June 21, 2011

Different Does Not Equal Better

I’m a huge fan of paranormal romance and urban fantasy – including vampires. (No, I’m not tired of them yet. More on that later.) In the past few years bookstores have been flooded with these genres, which is wonderful from a glut myself perspective, but it also tends to mean that the quality suffers. In a weird way, I’m looking forward to the day when my genres are no longer trendy (a day which appears to be coming soon).

The way I understand it, the publishing trend works like a sine wave. Something gets popular, publishers sniff easy(ier) sales, and they (a)start accepting works they wouldn’t have taken in a less popular genre and (b)ask their current writers to write this new popular thing instead of the thing they love to write. (This really happens. I just listened to a long-time published writer at my latest RWA meeting talk about how her genre irrecoverably tanked after her publisher asked all their authors who wrote Regency romances to write Americana instead; turn-of-the-century West Virginia farming country stuff instead of London high society Jane Austen stuff. Of course the Regency writers produced less than stellar books because these two genres have little in common and are aimed at different audiences. Chasing trends equals writing with no spark because you aren’t in love with what you’re writing. Anyway.)  This flood of stories doesn’t mean everything published suddenly sucks (on the contrary, a lot of really awesome things that might not have been given a chance otherwise get published), but it does mean finding the gems gets harder, and you get a lot of stuff that reads really derivative.

And that’s the peak of the sine curve.

Phase two is when sales drop off because people realize they’ve read ten versions of the same story with a different title written by people with less passion for the material. But instead of the quality of the writing, the subject material gets blamed. It’s now “out.” So now publishers are scrambling to find something “different” to sell people. Different, at the moment, being anything paranormal but lacking the words “vampire,” “angel,” or “fairy.”

During this phase you get these weird books in a genre you love that got published because they’re “different.” Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m all over experimenting with new things, and sometimes you discover amazingly creative worlds this way. But I just finished a book (no, I won’t tell you what book) in which I found the heroine annoying, the men jerks, and the concept bizarre and unlikely… but conceptually I’d never seen anything like it before, so props for thinking outside the box. But still I found myself wishing one of those awesome vampire books that I know somebody has written (but keeps getting rejected because it’s got the dreaded V word) would get published so I can read good writing on a subject I enjoy.  I don’t care how many I’ve read. I will always be excited to read a good  vampire, angel, or fairy story. I can never consume enough good writing by somebody who’s in love with the subject, and I think there are a lot of people like me. But we are tired of wading through meh to find that spark. Replacing uninspired writing on a fun subject with uninspired writing on a “new” subject is not an improvement, it’s just different.

And now I fear my favorite genre is sliding into the down phase of the sine curve. I do think we’ve made a big enough dent that at least we’ll stay regular in the market (the idea of my favorite genre irrevocably tanking makes me sad, but I don’t think it’ll come to that… although, seriously, when’s the last time you saw a vampire book on the shelves that wasn’t part of an established series?), but it is time for the “next thing” to happen in the romance world. I’ve heard it’s Contemporary and I’ve heard it’s Romantic Suspense.  I don’t write either of those (though I do enjoy reading RS – if you like it, check out Laura Griffin; she’s kickass). But that’s okay. I will continue writing what I can be passionate about with the best skill I can muster.  I’m willing to branch out, but only if I can do it with passion (you don’t want to read something Americana written by me; trust me). Writing is a business, and I need to be a professional about it. But it’s also an art, and I need to respect that. Finding a way to walk both paths is a challenge worth taking.

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June 10, 2011

Conversations with Ma

I just got back from visiting my grandmother in Ft. Worth, Texas. I love visiting her; we stay up until all hours (first night we turned in around 2:00am, second night we called in early just before 1:00am) talking about all manner of things, like how life is going well or ill and how politics are going wrong (we have yet to talk about how politics are going right, no matter who’s in office), but my absolute favorite talking is regarding our family history.

Ma loves family stories. She’s grew up in a Catholic boarding school and has a ton of her own – silly ones like the time she trapped the Mother Superior and Amon G. Carter in an elevator going up and down between the 1st and 3rd floors of the school, or serious ones like the difficulties she and Pa had finding a restaurant to eat at in New Orleans in the late 1950s when they were traveling with a black woman. (Oddly enough they ended up at a fancy restaurant because it was the only place that would allow Jean to come in and eat – provided she sat at a table adjacent to Ma and Pa with the children. Jean agreed because it meant she’d get to try food she wouldn’t have access to otherwise. Damn, the world has changed for the better.) But Ma also has great stories about my “relations” – like her quietly religious aunt who would go into a closet and yell “shit!” whenever she got angry. When Ma caught her one time, her aunt pulled out her Bible, pointed to it, and said, “Now you show me one place in The Good Book where it says that word isn’t allowed.”

But I got a new story on this trip, this one about my great-great grandfather (or was it great-great-great? I think it was only two greats), Mr. Roebuck.  Mr. Roebuck was a real Texan from the tiny town of Poth. If you asked him where Poth is he’d tell you, “Oh, you know, right near Carnes.” (say “corns” with a Texas accent) as if that explained anything. He had six sons who didn’t finish grade school (they got kicked out of their one-room schoolhouse for fightin’), including PaPa, my great-granddaddy who burned his trash instead of giving it to the city (he never had much), grew his own vegetables, and made the best fudge you’ve never eaten until a year before he died when he had a stroke and they moved him to a nursing home (I remember him fondly).

And Mr. Roebuck’s claim to fame? He once had a drink with Jesse James.  And the story? Well Mr. Roebuck used to drive cattle when he was a young’un, but one time his cattle drive was attacked by Indians. (No disrespect to Native Americans intended here; I fully realize my ancestors “started it.” But apparently your ancestors tried to kill my great-great grandpa, which I do take issue with as I wouldn’t have been born had they been successful. *removing tongue from cheek*) Mr. Roebuck’s fellow cowboys were killed and he was hit in the head with a tomahawk (or some other weapon, Ma wasn’t completely sure) and left to die while the Indians made off with the cattle. So he’s bleeding out from a head wound just above his eyes when a f***ing wagon train happens to come by. A doctor from the wagon train inserted a silver dollar into the cavity in Mr. Roebuck’s skull and sewed it up. My great-great grandfather lived, but until the day he died, he wore a cowboy hat low over his forehead to hide the indention where a silver dollar replaced a chunk of his skull.

I love talking to Ma.

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June 5, 2011

Unholy Ghosts by Stacia Kane = Awesome

Just finished Unholy Ghosts and immediately downloaded the next one in the series. Yes, I’m about a year behind. The stack of books in my To Be Read pile is extraordinary.

I did take special note of this one, however, because I remember the ginormous internet brouhaha over the fact that Chess, the main character, is an unrepentant drug addict and how this deeply bothered some people. Honestly, I worried a little bit that it would bother me. While I would vote for the legalization of many drugs (maybe not ALL drugs) because I generally think what people do in the privacy of their homes is not the government’s business, I do think drugs are dangerous, and, well, “Hi, this is Jane Smith; she’s a drug addict” is not the best way to introduce somebody. So the idea of a heroine who was high for pretty much the entire novel made me curious but didn’t recommend her as a character I would have a ton of sympathy for.

And yet… it worked. The gritty and terrifying world that Kane built is beautifully rendered and makes Chess’s addiction, well, make sense. It goes well with both the plot and the setting. Her addiction isn’t without consequences, but Chess is aware of them, consciously deciding that her high is worth it, and still capable of carrying on a productive life. She’s an adult who’s taking care of herself, good to other people, and making decisions about how  she wants to live her life. Even if I wouldn’t make the same choices she’s making, I can respect that.

It did make me think about, as a writer, what can characters do and still be sympathetic? A large part of why Chess is still sympathetic, is her life (and background) are so rough that I understand why she makes the choices she does. The world she inhabits is dangerous and off-kilter and I might want a bit of oblivion every now and then, too. Plus while she has caused some problems for herself with her addiction, she has yet to choose drugs over people or to screw somebody over because of her need to get high. When she gets to the point where that is happening, my sympathy for her will likely wane.

Anyway, great book. Fabulous world building. I highly recommend it.

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May 20, 2011

A Four Speed Fan and the Virtue of Silence

Today Daryl and I had a discussion on the virtues of not telling people things if it will make life smoother. He told me a story about a friend of his whose boyfriend gets jealous. Daryl was worried about her after an incident last week when the boyfriend saw them “dancing and laughing and howling” on Daryl’s front porch. Girlfriend invited boyfriend to come join them having a good time, but he just sat across the way on his own porch and grumped instead. Daryl asked if she was going to have a rough time because of him, and she told him not to worry about it, but if wanted to come over in the future, “you just wait until that blue car’s gone, then you come knocking whenever.”

Daryl explained to me then the value of not mentioning things to people if it helps a relationship “go smooth” (complete with motion of flat hand cutting straight through the air).

I’m not like this. If I care about somebody, I lay it all out there and I expect them to do the same. That kind of open trust is important to me in any real relationship.To hide something out of fear is to show a lack of faith in our relationship, that we’re not strong enough to handle something more raw and real than a crafted facade of each other.

And so I told Daryl that I have found a husband and friends that I can be open and honest with and things still “go smooth.” He nodded and told me that was good. A little later, he asked me what my friends thought about him.

I had to smile; there was almost a pause when he asked that, which is a chasm of hesitation in Daryl-speak. And I told him that my friends thought he was real cool. He grinned and brushed his hair back with a little comb he keeps in his pocket and told me to share something with all of you, and so here I am:

“You tell them I’m cooler than a four speed fan. I’m cooler than a fan blowing roaring winds at you. That’s me. You tell them I’m a cool black man and I’m cooler than a fan.”

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May 17, 2011

The Human Brain is a Strange Thing (or, mine is anyway)

I recently downloaded the new Nike Training Club ap for my iPhone. I love workout aps because I despise exercising and these aps give me the ability to not think, just follow directions until the blasted workout is over.  And I will say that of the several I’ve tried, NTC might be my favorite for its easy-to-use interface, clear directions, and ability to link in with my iTunes. Plus, you know, free.

Anyway. After every so many total minutes of working out you get “rewards” with little badges. Like after 60 minutes (as in two 30 minute workouts or 4 15 minute workouts or whatever), then at 120min, then at… (they’re big promo is that after 1000 minutes of working out you get the workout they designed for Lea Michelle from Glee.) Each badge comes with a reward, and stupid as it is, I swear to you I made room in my schedule today to work out because I was gonna get my first reward.

Do you know what it was? Recipes for how to make smoothies. I.e. throw fruit in blender, possibly with nuts, yogurt, or vegetables.  Now I am the queen of “throw whatever’s in the fridge together in a pot over heat or over a bed of lettuce and call it a meal.” “Throw things in blender to make smoothie” is not so huge a stretch for me.

But oddly enough? I loved it. Nike taught me how to do something I already was capable of doing, but because they called it a reward, I had fun looking at the pretty pictures and am excited about going to the grocery store to buy fruit. Not that I’ll likely follow their recipes, but that’s not the point. I worked out (twice!) and I HATE working out, and Nike said, “Go you! You deserve a reward!”

Works for me! I’m looking forward to my 120 minute reward. All I gotta do is 2 more workouts! Maybe this time they’ll teach me how to make a salad (buy roasted chicken; put on bed of field greens with hearts of palm and salsa instead of salad dressing.)

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