Monday, June 15, 2009

Quote of the week: "...all that is necessary in the production of a book is an author and a bookseller, without the intermediate parasite." --George B. Shaw. Ouch! I have heard that sentiment more than once even from writers Bridge Works has published. I'm afraid it is self-delusional, akin to mother and dad, as their tiny tot interrupts for the fourth time, "Isn't she cute? She's learning to express herself."
A writer's ego sometimes overwhelms good sense. The publisher has the financial and business acumen to make the lonely genius a winner with the public. And a good editor is a surrogate for the reader, who tends to shun books that are longer than 300 pages and require too much thinking. So, writers, please be kind to us. We think we are helping you. And speaking of what we read...
Women read a lot of romance novels. And they sell. Is it that busty gal on the cover, a hottie with standards, the subsequent hard breathing inside (under?) the covers, the resolution that always finds the men, even to-die-for-hunks, racing up the aisle? The stats are these: men, when they're not reading porno or discovering 69 ways to avoid meeting any possible in-laws, brag that they love good mysteries, biographies and current events. The jury is out on quality fiction, which is what Bridge Works publishes (and enough mysteries to keep our head above water).
So why do women read more junk than men? Today, it has nothing to do with bored wifey at home trying to decide between Nora Roberts and As the Earth Turns. Today, women are far more likely to be scrabbling outside the home, followed by an evening of kids, spouses and dirty dishes. Perhaps, after a long day spent hacking, suturing or litigating, women need some kind of mindlessness to accompany the dishes, but how about a reality check, sisters? Romance novels were always and will forever be a triumph of hope over experience.

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