IWSG: Genre Shame



Insecure Writers Support Group

There are many things I love about being a romance writer. I love watching a relationship unfold between the pages of my story. I love considering all the ways love can blossom in inhospitable surroundings.

But the thing I most hate about writing romance is having to tell people that I write romance. People will lean toward me, their eyes sparkling and ask, "So what do you write?" When I tell them my genre, their shoulders pull back, the eyes glaze over and their entire being radiates disappointment. They mutter a vague, "Cooooool" and change the subject.  They thought I meant that I was a "real" writer.

I'm going to digress for a moment (because I love a good digression). Have you ever watched the show, The Big Bang Theory? I love that show. The main male characters are three astrophysicists and one engineer named Howard. Howard takes a lot of guff for being the only one without a PhD. They scoff at the idea that his job has value because in the grand scheme of things, he is simply an "Oompa Loompa of science".  What's weird about this kind of snobbery is that the disdain is saved for the person who offers the most external value. It's a lot easier to see the value of an engineer because we see what they do, whereas with physicists (especially theoretical physicists) the work is only known and understood by a small and elite group of people.

You may be wondering where I am going with this. Well it's been my experience that the things that are the least accessible to the masses are often treated having the most value. Any weighty tome, any lofty philosophy. Any physicist with his head in a particle cloud generator.  And it's true that sometimes those things are incredibly valuable, but it always sucks to be the one near the bottom of the hierarchy.

For writers, being a literary novelist is gold standard. The denser and more complicated your tome, the less your average person wants to read it, the more certain circles of white tower academics will laud you for your genius. Then you get the worker bees, the folks who write Literary/Genre fiction and from there, more traditional genre fiction: Mystery, Sci-Fi, Fantasy. Now it's true that most genre writers take a load of crap for being too readable, too easily accessible and therefore not as cool as that lofty Literary writers. You would think that the other genre writers would band together and support each other but my experience, even the other genre writers treat romance novelists a bit like the scudge you'd find on the bottom of your shoe after walking across a filthy parking lot in the ghetto. Truly, we are the Howard Wolowitzs of the writing world.

Romance novels account for more than half of all the book sold in the world. How is it that my genre is the most read genre in the world and yet, I sometimes feel ashamed to tell people what genre I write? Well it's because I've been beaten up by everyone over it. I'm not exaggerating to say that people feel free to let loose with the most painfully insensitive words when they find out that I write love stories. Some of the comments/phrases I've received from my friends (most of them repeatedly);

"Your silly little love story"
"your cute little novel"
"Maybe when you are ready you'll write a real book"
"Have you ever thought about writing real books?"
"Do you think you should be spending your time working on something more serious?"
"Your goofy book"
"Oh so you write porn huh?"

 And these are from people that actually like me. Strangers are even nastier. I went to a writer's workshop and I asked a young, strange guy what he wrote and he gave me a detailed list of all the interesting genre combos he writes. He says he has never finished a story but he writes Norse/Sci-Fi and other cool things like that. He asked what I wrote and I hesitated because I already sensed this was gonna go badly for me. But I plowed ahead and said, "I write funny romance". He looked me dead in my eyes and said, "Aren't they all funny? I read one and I couldn't stop laughing because it was so stupid."

Right in my face. I hadn't left the room or turned invisible or anything like that.

I sat right there while he called my genre stupid and did nothing. What I should have said, was "Oh yeah butt-wad? Well your genre combinations are nonsensical! That zit on your nose is grossing me out. Also your hair is lank and greasy and I bet you jerk off to that really gross anime with tentacles and stuff."

Alas, I kept all that razor sharp wit to myself. But even though he is just some weird guy I'll never see again, his attitude really bothered me. I've found myself becoming shy about telling people my genre. Someone asked me recently what I write and I hesitated and considered just saying, "fiction" and save myself the embarrassment of their disinterest. I didn't. I couldn't.

It pisses me off that I even have to feel that way. I'm part of a huge collective of people from all walks of life, from all socioeconomic and educational backgrounds, who have the same driving desire; to tell the story of how a relationship came to be. How love happened. How can that not be deep and meaningful? Love is one of the most important aspects of our lives. Our relationships often shape the course of our lives and cause us the most pain and pleasure of anything you'll ever experience (outside of having kids I assume). What is more awesome than love?

So I guess this meandering post is meant to ask my fellow writers to consider that even if you don't understand the genre someone writes, respect the hard work they put into their craft, which is no less valuable than the work you put into your own.

So quit picking on the Howard Wolowitzs of the world. Don't forget that he became an astronaut. Also he ended up being the first guy in his group to get married and not just to a cute bimbo, but to an awesomely smart girl who makes a ton of money and has huge sweater yams and probably has a few romance novels on her shelf. 

Don't count us out.

Heehee, sweater yams.

A Post About Being Insecure About My Post About Insecurity

There is an Insecure Writers Support Group post coming. But I'm having some trouble editing it. I've written four different beginnings and they are all genius (IMHO) but I think the piece loses something if it's simply four beginnings and no middle or end. Kind of like the blog equivalent of the cancelled show Heroes. A million beginnings that start off so well and soon you just want to tear out your eyelashes and shout, "Could you resolve anything, just one.damn. thing?!" Then you cry a little, but you still watch it because you secretly love Sylar and you'll pretty much watch a show that is nothing but him eating potato chips and using psychic powers to kill other people. So there you are, in despair because you know it's not moving ahead one, single step and you'll have to listen to what feels like 30 minutes of Mohinder rambling on about the universe and mysteries that lay therein and the voice over feels a little bit racist even though you can't pinpoint exactly why...

Reading my post as it is would be exactly like that. So I need a little time. Check back with me later tonight.

Ironically this COULD be an Insecure Writers Support Group post about being insecure about my Insecure Writers Support Group post. Wow, that is so meta it becomes a snake devouring it's own tail. I kind of like it.

Anyhow, stay tuned.

Photo courtesy of fototastisch

Apropos of nothing, did you know that Zachary Quinto is dating Jonathan Groff? That is the most sexy and adorable pairing in the history of ever and I squee-ed a little a lot about it. In honor of Colorado lifting their ban on gay marriage and putting some of my dearest friends a little closer to having equal rights in their own state, tell me who is your favorite celebrity gay couple?

Ups, Downs and Siren Songs

Truly a day full of ups and downs...

UP!

I fixed my header. Apparently when you save a .png as an image from MS Publisher you must save it at highest resolution otherwise it comes out all choppy and awful like mine did.  So I fixed it! Woot!

DOWN!

My husband started feeling sick again this morning and went to urgent care. He was diagnosed with Viral Gastroenteritis. He has Norovirus and most likely I do too which explains why I feel so run down, nauseated and headachy. Booo.

Wow once it's all written out it really seems more down than up doesn't it?

Oh well. Time spent resting is time I could be writing. I might do it too, you know if Gossip Girl doesn't lure me away from the computer. I'm on season four and Chuck and Blair are off (again) and she might be about to date Dan Humphrey and I mean... I have to see what's gonna happen with that train wreck. Because no. Dan and Serena need to be together. Not because I care about them but because they deserve each other. They are both insufferable jerkwads, permanently attached to their high horses.

Plus I love Blair's clothing. I COVET.

Anyhow, assuming Chuck Bass doesn't seduce me away from the computer, I have two fantastic story ideas that are trying to derail me from editing my current novel. There is nothing more alluring than the siren song of a brilliant idea. There is no judgement, no frustration, it's perfect because it doesn't exist except as a dream. It's like having a crush on someone, it's beautiful and flawless because it's only in your head (like my love affair with Chuck Bass and Ryan Gosling). They are whatever I want them to be. Truth is Chuck would be a terrible boyfriend and Ryan Gosling... he probably farts in his sleep and leaves the kitchen counter all messy. Reality is a harsh mistress both when it comes to love and to romance writing.


XOXO,

Gossip Girl

Mencara

A Post About Nothing... and Gamma Radiation

Sorry for the absence. Life got in the way. It's still in the way but this evening I kicked life in the gonads and it moved aside just a step or two so I could write this post.

There is only one problem. I have nothing to say.

Dammit, life lies there, writing in pain and I haven't a deep thought rolling around in my pretty little head. Except for Ryan Gosling. When nothing else is going on in my cranium, Ryan Gosling is cavorting around without a shirt on. Sometimes Ryan Reynolds shows up and they cavort together... but I fear I've said too much.

I got an adorable Jessica Simpson purse from Meijer of all places and it's very nice. It's pink. Mmmyup.

I fiddled with the blog header here again. I made a gorgeous header. I saved it as an image, I imported it and it looks like crap. Again. I really need to get PhotoShop but I hate working with it and I love working with MS Publisher but when saved everything looks like garbage. Sigh. 

Oh, remember how I'm a writer and stuff? I have gotten a bit of writing done. Started a new chapter one that was met with tepid reviews from my writing group. It needs work. Went to a writing conference. I have a lot to say about the topic of being a romance writer but I'm saving that gem for the Insecure Writer's Group next month.

Oh I lost my Kindle at the writer conference. Left it in the public bathroom. Didn't realize it was missing until 10pm and that led to panic because it had my personal info on the stupid thing, as well as BUCKETS OF SMUT. I mean it. The joy of an e-reader is that you can buy some seriously dirty books and read them anywhere. Sorry to over-share but I happen to enjoy some good smut every now and then. It turned out that the organizer of the conference had it and yes, she went through it looking for information. I'm not going to name a single one of the titles I had on there but put yourself in the shoes an older lady and then imagine something like twenty books with titles like "Booty Smackin' Two: Electric Boogaloo" and you'd have an idea of what she saw.

What else, what else? My husband got the flu and I thought he was gonna die. He also got electrocuted by an outlet at his job. That was an exciting trip to the ER at 2am. Having never been to the airport in my life, I have never experienced having to walk through a metal detector and all that stuff. But that's what they do now at the Emergency Room. I found it very exciting when the police officer x-rayed my purse and I could see my Kindle in it and my nail clippers. That was so cool. Afterward I wondered if my Kindle would develop super powers since it was exposed to radiation. So far it's still just a humble e-reader but is it me or does my case look a little... green?

KINDLE SMASH!

Once my Kindle hulks out, Captain America and Iron Man and Thor all show up at my house right? Because I think I have smutty book with that premise (if I don't I should write one).

Mmmm Captain America.

Well hell we are through the looking glass. Tell me who your favorite Avenger is and why in the comments below.

A Hideous Betrayal...

The premise and hook of my romance was already done (almost identically) on an episode of some show that shall not be named because I'm being pissy about the whole thing.

My lovely friend Meika text-ed me, saying, I know there is a way to make you love your story again. I hope she is right. I have listened and read a lot of advice from my wonderful friends and fellow writers on how to handle this. I've decided that first, I need some time away from my manuscript to deal with my disappointment. I had never been more confident in any of my work as a writer than I was in my ability to sell this novel and now that confidence is shaken. Maybe it's not original or interesting like I thought. Now I can't stop wondering how much of it is trite and derivative and maybe I just couldn't see the truth of it because I am too in love with my own work.

After I shake off this new found insecurity, I need to get back to work on the novel. Though I'm going to make some changes to distinguish my premise from the POS show that got there first (insert colorful cusswords here, followed by grumbles).

But truly, the hardest part is the betrayal I feel. Because all of this time I thought it was just me and my premise; laughing, drinking caramel hot cocoa in cafes, painting our nails and admiring the hell out of each other. I never asked how my premise felt, I just assumed that she felt the same way as I did. That we were perfect for each other and belonged together. Little did I know, my premise took a much looser approach to relationships than I did. Where as I am a one premise kind of gal, she turned out to be a filthy cheating whore. 

She rubbed some serious salt in my wounds too. She didn't just cheat on me with some newbie writer from Scappoose, oh no. She cheated on me with famed Buffy writer, Jane freakin' Espenson (who co-wrote the episode which will not be named). I cannot express to you how much that pisses me off  because it's awfully hard to be mad when I'm secretly sort of thrilled that Jane Espenson and I had the same idea.

Can I be both a sore loser and a squealing fangirl?

IWSG: My novel is now royally effed...

IWSG Post

 My first IWSG post couldn't have come at a better (or worse time).

I completed my rough draft of this novel in 2009 during my first NaNoWriMo. Years earlier I worked at a medical supply and I had to watch an employee safety video for home nurses and it was all about checking under your car and in your backseat before getting into the car. It was designed to create horror and paranoia. I scribbled on one of my many scraps of paper that it would be a funny idea if the person in the backseat were the victim and the driver was dangerous. That idea became my first novel, a romance about an accidental carjacking in Detroit.

It's my hook and it's a huge part of the entire novel. I worked very hard to come up with a believable premise as to why my hero would be in the backseat of his car. I have labored over every scene and built a friendship between unlikely characters.

Tonight (I'm writing this a hair before midnight) a friend of mine informed me that she saw a television show that had a romantic episode with my EXACT PREMISE. I do mean exact. The episode aired in 2012.

It's enough to make a writer reflux and cry, which is actually what I'm doing right now.

I've been tooling around with this novel for three and a half years. Eight months ago I finally started making headway on my editing and I've been rewriting like crazy. I really thought I had something unique and funny. And now I find out that my brilliant gem is going to look like costume jewelry from the dollar store.

I have no idea what to do or how to proceed. I'm so disgusted with myself for not getting on the ball and getting my novel ready to publish two years ago. Now no matter what, it will look like I stole my premise from the show.

My friend who dropped the bomb on me suggested I move on and work with the pieces. So easy. Just rewrite the thing you've bled over. I know it's a romance novel and not highfalutin' literature but it's my greatest achievement, something I dreamed of creating and putting out there since I was twelve years old. And now I just have to throw it out and start over.

My stomach is burning and in a big knot. I'm at a complete loss.

What the hell do I do now?

The Mythical Organized Writer

This is not what my office looks like.

I'm not one of those writers who has everything neat and tidy. But I long to be a be one of the few, the fabled... the Organized Writer. A writer who is never buried under piles of paper bits and dozens of half empty notebooks. Someone whose computer files are sorted and organized for easy access. A Wonder Woman of organizational prowess who has her stories cataloged and organized so manuscripts can be easily picked up and edited on the go.

But I am not that writer. I'm more of a, I'd work on my manuscript but I can never seem to find it, it's around here somewhere, kind of writer. The week before last, I lost the jump drive with all of my novel edits on it. That weren't backed up anywhere because sometimes I'm an idiot. I was in tears and I searched for about three days. Luckily my husband located it buried in the debris of scrap-book stuff and receipts that litter my home office.

When he handed it to me, I was disgusted with myself and my inability to be organized. I vowed to work on becoming an Organized Writer. I began doing Internet searches to get some helpful advice. I needed an organizational muse, someone who could give me concrete advice on how to get out from under the paper piles, sticky notes and disheartening file cabinet.

Twenty different websites later, and I still haven't' found any useful advice. Oh there are websites that will all give you the same general ideas, written different ways but it's never helpful (sort of like Cosmo articles about sex).  Most of them say something like, If you aren't going to use it right away, toss it or file it. Well sure, but then I end up with bloated file cabinets and no room for things like receipts and bills and the instruction manual for my toaster oven. Does no one think of the toaster oven?

Throwing scraps of thoughts or ideas away is out of the question. Those are little bits of my genius just waiting for the right moment to be useful! The scrap I'm holding right now says, peanut butter diva sings the blues. I have no idea where that came from or what I might do with it but it's intriguing don't you think?  I don't want to throw it away yet, in case I eat a PB & J with some Ruffles and inspiration strikes me.

I've tried the filing thing and organized baskets and file sorters too. I even tried using a cork board for a while. It was great. But  then my notes began to devour it. All you could see were tiny peeks of the wood frame trying to escape. It was so full of paper that the angry cork began spitting the pushpins out and onto the floor (and into our delicate foot meat). My clutter hating husband took it down because the chaos was giving him palpitations.

So in my mad Googling, I had hoped to find someone who could tell me in detail, not just in vague generalities, how to organize my writing on the computer and on paper. So far I've found almost nothing. Most of the advice isn't practical or truly useful. It's like the paper inside of fortune cookies. You know when you break open that stale cookie and the paper says, You are a very nice person and you are like, well sure I am but that's not a fortune, it's a statement. The advice for disorganized writers isn't really advice. It's a list of commonly known strategies for being organized with no further instructions as to how to implement them. If I knew how to file papers in an organized manner, I wouldn't be looking it up online you douche-canoes! I'm completely useless at this and I need you to walk me through it as though I don't speak English.

The Organized Writer in it's natural habitat.

So I have come to believe that there is no such human as an Organized Writer. This creature appears to be as fictitious as a unicorn.

Oh I know you'll say, Nu-uh Mencara Christina, cuz my friend's sister's cousin is a writer and is totes organized! Well after I sock you for saying "totes" un-ironically, I will tell you, Your friend's sister's cousin was ALWAYS organized.

Here is the key. I think the reason that the organizational advice is vague is because organized people don't know how to explain what they do to unorganized schlub writers like myself. It's instinctual and intuitive. Either you are a person who always kept things tidy or, like me, you will always be struggling to stay ahead of your papers. You can't explain something that is simply inherent to your personality. I imagine to an organized person, it seems so basic, Just throw it away or file it neatly. But that sentence is so foreign to me, it might as well be written in Klingon. How the hell do I let go of the need to keep every stupid thing and how do I organize my files so they'll be neat? The advice seems to reply, You just do it. I throw my arms in the air and shout, How? Where do I buy the unicorn magic necessary to figure this out?

So perhaps my unicorn simile was inaccurate but I'm a writer and I like it so I didn't edit it out. It's not that there are no organized writers out there, it's that there aren't any previously sloppy writers who became organized. The myth is that with some vague generalities, you will shift from a person drowning in papers to a happy, organized person. And I call shenanigans on that.

Now that I think about it, I read a great book once about home organization. I can't recall the name of it and that's a shame, but I do remember one piece of advice. The writer said there was no point in buying bunches of boxes or baskets or pieces of furniture in order to force yourself to be organized. It just doesn't work. The writer suggested instead that you work around yourself. If you always leave your papers in this area, make that the paper area. It's that simple. If you always leave your shoes by the front door, arrange the area to accommodate what you are likely to do. Because it's unlikely you'll actually shift from what you're doing to match some arbitrary system.

So I guess I had the unicorn magic in me all along. My shit is in Mencara Christina order and I just didn't know it.

Also I've been staring at the scrap of paper that said, peanut butter diva sings the blues, and now I'm more interested in eating a PB &J than in organizing my office. Mmm, PB & J with Ruffles on the sandwich. Salty. Sweet. Perfect.


So screw organization, how do you like your peanut butter and jelly sandwich prepared? Leave me a comment and let me know.