In the year 2006 I resolve to: |
Of course I have yet to figure out the top of what, but we'll leave that for another day. I'll be back with real resolutions and book related stuff later today (if the bubbly doesn't get me first!).
Saturday, December 31, 2005
Becoming one of those girls in the New Year
Stolen from Alison Kent:
Of course I have yet to figure out the top of what, but we'll leave that for another day. I'll be back with real resolutions and book related stuff later today (if the bubbly doesn't get me first!).
Of course I have yet to figure out the top of what, but we'll leave that for another day. I'll be back with real resolutions and book related stuff later today (if the bubbly doesn't get me first!).
Saturday, December 24, 2005
Holiday-related Gnome Attacks on the Rise!
I don’t remember the last time I had a white Christmas. One year I think there was a light dusting of snow on Christmas Eve, barely enough to build a decent snowball out of, but I don’t remember when. The presence of snow has never been a necessity, something I was reminded of tonight as I walked through the downtown on the way to my car. The drumbeats of the kid playing the plastic buckets in the square mixed with the guy playing the saxophone by the entrance of the mall. There in the rain with the music and the people rushing by dressed in jeans and Santa hats, I didn’t need snow or Christmas Carols to remind me of what there is to love this time of year; it was all around me. My city folded in a wet mist, glowing in the headlights of the passing cars.
At the store today we were clockwork: ringing, searching, answering the phones and wrapping gifts, gifts and more gifts. No one squabbled or wimped out despite one coworker losing her lunch to the porcelain god. Between customer surges we laughed, danced around to the Rat Pack Christmas Carols, ate cookies, and tried to restock our dwindling supply of books. Before I left we’d run out of 1776; Year of Magical Thinking; Guns, Germs, & Steel; The World is Flat; Marley & Me; and several others.
There’s nothing like the joy of actually finding the book your customer is looking for, seeing their face light up because they’re getting the last copy or a hard to find present. The magic way that time becomes a blur of customers and wrapping, and when you finally look up; it’s almost time to leave.
What I’m trying to say is that despite all my bitching and moaning to the contrary, there is something wonderful about retail at Christmas. There is something that hits me every year, somewhere between the wrapping and the ringing, and reminds me that book people are fun—booksellers too—despite the occasional attitude.
So Happy Holidays to those who celebrate, and happy day off to those who don’t. May you be blessed with the chance to smile, laugh, and have at least one moment of pure happiness these next two days.
Oh, and be careful of those gnomes. They’re the real menace this time of year.
When Gnomes Attack!
At the store today we were clockwork: ringing, searching, answering the phones and wrapping gifts, gifts and more gifts. No one squabbled or wimped out despite one coworker losing her lunch to the porcelain god. Between customer surges we laughed, danced around to the Rat Pack Christmas Carols, ate cookies, and tried to restock our dwindling supply of books. Before I left we’d run out of 1776; Year of Magical Thinking; Guns, Germs, & Steel; The World is Flat; Marley & Me; and several others.
There’s nothing like the joy of actually finding the book your customer is looking for, seeing their face light up because they’re getting the last copy or a hard to find present. The magic way that time becomes a blur of customers and wrapping, and when you finally look up; it’s almost time to leave.
What I’m trying to say is that despite all my bitching and moaning to the contrary, there is something wonderful about retail at Christmas. There is something that hits me every year, somewhere between the wrapping and the ringing, and reminds me that book people are fun—booksellers too—despite the occasional attitude.
So Happy Holidays to those who celebrate, and happy day off to those who don’t. May you be blessed with the chance to smile, laugh, and have at least one moment of pure happiness these next two days.
Oh, and be careful of those gnomes. They’re the real menace this time of year.
When Gnomes Attack!
Friday, December 23, 2005
The Dear Customer Letters (cont’d): Tis the Season for migraine inducement
Dear Customer,
I’m sorry that you waited until the very last minute to have the epiphany that led to figuring out the perfect gift for your mom/dad/brother/sister/son/daughter/niece/nephew. I know how hard it can be to shop for those you love. Still as they say in show business: timing is everything. And your timing? Sucks. I could attribute you absolute need to possess the Silver Spoon above all other Italian cookbooks to the lemming-like tendencies many people experience when the media tells them that this is the Next New Thing! But the truth is that this snarky thought just came to me and is probably the result of lack of caffeine. So here’s the deal. I don’t have it. The bookstores around me don’t have it. And since yesterday I got a call out of California from someone looking for the book, I’m assuming most states around me don’t have it either. Oh, and the publisher is out. Your choices are Amazon or buying them something else. I’m sorry if that’s not what you want to hear.
Dear Customer,
You seem like a nice lady. You even acknowledged that your question was odd, but having done that does not then give you the right to ask me to call Costco to see if they have the same book. I’m sorry I can’t help you; I haven’t been in a Costco in three years, and I certainly don’t know their number. Even if I did it would not be my responsibility to call them because Costco? A double shot of undiluted evil when it comes to the bookstores. We can’t compete with their price cuts, and, with a line of 12 people at the counter waiting to be rung through I’m not going to call them to pass on your business. I’m sorry if you feel that this is part of my job description, I can assure you it’s not.
Dear Customer,
Despite the world of technology that we live in, some things still move slower than the speed of light. You know how charges don’t always show up on your statement right away? It’s the same for credits. If you made a return late Tuesday night and had the money put back on your debit card then it is entirely possible (probably even given the season, the circumstances, and the different systems involved) that the transaction won’t clear with your bank until Friday. Not seeing the credit in your account a little over 24 hours later does not mean you should panic and call the store to demand that they make sure the credit really went through.
Nationwide bookstores do not make it a practice to rip customers off, it’s not good business. Refusing to get off the phone at peak rush hours until someone wades through the paperwork to make sure that your transaction went through does not help the situation. Especially when you have yet to call the bank to ask if them if they have any hold policies on money returned to cards (several credit card companies have rules that apply to this), and instead used your online viewing account as the basis for this hunting procedure. I know its Christmas and we all need our money, but technology doesn’t mean that everything happens immediately. I’m sorry if this is an inconvenience.
Dear Customer,
In kindergarten I was taught the importance of waiting my turning and using my polite voice. I’m not sure if you missed this day in class or don’t think these lessons apply to you, but it is the height of rudeness when I’m ringing a long line of customers to come up to my side of the counter and yell in my ear, “Miss. Miss! I have a question!”
This may come as a surprise, but I already knew you were there, and chose not to acknowledge your presence for a reason: it wasn’t your turn. I was helping someone else. Using your best outside voice was not going to change that fact, but perhaps you missed that day in class too. In the future, if you have a question involving the book stock, look for a person working the floor instead of heading straight to the counter. If you do not see that person (and I don’t know how you could miss us because the shirts they make us wear are uuuuuuugly), please get into line and wait until someone can help you. When it is your turn you will be that person’s sole focus; they will be at your beck and call and all because you waited until they could get to you.
If your time is money and you feel your money is being wasted by standing in line, please feel free to search the store yourself. Despite being heavily shopped by ravaging customers, most books are in the right place. The new books are even placed up front for your convenience. You might even run into the floor person while you are looking.
Dear Customer,
Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Can I make you cookies, take you to dinner, or have your babies? I know it might not work out given that we’re both women (therefore making that having your babies thing a bit difficult) and you seem to be happily married to a really nice guy (I caught him re-alphabetizing the kids section), but really, I mean it. Let me do something for you. Most people don’t even care when the book they set down falls behind the shelves, let alone pull out the shelf and retrieve all the lost items behind there, dust them off and stack them neatly! I’m in awe. Complete awe. You’re secretly an elf, aren’t you? I do believe in Santa. I do, I do! Are you looking for a job? No, wait. Don’t answer that. I don’t want to be disappointed when you say no and you don’t deserve the stress of working here during the Christmas season. It was nice to just have this moment, this acknowledgement that someone takes this much responsibility and care with their shopping. Please, come back anytime.
I’m sorry that you waited until the very last minute to have the epiphany that led to figuring out the perfect gift for your mom/dad/brother/sister/son/daughter/niece/nephew. I know how hard it can be to shop for those you love. Still as they say in show business: timing is everything. And your timing? Sucks. I could attribute you absolute need to possess the Silver Spoon above all other Italian cookbooks to the lemming-like tendencies many people experience when the media tells them that this is the Next New Thing! But the truth is that this snarky thought just came to me and is probably the result of lack of caffeine. So here’s the deal. I don’t have it. The bookstores around me don’t have it. And since yesterday I got a call out of California from someone looking for the book, I’m assuming most states around me don’t have it either. Oh, and the publisher is out. Your choices are Amazon or buying them something else. I’m sorry if that’s not what you want to hear.
*
Dear Customer,
You seem like a nice lady. You even acknowledged that your question was odd, but having done that does not then give you the right to ask me to call Costco to see if they have the same book. I’m sorry I can’t help you; I haven’t been in a Costco in three years, and I certainly don’t know their number. Even if I did it would not be my responsibility to call them because Costco? A double shot of undiluted evil when it comes to the bookstores. We can’t compete with their price cuts, and, with a line of 12 people at the counter waiting to be rung through I’m not going to call them to pass on your business. I’m sorry if you feel that this is part of my job description, I can assure you it’s not.
*
Dear Customer,
Despite the world of technology that we live in, some things still move slower than the speed of light. You know how charges don’t always show up on your statement right away? It’s the same for credits. If you made a return late Tuesday night and had the money put back on your debit card then it is entirely possible (probably even given the season, the circumstances, and the different systems involved) that the transaction won’t clear with your bank until Friday. Not seeing the credit in your account a little over 24 hours later does not mean you should panic and call the store to demand that they make sure the credit really went through.
Nationwide bookstores do not make it a practice to rip customers off, it’s not good business. Refusing to get off the phone at peak rush hours until someone wades through the paperwork to make sure that your transaction went through does not help the situation. Especially when you have yet to call the bank to ask if them if they have any hold policies on money returned to cards (several credit card companies have rules that apply to this), and instead used your online viewing account as the basis for this hunting procedure. I know its Christmas and we all need our money, but technology doesn’t mean that everything happens immediately. I’m sorry if this is an inconvenience.
*
Dear Customer,
In kindergarten I was taught the importance of waiting my turning and using my polite voice. I’m not sure if you missed this day in class or don’t think these lessons apply to you, but it is the height of rudeness when I’m ringing a long line of customers to come up to my side of the counter and yell in my ear, “Miss. Miss! I have a question!”
This may come as a surprise, but I already knew you were there, and chose not to acknowledge your presence for a reason: it wasn’t your turn. I was helping someone else. Using your best outside voice was not going to change that fact, but perhaps you missed that day in class too. In the future, if you have a question involving the book stock, look for a person working the floor instead of heading straight to the counter. If you do not see that person (and I don’t know how you could miss us because the shirts they make us wear are uuuuuuugly), please get into line and wait until someone can help you. When it is your turn you will be that person’s sole focus; they will be at your beck and call and all because you waited until they could get to you.
If your time is money and you feel your money is being wasted by standing in line, please feel free to search the store yourself. Despite being heavily shopped by ravaging customers, most books are in the right place. The new books are even placed up front for your convenience. You might even run into the floor person while you are looking.
*
Dear Customer,
Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Can I make you cookies, take you to dinner, or have your babies? I know it might not work out given that we’re both women (therefore making that having your babies thing a bit difficult) and you seem to be happily married to a really nice guy (I caught him re-alphabetizing the kids section), but really, I mean it. Let me do something for you. Most people don’t even care when the book they set down falls behind the shelves, let alone pull out the shelf and retrieve all the lost items behind there, dust them off and stack them neatly! I’m in awe. Complete awe. You’re secretly an elf, aren’t you? I do believe in Santa. I do, I do! Are you looking for a job? No, wait. Don’t answer that. I don’t want to be disappointed when you say no and you don’t deserve the stress of working here during the Christmas season. It was nice to just have this moment, this acknowledgement that someone takes this much responsibility and care with their shopping. Please, come back anytime.
*
Thursday, December 22, 2005
Paging Dr. Murphy, you're needed to lay down some Law...
Warning: Whine alert. Skip if you don't want of the whiny goodness...or badness as the case may be.
The other night I lost $150 dollars out of a register.
My first thought? Well fuck me, kitten.
Losing money is something you never want to hear about at work. It means calls to Sales Audit, talking to the Auditor, going through ever possible piece of paperwork available. To have it happen on your shift and to be such a large amount? Heart-stopping, and investigation worthy.
It was one of those Gah! days anyway, the money was just a topper. One of my main people left to start a new career (but forgot to leave her door key), another employee was very late, a couple of customers decided that we were Satan's minions and out to steal their money. Add to that the sexy limp I'm sporting due to the shooting pain for some spice, and you've got the usual Christmas season (with some spice). Well, except for the coworker leaving and the money going missing. Oh, and the key to our calendar store also disappeared.
It was actually easier to find the money than to find the key. The missing dinero turned out to be an accounting error--of the non-Enron variety. Coworker made change for the calendar store and didn't bring the cash back down. It took us until 10:45 to figure that out (after I'd called Sale Audit), and then I didn't get home until 11:30 (because we had to wait until after security showed up to padlock the calendar store door), but it least it didn't involve pawing through the garbage.
The missing key, if you hadn't guessed, turned up in the bottom of a garbage bag.
I love smashing my fingers through someone else's lunch.
Ah, the glorious life of a bookseller.
The other night I lost $150 dollars out of a register.
My first thought? Well fuck me, kitten.
Losing money is something you never want to hear about at work. It means calls to Sales Audit, talking to the Auditor, going through ever possible piece of paperwork available. To have it happen on your shift and to be such a large amount? Heart-stopping, and investigation worthy.
It was one of those Gah! days anyway, the money was just a topper. One of my main people left to start a new career (but forgot to leave her door key), another employee was very late, a couple of customers decided that we were Satan's minions and out to steal their money. Add to that the sexy limp I'm sporting due to the shooting pain for some spice, and you've got the usual Christmas season (with some spice). Well, except for the coworker leaving and the money going missing. Oh, and the key to our calendar store also disappeared.
It was actually easier to find the money than to find the key. The missing dinero turned out to be an accounting error--of the non-Enron variety. Coworker made change for the calendar store and didn't bring the cash back down. It took us until 10:45 to figure that out (after I'd called Sale Audit), and then I didn't get home until 11:30 (because we had to wait until after security showed up to padlock the calendar store door), but it least it didn't involve pawing through the garbage.
The missing key, if you hadn't guessed, turned up in the bottom of a garbage bag.
I love smashing my fingers through someone else's lunch.
Ah, the glorious life of a bookseller.
*****
Oh, and randomly? Just saw a commercial for James Patterson's Mary, Mary on the USA channel. I'm really not sure how I feel about this whole commercials for books thing.
Tuesday, December 20, 2005
Cross genre books and why it scares the shit out of most people (but not me because I’m too cool for school).*
Jason posed an interesting question my Smart Bitches blog on “Male Romance Readers:”
The answer: wherever the hell the publishing company wants it to be put.
The truth when it comes to shelving is that I’m often surprised by the designation the computer gives some titles. L.A. Banks who writes a supernatural vampire hunter series was first shelved in fiction, same with Kelly Armstrong’s Bitten. It wasn’t until these books showed a strong gain in the sci/fi fantasy market that they were moved to the appropriate sections. Meanwhile Alice Hoffman remains in fiction despite her books having strong magical elements, and Lian Hearn is shelved in sci/fi fantasy although his “fantasy” elements are slight. Michael Connelly bounces back and forth between fiction and mystery, but Patterson’s Alex Cross mysteries are strictly fiction.
How you or I would designate something might be completely opposite from how the publishing company might decide to market the book. Sometimes this is for the best: would Chris Bohjalian’s Water Witches or Hoffman’s Practical Magic done as well in Sci/Fi Fantasy? Sometimes it isn’t: I had several customer complaints about unable to find Banks’ books and most of my Mary Janice Davidson readers feel she should be in Sci/Fi Fantasy not romance.
And we’re not only dealing with the confusion of the customer but also the confusion of the bookseller. My average end of the week shipment this Christmas has been around 95 boxes, each capable of containing from 20 to 50 books depending on the book size. When I pull a book from the box to bin it for shelving I do not scan it with an LDT gun to figure out where it goes, I rely on my own knowledge and any clues given by the book. Some give their designation on the spine with the words fiction, fantasy or mystery written below the company logo. Some have very telling cover art or titles: I’m not going to mistake the Margaret Weis book, Amber and Ashes, for straight fiction.
Often though I just have to guess, and since I’m human and fallible I’ve been known to guess wrong. Hopefully the person who does the actual shelving will check, but more than likely they’ll just be trying to get the books out as fast as possible, so my mistake gets compounded. This is why mysteries end up in fiction, fiction ends up in romance and romance ends up in Sci/Fi, while publishing companies might claim that cross genre is the kiss of death the reality is that a lot of books flirt with the edge and this leads to shelving confusion.
Shelving confusion is the enemy of the marketing department because if the books are not in the right spot they’re not being marketed to the right people! Oh dear God, cross pollination might occur and then we’ll lose the genre specific requirements that we’ve worked so hard to create in order to enforce a future of branding. Oh me, oh my, whatever shall we doooooooo…<insert wail of despair>
What I’m trying to say is this: the lack of cross genre books out there is a myth. There are many, many books out there that blur the lines of their particular genre. The Life of Pi could just as easily be classified as Fantasy as Lian Hearn’s Tales of the Otori Trilogy could become fiction (all of which are excellent books and you should check them out). What marketers and publishers worry about is that the book will be mis-shelved and no one will find it, where the reality is that if I or someone else doesn’t know the designation for the book we’re shelving we either a.) look it up, or b.) put it in a couple of places. It may not be the most space effective move, but we’ve long ago learned to think like a customer, and if a customer expects to find Connelly in fiction then that’s where some of his books will be.
*I wanted to give a big thanks to Nicole and Michele for helping me figure out what the hell to do for the links, and also apologize to y'all if this doesn't make a whole lot of sense. I'm feeling some serious ouchiness at the moment due to picking up a box wrong, and the lancing pain down my back and through my left hip makes it so I can't sit too long. Hope this explanation is sufficient for Jason's question.
How about a supernatural suspense novel, 1. written by a man, 2. with a male
protagonist, and 3. incorporating strong romance elements? Where would you
shelve that one?(I'm thinking in that little bin behind the counter. You know,
the one which gets emptied each night. Cross genre rocks!)
The answer: wherever the hell the publishing company wants it to be put.
The truth when it comes to shelving is that I’m often surprised by the designation the computer gives some titles. L.A. Banks who writes a supernatural vampire hunter series was first shelved in fiction, same with Kelly Armstrong’s Bitten. It wasn’t until these books showed a strong gain in the sci/fi fantasy market that they were moved to the appropriate sections. Meanwhile Alice Hoffman remains in fiction despite her books having strong magical elements, and Lian Hearn is shelved in sci/fi fantasy although his “fantasy” elements are slight. Michael Connelly bounces back and forth between fiction and mystery, but Patterson’s Alex Cross mysteries are strictly fiction.
How you or I would designate something might be completely opposite from how the publishing company might decide to market the book. Sometimes this is for the best: would Chris Bohjalian’s Water Witches or Hoffman’s Practical Magic done as well in Sci/Fi Fantasy? Sometimes it isn’t: I had several customer complaints about unable to find Banks’ books and most of my Mary Janice Davidson readers feel she should be in Sci/Fi Fantasy not romance.
And we’re not only dealing with the confusion of the customer but also the confusion of the bookseller. My average end of the week shipment this Christmas has been around 95 boxes, each capable of containing from 20 to 50 books depending on the book size. When I pull a book from the box to bin it for shelving I do not scan it with an LDT gun to figure out where it goes, I rely on my own knowledge and any clues given by the book. Some give their designation on the spine with the words fiction, fantasy or mystery written below the company logo. Some have very telling cover art or titles: I’m not going to mistake the Margaret Weis book, Amber and Ashes, for straight fiction.
Often though I just have to guess, and since I’m human and fallible I’ve been known to guess wrong. Hopefully the person who does the actual shelving will check, but more than likely they’ll just be trying to get the books out as fast as possible, so my mistake gets compounded. This is why mysteries end up in fiction, fiction ends up in romance and romance ends up in Sci/Fi, while publishing companies might claim that cross genre is the kiss of death the reality is that a lot of books flirt with the edge and this leads to shelving confusion.
Shelving confusion is the enemy of the marketing department because if the books are not in the right spot they’re not being marketed to the right people! Oh dear God, cross pollination might occur and then we’ll lose the genre specific requirements that we’ve worked so hard to create in order to enforce a future of branding. Oh me, oh my, whatever shall we doooooooo…<insert wail of despair>
What I’m trying to say is this: the lack of cross genre books out there is a myth. There are many, many books out there that blur the lines of their particular genre. The Life of Pi could just as easily be classified as Fantasy as Lian Hearn’s Tales of the Otori Trilogy could become fiction (all of which are excellent books and you should check them out). What marketers and publishers worry about is that the book will be mis-shelved and no one will find it, where the reality is that if I or someone else doesn’t know the designation for the book we’re shelving we either a.) look it up, or b.) put it in a couple of places. It may not be the most space effective move, but we’ve long ago learned to think like a customer, and if a customer expects to find Connelly in fiction then that’s where some of his books will be.
*I wanted to give a big thanks to Nicole and Michele for helping me figure out what the hell to do for the links, and also apologize to y'all if this doesn't make a whole lot of sense. I'm feeling some serious ouchiness at the moment due to picking up a box wrong, and the lancing pain down my back and through my left hip makes it so I can't sit too long. Hope this explanation is sufficient for Jason's question.
Monday, December 19, 2005
SB Day: On Male Romance Readers
It’s Smart Bitches Day once again, and as usual, whatever brilliant thought was spawned by last week’s SB Day has decided to make its way to the ocean without me. Stupid Metaphor! So instead I’m going to blatantly rip-off Douglas’s post on “What this boy wants from a romance novel,” and talk about what romance novels I see men pick up.
First off, I think my male customers get fooled.
Yep, you heard me. I know that most of my men who buy romance novels have no idea what they are buying is classified as romance. Usually what happens is they see it on the bestseller wall bay surrounded by other books they have read and heard about. They do not seek it out in its natural habitat, the romance section. Oh no, they get it unlabeled.
Secondly, there are no naked bodies on the cover.
This is important! The story revolves around a woman and her thoughts and feelings, but on the cover there is no naked clinch. There can be a woman’s face or body, but she is not doing anything sexual with anyone else. In some cases there aren’t any people present at all, Gabaldon’s Outlander (considered the most romance-like of the series of books, although all are shelved/classified as a romance) has absolutely no people on the cover, just a symbol. The J.D. Robb books, while more mystery than romance, just have the titles and sometimes a cityscape. Tami Hoag’s early series (before she was reclassified as fiction) had moody pictures of the bayou or the country, nary a person in sight. The lack of nakedness is a huge selling point because it gets them to pick up the book. Now they just have to get by the back copy.
Thirdly, the books picked contained no sparkiness.
The back copies of all the books tend to focus on just the female character and her hunt for her father/brother/sister/cousin in the face of adversity/danger/threats/losing her own job. They do not go into how she meets so-in-so and despite the danger/threat/timing sparks fly and they want to get into each other’s undies. Sparks that fly seem to burn the men looking at the book. They do not want sparks, they want suspense, drive, a fast read!
Which brings us to number four:
The books contain suspense or mystery.
While a lot of women readers are boo-hooing the world of romantic suspense, these are the books that my male customers tend to love. What they see (from the back copy) is a book about a suspense journey or mystery involving a woman. Something a lot of male author’s write. In fact, the emerging prevalence of female characters written by male writers may have inoculated my male customers against the automatic putdown of a female authored book with a female protagonist (a subject I could go into with much ranting, but I won’t because I don’t have time. Needless to say I think that this attitude has a much to do with parents/teachers saying that little boys will only read books with male protags instead of getting them to try books with female protags has something to do with the low number of men willing to read across genre lines by choice). They’re there for a plot driven story with well drawn characters and it doesn’t matter what is the sex of the main person.
So, if you are a female romantic suspense author trying to get your book to appeal to both sexes, here’s my advice: keep the man-titty and breast heaving off your cover, focus your back copy on just one of your characters (don’t be afraid to make that character a woman), and get your publishing company to shell-out for some front of store marketing. You may lose a few female readers this way, but let’s face it, you lost them when you went to romantic suspense. You can’t please everyone, but you can reach a male audience if you try hard enough.
You just have to ask yourself if it is worth it.
First off, I think my male customers get fooled.
Yep, you heard me. I know that most of my men who buy romance novels have no idea what they are buying is classified as romance. Usually what happens is they see it on the bestseller wall bay surrounded by other books they have read and heard about. They do not seek it out in its natural habitat, the romance section. Oh no, they get it unlabeled.
Secondly, there are no naked bodies on the cover.
This is important! The story revolves around a woman and her thoughts and feelings, but on the cover there is no naked clinch. There can be a woman’s face or body, but she is not doing anything sexual with anyone else. In some cases there aren’t any people present at all, Gabaldon’s Outlander (considered the most romance-like of the series of books, although all are shelved/classified as a romance) has absolutely no people on the cover, just a symbol. The J.D. Robb books, while more mystery than romance, just have the titles and sometimes a cityscape. Tami Hoag’s early series (before she was reclassified as fiction) had moody pictures of the bayou or the country, nary a person in sight. The lack of nakedness is a huge selling point because it gets them to pick up the book. Now they just have to get by the back copy.
Thirdly, the books picked contained no sparkiness.
The back copies of all the books tend to focus on just the female character and her hunt for her father/brother/sister/cousin in the face of adversity/danger/threats/losing her own job. They do not go into how she meets so-in-so and despite the danger/threat/timing sparks fly and they want to get into each other’s undies. Sparks that fly seem to burn the men looking at the book. They do not want sparks, they want suspense, drive, a fast read!
Which brings us to number four:
The books contain suspense or mystery.
While a lot of women readers are boo-hooing the world of romantic suspense, these are the books that my male customers tend to love. What they see (from the back copy) is a book about a suspense journey or mystery involving a woman. Something a lot of male author’s write. In fact, the emerging prevalence of female characters written by male writers may have inoculated my male customers against the automatic putdown of a female authored book with a female protagonist (a subject I could go into with much ranting, but I won’t because I don’t have time. Needless to say I think that this attitude has a much to do with parents/teachers saying that little boys will only read books with male protags instead of getting them to try books with female protags has something to do with the low number of men willing to read across genre lines by choice). They’re there for a plot driven story with well drawn characters and it doesn’t matter what is the sex of the main person.
So, if you are a female romantic suspense author trying to get your book to appeal to both sexes, here’s my advice: keep the man-titty and breast heaving off your cover, focus your back copy on just one of your characters (don’t be afraid to make that character a woman), and get your publishing company to shell-out for some front of store marketing. You may lose a few female readers this way, but let’s face it, you lost them when you went to romantic suspense. You can’t please everyone, but you can reach a male audience if you try hard enough.
You just have to ask yourself if it is worth it.
Sunday, December 18, 2005
Dear Customer (Letter 1)
Dear Customer,
I’m positive you’re right. Somehow the forklift driver must have used his powers of intuition and x-ray vision to pinpoint exactly which unmarked box contained the only two copies of Michael Savage’s newest hardback meant for my store, and targeted it for his malicious destruction of your chosen form of the first amendment. I’m sorry that his willful devastation of those books—as well as the rest of the box of non-politically related items—robbed you of the book you were determined to buy, and robbed me of the chance to sell it to you. I should have just placed the bent and ripped copies on the shelf; I know you would not have accused me of damaging them on purpose. You’re more open-minded than that, and realize that sometimes things happen that are beyond our control.
I know that you realize that it is really Corporate America’s fault, and its pervasive belief that quantity of stock should be based on demographic and previous sales. Damn them, and their cost-saving measures designed to pass more money along to their investors. Don’t they know that books are for the people? I mean, the next thing you know someone will be complaining about the subject matter in some books, and want it restricted, and then where would we be?
Please allow me to make it up to by writing my buyer, my supplier, my company, and my senator. Changes need to take place. The world needs to know! That forklift freak with the superpowers needs to pay! I think I’ll also write a letter to Mr. Savage and pass along your advice because I’m sure he’d like to know. I mean, if his listeners all find his hardbacks too expensive to buy when they learn the price, maybe he should go straight to Trade…or mass market.
Looking forward to serving you again thisHoliday Christmas Season,
Your Bookseller
I’m positive you’re right. Somehow the forklift driver must have used his powers of intuition and x-ray vision to pinpoint exactly which unmarked box contained the only two copies of Michael Savage’s newest hardback meant for my store, and targeted it for his malicious destruction of your chosen form of the first amendment. I’m sorry that his willful devastation of those books—as well as the rest of the box of non-politically related items—robbed you of the book you were determined to buy, and robbed me of the chance to sell it to you. I should have just placed the bent and ripped copies on the shelf; I know you would not have accused me of damaging them on purpose. You’re more open-minded than that, and realize that sometimes things happen that are beyond our control.
I know that you realize that it is really Corporate America’s fault, and its pervasive belief that quantity of stock should be based on demographic and previous sales. Damn them, and their cost-saving measures designed to pass more money along to their investors. Don’t they know that books are for the people? I mean, the next thing you know someone will be complaining about the subject matter in some books, and want it restricted, and then where would we be?
Please allow me to make it up to by writing my buyer, my supplier, my company, and my senator. Changes need to take place. The world needs to know! That forklift freak with the superpowers needs to pay! I think I’ll also write a letter to Mr. Savage and pass along your advice because I’m sure he’d like to know. I mean, if his listeners all find his hardbacks too expensive to buy when they learn the price, maybe he should go straight to Trade…or mass market.
Looking forward to serving you again this
Your Bookseller
Friday, December 16, 2005
Enemy of the Bookstate
The Urban Assault Stroller: Enemy of the Bookstate.
Charged with the high crimes of blocking entrances, running down other customers and booksellers, and knocking over stacks of books. If caught committing any of said crimes, the owner will be politely asked to move their buggy to a less congested spot or treated with exasperated sighs and pained looks. Repeated abuse will result in the buggy license being revoked. You have been warned.
Stolen from Phil & Ted
Stolen from Phil & Ted
I don't want y'all to get the wrong idea. I really do love kids, despite what it may seem between this post and the last. A chubby, dimpled fist and a dandelion fluff head have the ability to make me melt in 1.5 seconds (it's been documented). The wrinkled brow and the pursed lips of a toddler? Cuteness personified. And the serious face of an older child (five through elevenish) when they are telling me how much they love a book or a series and have to, have to, HAVE TO get the next one? Priceless.
I once held this little chunk of a five-month-old (real Buddha baby, adorable) on my hip for fifteen/twenty minutes, ringing customers, bouncing him, putting stuff away, while his mom tried to collapse down her stroller and bungie-cord it to her backpack.
Obviously she did not have the Urban Assault Stroller pictured above (or the e^3 buggy as Phil & Ted call it). This and the plastic and chrome Hummer model (I don't know if that's what it is called, but that's what it looks like: high-tech and huge) are responsible for more accidents in my front of store than anything else. Routinely I have mothers come in with their stroller and just park, completely blocking the entrance, and they don't seem to realize it! All it would take would be to move forward two feet or off to the side, but rarely does it happen.
Hence the declaration of said stroller as the enemy of the Bookstate. You have been warned.
Wednesday, December 14, 2005
An Ovary Shrivelling Day
I just got home from the store and I’m still trying to unwind from a long day. This whole getting home at 10:45 thing doesn’t work for me so well. Overall it was a good day—I almost had a woman convinced that she needed to hire me as her personal shopper for all of her Christmas presents—but it left me with a question that maybe someone with children can answer.
When, WHEN is it ever okay to let your child(ren) to run wild throughout a store, pulling down books and leaving them in piles, tripping up retailers and customers?
Did this become kosher when I wasn’t paying attention?
Did Dr. Spock or Baby Einstein okay this and if so how do I complain to their publishing companies?
I mean, my momma would have snatched me bald if I’d acted as ill-bred as some of these children did, and the mother acted surprised that her children didn’t listen to her! Gee honey, I wonder.
I know that I have no idea how hard it is to raise children, especially several grouped around the same age, but I would like to believe that I would know my kids’ limitations. If they couldn’t behave themselves on a shopping trip, then they wouldn’t be on a frickin’ shopping trip!
Of course I could circumvent the entire situation by just never having kids. How attached to the idea of grandkids are you, Mom, ‘cause I think that my ovaries just revolted?
When, WHEN is it ever okay to let your child(ren) to run wild throughout a store, pulling down books and leaving them in piles, tripping up retailers and customers?
Did this become kosher when I wasn’t paying attention?
Did Dr. Spock or Baby Einstein okay this and if so how do I complain to their publishing companies?
I mean, my momma would have snatched me bald if I’d acted as ill-bred as some of these children did, and the mother acted surprised that her children didn’t listen to her! Gee honey, I wonder.
I know that I have no idea how hard it is to raise children, especially several grouped around the same age, but I would like to believe that I would know my kids’ limitations. If they couldn’t behave themselves on a shopping trip, then they wouldn’t be on a frickin’ shopping trip!
Of course I could circumvent the entire situation by just never having kids. How attached to the idea of grandkids are you, Mom, ‘cause I think that my ovaries just revolted?
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
Gift Recs (one) Brought About By Relaxation
Just the other day I was perched on a pile of broken-down card board boxes, hanging onto the edge of a shelf, with my calves screaming as I went up on point, and I thought to myself: I need a day off.
Usually when I have a day off I just drop. The idea of accomplishing anything beyond catching up on sleep and laundry is beyond me (and laundry only factors in because clean clothing is essential for work), so to have a day off where I get something done: priceless.
The last two days I had free I spent the whole time making eight dozen cookies (for an ornament war/cookie exchange), and going to two holiday parties (fun, but exhausting). Today there was no cookie exchange to prepare for, no holiday party to be the fill-in date at, it was all me. I swept my floors, bought some Christmas gifts, and put up my tree. Unlike those two days I had before, I felt like I had time with no one looking over my shoulder telling me what I needed to get done.
Now I’m sitting here on my couch with the soft glow of my Christmas tree lighting my screen, and I feel relaxed, de-stressed: good. I know tomorrow it will go back to the madness and I’ll be running here and there trying to find the book the customers think they want. Until then it’s just me, a glass of wine and the drone of my television…oh, and y’all. I’m feeling all slippery, noodle-y, and opinionated, so here are some Christmas gift ideas for the masses.
Douglas Hoffman’s medical blogs always make me think of the Thackery T. Lambshead Pocket Guide to Eccentric & Discredited Diseases. Not that he is eccentric or discredited, but the medical sense of humor (read: morbid) is the same. Great for the medical professional in your life.
My customers claim that it was John Hodgman’s interview on the Daily Show that got them interested in his book, Areas of My Expertise. I know it’s because the promise of those Hobo names. It’s all about the Hobo names. For the absurdist in your life.
Meanwhile for those more art (and less ridiculous) orientated friends, there are a couple of great options. Victoria Finlay’s, Color: A Natural History of the Palette, doubles as both a great art book and a great history book as it gives the geological and historical context for some of our most beloved colors. If you want to go for a higher price point, The Collins Big Book of Art: From Cave Art to Pop Art, offers a fabulous selection of art through the ages along with brief descriptions of their historical significance. While it won’t offer any surprises for an Art History professional, it’s perfect for those who dabble or do more.
The other day I had a woman come in and spot one of our hand-sells, How to Survive a Robot Uprising: Tips on Defending Yourself Against the Coming Rebellion. We’d planned to sell it packaged with the Tom Cruise helmed, War of the Worlds, but this woman wanted to buy it to threaten her computer. Apparently it had been giving her problems. With its red-gilt pages and shiny cover, you’re looking at the perfect stocking-stuffer for the techno-phobe or computer programmer in your life. (No, A, you are not getting this one for Christmas.)
Being one of those techno-phobes, (but hey! I figured out how to do new links on the blog. Yay, me! Now if I could only figure out how to go a “Currently Reading” section) I understand where the customer was coming from. I preferred the more laid back pursuits. For those like me, I suggest pairing the Sur la Table Pallino glasses with the Judgment of Paris: California vs. France and the Historic 1976 Paris Tasting That Revolutionized Wine. Drink a little, learn a little: the best of both worlds.
If your giftee likes their presents a little less alcoholic, try pairing Tea: Addiction, Exploitation, and Empire, with one of the lovely gift sets from Harney & Sons. Some lovely tea, and some provocative reading for the contemplative person in your life.
More gift ideas, including some that fall in the fiction realm, to come when I get more time off. It’s time for me to get to bed and take advantage of this whole sleep thing while I still have a chance. Here’s to tomorrow and another work day that goes until 10:30 pm. Hope these were helpful, or at least make some food for thought.
Usually when I have a day off I just drop. The idea of accomplishing anything beyond catching up on sleep and laundry is beyond me (and laundry only factors in because clean clothing is essential for work), so to have a day off where I get something done: priceless.
The last two days I had free I spent the whole time making eight dozen cookies (for an ornament war/cookie exchange), and going to two holiday parties (fun, but exhausting). Today there was no cookie exchange to prepare for, no holiday party to be the fill-in date at, it was all me. I swept my floors, bought some Christmas gifts, and put up my tree. Unlike those two days I had before, I felt like I had time with no one looking over my shoulder telling me what I needed to get done.
Now I’m sitting here on my couch with the soft glow of my Christmas tree lighting my screen, and I feel relaxed, de-stressed: good. I know tomorrow it will go back to the madness and I’ll be running here and there trying to find the book the customers think they want. Until then it’s just me, a glass of wine and the drone of my television…oh, and y’all. I’m feeling all slippery, noodle-y, and opinionated, so here are some Christmas gift ideas for the masses.
Douglas Hoffman’s medical blogs always make me think of the Thackery T. Lambshead Pocket Guide to Eccentric & Discredited Diseases. Not that he is eccentric or discredited, but the medical sense of humor (read: morbid) is the same. Great for the medical professional in your life.
My customers claim that it was John Hodgman’s interview on the Daily Show that got them interested in his book, Areas of My Expertise. I know it’s because the promise of those Hobo names. It’s all about the Hobo names. For the absurdist in your life.
Meanwhile for those more art (and less ridiculous) orientated friends, there are a couple of great options. Victoria Finlay’s, Color: A Natural History of the Palette, doubles as both a great art book and a great history book as it gives the geological and historical context for some of our most beloved colors. If you want to go for a higher price point, The Collins Big Book of Art: From Cave Art to Pop Art, offers a fabulous selection of art through the ages along with brief descriptions of their historical significance. While it won’t offer any surprises for an Art History professional, it’s perfect for those who dabble or do more.
The other day I had a woman come in and spot one of our hand-sells, How to Survive a Robot Uprising: Tips on Defending Yourself Against the Coming Rebellion. We’d planned to sell it packaged with the Tom Cruise helmed, War of the Worlds, but this woman wanted to buy it to threaten her computer. Apparently it had been giving her problems. With its red-gilt pages and shiny cover, you’re looking at the perfect stocking-stuffer for the techno-phobe or computer programmer in your life. (No, A, you are not getting this one for Christmas.)
Being one of those techno-phobes, (but hey! I figured out how to do new links on the blog. Yay, me! Now if I could only figure out how to go a “Currently Reading” section) I understand where the customer was coming from. I preferred the more laid back pursuits. For those like me, I suggest pairing the Sur la Table Pallino glasses with the Judgment of Paris: California vs. France and the Historic 1976 Paris Tasting That Revolutionized Wine. Drink a little, learn a little: the best of both worlds.
If your giftee likes their presents a little less alcoholic, try pairing Tea: Addiction, Exploitation, and Empire, with one of the lovely gift sets from Harney & Sons. Some lovely tea, and some provocative reading for the contemplative person in your life.
More gift ideas, including some that fall in the fiction realm, to come when I get more time off. It’s time for me to get to bed and take advantage of this whole sleep thing while I still have a chance. Here’s to tomorrow and another work day that goes until 10:30 pm. Hope these were helpful, or at least make some food for thought.
Meme and contest: 15 things about my life with books
I actually planned to post something else (and probably will later tonight if I don’t make scones), but this has been going around so I thought I would give it a try. If I can’t think of fifteen things it might turn into fourteen truths and a lie. We’ll see.
Hmm, fifteen truths, or fourteen truths and a lie? Let’s ask Mr. Owl! Maybe I can make this into some sort of contest with the possibility of prizes. The first person to guess will get…something; I’ll have to take inventory of what I’ve got to offer. If no one guesses then I’m home free!
- I memorized the Golden Book version of Sleeping Beauty when I was three to the point where I could say the words as I traced my finger across them. This fooled several people into believing I could read whereas the reality was I was just a damn good mimic.
- My favorite series as a child was the Adventures of Young Indiana Jones (or something along those lines). I loved, loved, LOVED those books and either wanted to date Indy (which in my nine-year-old mind had more to do with kicking ass as a team than holding hands) or be him (explain that genderbend to momma).
- I read my first romance novel at age twelve after sneaking it out of my mother’s room, and for the life me I cannot remember what it was called.
- I have great respect for Toni Morrison. That being said, I think that reading Beloved is like being high on ether. And yes, I know this from experience.
- I am not ashamed; Harlequin Presents saved my soul during Organic Chemistry.
- At work I’m quite anal when it comes to alphabetizing books by title and series, but at home my shelves are a mishmash of unrelated titles and genres happily cohabitating.
- Speaking of home, bookshelves are the most prominent decorating choice in my apartment and I too dream of the day where I will have a house with a designated library. I realize that I will have to win the lottery to come by said house, and I dutifully buy a ticket (or at least think about it) whenever Powerball goes over 100 million.
- I feel no qualms when it comes to dissecting books. I took a bartending book, sliced out the pages, and framed several of the pictures to decorate my dining room.
- I’ve completed several publishing classes from editing to marketing to graphic design, but I do not have anything close to a degree.
- I will read just about everything, or at least try it once.
- While in Spain when I was sixteen, I searched the whole town of Salamanca for books in English, but could only find the complete works of Jane Austen. I had to go to another country to finally read Pride & Prejudice.
- No matter how bad my day has been or how many customers have made my life a living hell, a good book, a bath and a glass of wine can make me forget all my cares.
- Besides Gregory Maguire, I have a big ol’ unrepentant writer crush on Christopher Moore, and someday I will actually make it to one of his signings damn it. At which time I may offer to have his babies even though the pizza boy may get jealous.
- I kept a whole dorm supplied with reading material my freshman and sophomore years of college.
- The best part of being a bookseller is when someone not only buys my suggested books, but comes back days later as excited about the author as I am. Makes me feel all warm and melty inside.
Hmm, fifteen truths, or fourteen truths and a lie? Let’s ask Mr. Owl! Maybe I can make this into some sort of contest with the possibility of prizes. The first person to guess will get…something; I’ll have to take inventory of what I’ve got to offer. If no one guesses then I’m home free!
Monday, December 12, 2005
SB Day: where I ask, "But is he Sponge-worthy?"
The fabulous Miss Beth, she has once again declared that today is the day of the Smart Bitches! I thought about writing the entire blog in this the bad accent, but I am weak. I do not know how the Manolo he does it!
Speaking of bad accents:
“Waiter, there is too much pepper on my paprikash. But I would be proud to partake in your pecan pie.”
Okay, done now. Moving on. Smart Bitches, intelligent thoughts, caffeine, blend on high for two minutes and you get…nothing.
Hmmm, must concentrate harder.
Oh, I know. Birth Control. Let’s talk about female birth control and the amazing lack of variety to be found in Romancelandia.
I’ve pretty much come to accept it as a requirement that at some point during a contemporary romance love scene the male character and the female character will discuss birth control. Usually there’s some blatant mention of him putting on a condom (as discussed by the Smart Bitches in “Oh, Jimmy, your hat!”), or she says something about being on the Pill and off they ride into bare-backed orgasmic happiness. Ultimately the mention of the Pill will later be explained as something that her doctor put her on for hormonal problems, not because she likes to get some action, thus assuring the reader of her non-sluttiness, and the story will go on.
Well, gee, glad to see we’ve broken out of the confines of the patriarchal restrictions based on women and are comfortable with our own sexuality.
Ugh.
It’s not that I have a problem with the whole “she’s on birth control for hormone regulation” idea, that’s why I originally went on birth control. Hormones, especially weird fluctuating hormones, do not make anyone happy. In fact, the make many people unhappy when you suddenly turn into a raging bitch for no apparent reason. No, my issues with the lack of variety in female birth control mentioned in romances stem from a couple of different areas.
I’m afraid the reason why so many fall back on using the Pill and not the patch, IUD, Depo, diaphragm or sponge stems from the belief that all of these other forms of birth control have less to do with hormone balancing and more to do with allowing the user the freedom (or perhaps a better word would be protection) to have sex whenever they want. Sure, female birth control does not prevent the spread of STDs. I know that, you know that, everyone knows that. A condom should still be employed. But the “greater” threat of pregnancy is reduced by their presence (personally I fear STDs more than pregnancy, but I’m not a romance heroine).
We wouldn’t want our heroine to be sexually active. Oh no! She must be the next thing to a virgin (if not a virgin), so that the hero can teach her the ways of lurve.
Nargh! Ugh! And other sounds of disgust.
What century are we living in people? I’m not quite sure. Did someone do the time warp when I wasn’t paying attention?
Maybe the reliance on the Pill has something to do with the secret baby plot always lingering there in the background. Maybe romance authors/editors love the Pill because there’s always that chance that the heroine will forget to take it, and ta-daaaah nine months later we have an epilogue where they are welcoming little Sally or Susie or Tommy into the world.
Gag me with a spoon.
This plot devise (which screams Deus Ex Machina) would be less possible if the heroine had an IUD, IUS, or NuvaRing. There would still be a chance of failure, yes, but not because the idiot forgot to take her pill a couple days in a row.
Hmm, I used idiot. How pejorative of me. Let me rephrase: It is possible to forget to take the Pill, many women do so. It is also possible to be so fertile that forgetting to take one pill (which would have to be a low dose to begin with) at the wrong time of the month could result in some baby-making. The large number of babies resulting from this phenomenon in Romancelandia is a statistical improbability.
Still, my bigger worry on why these other forms of birth control aren’t mentioned has to do with the level of health comprehension on the parts of the readers and the writers. If in the middle of a hot-and-heavy love scene the heroine told the hero that it’s alright because “I have an IUD,” would everyone be completely thrown out of the scene due to not knowing what she meant?
I’m afraid they would be. I’m afraid the average reader would be all, “What the fuck? A whats-it?”
I’m afraid it’s a sign that most women don’t have enough knowledge about their options to make an informed decision. Sure, everyone laughed when Seinfeld had Elaine consider whether or not the new man in her life was “sponge-worthy,” but were they amused by the reality of it or by what they viewed as the exaggeration of the reality? Why can’t we have some female character take a look at her reproductive health and ask herself, “IUD, NuvaRing, or the Pill/Patch, what would be better in my situation?”
Sure this might be a question better suited for a character to ask in a Chick-Lit novel, and maybe I’m just being too picky about something that shouldn’t even factor into the plot. It’s just that if they are going to go through all the trouble to have the obligatory mention of the condom, maybe we should allow the heroine some options when it comes to her own protection. Maybe we should try and believe that the reading public will think, “Oh, IUD. Makes sense because she travels so much through so many different countries,” instead of, “A what?” And maybe if they do have some confusion, they’ll look it up, learn something, and take control of their own reproductive care.
Maybe. I don’t think that “Is he IUD-worthy?” will become the next catchphrase, but I would just like a little variety. Is that too much to ask?
Obviously coherence (from me) is.
Speaking of bad accents:
“Waiter, there is too much pepper on my paprikash. But I would be proud to partake in your pecan pie.”
Okay, done now. Moving on. Smart Bitches, intelligent thoughts, caffeine, blend on high for two minutes and you get…nothing.
Hmmm, must concentrate harder.
Oh, I know. Birth Control. Let’s talk about female birth control and the amazing lack of variety to be found in Romancelandia.
I’ve pretty much come to accept it as a requirement that at some point during a contemporary romance love scene the male character and the female character will discuss birth control. Usually there’s some blatant mention of him putting on a condom (as discussed by the Smart Bitches in “Oh, Jimmy, your hat!”), or she says something about being on the Pill and off they ride into bare-backed orgasmic happiness. Ultimately the mention of the Pill will later be explained as something that her doctor put her on for hormonal problems, not because she likes to get some action, thus assuring the reader of her non-sluttiness, and the story will go on.
Well, gee, glad to see we’ve broken out of the confines of the patriarchal restrictions based on women and are comfortable with our own sexuality.
Ugh.
It’s not that I have a problem with the whole “she’s on birth control for hormone regulation” idea, that’s why I originally went on birth control. Hormones, especially weird fluctuating hormones, do not make anyone happy. In fact, the make many people unhappy when you suddenly turn into a raging bitch for no apparent reason. No, my issues with the lack of variety in female birth control mentioned in romances stem from a couple of different areas.
I’m afraid the reason why so many fall back on using the Pill and not the patch, IUD, Depo, diaphragm or sponge stems from the belief that all of these other forms of birth control have less to do with hormone balancing and more to do with allowing the user the freedom (or perhaps a better word would be protection) to have sex whenever they want. Sure, female birth control does not prevent the spread of STDs. I know that, you know that, everyone knows that. A condom should still be employed. But the “greater” threat of pregnancy is reduced by their presence (personally I fear STDs more than pregnancy, but I’m not a romance heroine).
We wouldn’t want our heroine to be sexually active. Oh no! She must be the next thing to a virgin (if not a virgin), so that the hero can teach her the ways of lurve.
Nargh! Ugh! And other sounds of disgust.
What century are we living in people? I’m not quite sure. Did someone do the time warp when I wasn’t paying attention?
Maybe the reliance on the Pill has something to do with the secret baby plot always lingering there in the background. Maybe romance authors/editors love the Pill because there’s always that chance that the heroine will forget to take it, and ta-daaaah nine months later we have an epilogue where they are welcoming little Sally or Susie or Tommy into the world.
Gag me with a spoon.
This plot devise (which screams Deus Ex Machina) would be less possible if the heroine had an IUD, IUS, or NuvaRing. There would still be a chance of failure, yes, but not because the idiot forgot to take her pill a couple days in a row.
Hmm, I used idiot. How pejorative of me. Let me rephrase: It is possible to forget to take the Pill, many women do so. It is also possible to be so fertile that forgetting to take one pill (which would have to be a low dose to begin with) at the wrong time of the month could result in some baby-making. The large number of babies resulting from this phenomenon in Romancelandia is a statistical improbability.
Still, my bigger worry on why these other forms of birth control aren’t mentioned has to do with the level of health comprehension on the parts of the readers and the writers. If in the middle of a hot-and-heavy love scene the heroine told the hero that it’s alright because “I have an IUD,” would everyone be completely thrown out of the scene due to not knowing what she meant?
I’m afraid they would be. I’m afraid the average reader would be all, “What the fuck? A whats-it?”
I’m afraid it’s a sign that most women don’t have enough knowledge about their options to make an informed decision. Sure, everyone laughed when Seinfeld had Elaine consider whether or not the new man in her life was “sponge-worthy,” but were they amused by the reality of it or by what they viewed as the exaggeration of the reality? Why can’t we have some female character take a look at her reproductive health and ask herself, “IUD, NuvaRing, or the Pill/Patch, what would be better in my situation?”
Sure this might be a question better suited for a character to ask in a Chick-Lit novel, and maybe I’m just being too picky about something that shouldn’t even factor into the plot. It’s just that if they are going to go through all the trouble to have the obligatory mention of the condom, maybe we should allow the heroine some options when it comes to her own protection. Maybe we should try and believe that the reading public will think, “Oh, IUD. Makes sense because she travels so much through so many different countries,” instead of, “A what?” And maybe if they do have some confusion, they’ll look it up, learn something, and take control of their own reproductive care.
Maybe. I don’t think that “Is he IUD-worthy?” will become the next catchphrase, but I would just like a little variety. Is that too much to ask?
Obviously coherence (from me) is.
Sunday, December 11, 2005
It's Customer (and Blogger) Appreciation Day!
I hereby dub this day to be Customer Appreciation Day!* So cue the fanfare and the music! Bring out the dancing elephants!
Because really, what’s an appreciation day without dancing Pacaderms? Puh-leeeze.
I know, you’re thinking shouldn’t everyday be Customer Appreciation Day? Isn’t that part of customer service?
If I said no, would you be mad at me?
(…and somewhere deep in the heart of the Midwest my company’s customer service hotline lights up.)
What I mean by this decree is that it’s time that I talk about customers that don’t drive me to the edge of insanity, the ones that make coming to work fun and exciting. You know, the ones that get pushed aside when I rant about someone accusing me of political bias or yelling because I can’t find a book or lecturing me because I tell them a book is out of print.
Sigh.
No.
Will not get off track.
Today is about happy thoughts. Today is about optimism. Today is also about me drinking too much at holiday parties and fighting the war of all ornament wars, but that’s another story entirely, and meant for some drunken blogging at a later date.
There are thousands of little things people do to make them memorable or special customers, whether it’s telling a funny joke, building some kind of running rapport with a bookseller over the addicting qualities of white chocolate Lindor Truffles (I really do think they are laced with crack), or just taking the time to ask, really ask “How are you?”
Note: It really doesn’t take much effort to edge yourself away from the cell-phone talking gimme-gimme customers of the world. Just takes a dash of common courtesy.
There are those customers who go above and beyond, those who not only listen but manage to give back in some way.
I had a customer give me a book once. This older gentleman—nice suit, tie, slightly graying hair—and I had this great conversation when he first came in. He was on a business trip/conference and that day was his only free day. His work was done, he had no meals with associates, no phone conferences, just some free time to himself. We briefly talked books, and he finally settled on Sleeping with Schubert (a lovely book that suffered from a very unfortunate cover design and marketing package). I told him that we were all fascinated by the concept (woman wakes up sharing her body with the soul of the composer Schubert), but we hadn’t had time to read it. I really wanted to buy it myself, but it was a hardback, something that even with my employee discount I have to stop and really consider if it is worth spending my money on. Our whole conversation lasted maybe five minutes (which included me ringing up) and he left with the book and the directions to the local music store so he could pick up a CD of Schubert’s music.
And that’s the last I saw of him right? Even at that point he’d made me smile, carried on an intelligent conversation and proven he had a genuine love of books. Mucho bonus points.
Imagine my surprise when my coworker popped his head into the backroom several hours later and said, “You have a gentleman caller?”
I have a who-sit? Wha—? Huh?
I walked out to the store expecting to find a friend, only to see a man in a suit standing in front of me. I didn’t recognize him at first—I really have no short term memory anymore and facial recognition is beyond me—until he held up a copy of Sleeping with Schubert. He handed the book to me, gushing about how good it was, how much he was enjoying it, how he was already halfway through, but he needed to get some food and wanted to let me know that I’d chosen well.
“Well, thanks,” I said and tried to hand the book back to him.
“Oh, no. That’s your copy,” he said, “You really have to read it. I recommend reading it while listening to his music.”
And before I could really formulate a coherent response he was gone. It wasn’t some elaborate pick-up, his number wasn’t hidden in the margin somewhere (as one of my friends suggested), it was just a genuine moment of giving back.
And it just happened to involve a wonderful book.
He is not my all-time favorite customer, although he’s pretty damn high up there. My affection doesn’t need to be bought (of course, it doesn’t hurt, but…). There are other ways to show someone you are genuinely paying attention.
No, my all-time favorite customer was a woman named Mary. Mary was a grandma (first time) who’d moved up from California to help her son and daughter-in-law with the baby.
“That girl was just feeling a little overwhelmed,” she’d tell us when talking about her daughter-in-law. “Being with a baby all day can do that to you. I’m there so she can get out and move.”
And when her daughter-in-law wasn’t out and about, Mary was: she worked at a local See’s Candy (“because I’m there to help, not to be supported”) part-time, and got involved with some local organizations.
Mary was a mover and shaker as my mother would say.
Between said moving and shaking, Mary liked to curl up with a Harlequin Presents and a cup of tea. She bought those books from me.
Once, sometimes twice, a week she would come in with her coupons and her list (she kept careful track of what she’d read and what she wanted to read), and I started pulling the books for her ahead of time, trying to guess which one she would ask for. She treated us like family, and it was her job to keep us entertained.
“Oh my God,” she’d exclaim to my boss when she got to the counter, “that last one was sooo good. Why all the time he thought she was in love with his brother she was actually in love with him, but couldn’t tell him until the night they slept together. And girl, let me tell you that even though he was drunk it didn’t diminish anything—if you know what I’m saying. She felt guilty that he didn’t love her and ran away even though she was pregnant! Pregnant! But he did love her and tracked her down…”
And on it would go, ‘til my boss and I were in hysterics. We started trading tidbits of our lives: my Boss throwing out her back, how Mary had been taking care of her mother in California until the woman had died, my allergy to cats. Random stuff, important stuff, and everything in between. Mary would chide my Boss for picking up heavy boxes while she was there (“Girl, you put that down. That’s no good for your back.”), hold the ladder while I went into overstock (“Last thing I need is you falling while getting me a romance novel. You’d break yourself into itty-bitty pieces.”), and tell us to go home when we were sick (“Go home. Make her go home. If you need someone I’ll put on a nametag but you just make sure you get that girl into bed.”).
A Mary visit could make my day no matter how bad it might have been. Missing one was a disappointment. She was always happy, always moving, and always talking. And she knew how to make an exit.
Which she did. Came in one day to tell us she was going back to California. The daughter-in-law had a handle on the baby, and she needed to take care of her life there. Gave us all hugs, told us she’d miss us, and said goodbye.
That was several months ago. There are still days where the Boss and I turn to each other, sometimes after a really bad customer or just in a dull moment, and say, “I miss Mary.”
California, you don’t know what a gem you have.
There are other great customers, or examples I have of how people made themselves standout. These two were just superstar examples. All it takes really is a little conversation, some attention, and a smile, so I charge you, readers new and old, to go out and be nice to the next person who serves you. I’m not asking you to marry them or buy them anything (although chocolate is always appreciated), just show another human being that they have importance on this earth.
And maybe you’ll live on forever in the blog-o-sphere like Mary and the Schubert guy, or maybe just in someone’s mind as a distant, fuzzy memory of feeling good while at work.
*This Customer Appreciation Day was brought to you by Jason Evans of Clarity of Night, a thoughtful and intelligent man (even though he does not get the appeal of zombies). He’s under the mistaken impression that I’m thoughtful and witty, a sign of infinite kindness and patience on his part. Go check him out if you haven’t already. I’m particularly in love with the old tombstones. I’d also like to send a big ol’ heart to the spunky Kate Rothwell, and all of my other readers who leave comments. Y’all make me smile…and make me feel so guilty because I’m such a lurker by nature when it comes to other people’s blogs. Lo siento.
Because really, what’s an appreciation day without dancing Pacaderms? Puh-leeeze.
I know, you’re thinking shouldn’t everyday be Customer Appreciation Day? Isn’t that part of customer service?
If I said no, would you be mad at me?
(…and somewhere deep in the heart of the Midwest my company’s customer service hotline lights up.)
What I mean by this decree is that it’s time that I talk about customers that don’t drive me to the edge of insanity, the ones that make coming to work fun and exciting. You know, the ones that get pushed aside when I rant about someone accusing me of political bias or yelling because I can’t find a book or lecturing me because I tell them a book is out of print.
Sigh.
No.
Will not get off track.
Today is about happy thoughts. Today is about optimism. Today is also about me drinking too much at holiday parties and fighting the war of all ornament wars, but that’s another story entirely, and meant for some drunken blogging at a later date.
There are thousands of little things people do to make them memorable or special customers, whether it’s telling a funny joke, building some kind of running rapport with a bookseller over the addicting qualities of white chocolate Lindor Truffles (I really do think they are laced with crack), or just taking the time to ask, really ask “How are you?”
Note: It really doesn’t take much effort to edge yourself away from the cell-phone talking gimme-gimme customers of the world. Just takes a dash of common courtesy.
There are those customers who go above and beyond, those who not only listen but manage to give back in some way.
I had a customer give me a book once. This older gentleman—nice suit, tie, slightly graying hair—and I had this great conversation when he first came in. He was on a business trip/conference and that day was his only free day. His work was done, he had no meals with associates, no phone conferences, just some free time to himself. We briefly talked books, and he finally settled on Sleeping with Schubert (a lovely book that suffered from a very unfortunate cover design and marketing package). I told him that we were all fascinated by the concept (woman wakes up sharing her body with the soul of the composer Schubert), but we hadn’t had time to read it. I really wanted to buy it myself, but it was a hardback, something that even with my employee discount I have to stop and really consider if it is worth spending my money on. Our whole conversation lasted maybe five minutes (which included me ringing up) and he left with the book and the directions to the local music store so he could pick up a CD of Schubert’s music.
And that’s the last I saw of him right? Even at that point he’d made me smile, carried on an intelligent conversation and proven he had a genuine love of books. Mucho bonus points.
Imagine my surprise when my coworker popped his head into the backroom several hours later and said, “You have a gentleman caller?”
I have a who-sit? Wha—? Huh?
I walked out to the store expecting to find a friend, only to see a man in a suit standing in front of me. I didn’t recognize him at first—I really have no short term memory anymore and facial recognition is beyond me—until he held up a copy of Sleeping with Schubert. He handed the book to me, gushing about how good it was, how much he was enjoying it, how he was already halfway through, but he needed to get some food and wanted to let me know that I’d chosen well.
“Well, thanks,” I said and tried to hand the book back to him.
“Oh, no. That’s your copy,” he said, “You really have to read it. I recommend reading it while listening to his music.”
And before I could really formulate a coherent response he was gone. It wasn’t some elaborate pick-up, his number wasn’t hidden in the margin somewhere (as one of my friends suggested), it was just a genuine moment of giving back.
And it just happened to involve a wonderful book.
He is not my all-time favorite customer, although he’s pretty damn high up there. My affection doesn’t need to be bought (of course, it doesn’t hurt, but…). There are other ways to show someone you are genuinely paying attention.
No, my all-time favorite customer was a woman named Mary. Mary was a grandma (first time) who’d moved up from California to help her son and daughter-in-law with the baby.
“That girl was just feeling a little overwhelmed,” she’d tell us when talking about her daughter-in-law. “Being with a baby all day can do that to you. I’m there so she can get out and move.”
And when her daughter-in-law wasn’t out and about, Mary was: she worked at a local See’s Candy (“because I’m there to help, not to be supported”) part-time, and got involved with some local organizations.
Mary was a mover and shaker as my mother would say.
Between said moving and shaking, Mary liked to curl up with a Harlequin Presents and a cup of tea. She bought those books from me.
Once, sometimes twice, a week she would come in with her coupons and her list (she kept careful track of what she’d read and what she wanted to read), and I started pulling the books for her ahead of time, trying to guess which one she would ask for. She treated us like family, and it was her job to keep us entertained.
“Oh my God,” she’d exclaim to my boss when she got to the counter, “that last one was sooo good. Why all the time he thought she was in love with his brother she was actually in love with him, but couldn’t tell him until the night they slept together. And girl, let me tell you that even though he was drunk it didn’t diminish anything—if you know what I’m saying. She felt guilty that he didn’t love her and ran away even though she was pregnant! Pregnant! But he did love her and tracked her down…”
And on it would go, ‘til my boss and I were in hysterics. We started trading tidbits of our lives: my Boss throwing out her back, how Mary had been taking care of her mother in California until the woman had died, my allergy to cats. Random stuff, important stuff, and everything in between. Mary would chide my Boss for picking up heavy boxes while she was there (“Girl, you put that down. That’s no good for your back.”), hold the ladder while I went into overstock (“Last thing I need is you falling while getting me a romance novel. You’d break yourself into itty-bitty pieces.”), and tell us to go home when we were sick (“Go home. Make her go home. If you need someone I’ll put on a nametag but you just make sure you get that girl into bed.”).
A Mary visit could make my day no matter how bad it might have been. Missing one was a disappointment. She was always happy, always moving, and always talking. And she knew how to make an exit.
Which she did. Came in one day to tell us she was going back to California. The daughter-in-law had a handle on the baby, and she needed to take care of her life there. Gave us all hugs, told us she’d miss us, and said goodbye.
That was several months ago. There are still days where the Boss and I turn to each other, sometimes after a really bad customer or just in a dull moment, and say, “I miss Mary.”
California, you don’t know what a gem you have.
There are other great customers, or examples I have of how people made themselves standout. These two were just superstar examples. All it takes really is a little conversation, some attention, and a smile, so I charge you, readers new and old, to go out and be nice to the next person who serves you. I’m not asking you to marry them or buy them anything (although chocolate is always appreciated), just show another human being that they have importance on this earth.
And maybe you’ll live on forever in the blog-o-sphere like Mary and the Schubert guy, or maybe just in someone’s mind as a distant, fuzzy memory of feeling good while at work.
*This Customer Appreciation Day was brought to you by Jason Evans of Clarity of Night, a thoughtful and intelligent man (even though he does not get the appeal of zombies). He’s under the mistaken impression that I’m thoughtful and witty, a sign of infinite kindness and patience on his part. Go check him out if you haven’t already. I’m particularly in love with the old tombstones. I’d also like to send a big ol’ heart to the spunky Kate Rothwell, and all of my other readers who leave comments. Y’all make me smile…and make me feel so guilty because I’m such a lurker by nature when it comes to other people’s blogs. Lo siento.
Friday, December 09, 2005
Word to screen and back again
I first learned about Annie Proulx when The Shipping News came out as a movie staring Kevin Spacey and Dame Judi Dench. My former crib buddy (and when I say the word crib I mean we used to share a crib as children not the MTV version of the word) went off to the local art house theatre (the only place it was playing at the time), snuggled down in our seats, and prepared ourselves to be amazed. It was Kevin Spacey and Judi Dench after all.
And I was, impressed that is. My friend? Not so much.
“Why not?” I asked her afterwards. This was the same girl that I had spent three hours at Olive Garden once trying to untangle the storyline of the Usual Suspects.
“When I read the book, I could actually feel the cold she was writing about. The movie couldn’t make me feel that.”
Feel the cold? I had to read this book!
That’s when I discovered that Annie Proulx does indeed have the power to reach inside you and make you feel everything: the weather, the emotions. Everything ripping away until you’re bare. Her stories won’t leave you the moment you close the book, maybe not even in a year after you’ve closed the book.
I don’t know if Brokeback Mountain, the movie, will be able to capture the power of the book, or if it will fail like the Shipping News. I do know that you should give both a try.
I’m going to, not only to halt my coworker’s squee-ing over Jake Gyllenhaal, but because this review* (after you weed out all the tongue and cheek) makes me think that the movie may have come pretty damn close.
“In fact, it’s 129 minutes of really intense longing and sadness and unabashedly weepy, doomed love story.”
So go out and read the book, watch the movie! And when you’re recovering from the emotional rollercoaster that is love on screen, call up someone and tell them you love them.
*Brought to my attention by Rosina Lippi's blog on Brokeback Mountain, and a comment left by Danielle.
Wednesday, December 07, 2005
Knight of Ni
Once again I got one of those questions: the ones that make you go “Huh?” while trying to figure out if the person is joking or not. Inevitably they’re not, and you’re left wondering what they expected when they walked into a store that catered to people—all people’s—book needs.
I got asked yesterday why we had so many books that “glorified” witchcraft. I’ve been asked this before. Well, not this exactly. Before it was “Why do you have so many of Satan’s books and not more books on Catholicism?” by a little Chinese Grandma right after she prayed over/saved me in the Religious section.
She was talking about the New Age section. My customer yesterday was talking about the Independent Reader section for children.
“You don’t have any books that show how witches actually are,” she told me.
How witches actually are? Do you mean like Salem Witch Trial EEEEEvil so let’s burn them or dunk them in a pond to see if they float kind of thing?
Should we start holding auditions for a revival of Monty Python and the Holy Grail?
Sir Bedevere: What makes you think she's a witch?
Peasant 3: Well, she turned me into a newt.
Sir Bedevere: A newt?
Peasant 3: ...I got better.
Crowd: [shouts] Burn her anyway!
Or maybe we should just burn all the books we don’t agree with. Yes, that’s it. It will be cathartic and keep us warm in the winter!
Huuuraaah! A solution!
Of course I did not say any of this; instead I just said something about the childhood imagination finding limitless possibilities in the exploration of magic. The customer looked a bit baffled by the whole idea, but not irate (unlike Grandma who had to pray for me again), and it all ended well. She may even return to the bookstore in the future.
And I may let someone else wait on her.
If my brain can remember what she looks like.
Is there such thing as a memory spell?
I got asked yesterday why we had so many books that “glorified” witchcraft. I’ve been asked this before. Well, not this exactly. Before it was “Why do you have so many of Satan’s books and not more books on Catholicism?” by a little Chinese Grandma right after she prayed over/saved me in the Religious section.
She was talking about the New Age section. My customer yesterday was talking about the Independent Reader section for children.
“You don’t have any books that show how witches actually are,” she told me.
How witches actually are? Do you mean like Salem Witch Trial EEEEEvil so let’s burn them or dunk them in a pond to see if they float kind of thing?
Should we start holding auditions for a revival of Monty Python and the Holy Grail?
Sir Bedevere: What makes you think she's a witch?
Peasant 3: Well, she turned me into a newt.
Sir Bedevere: A newt?
Peasant 3: ...I got better.
Crowd: [shouts] Burn her anyway!
Or maybe we should just burn all the books we don’t agree with. Yes, that’s it. It will be cathartic and keep us warm in the winter!
Huuuraaah! A solution!
Of course I did not say any of this; instead I just said something about the childhood imagination finding limitless possibilities in the exploration of magic. The customer looked a bit baffled by the whole idea, but not irate (unlike Grandma who had to pray for me again), and it all ended well. She may even return to the bookstore in the future.
And I may let someone else wait on her.
If my brain can remember what she looks like.
Is there such thing as a memory spell?
Tuesday, December 06, 2005
Blogger ate my life: The 50th entry returns and author sightings abound
Edited to Add: This was my fiftieth entry posted on Friday, December 2nd, and then Blogger ate it. Chewed it up into tiny little pieces. I apologize for the now out of order position, Blogger won’t let me edit or move anything either.
It’s my fiftieth entry!
I wanted to do something all special and hallmark-y, but I’m in the middle of editing my paper and my creative coolness left me sometime last night around the fourth book related nightmare.
“How can one have a book related nightmare?” you ask.
Oh so easily.
And Ta-daaaaah, you have dreams about sorting books into boxes only to discover it’s the same damn book, and no one needs eight million copies of John Grisham’s The Testament (really, they don’t), so you have to unpack and start stripping them only to realize that the garbage pile on the cart is too tall to make it out the door and...
(insert scream here followed by tossing and turning and some mumbling)
Rinse and repeat at hour long intervals for the entire night.
Bleh.
But enough about me, let’s talk about the author I titled this entry about. He’s much more interesting (and has far fewer paper cuts).
A couple of days ago (during one of my brief sojourns from the backroom) I was helping a customer when I glimpsed a guy at the Nonfiction New Release table. Nothing too spectacular about that, there are many guys that hang out around that table at any given time, but this guy was wearing a scarf commemorating the cheering section of a local sports team. Not only was I a fan of this local team, but the guy looked kind of familiar. Admittedly I do not go to the games to stare at other fans, I’m all about the cute guys on the field, but something about this guy tugged at my mind.
I continued to ring up customers, watching mystery guy out of the corner of my eye, when it finally hit me. He’s an author! That’s right. He wrote a biography about some famous guy who got around with a lot of famous actresses, was a bodyguard to a prince, and was rumored to have a penis with the same girth as a baseball bat (the top part, not the bottom). Everyone seemed real interested in that penis fact, I remembered.
But then I started to doubt myself. Maybe he’s not the author of the book. Maybe he’s just a friend of the author. Being not so good at remembering faces, it was entirely possible that I’d gotten them mixed up. Besides he was standing around the New Release table when the book had been out since September. If he was the author why hadn’t he come in then?
Still, I was sixty percent sure that this was the guy, but I didn’t want to be an idiot and walk up only to find out it wasn’t. This needed more investigation. I watched him (while still ringing customers, people were very free with their money that day) journey from the table, saunter down the power aisle, and turn…Yes, yes, I was right! He turned down the biography aisle. Any minute he was going to come up with his book and ask if he could sign it. Score one for my powers of observation!
It should be noted that a customer actually remarked at this point that I looked absurdly happy. It’s the little things in life really.
Only he did not appear at the counter with the books. The next thing I know, possible author guy is up at the front of the store looking at the trade table.
Oh no, did we not have his books? Were they not out?
Much mental cussing ensued.
I had to know before he left the store, so I called a coworker up from her Manga heaven and made her help the customers so that I could check the biography section. The biography section, by the way, is alphabetized by the subject of the book, not the author. I could not remember the subject’s name at all. Thankfully the author (for he was indeed the author) decided to help me out by pulling his book out (it had been spined in the section as had everything else because the bio section is packed) and facing it forward over some other books. I flipped to the author’s photo to confirm the author’s identity (‘twas he), and started towards the front of the store. He hadn’t signed the books (I’ve started checking after hearing that some authors secretly sign their books in section), hadn’t done anything except flip one out, and I was confused.
Should I just approach him, and ask him to sign the copies, sighting my knowledge of our local sports craziness as why I recognized him? Should I strike up a convo about the sports team and segue into a “Hey aren’t you…” from there?
While the book hadn’t been a NY Times bestseller, it had gotten a damn good review from PW and I’d heard that the production rights had been optioned by a Hollywood studio, so why the hell hadn’t he signed his books!
Before I could get any answers to my bafflement (and get my books signed), the coworker called me up to the counter to help as she was being overrun by customers. The elusive author slipped away.
So there you go. That’s all I’ve got. For my fiftieth entry you get book nightmares and almost signings, and I get to go back to editing my paper. Fill free to share any thoughts on why my author didn’t sign or your own book nightmares, I’m sure they’ll be much more interesting than mine.
It’s my fiftieth entry!
I wanted to do something all special and hallmark-y, but I’m in the middle of editing my paper and my creative coolness left me sometime last night around the fourth book related nightmare.
“How can one have a book related nightmare?” you ask.
Oh so easily.
- Spend two days locked in a backroom sorting through a huge delayed (thanks to the holiday) shipment of books and trying to figure out what needs to go directly out on the sales floor, what needs to go into its appropriate bin to eventually go out on the sales floor, what needs to be sorted into another box (labeled by genre) to not be looked at again until after Christmas, and what needs to be stripped immediately and thrown away (because I don’t need six copies each of an author’s entire backlist from 2003, especially when they are not even popular in my store. I’m sorry. I just don’t).
- Add to that several rounds of Returns because the warehouse feels the insane need to send me hardcover editions of books that have already transitioned to paperback months ago and enough sound-making books to register the store as a noise pollution zone.
- Throw in a dash of ouch-I-didn’t-know-my-muscles-could-ache-like-that from hauling said sorted boxes and returns to their appropriate homes.
- Mix well with one beer and a cup of exhaustion.
- Layer into a bed that hasn’t been made in a week.
And Ta-daaaaah, you have dreams about sorting books into boxes only to discover it’s the same damn book, and no one needs eight million copies of John Grisham’s The Testament (really, they don’t), so you have to unpack and start stripping them only to realize that the garbage pile on the cart is too tall to make it out the door and...
(insert scream here followed by tossing and turning and some mumbling)
Rinse and repeat at hour long intervals for the entire night.
Bleh.
But enough about me, let’s talk about the author I titled this entry about. He’s much more interesting (and has far fewer paper cuts).
A couple of days ago (during one of my brief sojourns from the backroom) I was helping a customer when I glimpsed a guy at the Nonfiction New Release table. Nothing too spectacular about that, there are many guys that hang out around that table at any given time, but this guy was wearing a scarf commemorating the cheering section of a local sports team. Not only was I a fan of this local team, but the guy looked kind of familiar. Admittedly I do not go to the games to stare at other fans, I’m all about the cute guys on the field, but something about this guy tugged at my mind.
I continued to ring up customers, watching mystery guy out of the corner of my eye, when it finally hit me. He’s an author! That’s right. He wrote a biography about some famous guy who got around with a lot of famous actresses, was a bodyguard to a prince, and was rumored to have a penis with the same girth as a baseball bat (the top part, not the bottom). Everyone seemed real interested in that penis fact, I remembered.
But then I started to doubt myself. Maybe he’s not the author of the book. Maybe he’s just a friend of the author. Being not so good at remembering faces, it was entirely possible that I’d gotten them mixed up. Besides he was standing around the New Release table when the book had been out since September. If he was the author why hadn’t he come in then?
Still, I was sixty percent sure that this was the guy, but I didn’t want to be an idiot and walk up only to find out it wasn’t. This needed more investigation. I watched him (while still ringing customers, people were very free with their money that day) journey from the table, saunter down the power aisle, and turn…Yes, yes, I was right! He turned down the biography aisle. Any minute he was going to come up with his book and ask if he could sign it. Score one for my powers of observation!
It should be noted that a customer actually remarked at this point that I looked absurdly happy. It’s the little things in life really.
Only he did not appear at the counter with the books. The next thing I know, possible author guy is up at the front of the store looking at the trade table.
Oh no, did we not have his books? Were they not out?
Much mental cussing ensued.
I had to know before he left the store, so I called a coworker up from her Manga heaven and made her help the customers so that I could check the biography section. The biography section, by the way, is alphabetized by the subject of the book, not the author. I could not remember the subject’s name at all. Thankfully the author (for he was indeed the author) decided to help me out by pulling his book out (it had been spined in the section as had everything else because the bio section is packed) and facing it forward over some other books. I flipped to the author’s photo to confirm the author’s identity (‘twas he), and started towards the front of the store. He hadn’t signed the books (I’ve started checking after hearing that some authors secretly sign their books in section), hadn’t done anything except flip one out, and I was confused.
Should I just approach him, and ask him to sign the copies, sighting my knowledge of our local sports craziness as why I recognized him? Should I strike up a convo about the sports team and segue into a “Hey aren’t you…” from there?
While the book hadn’t been a NY Times bestseller, it had gotten a damn good review from PW and I’d heard that the production rights had been optioned by a Hollywood studio, so why the hell hadn’t he signed his books!
Before I could get any answers to my bafflement (and get my books signed), the coworker called me up to the counter to help as she was being overrun by customers. The elusive author slipped away.
So there you go. That’s all I’ve got. For my fiftieth entry you get book nightmares and almost signings, and I get to go back to editing my paper. Fill free to share any thoughts on why my author didn’t sign or your own book nightmares, I’m sure they’ll be much more interesting than mine.
Monday, December 05, 2005
SB Day: Romance Covers and Spray On Ethnicity.
It’s Smart Bitches Day once again, and I’m a little late. Not my fault though, Blogger was giving me fits. This allowed me to hang with my own smart bitches, however, and make free with the sarcasm, wine, pizza and Kung Fu Hustle. Gotta love seeing how another culture synthesizes your own.
And how your culture synthesizes others.
Or perhaps not.
It’s been bitched about before, and by those better than I, but I figure since I’ve tackled the whole pregnancy thing, why not go after ethnicity. I have courage redoubled by alcohol!
Watch out world, here I come!
I mean, really, what’s up with the whole fetishizement (is that even a word? Who cares? You get the drift) of Native Americans, Spaniards, Greeks, Italians, Gypsies, and Sheikhs? And what’s up with always portraying them as tan white guys with dark hair? Half the time they look like someone has just plucked Johnny Farmboy from the field and slapped him in a photo shoot.
Dark hair? Check.
Dark skin, but not too dark because we wouldn’t want anyone getting the wrong idea? Double check.
Dark eyes? Who cares, he’ll have them closed in longing anyway.
Muscles upon muscles? Of course, the man was just branding a cow or something five minutes ago!
Perfect! Wax his chest and arms, give him a shower and plucked those brows and we are in action. Oh, and do something about those calluses on his hands. Where’s that manicurist?
Does this make any of these men look like the aforementioned Native Americans, Spaniards, Greeks, Italians, Gypsies, or Sheikhs? Hell no. But who cares, really, it’s not like some people might actually take a look at white boy and think to themselves, um, what’s up with the un-cola? Can I get the real thing, no ice, and a lemon? You know, how this would be served up in the actual country you are pretending to have this romance take place?
Because I’ve known and seen some beautiful people of Native American, Spanish, Italian, Greek and Arabic descent, and the features that make them striking are completely lacking from the bone structure of the tan Northern European descent men they keep sticking on my book covers. I’ve got nothing against Scotch-Irish, German, and Nordic boys, I share heritage with all of them. As a result of the great American melting pot, however, I’m very much a Heinz 57 Variety-Style baby, one that has an influx of Native American and possibly Turkish blood (which is of much debate because for a while I was convinced that we were part Iranian since an actress from a Middle Eastern film could have been my twin—mach sluttier, more endowed twin, but whatever she was playing a prostitute. The film, while being about an Iranian family, was filmed in Tel Aviv, so once again I’m clueless). One who would like to see her romance covers celebrate the features that make those cultures so intriguing instead of Anglicizing them for mass consumption.
I won't even go into the way most authors continue to play lip-service to the actual culture itself (beyond the cover), throwing in some words (that they may or may not be using correctly) in the native language, mentioning that they have big families or love the bambinos, and lets not even talk about leather that makes its way onto every Native American romance. I worry that people look and think, that's what it is like, that's what they're like. I worry about it far more than if some young girl reads it and expects fireworks and orgasms the first time she has sex. Way more than it she's going to get the wrong impression of love. Sooner or later she'll do both of those things. But will she realize the rest? Not unless she gets to know those cultures too.
And culture should be celebrated. It's traditions and family, colors and smells. It's how we celebrate our pasts and our triumphs.
Is that too much to add? Can the “culture” be represented by something more than a bad spray on tan?
Maybe I should start with something smaller, like a request to cut down on the waxing.
It’s gotta hurt.
And how your culture synthesizes others.
Or perhaps not.
It’s been bitched about before, and by those better than I, but I figure since I’ve tackled the whole pregnancy thing, why not go after ethnicity. I have courage redoubled by alcohol!
Watch out world, here I come!
I mean, really, what’s up with the whole fetishizement (is that even a word? Who cares? You get the drift) of Native Americans, Spaniards, Greeks, Italians, Gypsies, and Sheikhs? And what’s up with always portraying them as tan white guys with dark hair? Half the time they look like someone has just plucked Johnny Farmboy from the field and slapped him in a photo shoot.
Dark hair? Check.
Dark skin, but not too dark because we wouldn’t want anyone getting the wrong idea? Double check.
Dark eyes? Who cares, he’ll have them closed in longing anyway.
Muscles upon muscles? Of course, the man was just branding a cow or something five minutes ago!
Perfect! Wax his chest and arms, give him a shower and plucked those brows and we are in action. Oh, and do something about those calluses on his hands. Where’s that manicurist?
Does this make any of these men look like the aforementioned Native Americans, Spaniards, Greeks, Italians, Gypsies, or Sheikhs? Hell no. But who cares, really, it’s not like some people might actually take a look at white boy and think to themselves, um, what’s up with the un-cola? Can I get the real thing, no ice, and a lemon? You know, how this would be served up in the actual country you are pretending to have this romance take place?
Because I’ve known and seen some beautiful people of Native American, Spanish, Italian, Greek and Arabic descent, and the features that make them striking are completely lacking from the bone structure of the tan Northern European descent men they keep sticking on my book covers. I’ve got nothing against Scotch-Irish, German, and Nordic boys, I share heritage with all of them. As a result of the great American melting pot, however, I’m very much a Heinz 57 Variety-Style baby, one that has an influx of Native American and possibly Turkish blood (which is of much debate because for a while I was convinced that we were part Iranian since an actress from a Middle Eastern film could have been my twin—mach sluttier, more endowed twin, but whatever she was playing a prostitute. The film, while being about an Iranian family, was filmed in Tel Aviv, so once again I’m clueless). One who would like to see her romance covers celebrate the features that make those cultures so intriguing instead of Anglicizing them for mass consumption.
I won't even go into the way most authors continue to play lip-service to the actual culture itself (beyond the cover), throwing in some words (that they may or may not be using correctly) in the native language, mentioning that they have big families or love the bambinos, and lets not even talk about leather that makes its way onto every Native American romance. I worry that people look and think, that's what it is like, that's what they're like. I worry about it far more than if some young girl reads it and expects fireworks and orgasms the first time she has sex. Way more than it she's going to get the wrong impression of love. Sooner or later she'll do both of those things. But will she realize the rest? Not unless she gets to know those cultures too.
And culture should be celebrated. It's traditions and family, colors and smells. It's how we celebrate our pasts and our triumphs.
Is that too much to add? Can the “culture” be represented by something more than a bad spray on tan?
Maybe I should start with something smaller, like a request to cut down on the waxing.
It’s gotta hurt.
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