by SB Sarah • Monday, April 21, 2008 at 09:59 AM
A certain pub of the vowel variety was seen approaching one of their former authors, now a big double-diamond star in her own right for another publishing house. Despite proclamations that said author was persona non grata at their house since she departed, the pub rep present at RT was begging said author for a few books - e-rights only, no need to worry about that printy type business. Things must be rotten in Denmark for begging to supercede earlier vilification.
Meanwhile, a number of authors from one ePub had a marvelous time at the party of another ePub, even though in previous years, the first had drawn virtual barbed wire fences around their authors to prevent fraternizing (or sororitizing?) with the other group. And yet, when the grown ups got to socialize, a good time was had by all.
However, a good time was not had by every single attendee. From the RT Police blotter, a three-times-the-drama tale of a very pitiable cover model. Seems one of the Misters Romance had a history of instability, and his behavior caused a very big stir most of the weekend. First, he scored the room key card of an RT staffer, admitted himself to her room and waited for her return so he could serenade her. He was removed from the premesis soon after - but wait, there’s more. Said contestant returned, and was forcibly removed a second time, this time, according to witnesses, on a gurney.
And then it got interesting.
In the meantime, this contestant’s roommate was understandably horrified by the events so far, and related to other conference organizers how very scary the man’s behavior had been in the room, to the point where the roommate didn’t wish to sleep there. The organizers took pity on the fearful Mr. Romance and moved his room immediately. Meanwhile, the unfortunate model twice removed made his forced departure a hat trick of drama, as he returned to go after his former roomie, and was once again escorted from the premesis by Pittsburgh’s finest.
And there’s more from the police blotter? But of course. And the item, it is not so blind.
Multiple sources have relayed information about a showdown of Barnes/Ewing proportions - perhaps even Hatfield/McCoy levels.
Seems the daughter of one Carpathian author lost her digital camera. Luckily- or unluckily - the lady’s camera was found—by the daughter of another entourage-escorted author. The daughter took it upon herself in Reckless fashion to take pictures of her lovely lady lumps. And by ‘lumps’ I mean her most intimate of selves. No Other Woman would mistake the glory of that lion, or beaver, as the case may be.
When the Carpathian daughter discovered the images upon the return of her camera, she had words with the photographer’s mother, who apparently assured her that her daughter would be spoken to.
However, the caution and conciliatory words concerning the c-pics did not reach the entourage of the Princess of Fire. A few of them, heavily influenced by the Spirit of the Season, headed for a showdown on the dance floor the final night of RT, and had words with the Carpathian daughter, nearly, according to one source, coming to blows about the whole event, telling the owner of those now-very-interesting pictures to mind her own business.
Later, the rumble relocated to a different part of the hotel, and conflicting reports indicate that Pittsburgh’s finest were once again dispatched to placate the angry. The Carpathian mother was seen in tears over the debacle, and many a conference attendee was choosing sides. Perhaps one will wear blue, another will wear grey, and we’ll answer the burning question as to how well one’s bikini wax holds up during close photographic encounters. Regardless, I am hoping Orlando’s finest are not called to the hotel next year for any reason. Drama is one thing, but requiring the attendance of law enforcement is not necessary.
EDITED 4/22 - but wait, there’s still more!
More than one person has emailed me privately to say, “Not so fast, Bitch!” To which I say, “Say what now?” Never let it be said that Bitches don’t listen.
Seems many conflicting report has arisen regarding who took what photos and of what specifically. One source says that everyone involved needed anatomy lessons and not of the Grey’s variety, as the photo in question was a hairy underarm, and not at all one belonging to a woman (though if you don’t want to shave beneath your armpits, who am I to judge?) Another source says that the daughters of either party weren’t involved at all, and the entire showdown on the dance floor was an elaborate choreographed jam session of some sort… and you know, given the amount of production that went into the dinner and luncheon theatre spectacles, I would almost buy that and pay retail.
And a very friendly source who was so excited that a lush and handsome Mr. P. showed how to work her new digital camera told me that first hand, as her own eyes have witnessed, the daughter of the Princess of Fire did no such fanny-snapping, and that the pictures, according to Ms. Princess herself, were most definitely of an armpit, taken right in front of the friendly source, who emailed me immediately to say, “See how armpits can be larger than they appear?”
Indeed.
by SB Sarah • Monday, May 05, 2008 at 09:09 AM
I’d been thinking about interracial romance over the weekend, while I was trying to draft a section for The Book (OMG The Whole Genre?!) {that’s a working title, obviously} that examined minorities in RomanceLandia. What a verdant, green - or white, perhaps - pasture of peaceful writing that was. Not a landmine in sight for my clodding feet to trip on. No, no. *head desk* So when a friend of mine forwarded me a news article that Mildred Loving, the Black woman whose marriage to a white man overturned laws against interracial marriage died today at the age of 68, I had to think how different the world is in 2008 vs. 1958. Before I move on - our condolences to her family. I always thought it was unspeakably awesome that the name of the court case that declared laws restricting marriage on basis of race unconstitutional was called “Loving v. Virginia.”
Since I count among my neighbors several interracial couples and families, I have been spoiled with an experience that indicates interracial marriage as something that’s somewhat common. As the friend who forwarded me the article said to me over email, I’m nuts if I think that’s the rule across the US. It’s certainly not the case in romance - interracial couples in romance novels are still somewhat rare, though there are more of them of late. One writer of bestselling awesomeness told me recently that many romance writers, including herself, would love to write a romance that crosses racial lines - but those books are difficult to get into publication from established print romance publishers. In the e-format, there’s a more vigorous supply, but then, the “e” in romance is the one area that does tend to push the boundaries of the genre a little bit harder, giving the “nudge nudge” a more diverse meaning. Samhain has an entire section of interracial titles, featuring white heroes and Black heroines, and vice versa—and hero/hero, as well, so clearly someone or many someones are shopping for interracial romance specifically.
On one hand, it’s difficult to ask the right question. Would the presence of an interracial couple stop someone from buying a romance? (Would it stop me? Nope.) Is interracial romance solely the domain - and by domain I mean “located in the bookshop section” - of Black romance, because the minute one half of a protagonist pair is Black, the book moves toward Black Romance as a subgenre marker? Speaking solely for myself, I’m curious why interracial romance appears to be mostly found in epubs, small presses, erotica, or within Black romance publishing lines. Brenda Jackson has written several for Silhouette Desire, but those seem to be an exception among the backlist of series romance - and yet another reason how the dismissed-as-staid category romances can sometimes not just push but shred the envelope of boundaries every now and again like nothing else.
I’m also curious whether it’s a target people shop for, a type of storyline that some really enjoy the same way I am a total and complete sucker for a certain plotlines, including one that is too embarrassing to mention. If people shop deliberately for interracial romances, then why aren’t there more of them in mainstream romance (unless they’re there and my Google-fu has failed me)? Is there a difficult barrier towards publication of a romance that takes place across cultural and racial lines? And what counts as interracial, anyway? Does a Black woman and a Middle Eastern man count as interracial? (This reader thinks so.) Or is “interracial” code for solely white/black combinations? Hell, depending on what anti-Semite you ask, my marriage would be interracial.
Mostly I’m wondering simply why there aren’t more interracial couples in romance. There’s more than a few powerhouse examples in mainstream romance across several genres, so I am curious why there’s not more of it. For example, Ward’s Brotherhood plays with race, and the question’s been asked of her point blank whether the Brothers are Black (her answer was that they are not an identifiable human race so it’s impossible to say). Kleypas’ Mine Till Midnight also crossed a racial line in the historical sense, in that her hero was Rom and the heroine was white - a combination that caused me to question the endurance of their happy ending, given the social prejudice working against them. And someone will hunt me down and kick me in the knees if I don’t mention the multi-book subplot of Brockmann’s Sam & Alyssa. All three examples were holy crapping damn successful. Perhaps the problem is that what I perceive of as “few” needs to be adjusted. Someone else might think that’s plenty.
I’m not so much asking for a list of interracial romances, though feel free to suggest some that you’ve enjoyed, but more of a “Interracial romance: what’s up with that? How come there’s not more of it?” type of random musing. So? Your thought? Ha. I crack me up. I know you have more than one.
by SB Sarah • Sunday, May 25, 2008 at 01:00 AM
Over at Dear Author, I’m reviewing the Kindle, which I own, and now owns .39% of my soul and counting. Here’s a sample of my review:
My present option for ebook reading was my Blackberry screen, which was all of this big --> . My external reader options included hacking an iPhone should I buy one (oh, how I lust for thee, sweet iPhone) or an eBook reader. But like the VHS/Beta debate, eBook reader manufacturers can’t seem to nail a format any better than ebook publishers can nail good cover art that depicts people nailing one another, and I’m left with a six-to-eight step process to get one ebook on my Blackberry. Used to be I was happy to hack my way through multiple steps. Now, I don’t have that kind of time.
This is where the Kindle excels. Yes, I am aware I am tying myself to Amazon and giving them a measure of control over my purchasing, my ebook ownership, and my choice of formats - in that I don’t have a choice of formats. The Amazon integration with the Kindle unit is so fan fucking tastic I am happy to give up that measure of control, just like I’m happy to strip naked and walk through security control at Newark Airport if it’ll just get me there quicker oh, my God, this line is six years long. It’s all about expediency and efficiency; the Kindle drop kicks awesome through the goal posts of life.
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