And They Lived Horribly Ever After

A Guest Post by Coral Moore

You probably don’t know me. My name is Coral and I’m a speculative fiction writer. At first glance, my fantastical fiction and Anne Holly’s contemporary romance don’t seem to have much in common. You might even wonder what I’m doing here, on a very romance-y blog. The answer is pretty simple—I love romantic storylines. I do have a couple of problems with the way romance is expected to be these days, though. I don’t subscribe to the theory that a story has to fit into a mold to be fulfilling, which is why I’ve hesitated to label my books that way. After a few late-night conversations with Anne regarding the formulaic nature of much of today’s commercial fiction, I know it’s a matter she has some interest in as well, so I decided to write a little something about romances that don’t follow the “type” and why they are still worthwhile.

I’m going to back way up for a moment and start with a classic, just to offer a bit of foundation for my claim. Romeo and Juliet is not a romance by today’s standards. Though the plot is driven by the central relationship, there is no happy ending. I would argue that since the budding relationship reaches a logical conclusion—even though the resolution is a tragic one—the story should still be considered a romance. The play is entirely about their love and how it shapes the world around them. It’s a love story, in the purest sense, yet it would never be labeled a romance now.

Why is the romance genre the only one so handicapped by the reliance on happy endings? If a science fiction story has a tragic ending, no one suggests that it belongs in a different genre. No one would have told Bradbury, “We only allow happy endings on alien planets here, move along now,” and thank goodness because the darkness of his stories is part of what makes them so good. Don’t get me wrong, I love a happy ending. I just don’t think it should be required for the genre because knowing how the story is going to end diffuses some of the tension for me. The most poignant love stories teeter at the edge of loss, and without the chance that things won’t work out, that potential for tragedy is gone.

My favorite stories are the darkest ones. I’ve always preferred them, probably because so much of my early reading was horror. If I can’t believe something terrible might happen as a result of the conflict, there isn’t much point to reading the story in my opinion. Let’s use Harry Potter as an example (Spoiler Alert: Though I can’t imagine there’s anyone who doesn’t know the basic plot of the stories out there). Until more than halfway through the series there really isn’t much fear about the consequences. Though the situation is purported to be dire, there’s no immediate sense that something awful could happen. Our heroes will just keep beating the bad guys, skipping along merrily at the end. Cedric’s death changes everything. Once we know that someone important could die as a result of what’s going on, the tone of the stories turns more urgent.

Though my stories are heavily romantic, I don’t like to label them as romances because I want there to be doubt and darkness at the base of them. When my heroine walks away from the hero, I want you to believe she might not come back. When the hero tells the heroine that she should leave or something awful might happen, I want you to believe the terrible is possible. That just can’t happen while writing under the strictures of modern-day romance, so what’s an author to do?

My newest release is Elements of Rebellion. I’ve waffled back and forth on how to label this story, basically since I finished writing it. I settled on Dark Fantasy Romance, but I’m still not sure if that’s truly where it belongs. Part of me still clings to the idea that the tension is somehow less if the reader goes into it knowing there is a happy ending.I’m sure there are dissenting opinions on this subject, and I welcome your attempts to convince me that every romance should end happily in the comments. If you’d like to have a more prolonged discussion, I invite you to come find me on Twitter, Goodreads or my blog. I might even give you a copy of my not-romance for your trouble.

~*~

Elements of Rebellion

Coral Moore

After spending most of her life an unwilling captive in a brothel, Sindari is sold to Lord Devin, a man with a reputation for unspeakable cruelty. In the arms of this man who must pretend he cares nothing for her, Sindari finds compassion, making the journey through her barren homeland all the more perilous. Along the way she discovers she can channel elemental forces that compliment Devin’s ability to manipulate fire.

Harnessing this power, she battles the Dominion, an unrelenting foe that has broken the spirit of the Eldari people through twenty years of savagery. Trapped by the brutal empire that has enslaved millions, Sindari and Devin fight against hopeless odds.

Genre: Fantasy
Length: 85,000
Warnings: Graphic Violence and Sexual Situations
Written for NaNoWriMo 2010.

HEA Forever?

Ah, the HEA - "happily ever after." According to the Romance Writers of America, this is a cornerstone of romance. They define a romance novel by its:

"...emotionally satisfying and optimistic ending."

When most people, including myself, refer to "romance novel," this is part of the idea. No matter what happens, you know there will be an HEA at the end. There's a certain R&R aspect to knowing how a book will end, and that it will end happily. This is part of why romances are such a good pastime for busy people. One can settle into it like a warm bath, and embrace the familiarity of it all.

But where, then, do we place non-HEA romance? Is there such a thing? I believe there is. I've read a number of books that I consider romances, yet which don't end happily. Romeo and Juliet, anyone? How many lovers has Nicholas Sparks killed off? Yes, I believe they exist. I know they do. Granted, people who want HEA might not like these romances as much, but I don't think that negates them as romances; they're just a different sort. In film studies, they are often called "melodramas," to distinguish them from "romantic comedies." "Romantic lit," maybe, instead of "genre romance", for our purposes?

Needless to say, I have nothing against HEA, and certainly nothing against traditional romance novels, as anyone who's familiar with this blog knows. Heck, all my books so far have been HEA or at least Happy For Now. (Oh no! Did I just **SPOILER** my entire opus there?)

However, I'm now working on a few projects where I don't know if they will end happily, especially in terms of any relationships therein. I can't guarantee the required HEA with those books, so I've already come to terms with the fact that I will be publishing them as non-romances, even though some of them have romantic aspects or even love stories. Romantic elements, yes. But the HEAs are iffy at best, if HEA allows only for coupling, and not for character development and triumph over adversity. (I.e., if "getting your man" is the only form of happy ending, it's not likely going to happen here.)

Will readers feel ripped off if they perceive me as a "romance writer," and I don't deliver? This is a worry I have, but I'm moving past it. I've decided not to split myself off into a new pen name for these books. I might shift/update some of my "image", but I will be keeping this name for these works. They will still be My Books, and they feel as much a part of me as my romances. I'm disinclined to exile them. Nor can I just shelve everything non-romance, because that wouldn't be satisfying for me.

It's time to test run the whole "brand the writer, not the books" theory of author marketing, I guess. I believe readers are savvy enough to handle this, and I'm okay if my "romance purity" cred slips because of these expansions.

This month, however, my distance from "romance" seems to have grown, somewhat against my will.

The HEA issue has been brought to the forefront in recent weeks due to some new rulings by RWA. As far as I know, RWA has long held that the HEA is definitive of romance as a genre. However, it did have an awards category for works containing a "strong romantic element," which basically means they aren't "traditional romances," but do have enough romance in them to be applicable to their awards and their common readership. Recently, RWA announced that this category would be gone as of 2014. Then, according to reports, they took the further move to clarify that those writers who do not write what they consider to be "real romance" (including HEA) are only eligible for associate membership, at most, leaving them either paying for membership without voting rights, or, well, leaving altogether.

In short, if you don't write romance-focused fiction, with a HEA romance between main characters as your "A Plot", you are not a romance writer, and are therefore ineligible. Oh well, it's their org, and their rules, so it's fair enough.

All it is means to me is that I guess I will never be a member of RWA now.

There have been several reasons why I've been reluctant to part with the money it takes to join RWA, so this is just the "case closed" seal. Other issues I've had included the absence of a convenient local chapter (one of the main things many RWA members love about membership), their stance on ebooks (though I gather that's changing) and non-advance paying publishers, and on erotica, and their often problematic views on LGTBQ fiction (I don't write LGTBQ fiction at present, but I stand with them on issues of equity). The likelihood I would ever attend their annual national shindig is basically nil, as well. It's always seemed to me that it's really an organization for traditional publishing, with agents and advances, and regular category romance through Big Publishers. There's nothing wrong with that, if that's what you want and where you are heading, but it's not me or my career, and I get plenty of contact with other writers through different means, particularly social media and forums. Why pay steadily increasing dues if I'm not sure it's right for me?

Honestly, I simply resist paying and joining groups unless I feel an affinity with them, and I've not felt affinity with RWA. Now the HEA thing just makes that possibility even more remote. I'm not heartbroken, though RWA was one of those benchmarks I held in mind when I first pictured myself as a romance writer. I've just come to face reality and change, that's all.

So, long story short - with my previous books, you will get an HEA (or HFN, "happily for now"), and I love that. With some of my future books, you might still get an HEA/HFN, when I return to romances. In the meantime, there will be some books that trip out of the genre, and might not be HEA or even HFN.

What was Marge Simpson's line? "It's an ending. That's enough."

And I'm okay with that. I hope you will be, too.

This is not "Goodbye to Romance." It's just a big Hello to other things, as well. But, I do believe it is goodbye to RWA, which I never really said hello to to begin with.

In Praise of “Wounded Hero” Romance

A Guest Post by Ruth Madison, author of (W)hole.

Why do we read romance novels? It’s a huge market and yet not many people admit to reading them. They are a guilty pleasure. I think because we’re afraid people will think we’re dumb or naive for enjoying the unrealistic and overly romantic notions of love in these books. Yet even the most grounded of us seem to get something deeply satisfying from sappy stories of true love and people finding the perfect partner for them.

These books are pure fantasy. They are what we wish love would be and I know I’m always embarrassed to be caught reading them, fearing that people will think I’m “simple” enough to believe that this is how love works.

Yet reading about people falling in love and being happy satisfies a very deep part of our psyches. Some of the joy of the experience is reading about men that we would find powerfully attractive in real life. We can imagine ourselves as the heroine in the story and can feel that love we want when we see the characters getting closer.

There are legions of different romance genre niches because there are so many different kinds of men that we all find attractive. There are some things that are so nearly universal that we don’t think about it. Historical romances with their gentlemanly, charming, aloof heroes. Western romances with their tough cowboys who are hiding vulnerable hearts. Contemporary romances with their slick business men. These archetypes call to something inside of us and being connected to the heroine who tames these men feels great.

Some of us have unusual attractions, though. What happens when your ideal man, the one that you want to read about finding love, is not physically appealing to the majority of women? We might get dismissed and looked down upon as deviants or fetishists when we enjoy wounded hero romance.

People will get very defensive if caught reading books with heroes who have physical disabilities. They will justify it in all sorts of ways, always making sure to claim that it is not a fetish thing. Well, for me it is. I know why I like these so-called “imperfect” heroes (who, in my opinion are absolutely perfect). They are the men of my fantasies. I will proudly say that I read and I write romances about men who are physically disabled.

Is it because I have the desire to have power over men? Is it because I’m afraid of men and want to dominate and control them? No. There are other romance genres for that. I’m interested in strong men who are dealing with the unique challenges of disability. They have to examine and think about how they define themselves as men, since the world wants to desexualize them and tell them that they are less manly because of their impairments. I enjoy seeing men fight back against that stereotype.

Not all people who enjoy these books are like me. Some may also enjoy these romances just to see a different kind of hero. The term “imperfect” hero came about, I believe, because some people were tired of reading about men who were completely and utterly perfect in every way with no vulnerability, no flaws, no humanity. The muscled guy who went to Harvard and was on the rowing team and now makes billions of dollars and still has perfect abs is not my kind of hero.

However, there are sensitive issues that writing about people who have disabilities brings up and how can I, as an author, stay sensitive to them? Am I just stereotyping them in a different way? Am I using someone’s real life struggles for my own pleasure? Is making the people I am attracted to into romance heroes a disservice to them?

No one seems to worry about the feelings of the men stereotyped in other genre romances. We read books with naked male torsos on the cover where you can’t even see the faces of these men. No one says that we’re being insensitive to these men. What makes disability different?

Part of it is that with disability there is the sense that these people need protecting. They need to be saved from being the fantasy of people like me. This is a way that non-disabled people infantilize adults who have disabilities. But there’s also a very real reason wounded hero romance is different.

In real life the traditionally attractive guy doesn’t have negative experiences connected with that. He is pretty much on top of the world. Disability brings a lot of other social issues with it connected to being a marginalized group.

The important thing, to me, is that the authors who write wounded hero romance books must be well versed in disability issues and civil rights. They must study and research and know the dangers of how people with disabilities are often portrayed badly by non-disabled writers. As an author of wounded hero romance, I have a responsibility to portray the disabled characters in ways that will not harm the overall fight for equal rights that people who have physical disabilities are currently fighting in real life.

So, I say, let’s enjoy our fantasies and never be ashamed of what kind of guys we find appealing, but also remember that the men we dream about have real lives and deserve our respect both in life and on the page.

Please visit Ruth at her website.

Female Shifters: The Rarest of Beasts

I say rare, but not totally absent, mind. There have been some very good, popular books featuring women who turn into various werecreatures. However, it is my impression this is relatively uncommon.

Why would this be? Why do the dudes get all the shifting fun?

It has occurred to me that the practicality of this is that books are seldom written from the shifter's POV. We writers like to place the book through the eyes of the "normal" character, thereby allowing the reader to experience the story though relate-able eyes. Like the reader, the normal character is thrown into a situation that is outside his or her everyday life, and this makes it easier to reveal the details of the book's world. It also allows for an element of surprise, fear and occasional frailty, which wouldn't be as easy to achieve through the eyes of a powerful shifter.

Similarly, most romance, paranormal-romance or erotic-romances are largely told through the female character's POV. Hence, the predominant use of male shifters, from a practical angle, I think.

However, there is a cultural reason, as well. First, that very frailty authors like to explore are simply more acceptable in a female character. As a society, we are more comfortable with the male being the powerful being, for right or wrong. Often, we are intolerant of fictional males weaker than the females they love, and are less jarred by the reverse, regardless of how well this mirrors reality. Further, there is a psycho-sexual dimension to this - female readers (the target audience) are believed to be drawn to strong males, and not to weaker males. The description of a dark, mysterious male shifter with the power to both love and kill them is meant to tap into the ultimate in alphamale desire.

Hence, the relative scarcity of female shifters, I think.

In writing my new WIP, I have been struggling with these things, and how to balance the needs of the story with the expectations of the audience.

However, I do believe there is room for more female shifters. I am a female, who loves to read romance, and I find the presence of an extremely strong female character quite alluring, especially if there are other factors that balance out the power dynamics between the male and female leads. I will just have to hope there are enough people out there that feel likewise!

So, that is something I've been thinking about lately as I write and read.

***
Please, feel free to comment and suggest female shifter romances below!

University Romance

Most of us in the romance world, readers and writers, are used to the contemporary subgenre "Small Town Romance." Other specific tropes include, "Military Romance," "Alphamale Romance," "Secret Baby," "Urban Romance," "Western Romance," etc. These are sort of categories within the subgenre of contemporary romance. These little labels or handles act as little clues to savvy readers as to what they might expect from the story - certain character types, plots or settings, for example, or a particular "feeling" to the book.

Small Town Romances, for instance, will likely be contemporary romances set in a small town, involving regular people with jobs and normal lives, often with kids and money troubles (vastly different from categories like "Billionaire Mistress" romances). The pace is often slower, cozier, with some sensuality and a lot of heart.

The novel I completed for NaNoWri 2010, currently entitled Textbook Romance, could qualify as a "Small Town Romance," since it technically takes place in a small town in Ohio. But that doesn't really describe it. It's more of what I am now thinking of "University Romance." (I would call it "Campus Romance," but that seems to imply YA or naughty co-eds in my mind.)

In Textbook Romance, a professor who is up for tenure accidentally falls for one of her mature students, which is not only a professional faux pas, but is made even more awkward for her by the fact that her academic rep has been all about revealing how the downfall of society stems from notions of "romance."

The book is largely defined by its university setting; it takes place within that environment, involves stock characters from that world, and much of the conflict comes from the academic profession. That is not to say it is inaccessible to non-academics, I think. Much of the career-related angst is relate-able to many trades (i.e., getting a promotion, impressing the bosses, holding on to your image), and everything is simplified and/or explained as needed. Being a teacher at a university, myself, I inhabit this world in my real life, so this allows me to translate this to the page without much stress.

However, since this isn't a "big category," as readily recognizable as "Christmas Romance," or "Single Father," I'm concerned how well it will be received by acquisition editors. As the book does its rounds to the publishers, I am crossing my fingers, but I know it might be a bit of a long-shot. Perhaps readers don't want to think about profs getting it on? But, maybe they do.

Could this be my new niche category? Probably not. I can't see it becoming the next big thing, and I'm not sure I'd want to do it over and over. However, it was great to write about "my world," and bring my two intellectual loves (romance and academics) together in the same book. Contrary to popular misconceptions, there are a lot of academic types who enjoy romance.

It's about time that the Ivory Tower gets a little red roses and violin, too, right?

Editing Demon #2: "Head Hopping"

This is the second of my series of three deep-dark-confessions about my editing weaknesses. These are the major issues that I am always working on throughout every story, and for which I have to make specific editing rounds. The theme this week is editing, because I just spent two weeks in editing/re-writing Hades with ye old NaNo manuscript, which is now off to the initial betareaders (see more about betareaders here next week).

The second is a tendency to "head hop."

Definition: "Head Hopping" is a term used by book folk, editors, writers and reviewers to refer to unexplained and confusing shifts in POV during a scene. I.e., chapter starts in the hero's POV and slips into heroine's POV without a section break, and back again. This also includes "vanity/expressions perspective" (where the character that is serving as our eyes inexplicably knows what s/he is looking like at that moment, or unrealistically thinks of their nose as "cute" or similar).

The Problem: If a scene is in one character's POV, the reader should see everything as that character sees it - what s/he knows, sees, feels, etc. If POV slips happen too erratically, it can make the writing seem disjointed and hard to follow. The events and timing seems jumbled. And, worse, it leads to authorial interference, and can take the reader out of the story and make them feel disconnected from the scene.

The Allure: Both characters have so many thoughts and feelings, and head hoping allows you to describe both characters from the outside and give internal dialogue for each, i.e. "what they really mean when they said such-n-such aloud." Besides, I'm the author - I know what they are all thinking!

The Fix: This was a problem that was really big in my first couple of manuscripts, because I didn't realize it was a problem. In old romances, they head hopped all the time, and those were the stories I cut my teeth on. Nowadays, though, it is passe, and my editors have been good at spotting it and teaching me not to do it. Now, I include the planned POV for each scene in the outline for each chapter, so I know which character will be my eyes. This has helped eliminate the good majority of my head hopping. Other than that, a very thorough read-through is the best way to clip out the bits that escape through the outline.

***

Need an illustrative example?

Head Hopping Passage (pre-editing):

Once, the pair even literally ran into each other at the mailboxes, when she came barging into the small space as he turned to stride out. Neither had noticed each other until their torsos had collided. Instinctively, he brought his glove-clad hands up to her fleece-covered arms to steady her, and she noticed again the attractive scent of sandalwood. He detected the slight tinge of cinnamon on her breath as she puffed in surprise, and for a moment all thought fled from his brain as he stared into wide, hazel eyes, fringed with impossibly dark lashes.

He couldn't remember the last time his mind was completely blank while working on a book, but at that moment, he would have been hard pressed to recall his own name.

"Steady on," he murmured, realizing he should say something.

"Hi," she breathed, simply, and, almost reluctantly, made to move past him.

Her flat mate Colby, in their infrequent discussions of the other inmates of the building, had dismissed Kale McKinnon as "weird and old," but right then Molly saw him as nothing like old or weird. True, he had some eccentric qualities, but at that moment, his oddities were more intriguing than anything else. And no one who felt so firm and vital could be considered old. Her heartbeat, at least, rapped out a tattoo that told her she was in the presence of vibrant maleness, a feeling to which she was not normally prone.

"Hi again," he said, softly, taking unfamiliar pleasure in her pretty blush.

Molly stood aside and let him pass, and watched as he exited the building. If she were more like Colby, she thought, she would say he had a "great butt," and smiled impishly at the thought. But, no - she was just Molly, and she didn't have those kinds of thoughts about men she barely knew.

Even though it was true.

Same Scene (post-editing):

Once, the pair even literally ran into each other at the mailboxes, when Molly came barging into the small space just as Kale turned to stride out. Neither had noticed each other until their torsos had collided. Instinctively, he brought his glove-clad hands up to her fleece-covered arms to support her. He detected a slight tinge of cinnamon on her breath as she puffed in surprise, and all thoughts fled from his brain as he stared into wide, hazel eyes, fringed with impossibly dark lashes.

He couldn't remember the last time his mind was completely blank while working on a book, but at that moment he would have been hard pressed to recall his own name.

“Steady on,” he murmured, when he realized he should say something.

“Hi,” she breathed, simply and shyly.

“Hi, again,” he said, softly, taking unfamiliar pleasure in her pretty blush, but finally forced himself past her her to the door.

*break*

She stood aside and watched as he exited the building. Her flatmate, Colby, in their infrequent discussions of the other inmates of the building, had dismissed Kale McKinnon as weird and old. However, right then, Molly saw him as nothing like that. True, he had some eccentric qualities, yet to her, his oddities were more intriguing than anything else. And no one who felt so firm and vital could be considered old. Around him, her heart rapped out a tattoo that told her she was in the presence of vibrant maleness—a feeling to which she was not normally prone.

To Molly, he was sexy, if in an unconventional way. If she were more like Colby, she would say he had a great butt. She smiled impishly at the observation. But, no, she was just herself, and she didn't notice those kinds of things about men she barely knew.

Even though it was true.

(Scenes are both from my Christmas romance novella Unwrapping Scrooge, with thanks to my wonderful editors at Decadent.)

When I first made these changes, it seemed clunky to me to separate the two perspectives. But, I was thinking like the author and not considering the reader. Luckily, I trusted my editors!

***

There are always exceptions!

I try to employ my right to artistic licence very sparingly. I like to trust my editors, as they are less attached to the draft than I am. However, one of the little "quirks" I enjoy in my works is a montage scene that is used to build chemistry and intimacy, as if the melding perspectives mirror the growing couplehood. In this brief scene, the passage of time is denoted by overlapping POV, as well.

Example (also from Unwrapping Scrooge):

As the weeks passed, they talked of many things. They chatted about writing and how his work was going, and about her thesis, and about England and Canada. She told him about her mother's breast cancer, and their constant fear of its return until the five-year remission mark passed this winter. He was silent on the subject of family, which spoke volumes to her. And both felt quiet sympathy for the other. They found themselves developing a friendship neither had expected to find. He found her incredibly intelligent, and she discovered his rudeness was not his normal state, but that he was actually quite amusing when he allowed himself to be. And both also found themselves more and more attracted to the other as the days progressed.

Kale was surprised he had ever thought her plain now, and she wondered why Colby wasn’t able to see how fascinating his mouth was. One morning, she found his dressing gown hung on the inside of the bathroom door and had stroked its plush softness, allowing the scent of him to invade her. She enjoyed the tingling restlessness that pooled deep in her belly until she reminded herself that she was acting like a stalker again and hurriedly left the room. He often found his disobedient eyes travelling the length of her, basking in the sight of her lush curves, only to gather up the last ragged remains of his self-control and return to whatever menial task she had set for him.

And in this way they continued, trying to convince themselves there was no harm in a platonic friendship that was destined to go nowhere and be no more consequential than a few weeks of breakfasts. Soon after the New Year, Mrs. McCardle would return, and there would be no pretense left for them to meet, and then, a few months after that, Molly would return across the ocean, and their brief flirtation would be a warm memory, if that.

But for now, both walked around in a fog fueled by fantasy that neither was really willing or able to acknowledge, but which amused Colby and Byron enormously.

This passage is the only intentional violation of the anti-head-hopping convention in the book. It occurs at an "act break" just as their relationship changes direction, and sums up about a month of interaction in a few brief paragraphs. The characters are such opposites, I felt this was a risky move that could pay off by fostering a more realistic sense of growing together.

It is aggressively authorial, and likely isn't to everyone's tastes. For me, however, I like the cozy feeling of montage passages so much that it is worth taking the hit from the editors. That's my treat as a reader of my own work, in a way.

Luckily, this book has still done fairly well with reviewers and readers, despite this indulgence!

***

So, through editing and working on my craft under the watchful eyes of experienced readers/editors, and by paying attention to reviewer reactions, I am in recovery for my head hopping addiction, and have a greater control over my perspective - but it is still something I have to be conscious of.

The point of writing (at least in genre fiction) is to make the book a pleasant experience for the fans of that genre, and to communicate clearly. Being mindful of writing habits that make reading more difficult is an important step towards publishing.

Naturally, different writers and different forms of writing will have different needs and conventions, so YMMV!

***

So, the quick fix list:

1. Recognize the problem and why it is a problem.
2. Outline/plan/consider which character POV will be the eyes for the scene before hand and stick to it as much as possible.
3. Re-read in the draft stage for head hops or vanity adjectives, and clip the slips out.
4. If a passage cannot be merely clipped, move it to a new section (to the correct POV) or make it out right dialogue.
5. If need be, cut the scene into sections with a section break, and tell the same scene from the two different POVs - but this should be used sparingly.
6. Only head hop when you are consciously using your artistic license. Accidental head hopping should be scoured out by a qualified editor and good readers.

***

"So, good luck," he said, thinking she was nuts for all this.
"Thanks," she muttered, knowing he thought she was nuts.

Daily Dose of Frustration: Non-"Zany" Need Not Apply

Right now, I looking for a publisher for my new novel - my NaNo story, which is currently in editing and re-writing. I am hoping to submit by the fall, so I'm casting around for the best shot for publishing. I am looking for something mid-class this time - not too small, but not too lofty, either. Some company that sees half decent sales, makes some token effort at marketing and can help me produce a quality book. Not too huge a list of wants.

This week, I came across this lovely little snippet on a submission instructions page of a mid-range ebook pub:

Contemporary Romance: Fun and whimsical, these books should showcase your sense of humor and focus on a modern couple in a zany situation.

"Zany"?

Really?

Zany only, huh?

Damn you Bridget Jones. Damn you.

So, fine. I understand that people like zany. I can appreciate that. I love Bridget Jones, actually. But, honestly, is this the only market out there? Readers only want to read zany romance (if it doesn't involve sulky vampires, that is)?

My NaNo novel is not a zany romance, nor is Strings Attached. Now, this does not mean I am devoid of humour (in fact, my new WIP is a comedy), but these first couple of full lengths are serious contemporary romances. Not quite melodrama, but focusing on honest emotions and mature, realistic people. Not zany people.

(Zany people are, like, girls who wear red dresses a lot, which randomly get blown up by the wind, right, and inexplicably carry bunches of daisies way too often? Zany guys, I can only assume, wear a messenger bag all the time.)

(Yeah, I don't have any of those.)

So, it seems I am simply not zany enough for the category of contemporary romance in today's market.

Perhaps I should see if I can re-write into it a pouty nosferatu as Plan B...

Help! Another Identity Crisis

I've seen these two terms chucked around, "Indie" and "Traditional." Now, I know these terms are rife with some controversy, since they were (according to interwebs lore) first coined by a shady vanity press in order to glamorize their scam. Yet, regardless of how the categories started, they have been widely adopted in the "writing world" - or, at least, in that corner which I haunt.

I have always understood it to be a matter of scale.

"Traditional" publishers, in my understanding, included the Big Companies - the brick-n-mortar, advance-granting, agent-oriented, paperback-lovin' companies that market/sell internationally and make big bucks, and all those mid-range companies run on this model in hopes of being one of the Big Publishers. We can all name several of these off the top of our heads, no doubt.

"Indie" (short for "independent") publishers, I assumed, included the small scale publishers - micropresses and self-published authors who have a smaller distribution and privately-seeded marketing budget, no agents and no advances, but royalties from sales alone. Largely, these days, this means epublishing.

This week I ran into a handful of blog comments that claimed "indie" doesn't include self-published. But, this sentiment I easily disregarded as indie authors who, foolishly, have bought into the idea that self-published means vanity publishing and terrible quality. These comments were, after all, left on a now-fairly-famous so-so review to which the regrettably deficient self-published author under review left some awful, immature and petty ravings, involving the senseless repetition of expletives. I can see why people were scrambling to distance themselves from her.

However, I then came across something a little more puzzling, and not exactly unique - and from a source I can't so easily dismiss. From a NY Times bestselling author and writer of "how to write" pieces, Bob Mayer, it was hard to ignore. This quote, which was not the gist of his point (just what struck me), is from the June 12th post on his blog Write it Forward:

I use the term indie for one who self-publishes and trad for those who are published via a traditional publishing house. I’ve copyrighted them and you need to pay me any time you use them. Joking.

True, Mayer is clearly expressing his terms as he sees them for the purposes of his post, which is an otherwise considered and useful editorial. Yet, he is not the only person defining these terms this way, and I am confused.

I consider myself an "indie author," though it seems many people do not grant me this category. However, I am not really published through a "traditional" venue, either. So, what the hell am I?

First off, why do I consider myself "indie"? Well, frankly, my publishers thus far have been pretty independent - without a big corporate source of money, no advances, requiring no agents, not having a publishing "house" as such, and focusing largely on ebooks, they seem to me to be small-scale and, therefore, not the same as those commonly recognized as traditional. They are, I believe, independently owned and operated by individual publishing entrepreneurs. I don't even think they have investors beyond their owners/managing editors.

And why am I seemingly not "indie"? Because I do publish through companies not belonging to me that employ editors not controlled by me, and, especially, because I do not "self-publish." I guess. (Insert "head scratching" emoticon here.)

Now, I suspect the easy argument is that these companies could become traditional-scale in time, and that Harper-Collins might have started out as a micropress (I really couldn't tell you if it did or not, actually). Also, more obscurely, the concern might be that these publishers, be they ever so humble, might be creatures similar to the "gatekeepers" that indies dislike so strongly, and that signing with these epubs might be "compromising my artistic vision" in a way that self-pubbed writers don't have to. Finally, I reckon the royalties thing is the kicker - as long as a middle man is getting a cut, I guess (according to some) I am not truly "independent."

Well, colour me confused. I can understand the arguments and points above, but they never occurred to me naturally. I had to ponder them.

But, the point of all this is - Even if I concede that I am not "indie" (which I don't, really), I am left with a dilemma. What am I? In this recurring rhetoric of "indie" vs "traditional"... which am I? Am I an "us" or a "them"? In a greyzone, worthy of the attention of neither?

True, we shouldn't think in those terms of narrow categories, but such is what we have to work with in the seedy underbelly of starving author forums. So, where do I land?

It would just be nice to know.

"Romantic Literature"???

I was checking the sales links for my new release, which I do daily like a little dirt farmer looking for sprouts - I love seeing the "customers who bought this also bought..." features, and hoping for comments, etc.

Anyway, one little thing is bugging me. On one of my seller sites, my publisher uploaded it with the category "romantic literature" - this, it seems, is a different category than just full-on romance. It's listed as "drama" "contemporary" "romantic literature."

Now, I looked at the other books in the category. While they look good, they all seem quite serious. I wonder if this category might scare people away - do people really want to read 55k of something that sounds so serious? I have never pretended to produce "literature" - just romantic escapism, really.

A part of me wishes to take this as a compliment, as it kind of denotes quality... But if people wanted to read "romantic literature," wouldn't they just hit Jane Austen again?

My book is having an identity crisis - or, maybe, I am.

Comments?