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

The Langum Literary Trust, which awards two $1000 prizes each year for works of historical fiction, has blacklisted Random House due to the publisher’s decision not to release the Jewel of Medina.

The Langum Trust said that Random House’s decision not to print Jones’s novel represented “a threat to all literature”. “We cannot pretend that this type of cowardice will disappear without serious remonstrance,” it said in a statement. “We do this reluctantly, since our most recent prize in American historical fiction went to a Random House title. Nevertheless, this issue must be confronted.”

Last year’s recipient was a Random House book: Kurt Andersen’s Heyday.

Meanwhile, I have an ARC copy of The Jewel of Medina thanks to a marvelous Bitchery reader, and I’ll be reading it over the weekend, time permitting.

Thanks to Rebecca for the link.

Summer is almost at an end here in the US. If school hasn’t started yet, it soon will, and the stores are filling up with corduroy and tweed and heavy fabrics. But in case you need a lift and a mental note to go run in the sprinkler while it’s still warm, here’s two baby moose this past June, playing in the sprinkler with their mom.

Thanks to Diane for the link. 

Cheyenne McCray has 13 ARCs of her new book Dark Magic and these ARCs are looking for homes. Why not with Bitchery members, right? The book comes out in November, so you can get a sneak peek at the story. All you have to do is come up with an answer to the following question: if you could create one fail-safe spell that would be yours to use forever, what would it be?

Me? The ability to wave my hands and have clutter, dirty dishes, and random crap strewn about my house instantly in its place. This particularly applies to the stuffed animals that one of my cats sees fit to “kill” and “present” to us while we’re not home, leaving us with about six or seven “dead” stuffed animals on the kitchen floor every single day.

Cheyenne’s is similar - a wave of one hand, and the house is clean. What about you? What powerful spell would you like to have in your arsenal? Never being late? Never sitting in traffic (oh, I might have to change my answer now....)? Name your spell in the next 24 hours, and Cheyenne will pick 13 winners. Bibbity, bobbity, boo!

I know a few people, including myself, who want to be in Australia right now. Not only was there that whole RWA (Aussie) conference that just ended, but certain people from certain publishers are running around Oz having a grand old time (even though it’s winter there, oy!) and have I mentioned enough how much I love Australia and New Zealand? I might even learn to appreciate the salty strangeness that is vegemite.

Aussies and Kiwis are some lovely people. Having worked with scores of them in summer camps over the years, I can tell you, if you want to have a mad crush on a nationality, Aussies and Kiwis are the way to go. They’re gregariously friendly, and, if sweeping generalizations could be made (which they are round these parts like damn and howdy), they have a sort of beach mentality. Relax. Go outside. Have a beer. While Americans (sweeping generalization ahoy!) are inveterate workaholics, Aussies and Kiwis seem, from my faraway viewpoint, to be much more laid back, and gosh how I envy that. I’m not cut out to be a workaholic.

The other thing I love about the lands down under, particularly at this moment Australia, is the entire showbag concept. You go to a show or a fair, like the Royal Easter Show or the Royal Melbourne Show, and there’s show bags you can buy. Kind of like the baddest of the badass party favors, only you buy them. Different vendors put together bags for folks to purchase, from dude-centered magazines to something called the Bertie Beetle showbag. This September, at the Royal Melbourne Show, the Grand Ridge brewery will be selling a $10,000 “showbag” packed with beer and beef.

(Special note to Spoetzl Brewery: please sell showbag filled with Shiner Bock in New Jersey. Preferably at the Meadowlands, because I can drive there and pick up all my beer. xoxoxo, Sarah)

Also appearing at the Royal Melbourne? The same showbag that filled my heart with great chest-hair laden joy: the Hoff Bag. Filled with a t-shirt, wig, mug, fluffy dice, beer cozy (known in Oz as a stubby cooler), headband, wristband, air freshener, bottle opener, necklace, ring, all in a red cloth bag, the Hoff Bag is a piece of wonderment that will keep folks talking for years. Particularly the air freshener. That part nearly made Hubby fall off his chair giggling.

Thanks to two wonderful Australians, I have something SO cool, I’m not sure what to do with it. I have TWO Hoff bags. TWO. All that Hoffin’, just for me. From faraway Australia, the Hoff and his bag o’ booty arrived in Jersey, tempting me with the headband action and the fine beer cozy. Well, the beer cozy was easy to resist. I can’t buy Shiner in Jersey.

Now I have to figure out what to do with these here bags of Hoff. Who wants a small piece of Australia and a furry piece of Hoff? Who can resist the possibilities of The Hoff Bag? What shall I do to award these majestic bags of Hoff? Any ideas?

I mean, Hoff wig, y’all. HOFF WIG.

To say I was angsty as a teenager is something of a majestic understatement. I was miserable, for a host of reasons. And I had suitably angsty intense relationships with really awful, unsuitable, self absorbed guys who were interested more in screwing with my already ruffled emotions than they were any genuine efforts at being a couple. One particular guy was an absolute waste, and I am horrified that I spent so much time trying to make this fool happy.

Reading Twilight reminds me heavily of my angsty teen self, and how ridiculous it was that I expected rainbows and happiness when, let’s be honest, teenagerdom is pretty fucking miserable all around. It makes me think of a really old, navel gazing Alanis Morissette song wherein she says, “You were plenty self-destructive for my tastes at the time/ I used to say, the more tragic the better.” Yeah. That about sums up my teen years, and this book.

I’m still reading this thing, persevering to the end, trying to figure out what all the fuss is about, why so many people absolutely adore this book to the point that they set up bulletin boards and fan sites and, for God’s sake, whatever you do, don’t search “Bella” or “Twilight” on Etsy or you’ll get so much jewelry with swans and crap you’ll want to set your eyeballs on fire. The Twilight fandom is a serious fandom.