HelenKay Dimon

Many readers complain that they see the same stories all the time – that there’s nothing new out there.  The standard author reply goes like this:  there are only so many plots out there in romanceland, so expect to see the same storylines over and over again.  That’s probably true…but only up to a point. 

People are trying new things and trying old things in new ways. I would argue The Givenchy Code, Sex, Murder and A Double Latte and Awaken Me Darkly are all examples of recent reads with strong voices that offered something special.  This new sale listing in Publishers Lunch sounds like a file from the "something new and different" cabinet:

The Persian Pickle Club author Sandra Dallas’s A VINE OUT OF EGYPT, about a young Colorado girl and life in her small farming community after hundreds of Japanese-Americans are relocated to an internment camp there and a local girl is found brutally raped and murdered soon after, to Jennifer Enderlin at St. Martin’s Press, by Danielle Egan-Miller of Browne & Miller Literary Associates.

Internment camps?  Not your average St.Martin’s read.  My mother-in-law, her parents and siblings spent time at an internment camp.  Knowing that, and having an inside track on information, I’m not tackling this subject.  In many ways, it’s a history too close and painful to my family for me to give it a shot right now.  But, it’s exciting that an author isn’t shying away from the topic by arguing it’s too hard or not marketable, or whatever. 

Taking a risk.  Thinking outside the box.  Whatever you want to call it, it’s about not being satisfied with what’s out there and ignoring the negative thinkers who say "you can’t do that" or "it won’t sell" when, obviously, you can.  Whether you like her or not, Diana Gabaldon did.  This lady looks as if she’s stepping out.  Good for them.

For an interesting backlist, go check out Sandra Dallas’s website.   The new sale isn’t up, but her other books have an interesting look and sound.

I think of The Wall Street Journal as the newspaper for men in blue suits.  That could be because the guy in the blue suit I happen to be married to has a subscription.  So, with all my preconceived notions,  it cracks me up whenever I see chick lit articles in WSJ. This bizarre event has happened a few times, including Saturday.

The article, Chick Lit Goes "Glam" was about, well, something the journalist referred to as "glam lit" which he (yeah, the journalist is Jeffrey Trachtenberg) described as:

Glam lit is a outgrowth of some previous chick lit best sellers, featuring women in high-drama fields like magazines…

With chick lit going strong, one hot title can be enough to spur a subgenre, the way Jennifer Weiner’s "Good in Bed" in 2001 helped create "bigger-girl lit," about larger-than-average women taking charge of their lives, says Rian Montgomery, who runs the fan site ChickLitBooks.com.  Other subgenres include "mom lit" (women dealing with raising children) and "hen lit" (with older-than-average chick-lit heroines).

There are a whole bunch of subgenre descriptive titles in there that work on my nerves.  Honestly, do we really need a separate "bigger-girl lit" category?  I won’t even mention my distaste for the "hen" thing.  Anyway…the article gives a few examples of the new "glam lit" craze in the event you want to take a look.  More than likely you’ve heard about these because they’re making the rounds in women’s magazines:

1. Everyone Worth Knowing by Lauren Weisberger.  The glam moment in this one has to do with NYC’s invitation-only party scene.  Whatever that means.
2. Lipstick Jungle by Candace Bushnell.  I’ve talked about this one ad nauseum so I’ll move on.
3. Sex.Lies.Murder.Fame by Lolita Files.  I will read anything by an author with the name Lolita Files. And, go look at the cover.  Go.
4. Beyond the Blonde by Kathleen Flynn-Hui.  About a woman from New Hampshire transplanted in NYC and following a dream.
5. True Hollywood Lies by Josie Brown.  According to the article the target audience is a professional urban woman aged 20 to 40.  Seems to me that’s a big range, but okay.

Wonder what’s next?  We’ve heard about chick, hen, mom, bigger-girl, glam, porn and lad lit.  Wonder if journalists are running out of ideas for new names.

We could talk about how much I love my editor.  We could talk about how grateful I am to Lori Foster and her Brava contest.  I could go on and on…and on about both subjects for hours.  Or, we could talk about me.  Let’s go with that one, shall we?

Here it is – the unveiling of my first cover:

Isn’t it pretty?  Honestly, I love this cover for several reasons in addition to the obvious – you know, like the fact my name is on there and spelled correctly.  No strange stuff or wacky designs.  A simple and classy look. 

Remember, it’s never too early to pre-order 30 or 40 copies.  Go to Barnes & Noble…now.

I’m thinking I never posted the novella cover blurb for my April 2006 Brava release When Good Things Happen To Bad Boys.  Really, I am the queen of promotion.  I’ll be lucky if I sell 3 books at this rate.

So, here it is:

Hannah Bridges is the most infuriating woman architect Whit Thomas has ever met—and the sexiest. If he could just get the tough contractor to stop proving herself at very turn, they might have time to discuss more important things, like his hands on her…blue prints. What Hannah needs is a night of pure bliss that’s all about her: no regrets, no control, no limits. Now, in a private room where pleasure is the only goal, Hannah is about to receive a delicious education in total ecstasy…

Now, I wrote this novella in late Summer 2004.  Kensington via Kate Duffy made an offer for it in May 2005 (May 6th, but it’s not like I’m obsessed with the date or anything).  It will come out in April 2006.  That’s a long time from start to finish.  What’s interesting – probably to me only – is that I read this blurb yesterday (while staring at the cover – no OCD issues here) and thought the novella sounded pretty sexy. 

Gotta admit, I didn’t think of it as really sexy when I wrote it.  Just thought it was fun and flirty.  Is it possible that in addition to having no idea what I wore to work yesterday that I now can’t remember what I wrote recently either?

I read all the time about writers who fully plot out a book before they write.  They have an outline 600 pages long for their 300 page book.  They put together poster boards with pictorial histories of each character, including the family dog and next dog neighbor who is mentioned only in passing on page 158.  They have written the heroine’s diary. 

Well, I hate those people. 

Sure, I have some idea where I’m going when I start – not nearly as much as I should, but some.  I’ve done character sketches because, uh, I can’t create a character without knowing him or her.  But, that’s about it.

So, why the whine?  The non-plotting thing is killing me at the moment.  I’m in the middle of a novella (with a looming deadline) and every word – every single freaking one – is painful.  This novella is for a single author anthology.  Yeah, that means all three of these gems are by me.  Can’t hide behind anyone else.  That sounded like a good idea at the time.  Not so much now. 

The first two novellas went okay.  This one is destroying me in courier inches.  I like the characters and the plot, but I fight to find every word and end up revising with an OCD-like vengeance that has my loved ones concerned.  Nothing is clear or easy.  Nothing just "comes" to me.  I search for every thought and sentence, hate it all and rewrite (and rewrite and rewrite)…then contemplate smacking my head against the laptop keyboard.  Some stories are just harder to get out than others, I guess.

Whine, whine, whine. 

I’m in a bit of a deadline crush.  Read: this book is kicking my butt.  Will explain more on that tomorrow.  For now, instead of inflicting my thoughts and usual warped humor on you today, I provide this information about some publishers looking for material.  That’s always good news, right? 

Leisure Books/Dorchester Publishing is actively seeking contemporary romances.  The books desired are to be "fun and whimsical," and should be humorous and focus on a modern couple in a "zany situation."  Word length is 85,000-90,000 words.  Send manuscript to:  Dorchester Publishing, 200 Madison Avenue, Suite 2000, New York, NY 10016.  No specific editor is
named.

Avalon Books are seeking short historical romances.  These romances should be between 50,000-60,000 words.  They are accepting all time periods and setting.  They do not, however, accept novels with graphic sex, violence or strong language.  Check out the Avalon website (www.avalonbooks.com) for more submission details.

Reprinted with the permission of Washington Romance Writers and Julie Moffett.

I’m reading a category romance.  I have to admit it’s been some time since I’ve picked up a book from the Silhouette/Harlequin rack.  Before anyone gets upset, I don’t view these books as second-class romance novels.  They’re different from single title and that’s fine.  Just needed some time away.  That’s all.

And, it was good.  See, the one I have is of the just-turned-31-and-must-lose-my-virginity-now variety.  Without the break, the theme would have annoyed me, probably even caused me to walk on by, but not now. After our time apart, I’m looking forward to this one. 

So, in my time away something strange happened in Silhouette Desire land.  Specifically, every release (except, maybe, the one I’m reading this month) appears to be part of a continuity series.  For October we have a selection from each of the following:  DYNASTIES: THE ASHTONS; CRENSHAWS OF TEXAS; TEXAS CATTLEMAN’S CLUB; AND THE GYPSY INHERITANCE. That’s 4 out of 6 books coming from continuities.

I’m a fan of books that center around friends or members of the family.  But, there are some rules:

1. The books must stand alone.  A reader should be able to tell what in the hell is going on without reading the author’s entire backlist. I only have so much money to spend and would prefer not to spend it all to figure out why the Smith and Jones families hate each other.  Just freaking tell me.
2. The set-up for the next book can’t be obvious.  Books should not be littered with characters solely for the purposes of introducing the next story.  Unless, of course, they’re my books because I think I do this.  By accident, of course.
3. The books have to be different.  Let me repeat that: the books have to be different.  One family can only have so many beautiful 31-year-old virgins waiting to be deflowered unless your series takes place in 1789.
4. The characters have to be distinct.  For example, brothers may have similar mannerisms and such, but they shouldn’t be exactly the same.  We should be able to tell one from the other.  If you don’t believe me, send me an email and I’ll tell you about my brothers.
5. Not all families have to be dysfunctional.  That’s real life.  In fiction, every now and then – not always, but sometimes – the hero/heroine’s mother doesn’t have to be a bitch and the father doesn’t have to be a drunk/philanderer who leaves the kids before puberty.  Branch out.

Back to the book. 

Over the weekend I made my usual trek – grande nonfat vanilla latte in hand – to a bookstore.  This time, it was to one of the 2,000 Borders in Washington, D.C.  I went there with a specific goal:  to buy Stephanie Bond’s In Deep Voodoo – love that title.  I ended up having a smackdown with the young and clueless clerk who, I am pretty sure, has never read a book.

See, Bond’s book just came out.  I checked the romance section, the mystery section (I often find romantic suspense stuck in there), the fiction section and the new paperback release rack.  Nothing.  Using the handy and allegedly helpful bookstore computer, I found that there were 6 copies somewhere in the store.  Unfortunately, I did not actually find any of those 6 copies. 

Enter the young and clueless clerk.  First she double checked my computer search.  Then she checked the shelves – she checked the new hardcover shelves twice even though I told her it was a paperback.  I’m pretty sure she also wandered into the cooking section.  More nothing.  She then made the following observation:  the book was in the back and logged into the system but the "people" who were in charge of putting the books on the shelves hadn’t done it yet.  She told me to come back Wednesday.  I told her I was going to another store.  I also thought about throwing my grande nonfat vanilla latte on her but decided there was no reason to waste a perfectly good $3 coffee drink.

So, I still don’t have Bond’s book but in my travels I did pick up a few others, including one I’d never heard of but grabbed because I liked the cover:

1. The cover buy:  My Very Own Murder by Josephine Carr
2. The Pregnancy Test by Erin McCarthy – Love Erin McCarthy
3. The Night Before Christmas anthology – Look, more Erin McCarthy
4. The Lincoln Lawyer by Michael Connelly – I have an almost unhealthy obsession with Connelly’s work
5. When The Lights Go Down by Heidi Betts – the next PBR review book (I think)

Think of how many I would have purchased if the young and clueless clerk didn’t tick me off.

I realized this weekend that I’ve been doing this writing thing all wrong.  I use my laptop, sure.  All the cool people use laptops.  But, I write from home.  I now know I should write from a writing club.

According to a story in the New York Times on Sunday, writing clubs are all the rage.  Okay, the article didn’t use those words, but it did talk about a new Manhattan club – Paragraph – and about new places opening in California (Venice Beach, to be exact).  What happens is that published and unpublished writers apply for membership and, once accepted, pay a monthly fee to secure space (think college library carrels) and have a place to go to write. 

This isn’t a new thing.  The article talks about a place that’s been around for 30 years in Lower Manhattan, the Writers Room.  That one has a membership of 400 writers who take turns using the 40 available desks.  Lawrence Block (mystery writer – like you didn’t know that) and Michael Berg (screenwriter of Ice Age) both belong to that one.  What’s new is the number of people who want to join and use the services.

One writer explained the reason for the trend like this:

When you write at home, there’s a lot of distraction.  You want to go clean out the fridge, or tweeze your eyebrows.  But when you go to a space to write, that’s what you do.

As the Queen of Procrastination, I can appreciate trying to figure out a way to limit distractions.  Now, tweezing and cleaning never jump into my mind as possible means of avoiding a deadline for me, ‘tho I do have others.  Problem is, I can’t write at some kind of group home.  I can only write how I write.  For those who are having trouble concentrating and live near a city, this might be the answer.

Ah, those quotes.  You knows the ones.  You stumble across them while innocently reading a magazine about shoes, $2,000+ handbag and the motherhood plans of Brittney Spears – for those who are concerned about the ever-decreasing size of my brain cells, please know I skipped the last article. 

This time I’m talking about a quote in October’s Elle.  The quote in question goes like this and is in reference to a book called Veronica by Mary Gaitskill:

"You don’t win the Nobel Prize for writing about the inner lives of 14-year-old girls," critic Laura Miller recently noted.  In fact, few female writers get much respect these days for writing about women’s inner lives at any age.  Mary Gaitskill has been writing on that theme for many years – but since her last book came out, the specter of Bridget Jones has come to hover over pretty much the entire literary sorority.  At this cultural moment, then, Gaitskill deserves come sort of monument for writing of friendship, of sex with cads, of aspiration, in a way – a "funny, horrible, poignant, and gross" way, to borrow a phrase from an essay of hers – that defies categorization.

Ever wonder what will happen when/if chick lit loses favor in the reading public?  Who in the world will get blamed for the lack of respect in literary circles that female non-chick lit writers claim they receive? 

Seems to me plenty of these female writers get good press and loads of respect.  Lazy reporters and others might want to think about blaming something other than the popularity of chick lit for whatever slights they perceive have been levied against the female non-chick lit writing crowd.  It’s getting kind of old.