a shirt with no buttons, and then bastard thieves smacked him upside the head and left him only with his vest, so he doesn’t even have that any more. I’m not sure if that dazed look in his eyes is from being hit on the head, or incipient hypothermia.

Sarah:  Let’s see. Bare chested under a leather vest on a field of hot pink flowers under a fuschia sky. With a horse rearing up behind him.

That’s like a straight flush of gay right there.

And Amy “Fuckheady Bitchipants” E very kindly--for certain values of “kind"--provided us with this masterpiece of cover artwork, which we’ve placed below the fold, because...well, don’t say we didn’t warn you: