HelenKay Dimon

So, I’m reading this newsletter on plain language and the decline in newspaper readership.  Don’t ask.  Anyway…the point wandered from circulation issues to a change in how readers get their news to how stupid readers are.  The bottom line can be summed up in this sentence: 

The truth is, many newspapers have become too difficult for most adults to read.

Apparently those of us reading books aren’t so smart either.  While The Washington Post, my hometown paper, is written at a 10th-grade level, most books are not doing so well.  And, as if the world weren’t already backwards and all turned around, this newsletter insists that the National Enquirer  is written at a 12th-grade level – yeah, 2 grades above The Post, a fact which makes me doubt the accuracy of this graph and the reading level of its author.   To make matters worse, on the reading aptitude scale, romance readers rank lower (slower?) than others:

If some newspaper editors still argue that plain language cannot be expressive and vigorous, they should look at what novelists can do with it. These top-selling U.S. authors all write at the 7th-grade level:

• John Grisham
• Tom Clancy
• Michael Crichton
• Stephen King
• Clive Cussler
• Mary Renault
• Frank McCourt
• Arthur Golden

Perhaps the biggest success story in publishing is that of the romance novels, which are often written at the 5th-grade level:

• Romance fiction generated $1.63 billion in sales in 2002.
• There were 2,169 romance titles released in that year.
• Romance fiction comprises 18% of all books sold (not including children’s books).
• Romance fiction comprises 53.3% of all popular paperback fiction sold in North America.
• Romance fiction comprises 34.6% of all popular fiction sold.

So, if you’re like me and you read romance and The Washington Post, I’m thinking your reading level averages out at 7.5 – or, basically, the Summer between 7th and 8th grade.  That’s a bummer ’cause I hated junior high.

Basic question:  how much promotion is too much.

Janet Evanovich may be the only member of her family writing but the rest of the clan is involved in what has become The Janet Evanovich Publishing Machine.  According to this article, Evanovich enlists the assistance of her daughter, son and husband to help with all aspects of her career.  She needs to write in between all this promo work (I can’t imagine balancing both), so she’s teaming up with another writer. That sounds pretty cool to me:

And they have transformed Evanovich, 62, from a failing romance writer who once burned a box of rejection letters on her curb into a mini-industry whose success is beginning to emulate the sprawling domains of authorial heavyweights such as James Patterson.

Last year, she sold an estimated 1 million books in hardcover and 3 million more paperbacks, earning more than $3 million in royalties from the paperbacks and several million more in advances and royalties on the hardcovers. The empire now includes two continuing mystery series: one featuring the sharp-elbowed bounty hunter Stephanie Plum, published by St. Martin’s Press, whose latest installment, "Eleven on Top" went on sale Tuesday; and a second, published by HarperCollins, which began last fall with "Metro Girl."

While her success speaks to her tenacity and her devotion to family, it owes as much to marketing prowess. When fans, impatient for her next novel, began asking her to recommend other writers like her, Evanovich hired one instead. Thus began a separate line of paperback romance-thrillers with Charlotte Hughes as co-author and St. Martin’s as publisher. Four books in that series became best-sellers.

And she goes that extra step:

Evanovich plots her first week of promotion to include book signings at big stores that report their sales to publications that publish best-seller lists. As in past years, the publication of the new Stephanie Plum novel will include a Stephanie Plum Daze festival in Trenton, N.J., the setting for the novels. Featuring live music, food, a character dress-up contest and historical-society tours of Trenton sites mentioned in the series, today’s festival is expected to attract several thousand fans. Barnes & Noble will be there selling books.

She does not simply plan an event and expect people to show up, however. Evanovich Inc. constantly reminds its audience of a coming book, using its Internet site and a snail-mail newsletter, television commercials and radio spots. Evanovich oversees the design of book covers and the production of advertisements; she recently fired the agency that was devising commercials for "Eleven on Top" and enlisted her family and publisher to come up with a new pitch.

I’m exhausted just reading all that.  I have no idea where she finds the time and energy.

My general concern about Harlequin is that it’s trying to be too many things to too many people.  The expansion into women’s fiction, fantasy, older romance, and now epic romance, while shutting down its old standards – well, let’s just say the choices made about how and where resources are expended don’t always make sense.  The reality is that it’s hard to cater to everyone and to do it well.  So, why keep broadening the scope of Harlequin?

Having said all that, my theory about Harlequin expanding beyond its own reasonable borders is, apparently, dead wrong.  My business sense is off.  According to this article, Harlequin is doing what it has to do to stay viable and competitive.   

The weak results of 2004 got the company thinking more seriously about the long-term value of the mass-market paperback segment — 85 per cent of Harlequin’s business — and what could be done to decrease the dependence on it, Ms. Hayes said.

The solution was to try to make the company "more diversified, and publish more in hard cover and more in trade [paperback format]," while looking at other new formats and new businesses and spending more on marketing and sales programs.

Market statistics made it clear this was the right decision. While Harlequin owns about 90 per cent of the series romance business in its key market, the United States, it holds only 7 per cent of the broader "women’s fiction" market.

I get that.  Diversification is good.  But, if Harlequin sacrifices its base – its commitment to category romance – what’s left?  I’m wondering if the problem really is the need to branch out or if it’s something else.  Maybe it’s time to re-think the strategy of having books sit on a shelf for 4-week periods only.  Maybe it’s time to focus, not change focus.  Seems to me it was possible to expand the single title, more mainstream imprints like Mira and HQN, without the wholesale restructuring and the sacrificing of category.  But, what do I know. 

I conducted my weekly skim  of the New York Times Book Review on Sunday. Since a new issue of Entertainment Weekly didn’t land at my house on Saturday thanks to last week’s double issue, I had to focus on something else.  One of the reviews was for It’s All Right Now by Charles Chadwick.  The title of the review is called: The Untalented Mr. Ripple.  You guessed it, the narrator in the book is Tom Ripple, so the editor thought this was a clever way of saying just how much the reviewer hated this book.  Very subtle.

What’s interesting about this, to the extent anything actually is, is the idea of the publisher’s packaging of the author being more important than the work.  He is 70 years old and a retired British civil servant.  This is his first book and he received piles of money for it.   The point of the review, in addition to its theory that this book is uninteresting and without any merit whatsoever, is that Chadwick is some kind of publishing invention.  The review starts:

Publishers are vampires.  Such is their hunger for fresh blood that almost every month brings the announcement of a ‘brave new voice in fiction.’  Where, readers might find themselves wondering, are the timid old voices in fiction?  The answer arrives in the shape of Charles Chadwick.

I have to wonder about this theory of editors as creators of public persona.  To the extent this practice exists, is it one of those things confined only to certain genres or, maybe, just to literary fiction.  I try to imagine the romance publishers sitting in NY saying: gee, let’s throw heaps of money at this author we don’t know, one without any track record, in the hopes of making her into the newest thing no matter what the quality of the book is.  Is that really how it works?  Or, do all good editors, regardless of genre, fall for a project based on the perceived value of the project and not just because the unknown author has an interesting backstory, letting the promo stuff come after.

JK Rowling has an interesting personal story but the Harry Potter books probably don’t sell in the millions just because she wrote the first in a diner and while on the verge of complete financial ruin.  Sure, this may help with the PR machine but that would only go so far if the books sucked.  You’d think the publisher signing the check would know that.  The reviewer’s idea of authors as commodities sounds like an overstatement, maybe even a misstatement.  Wouldn’t be the first time I disagreed with a NYT reviewer.  Not even the first time in this issue of the Book Review.

A few months back a heavy promotional push started for Kyra Davis and her new book Sex, Murder and a Double Latte.  The book is displayed prominently in bookstores and has been featured in a few magazines.  Each time I see her name – and that happens pretty often – I think: gee, I have to buy that book.  The cover is fun and flirty.  Davis is new and interesting.  The buzz is good.  Seems like a winner.

Thanks to this article, I’m going to make that purchase this weekend.  Seems as if Davis had hit the point of complete desperation in her life and pushed to try something new.  She came late to the idea of writing and studied before jumping in.  It all paid off with a four-book deal with Mira.  At just the right time:

It sounds like another unbelievable fable from the J.K. Rowling school of writer discovery.

Kyra Davis, a 30ish single mother in the Bay Area, was teetering on the brink of financial and emotional ruin when she decided to take refuge in the written word. Never mind that she had little writing experience, or that she was working as a marketing manager at an upscale athletic club.

About her mixture of whodunit and chick lit, Davis says:

"Just take all your pent-up stuff," Davis says she told herself, "and kill people off on the page."

That quote won me over.  Sure, it’s hardcover, which is always a bit risky (and expensive) with a newbie, but I’m willing to take the chance to see what all the fuss is about.

Tracy Sprayberry’s blog follows her road to publication, complete with all the doubt, frustration and, yeah, envy that goes along with it.  Her post from Thursday is a bit of a rant but she manages to express what most of us have felt from time to time in the writing business.  In fact, I had the same ephiphany in October 2003 and it sounded a lot like the one Tracy had.  Specifically, it focused on the same line Tracy used:

One must submit a book in order for said book to be published.

Uh-huh.  Sounds familiar. I refer to this as the "duh" moment in my life.  The good news is that this realization can give rise to a strange sort of motivation which can lead to the much-awaited Call and other Calls for more work. It’s a long road but it does actually go somewhere.  It just doesn’t get there very fast.

A friend pointed me in the direction of this article from Zug.com about writing romance… then ducked for cover.  It’s called, How To Write A Trashy Romance Novel: Part the First.  And, yes, there is a Part The Second and so on. Now, let’s all keep our sense of humor.  This is meant to be funny.  Yes, it includes insults but ignore that. It’s Friday and we all could use a laugh.  Really, the first paragraph should be enough to keep you reading:

There are over 3 billion vaginas in the world, and attached to every one of them is someone who will buy and read absolutely anything with a shirtless Fabio look-alike embossed on the cover.

Shocked? You shouldn’t be, it’s a documented fact. And you – yes you, sitting on the couch in ratty Spiderman underwear and covered with Twinkie crumbs – could be making a fortune off that fact. How? By writing your own romance novel! It’s so easy a brain dead moron could do it, and if a brain dead moron can do it, so can you!

Part The First sets out what the title and cover should look like, how experienced the hero must be versus the virgin heroine and this gem about the character names:

There are two standard requirements you must meet when creating characters with the Covington-Malone system. The first is that you must give your characters exotic and exciting names. Do not underestimate the vital importance of this! Outrageous names such as Lady Scarlett Covington of Witltonshiresouthhamptonburrough for the woman, and Lord Dominic St. Bride of the London St. Brides for the man, are completely appropriate. When actually used, all names must be said in full, as seen here:

“Lord Dominic St. Bride of the London St. Brides, you will never triumph over me! My virtue is whiter than the cloth of the Lord!”

“Ah, but I swear my saucy wench Lady Scarlett Covington of Witltonshiresouthhamptonburrough, you will be in my bed tonight, or my name isn’t Lord Dominic St. Bride of the London St. Brides!”

See how the names are used repeatedly? This is crucial, as the average readers are frequently too lusty to remember which characters are speaking, or moaning, respectively. Other excellent, though far fetched, names to be used are: Mistress Trae O’Hara of Atlanta-by-the-sea, Sensei Fellipe Chi-Chi of the house of his father the most honorable Kang, Lady Daggsrina Steanova, Princess of Russia and of course mad King Geoffrey of the Land of Hargraveington.

Part The Second includes some valuable information about the story requirements:

It probably contains something about shipwrecks, and revenge, and possibly an ancient gypsy curse of some sort. You can just fill in those details later. The important thing is that the hero and heroine know they can never be together, so they just talk a lot in the beginning. There are yearnings and sexual tensions a-plenty. Then an unforeseen circumstance, such as a shipwreck, or revenge, or an ancient gypsy curse of some sort, throws the two of them into a passionate embrace that they are helpless to resist.

At this point the naive virgin suddenly becomes a ravening wildcat in the sack with virtually no urging from her surprised male partner. The characters then get it on over and over and over again in various settings, until they are rescued, or get their revenge, or have an old gypsy woman lift the curse.

It goes on from there.  And, yeah, you’ll laugh even though you don’t want to and think you shouldn’t. 

I’m all for getting feisty about an issue.  For fighting society’s ills and all that. But, since the villain of the moment in this instance appears to be chick lit, I’ll pass.  Now, I admit to hating the name.  Chick lit.  Annoying, yes.  But, some articles and a good deal of internet chatter go another step and blame chick lit for the fall of feminism and the destruction of the brain cells of young women everywhere.  Maybe we’re over thinking this a bit. Could it be that chick lit titles of the flirty variety are just books read for fun and enjoyment and not the sign of the apocalypse or the end to the family unit as we know it. 

Two articles from the last few months debate the potential harm of chick lit books.  Guess there was nothing more to say about the war, world hunger or the disintegration of the planet’s ecosystem.   

First, in Girl Trouble, Fear and Loathing in Chick Lit, the reporter starts by saying:

Something creepy is happening in the pages of the 2005 book catalogues, those beautifully bound lists of new releases that publishers send to sellers and media at the start of each season.

And ends with:

Chick lit — in its original form and the new version 2.0 — can be liberating. Its success is a response to the smothering, simple-feminist notion that all our representations of women have to be ideal, that romance is a female rocket scientist and her stay-at-home mixed-race partner doing dishes together. But it’s bleak to think that the alternative to political correctness is this false, never-ending depiction of women’s lives as frivolous. Our preoccupations are not just shopping and sex, and our problems aren’t solvable with a wink and giggle and a new pair of shoes. Honey, sweetie, darling, a word of advice: please keep your fiction away from my reality.

The Chick Lit Challenge, Do Trendy novels For Young Women Smother Female Expression — Or Just Put A Little Fun In Feminism? takes a different tact, thanks to reporter Adjula Razdan.  The article is worth a read, if only for the reference to slut lit – yeah, I said slut lit.  Actually, it’s interesting except for a quote by author Hanne Blank which, honestly, borders on incomprehensible.  Don’t believe me?  Here it is:  "The chick lit juggernaut of consumerist husband-hunting femme stereotypes is no less a pastiche (and in many ways no less a parody) of culture’s directives to women than, say, Tom Clancy or Dean Koontz novels are . . . of the cultural directives aimed at men."  There had to be a clearer way to say that.

Forgetting that quote for a minute, if you can, (and Blank does redeem herself at the end with a quote most folks will understand) here’s how this one wraps up:

So is the critical uproar over chick lit over the top? Could be. After all, who says that trashy beach reads can’t coexist with smart postfeminist books? (One of the points of third-wave, "lipstick" feminism, is exactly that — that women don’t have to be one kind of human being, with one kind of pleasure, all the time.) Even within so-called chick lit, there is variety in quality and subject matter (witness new branches like "mommy lit" and "Latina lit"), and it is hard to make generalizations — another lesson of modern feminism.

And maybe we can do even better than that. Hanne Blank thinks that chick lit can and should be improved. "The solution to bad chick lit isn’t to get rid of chick lit, it’s making the effort to produce a chick lit that’s more nutritious, more interesting." After all, there’s more than a little of the chick lit spirit in the novel-of-manners tradition that produced Jane Austen — and who’s to say that this thriving genre won’t produce a modern-day Austen who can turn Prada, martinis, and the quest for Mr. Right into literary gold?

I’m still thinking they’re books and, as with all books, some folks will like the style and some won’t, so let’s all unclench a tad. 

Lori Foster has a feature on her message board where folks can write in and ask questions of Kate Duffy of Kensington Publishing.  Even better, Kate stops by and actually answers the questions.  Who knew.  Two recent inquiries related to Kensington and ebooks.  Ebook publishing is one of those subjects about which I have almost no clue so I look elsewhere for guidance.  For those thinking epublishing is a dead end or that ebooks are crap no one cares about, check out the message board.  Or, to save time, you can just read the questions and Kate’s answers here:

Question #1:  Have you ever bought on proposal from an epub before?  Is this something you would consider doing?

Kate’s answer:  I might have a concern about an epubbed author’s ability to write a 90,000 word story since some of the epubbed things are so short but if I like what I read of an author’s backlist then I often buy from proposal.

Some more info:  Jordan Summers and Jen Nicholas are just two examples of epubbed authors who were picked up by Kate.  I’m sure there are more but you get the idea.

Question #2:  I’ve heard Brava is launching a line of ebooks.  Is that correct? If so, will they be electronic copies of of print books already available, or will you be acquiring for new books to be published electronically first/exclusively?

Kate’s answer:  Kensington is launching a line of erotica (January, 2006) which will be paper and epubbed simultaneously if all goes as planned.

Some more info:  If you’re interested in this line get in contact with Hillary Sares or Audrey LaFehr (apparently Kate is swamped with Brava).  They are buying contemporaries and historicals, novellas and single titles. 

Good luck.

This week’s review of Entertainment Weekly - yes, I know, it’s as disturbing to me as it is to you – was a bit more interesting than usual.  The main theme, to the extent EW has a theme, is best summed up by the article The Must List.  Upon further read, this purports to be a list of the 122 (not 120 or 125) people and things we are supposed to love and adore this Summer.  At least, that’s what the cover story banner says.

Now, the #1 people or thing we are to love is Brandon Routh.  You’re asking:  what or who is Brandon Routh.  That was my question.  First, he falls into the "people" category.  Second, he is the new Superman.  Now, to be consistent, #2 is Kate Bosworth.  Also a people, not a thing, Kate is the new Lois Lane.  Almost makes you think the producers, director and writers of the new Superman chipped in a few bucks and bought Jeff Jensen, the author of the article about #1 and #2, a drinking party with a bunch of hookers. I’m just speculating.

Included in the 122 people and things we’re supposed to love and adore this Summer are some books.  These range from the obscure to the this-one’s-been-everywhere type.  The book part of the list goes like this:

at #29. The March by E.L. Doctrow – Honestly, I thought Doctrow was dead.  Guess not.  EW  says, "Publishing insiders are calling his long-awaited Civil War epic The March the best book of the year."  This could be Doctrow’s first-person account of the Civil War.  Who knows.

at #48.  The City Of Falling Angels by John Brendt – This is the guy who wrote Midnight In The Garden Of Good And Evil.  Okay, I owe Brendt an apology.  Since his previous (and only) book was on the bestseller list for something like 106 years, I assumed he was done with the world, had retired to an island and was otherwise lounging around in a drunken haze.  Really, wouldn’t you have taken that road?  Not Brendt.  He’s been writing a second non-fiction crime extravaganza, this time based in Venice.

at #78.  On Bullshit by Harry G. Frankfurt – I will buy and actually read this book based on the following quote from EW,  "Retired Princeton prof Frankfurt’s slim philosophical tract theorizes that bullshitters – those who don’t care whether what they say is true or false – are more dangerous than liars."  He had me at "philosophical tract" and I doubt I’m alone.

at #82.  A Long Way Down by Nick Hornby – I am convinced it is on the list because it is on every damn list everywhere on the planet.  Hell, I’ve written about it.  Despite Tod Goldberg’s comment here that the book is earning Hornby the worst reviews of his career, the promo campaign is on fire.  And, Tod?  May your upcoming release be this hated.  Leaving this book off this (or any list), including one about the best shoes for Fall, would suggest a magazine is out of touch and EW can’t have that.

at #102.  Bangkok Tattoo by John Burdett – This one is a thriller starring a Buddhist cop.  You try pulling that off.  Enough said.

at #110.  Killing Yourself To Live by Chuck Klosterman – I don’t even understand the title.  EW  says it "…chronicles his 21-day, 600-CD roadtrip across American in search of famous rock-star death sites…"  Not.  Interesting.  To.  Me.

at #113.  Breakfast With Tiffany by Edwin John Wintle – This one has some buzz.  I say that because it was featured in People  this week.  Two entertainment magazines in one week must mean something.  It’s a memoir about a gay writer who raises his teenage niece.  And, you guessed it, it’s coming to a theater near you very soon.

at #116.  Honey And Junk by Dana Goodyear – It’s a book of poems.  Really, I could lie to you and try to describe it but I stopped reading soon after reading the poems part.

at #120. The Bachelorette Party by Karen McCullah Lutz – This lady wrote the script for Legally Blonde.  EW describes this as, "-a raucous, entertaining romp that takes place almost entirely during a scandalous all-night premarital bash and proves that chick lit isn’t just simpering single gals seeking hearts and flowers."  Look at that.  We got all the way to #120 before bashing chick lit.  That could be a record for EW.

Before you get too impressed with the list and these authors, remember this:  Mickey Rourke (yeah, he’s alive and not pickled in a jar somewhere – who knew) is #61, right between Coldplay and Melissa Etheridge.  Maybe Hornby should dump his promo guy/gal after all for not getting him a higher ranking than Rourke.