Romancing the Blog | Romance Authors and Readers Who Blog

My nine-year-old niece recently made some adoring comments regarding my duel careers as a professional entertainer and published author. I smiled and responded, “It’s not all that glamorous.”

Her eyes rounded. “I think it is. Don’t you know how lucky you are?”

“I didn’t mean to imply I’m not fortunate,” I back-peddled, fearing I sounded ungracious when I was only being honest. Honestly, I love my life, with its marvelous highs and sometimes heart-crunching lows. I just don’t think it’s all that glamorous. Then again, I’m looking at my life from behind the scenes. My niece views my chosen careers through the eyes of a fan.

She focuses on how I dress in cool clothes and sing and dance on stage, how people watch and applaud. I obsess about lack of rehearsal time, inferior monitor systems, and my advancing age in a youth-centered industry.

She marvels that my books are at Borders, my latest release made the cover of Affaire de Coeur, and that my picture’s in this month’s Romantic Times BOOKclub. I worry about impending promotional mailings, outstanding contracts, upcoming reviews, and the research I need to do for my work-in-progress.

My niece isn’t privy to the rehearsals and rewrites, auditions, submissions, rejections, and politics. She only sees the end result. The performance. The novel. The awards and accolades. My name has been on marquees and book covers. My face is in magazines and all over the Internet. In her eyes, I’m a star. And the life of a star is glamorous.

I put myself in my niece’s shoes and instantly saw her point. Before I knew the ins and outs of entertainment and publishing, I thought the lives of the people who dwelled in these worlds were indeed charmed. The less I knew about a favorite celebrity the more I was intrigued. I admired their work, so I admired them as people. Authors were particularly fascinating to me because I knew next to nothing about their private lives. I considered myself fortunate if the publisher printed a head shot and a short bio on the book jacket. Lucky if a trade magazine ran a lifestyle article on my favorite scribe. Before the Internet, there was an aura of mystery and glamour surrounding authors.

Now we have websites and blogs.

Many authors (myself included) are quite forthcoming about the details of their lives. You don’t have to wonder what I do with my days… I tell you. Although, I don’t air extremely personal matters—not my style—I’ve seen others do so. Many (myself included) make it clear that publishing is a tough business, and often treat readers to an inside gritty look at our process. So much for the aura of mystery and glamour.

My niece’s innocent comments about fame had me spinning the pros and cons of authors participating heavily at message boards or maintaining candid blogs. Are authors in danger of overexposure or alienating fans by airing their personal views on sex, religion or politics? It happens in entertainment all the time. I know people who burned out on the ‘Bennifer’ media frenzy and therefore avoid any movie starring Affleck or Lopez. I have relatives who now boycott a jazz legend that they loved and supported for years because he recently voiced political views that differ from their own. Tom Cruise’s popularity has taken a bit of a hit since he spouted his views on psychiatry and antidepressants during an interview with NBC ‘Today Show’ host Matt Lauer. Everyone is entitled to their opinion and, in this country, free to share their views. But is it always smart PR? Many people find it difficult to separate an artist’s work from the artist. If you don’t like an artist because he/she has offended you in some way, you are less likely to support that artist’s work. I don’t care how talented they are. It’s human nature.

I can’t get this topic off of my mind—thank you, niece—so I decided to ask the readers here at RTB. Have you ever been so turned off by an author’s personal views that you refuse to buy their books? What intrigues you most? An author who teases you with tidbits of their life? Or an author who bares all? Are authors, like Hollywood celebrities, risking overexposure and alienation?

“It is dangerous to let the public behind the scenes. They are easily disillusioned and then they are angry with you, for it was the illusion they loved.” –W. Somerset Maugham

The 2005 Golden Heart Winners:

Best Traditional Romance – The Wedding Plan
by Sandra D. Hyde

Best Young Adult – Almost Cool: Confessions of the of the Popular Girl’s Best Friend by Julie Ann Linker

Best Short Contemporary- Venus Rising by Karina A. Bliss

Best Long Contemporary – Finding Hope by Kimberly M. Fisk

Best Inspirational – Autumn Rains by Myra Langley Johnson

Best Regency Romance – Lady Wicked by Nadele Jacobs

Best Short Historical Romance – Secrets of All Hearts by Christine R. Merrill

Best Long Historical Romance – Ruined by Victoria H. Grondahl

Best Novel With Strong Romantic Elements – Viva Las Vegas by Robin Flury

Best Romantic Suspense – Dancing in the Dark by Holli S. Bertram

Best Paranormal Romance – Sapphire Dreams by Pamela P. Poulsen

Best Contemporary Single Title Romance – Hard Lies by S. Lorelle Marinello

The 2005 RITA Winners:

Best First Book – Time Off For Good Behavior by Lani Diane Rich

Best Traditional Romance – Christmas Eve Marriage by Jessica Hart

Best Short Contemporary – Miss Pruitt’s Private Life by Barbara McCauley

Best Long Contemporary – John Riley’s Girl by Inglath Cooper

Best Inspirational – Grounds To Believe by Shelley Bates

Best Novella – Best Enemy by Maggie Shayne

Best Regency Romance – A Passionate Endevour by Sophia Nash

Best Short Historical Romance – A Wanted Man by Susan Kay Law

Best Long Historical Romance – Shadow Heart by Laura Kinsale

Best Novel With Strong Romantic Elements – A.K.A. Goddess by Evelyn Vaughn

Best Romantic Suspense – Have You Seen Her? by Karen Rose

Best Paranormal Romance – Blue Moon by Lori Handeland

Best Contemporary Single Title Romance – Bet Me by Jennifer Crusie

I’m sitting at my critique partner’s laptop frantically typing up what’s happened this week at the Romance Writers of America conference since in thirty minutes I have a workshop with the fan-tabulous Patti Berg called NO PLOTTERS ALLOWED . . .

This is my first RWA conference and I’ve had a blast. I can’t wait until Atlanta!

I came up Tuesday night with Karin Tabke, one of the new erotic romance authors for Kensington and Pocket. She floored her hubby’s suburban up the mountain — we live only two hours from Reno. We barely had time for a margarita and snack before heading off the the Kiss of Death dinner/meeting. KOD is the RWA chapter for romantic suspense writers.

I met my on-line critique group for the first time, which was a TOTAL BLAST! Then, we heard Jennifer Crusie and Bob Maher speak on their collaberation for their new romantic thriller — I was ready to whip out my credit card and buy the book then, but it’s not out until NEXT YEAR! Not fair, but it’s definitely on my MUST BUY list.

Jennifer and Bob were so funny that if you have a chance to hear them speak, do it. They have a companionship and program that works well–I had more fun there then any other night.

Then I went to the craps table and won $200. That was fun.

Wednesday I really can’t remember much of what I did. I wasn’t drunk, I promise. But I was tired. The cool thing was that I met so many people I knew from on-line groups. I LOVED IT!! I loved putting a face to a name, and I hope I can remember everyone! Then I went to the literacy signing and had a blast. I spent way too much money on books, but I did stand in Nora Roberts line to have her sign my hardcover copy of ORIGIN IN DEATH. No one really was talking to her, so I chatted and probably totally embarrassed myself, but she smiled and was completely gracious and I love her even more now. I also met some other totally cool authors including Gayle Wilson, Kerrelyn Sparks, Patricia Rice, and many more that I can’t remember (until I go back to my hotel room and look at the huge stack of books I bought and now have to read!!!!)

I also got to meet my agent for the first time Wednesday night, which was cool. Oh, and I won Kathleen O’Reilly’s new book at the chicklit party and can now take it off my BN.com wish list. (whew! I was maxed out)

Thursday I was swamped. I met my editor for the first time and loved her. I liked talking to her on the phone, but there’s something about meeting someone face-to-face that makes the entire relationship more comfortable. The luncheon speaker was Debbie Macomber. OMG, I love her. Love her. She made me cry. I repeated the story she told about her daughter being proud of her (before she was published) with my own mom, and I started crying just repeating the story. Then I told Patti Berg the story and started crying again. And I’m not that weepy of a person!!!

If you ever get a chance to hear Debbie Macomber, do it. You won’t regret it.

Okay, so now I’m getting into the groove of things. I know which area everyone hangs out. I know what’s going on.

Thursday night was also my agency party (fun, good food, got to meet a bunch of cooler-than-me authors); I had the Kiss of Death awards Death by Chocolate party (yum).

Friday was the Ballantine authors signing. I can’t sign yet (no printed books), but I got to meet some fabulous authors who I have admired for a long time. I only hope I can be half as gracious and wonderful storytellers as all of them.

I had a workshop on Friday, lunch, yadayadayada. Now it’s Saturday and I had a workshop this morning on THE CALL! NOW WHAT? which I thought went well. I met with my agent to talk about my future. And wow, she’s a real person too and not a voice at the end of a fiberoptic cable.

Okay, so this is all very boring, right? I will say that if you are a writer, there is no better place to be than RWA. If you are a reader, there’s no better place to meet authors except at the literacy signing. It was open to the public and I met people who don’t write, but love books. Real readers. They were as interesting as any writer I know, and I particularly remember one twenty-something woman who waited in line with her mother to get Nora Roberts signature. She was a gracious fan, and I had so much fun talking to them.

Which reminds me that conferences are fun and valuable; meeting people can help your career; going to workshops can help your writing. But as a writer, the best time I spent was talking to readers who took the time to share with me why they love books.

That’s what it’s all about. As Jennifer Crusie says, “Write the good book.” There are readers out there who want them.

Signing off from Reno . . .

*Editors’ Note:
Stay tuned for GH and Rita winners to be posted here as they are announced!

When it comes to books, my sister very definitely does not allow me to help her take advantage of the huge range of books in my shelves. Every time I hand Luli a book and tell her she’ll love it, the first thing she does is give me a suspicious look.

“No paranormal in it, is there?”

“No, no, I know you don’t…”

“Because you know I don’t like woo-woo stuff”

“Yes, I know you don’t like woo-woo stuff”

“And the hero isn’t a secret agent, is he? Or a cop? Or a secret agent cop? Because you know I don’t…”

“I know you don’t.”

…and on and on it goes. To be fair, she does have reason for this. My worst bomb ever of a recommendation was when I convinced Luli that she shouldn’t take Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban when she backpacked for a month in Europe.

Oh, no, I said, she’d finish it in her first train ride and then where would she be? Facing hours and hours of travel with nothing to read, that’s where. So I talked her into taking Bill Bryson’s Made in America, a book I’d adored, reasoning that, while it was wonderfully funny and easy to read, it wasn’t a page-turner and would last her for some time.

Well, when she gets angry at me, she still likes to remind me of the fact that she absolutely detested it and almost threw it out the window of the train 100 times. There she was, facing hours and hours of travel with nothing to read and with her backpack made a few pounds heavier by “an absolute bore of a book”.

To be fair, who am I to begrudge her the fact that she prefers not to take chances with the scarce reading time she has? If she prefers to stick to tried-and-true biggie authors like Jayne Ann Krentz, Nora Roberts, Susan Elizabeth Phillips and Linda Howard, well, at least she gets exactly what she’s looking for.

It’s just that…. it’s such a waste! There I am, with yards and yards of shelves of good books, many of them great books, even, and still, 90% of them, Luli won’t touch with a 10-foot pole.

I do keep trying to get her to read more widely, though, and I succeed in sneaking in a couple of those shunned books every now and then. And thanks to Nora’s incursions into woo-woo (*cough*Key Trilogy*cough*), I think we’re close to dropping that line from our questionnaire!

Now, if only I could manage to convince Luli that because Nora is, in fact, J.D. Robb, she actually might like those “horribly futuristic” In Deaths…

Coming up next month: On Being a Book Pimp Part II: Book Pimp Rejoices…

I want to talk about sex.

Actually, I don’t. I just thought it was a great opening line.

Recently, I read an article in the RWR about sexual tension and intimacy. I could tell the author did her research. There it was in black and white. The way to a girl’s heart is through her….? Wait a minute. That’s not her heart at all. What *are* you doing with that zipper? Why are you making eye contact so deliberately and with such obvious intentions?

When you’re in a relationship, what’s it about? Is it about the sex? Okay, maybe sometimes, when we’re really honest with ourselves it might be. But what happens after the adventure of being with someone new wears off? Are you looking for something that’s more than just the right dinner at the right restaurant with the right moves that lead to being tangled up in the right satin sheets? Something with substance. Something that might survive when things aren’t going right and you’re not in sync. Are you looking for the one, or a hot night on the town?

Don’t get me wrong. A steamy scene or six doesn’t necessarily mean the book is lacking. Far from it. Why, I remember a particular scene that simply transfixed me when I read it in the back room on a Waldenbooks break. I have to be honest, though. I’m not sure I could tell you what book that was, or who wrote it. It’s in there somewhere, and perhaps at 3:00 in the AM I’ll suddenly recall it, but I can’t just pull it to mind. Because the books that have stayed with me — the ones that I can remember clearly, left me with more than that when I was done with them. You don’t remember a story for the great “sexual moments” (okay, let’s hope they’re longer than that!) — you remember the great romantic moments…

“As you wish.”

“When you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.”

“Kiss me. Kiss me as if it were the last time.”

“There are millions of people in this world. But in the end, it all comes down to one.”

If you’re into romantic movies, you probably recognize at least one of those lines (and if you don’t, you might just be messin’ with the wrong genre). And the whole wealth of the story they stand for is represented within them. Because those are stories that have it all. Call it chemistry. Call it tension. Call it what you will. But that is what resonates. It’s a sizzle that is bigger, better, and more satisfying than just sex.

As an agent, I have the opportunity to see a number of letters, proposals, and manuscripts every week from hopeful writers in many genres, among them romance. And within romance, I have to admit I’m an equal opportunity hunter for the right books. I represent inspirationals, traditional regencies, historicals, contemporaries, romantic suspense; everything from Blaze to Steeple Hill to Next. Like many readers, I suspect that I’m often in different moods when I approach the bookshelf. Maybe I’m after something sweet. Or uplifting. Perhaps something dangerous. Sometimes something that just sets the pages on fire, it’s so hot. But each and every one of those has to have that sense of ebb and flow between the characters. Without that, the novel won’t have that lasting impact. No matter how great the sex scene might be. And in my experience of reading all those pages from the potential romance writers of the future, it’s the hardest thing to get right. And the reason I most often reject something.

Maybe it’s all semantics. Maybe I’m nitpicking, here. Am I the only one who sees a difference between sexual tension and romantic tension and what they accomplish in the story? Where do you stand?

This summer, I’ve been blessed with what I like to call, “reading opportunities.” These are times when I am “forced” to do nothing but read. Plane trips, vacations, train rides, and yes, sitting at my daughter’s swim practice. Every day, I trudge off like a good, beaten-down mother, book bag packed, wearily wiping the sweat from my brow.

“It’s okay, honey. I’ll take her,” I tell my husband with a heavy sigh, shoulders slumping as I shuffle off to my car. I carefully camouflage the tell-tale spasm in my step, and until finally, Tigger-like, the bounce must burst forth and I bound for the car.

I’m free… For two glorious hours, I have nothing to do but read. So far this summer, I’ve read Wacky Chicks (fun, but I think the author is more interesting than his subjects), Good Grief (another good read, although the ending disappointed me), and of course, the tome to end all tomes — HP6.

Like most of the Free World, I embarked on the phenomenon of reading the further adventures of the World’s Most Treasured Pubescent Boy Wizard. Each day I would carry the book in my arm and something peculiar began to happen. Complete strangers would talk to me. Adult strangers mostly. Male and female alike. Now, I’m a person with natural barriers; I know it — I’m terribly shy. I might make eye contact and smile, but it’s a cheerful, “Please Keep Your Distance” smile. It staggered me that so many people made the effort to break through those barriers with a simple. “I read it last week.” Or “What do you think so far?”

This made me ponder. What is it about a shared reading experience that conquers borders of sex, race, ethnicity, age, and religion? If you look at the boards on AAR, or Romantic Times, you’ll find message after message of book recommendations. Some are just a single line, one lonely scarf waving flirtatiously in the breeze with nary a response, and some are page-long me-too-isms. Every now and then, someone pipes up with a disagreement, only to be shushed whack-a-mole style and no one else disagrees anymore, lest they be shamed by the masses as well. Book recs are the rocker on my front porch where I sit and read about what the world is reading as well. I love browsing the boards, seeing what people are devouring, making mental notes for my next bookstore run. It’s a secret society and only book-lovers know the password. With Harry Potter, the word got out, and 6.9 million people spent July 17-20 reading the exact same pages, sighing at the same kiss, crying at the same Scene Which Shall Not Be Named. What sort of miracle inspires such a coming-together? Only a book.

Books inspire passion within us, they make us dream, imagine, live a life of a Regency miss, a beauty queen, a boy wizard, or even a grief-stricken widow. It continues to astound me that in a world where movies reign supreme, where couch-potato is not a vegetable, and where iPodded earlobes bob down the streets, that a mere book still manages to create excitement. I used to think that wars should be decided by a chess match. Now I’m thinking we should just make the terrorists read Harry Potter.

Sadly, swim practice is almost over, but I’ve got a plane trip coming up, and then some more “reading opportunities” for my vacation. What are the books you’ve read recently that you’d like to recommend? Pull up a chair, take a load off, I’ll make some lemonade.

Only a book.

Question of the day: If you call a corn cob a twinkie, is it really a twinkie? Will it then taste like a twinkie?

I’m rather easily amused, and the last several weeks of blog hopping have definitely not disappointed. Ask anyone in the romance world, perhaps the two hottest topics right now are the definition of romance and erotica, romantica, erotic romance. (whatever you prefer to call it) I won’t, however, call it porn, despite many objections to the contrary.

Why won’t I call it porn? Well, because it isn’t. Simple enough. If you want to see an example of porn, go to any XXX rated movie rental place, pick up a few titles and tune into real porn. Heck, I don’t even write erotic romance, and I’m rolling my eyes at the comparisons.

It’s an old subject. One that’s been nearly beat to death, and yet it won’t die. Why? Because for whatever reason, people who don’t and won’t ever read the genre strongly object to it, and because we have become a society that is all about our preferences and rights trumping others, it makes sense to them to prevent other people from reading and enjoying the genre.

The solution is so very simple. If you don’t like it, are offended by it, don’t read it. No one is forcing you to buy erotic romances. But don’t try to prevent me from reading one just because your delicate constitution shudders at the thought. And don’t make arrogant assumptions about why others read them.

Then we arrive at the RWA and their attempt to redefine the definition of romance. To me this is like herding cats. I don’t know about you, but when I started reading romance, I didn’t know or give a flying flip who the RWA was nor did I care what they labeled romance and what they said wasn’t romance.

Tell me, if the RWA decided tomorrow that your favorite author or favorite romance genre wasn’t “really” romance, would it make a difference to you? Would you drop the book in shocked horror and refuse to ever read anything that wasn’t romance again? I’m thinking probably not.

The average reader doesn’t even know who or what the RWA IS. I know I didn’t until I started writing. So the idea of this organization single handedly deciding what is or isn’t romance, seems rather absurd. Shouldn’t the reader decide? Don’t they decide every day with their hard earned dollars? Somehow I don’t see them scouring the bookshelves for the RWA stamp of approval before they commit to buying a novel.

For that matter, it seems to me that no one is asking the important factor what they think. The reader. It’s debated ad nauseum between the authors of various genres. They argue, snipe, publicly trash, and skewer authors of those books, but no one’s asking the people who buy said books what they think.

So, I’m asking, dear readers. What do you make of all the hoopla? Do you think calling erotic romance porn makes it porn? Do you care whether the RWA might deem the book you’re reading now “not a romance,” and will it make a difference in your buying habits? And if you don’t read or care for erotic romance, are you of the opinion it should be run out of the genre on a rail?

It’s no secret that Margaret Mitchell wrote in a haphazard fashion, writing the final chapter of Gone With the Wind first. When she sold her manuscript, it actually had no first chapter at all, and when she finally got around to writing that, she rewrote it several times. Even so, she was evidently never quite satisfied with it.

As a writer myself, I can understand Mitchell’s determination to try to get that first chapter just right, because a book’s opening is all important. Why? Because if you don’t hook an editor with your opening paragraphs, you’re usually not going to sell that editor your manuscript, and if your opening paragraphs don’t appeal to readers, they usually aren’t going to buy your book, either.

A while back, Alison Kent ran a contest on her blog, during which she posted a novel’s opening paragraphs, which she greatly admires:

The city sweltered.

Monsoon clouds, pregnant with rain, growled and grunted across a swollen
pewter sky. The dome of afternoon pressed down on the earth like a soggy
blanket, trapping the oppressive humidity and laying low even the most
fortitudinous, their bodies robbed of energy and their minds of will. Slashing
across the city, the river Hooghly crawled as if on leaden feet, waiting for the
gales that would whip it along and relieve it of its torpor. Not a leaf moved, not a
dust devil stirred; but in the very stillness there was promise. When the storm did
break it would bring with it blessed coolness and once again the earth would
breathe.

But in the meantime, Calcutta sweltered.

Because I greatly admire those opening paragraphs, too, I recognized them the moment I saw them on Alison’s blog. They’re from Rebecca Ryman’s Olivia and Jai—and they’re what persuaded me to hand over my money for a hardback copy of what was Ryman’s first book.

Right now, I’m rereading one of my favorite novels, and as I began it, I was struck anew by how much its own opening paragraphs also appeal to me:

The sky was low and white and windless and by the time the body was found the jackals and the vultures had already found it too, so there was far less of a body than there had been once before, but one thing about it was clear and that was that it was white.

The whiteness might not be very unusual someplace else. Here on the far
shore of the Jumna River where the Taj Mahal lies one hundred miles to the
south, the Himalayas are some hundreds to the north, and but a few miles to the
east is India Gate, the center of the city, and the boulevard made of deep red sand
called the Road of Kings, it was.

On the Road real kings and queens of the English sort and less real kings
of the Indian sort have traveled in their day, horses and elephants, low-backed cars
and probably even on foot, staff in hand, but the far shores of Jumna River was
not a place for kings or, really, anyone.

I went there just to see it. The squalor stretched for miles. Even the fields
were dirty, full of refuse and hard dry earth, this all Delhi too, same as the Road of
Kings. But out here, nothing seemed alive, not in summertime, and it was hard to
believe any of this would ever regenerate.

Does anyone recognize those opening paragraphs? They’re from Lacey Fosburgh’s India Gate, and although at the time I bought the book, I was unfamiliar with Fosburgh and her work, they’re also what persuaded me to buy a hardback copy of India Gate.

Since, sheerly coincidentally, the above two examples happen to come from novels set in India, I’ll stick with that theme:

Ashton Hilary Akbar Pelham-Martyn was born in a camp near the crest of a pass
in the Himalayas, and subsequently christened in a patent canvas bucket.

His first cry competed manfully with the snarling call of a leopard on the
hillside below, and his first breath had been a lungful of the cold air that blew
down from the far rampart of the mountains, bringing with it a clean scent of
snow and pine-needles to thin the reek of hot lamp-oil, the smell of blood and
sweat, and the pungent odour of pack-ponies.

Isobel had shivered as the icy draught lifted the tent-flap and swayed the
flame in the smoke-grimed hurricane lamp, and listening to her son’s lusty cries
had said weakly: “He doesn’t sound like a premature baby, does he? I suppose
I—I must have—miscalculated…”

She had: and it was a miscalculation that was to cost her dear. There are
few of us, after all, who are called upon to pay for such errors with our lives.

How about those opening paragraphs? Does anyone recognize them? They’re from M. M. Kaye’s The Far Pavilions, and like the first two examples, they’re what persuaded me to invest in a hardback copy, consisting of two volumes, no less, of The Far Pavilions when, at the time, I’d never heard of Kaye, either.

Believe it or not, India hadn’t ever particularly been my first choice for a place setting. But these three romantic novels gave me a deep appreciation for it. But had their opening paragraphs not drawn me in as a reader while I was standing there in the bookstore, I wouldn’t ever have bought these three books, because I didn’t know anything about their authors then.

From these examples, you can see one of the types of opening paragraphs that appeal to me as a reader. What about you? What hooks you on a novel? What opening paragraphs, if any, have stayed in your own mind over the years, so that you would recognize them anywhere?

I know how you feel. I’ve been Left Behind, too. It sucks. Everyone is at the Romance Writers of America conference but MEEEEEEEE!! I feel your pain.

In 1992, I was a brand new writer. I didn’t even know that there was a conference until I finally got up the nerve, after writing my third manuscript, to join RWA. I went to my first RWA chapter meeting. Everyone asked me, “Are you entering the Golden Heart?” WHAT? What was that? A contest, they told me. An important one. You could sell if you won!! But, but, but. I was so baffled. Why would you enter a contest to sell? Wasn’t mailing a manuscript to a publishing house a more direct approach? No, no, no, you must enter the Golden Heart! Well, I didn’t. That didn’t make much sense to me. What if I didn’t final? And winning was no guarantee. I mean, you got a necklace, for sure. But everything else was up in the air. If I wanted a necklace, I’d buy one. I knew my way to the post office. I knew how to buy stamps. Golden Heart, Schmolden Heart. Then the next wave of excitement at these baffling chapter meetings was–pitch!!! We must prepare the pitch!!! What pitch? I asked, baffled again. “You have to go to the conference and pitch your book so you can sell!!!” I was told. Wasn’t mailing a manuscript to a publishing house a more direct approach? No, no, no, you must go to the conference and pitch!! Oh, well. I wasn’t going to that conference any more than I was entering the Golden Heart. I didn’t have all that money to burn and I had a baby hanging onto my mammaries. I knew where the post office was and how to buy stamps.

And yet the fever caught me. That summer of 1992, I began to bemoan the fact that I hadn’t entered this magic Golden Heart of which they spoke and that I couldn’t attend this fabulous conference and pitch my books. Woe was me. I lived in hot, steamy Texas and I remember that July as if it were yesterday. I had to walk a quarter mile to our mailbox. I walked that long quarter mile every day hoping for news of my submissions. (Hey, I didn’t know they called you with good news, LOL!) I had recently received a revision letter from a publisher on one of my books and I was working non-stop, or as non-stop as you can work with a child attached to your mammaries, on a revised manuscript. I schlepped to the mailbox every day thinking, woe is me, there are people at that bejeweled conference pitching their books!! I’ll never sell!! But I was home and I was writing. I wrote hard that week to make up for not being at that damned conference because unlike everyone else that week, I was not:

*Getting my hair done
*Shopping for new clothes
*Practicing a pitch
*Planning and replanning my schedule
*Packing and repacking
*Painting my nails
*Arranging childcare
*Rushing to a plane and spending a day traveling
*Standing in line at registration
*Sitting around in workshops
*Eating really bad food at the luncheons
*Hurting my feet in high heel shoes
*Waiting endlessly for the elevator
*Fighting about the hotel bill
*Flying back home and recovering

Instead, that week I revised my book and a few months later, it sold. Without ever being Golden Hearted or pitched.

So for those of you who are staying home, I salute you. You are writing this week, and I am not. Yeah, I’m going to go to some really cool parties and see all my friends. I’m going to laugh a lot and be stressed out a lot. I’m going to have more fun with writers than should be legal.

But you. You!! You are going to be writing.

Okay, so RWA is updating their definition of romance. How about you ? Do you have a definition of romance–or mystery–or fantasy? Have you ever picked up a book expecting one thing, only to be disappointed when it was something else? If so, why? What misled you? If not, what do you think keeps you straight?

I have to say I have on occasion started a book expecting it to be a romance and if the hero doesn’t appear by say the middle of the book, I was pretty ticked off. This might have been a completely acceptable book–but it wasn’t what I expected. Kind of like picking up a glass of what you thought was soda only to discover brandy. You may love them both–but the expectation can be a killer.

I have also picked up what was billed as a fantasy or a mystery and at some point had the realization, “Hey, this is a romance.” For some reason that never upsets me as much. Why is that? I think it is strictly a matter of emphasis. Mysteries, fantasies, and women’s fiction can all have romantic elements–even strong romantic elements and still live up to my expectation of the genre. But for me a romance, if billed as one, needs to have a pretty big percentage of the plot dedicated to the romance.

So, for the sake of argument, let’s throw some out there. You be the judge. Romance or something else?

• Gone with the Wind
• Any and all of the Stephanie Plum novels
• Ann of Green Gables novels
• Books by Lois McMaster Bujold

Okay, now movies/TV

• Buffy
• Star Wars (the original)
• Cheers (With Diane)
• The Bachelor
• Shrek

Okay, so what do you think? Why or why not? How about some popular Ellora’s Cave books? Romance or no? If you picked up any of these books with romance stamped on the spine, would you get that soda/brandy reaction? Or would you accept it?

Now the opposite? Can you name books promoted as romance that to you just don’t fit the bill? Why don’t they?

And finally, do you care? Would you be just as happy if all of fiction was lumped in together with no labels? I already said, I like some guidance–am I the only one?

Lori–being lazy this month and making you do all the work.