Freaky Super Powers

Honestly, I try to keep my nosiness in check, but there is one place where I just can't seem to control myself.

The airport.

It's probably the librarian in me, but I love to see what people are reading when they're stuck in the airport or on a plane. The Boyfriend, bless his heart, knows this, and last week he had to spend a couple of days in Phoenix on business. This was the conversation we had on our way home from the airport:

The Boyfriend: I met a nice girl from Manhattan on the flight back. She was reading a book....by Gilbert Something. (Side note: The Boyfriend is a "talker" on the plane. He loves to chat up the person sitting next to him)

Me: Gilbert Something? Got anything else?

TB: That's all I can remember....

Me: Hmmmm, was it Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert?

TB: You know, you really are freaky as hell sometimes.

Which is when I had to explain to him that I'm really not that freaky. By and large, airport reading can be pretty unimaginative. Mostly bestsellers, because that's what you can readily buy at airport newsstands. He still thought I was some kind of freaky super-genius though....

Sunshine Happy Love Fest

One thing I've always loved about genre fiction is that it allows the reader to develop relationships. OK, so they're imaginary relationships - but relationships nonetheless. Genre fiction, at it's very best, feeds into the reader's emotions. It allows us to fall in love, find justice, go on an epic journey, explore new worlds - well you get the idea. These emotions can be quite powerful, and because of that readers have a tendency to develop relationships with authors.

And no, I don't mean in a creepy stalker way.

It's a lot like music. You hear a certain song on the radio and you're immediately transported back to your high school prom, wedding day, the birth of your child, to certain moments in time that are hopefully happy ones.

It's also that way with books, at least for me. Certain authors that gave me what I like to call "A-Ha!" moments, or books that make me recall moments in time. These are all relationships, one-sided to be sure, but they illustrate the power that fiction can have on our everyday, rather ordinary lives.

So what authors do I have relationships with?

Lorraine Heath, for the Texas Trilogy. I read all three books on my very first trip to California back in 2001. I plowed through them while attending the ALA conference in San Francisco. Yes, I saw Haight-Ashbury, Fisherman's Wharf and the Golden Gate Bridge, but I also spent time with the Leigh brothers, and my love affair with the western romance was etched in stone.

Ruth Ryan Langan, for giving me Nevada Nights, a book she probably only recalls because it was one of her first published historicals. I read it, while lying on the back seat of a mini-van, on my way to visit family in central Ohio. It was the first grown up book I read in one day, and the first book I recall reading that had s-e-x in it. It was like a soap opera, only with a happy ending, for my brain!

Barbara Michaels, whose Into the Darkness I was reading when I met the first boy I ever fell madly in love with. I didn't hold it against her when he eventually broke my heart.

Kathryn Smith, for her debut novel, Elusive Passion, a book that I read all the way back in 2001 and the only romance novel that I can recall one complete line from. “The rich man’s disease, after gout, was boredom." I have a memory like a sieve, but that one line sticks out. Not only because I laughed out loud from the truth of it, but because I still think it's one of the most insightful lines I've ever read in a Regency historical.

Cheryl Reavis and Kathryn Shay, for both helping to teach me how beautiful, powerful and complete the category format can be. Every word counts. There is no time to waste. You need to hook readers, invest them in the love story, and not muck up the works with a bunch of stuff that doesn't really matter anyway. Up until I discovered both of them, I dismissed categories out of hand. I was a thousand times a fool.

Mary Higgins Clark, for writing some of the very first grown up books I ever read. What a stroke of luck to stumble across her early page-turners when I outgrew my library's meager young adult section.

Emma Holly, for teaching me that erotica can be sexy and feminist.

Megan Hart, for teaching me that erotica can be emotional, thought-provoking and about a hell of lot more than "just sex."

Nora Roberts, for Murphy Muldoon. You mean a genuinely nice guy can be a romance hero? They don't all have to be an emotional cripples or Alpha brutes? Talk about a light bulb moment! The only disappointment came when I realized Murphy a) wasn't real and b) wasn't going to show up on my doorstep any time soon. Damn.

Maggie Osborne, for writing strong, independent heroines who have to work their asses off for their happily ever after. Her heroines were also allowed to make their own decisions, for good or ill, and exhibit an inordinate amount of free will. Another massive light bulb moment.

Sue-Ellen Welfonder, whose debut novel, Devil In a Kilt, I was reading the morning of September 11, 2001. Literally. I was sitting on the couch, reading, with the Today Show on in the background.

Kay Hooper, for writing Touching Evil, the book I had to read for review immediately after September 11, 2001. Needless to say, it was a time when I couldn't concentrate on much of anything, let alone reading. But that book! Damn, I couldn't help myself. I was probably the only romance reader in the country who wasn't suffering from a "slump" during that time.

Certainly all fiction is capable of this type of emotional recall, but it's really genre fiction's stock in trade. So the next time someone is ragging on you for your choice of reading material, simply smile and quietly nod. Because genre fiction readers, regardless of genre, know better. That these books can be just as big a part of our lives as our family, friends, and the simple minutia we are surrounded by on a daily basis. We all know that fiction isn't real, but that doesn't mean it cannot examine very real truths. That's where you find the charm, and that's where authors can impact lives for the better.

Group Mentality

Yes, I know it's only January but already the "discussion" about the RWA National Conference in July (yes, July!) is making the rounds here in Blog Land. Everything from the fact that no Internet sites will be getting press passes this year to whether or not fans/bloggers/readers should even attend the conference.

Those of you who were wading through the romance blogs last year will recall that several of "us" attended RWA in Dallas. Jane, Sybil, KristieJ, myself, those swinging chicks at Smart Bitches to name a few. Now I obviously did not spend every waking moment with all of these ladies, but I'm pretty confident in saying that none of us hid behind potted palms with tape recorders, web cams, and notebooks. Frankly, none of us are that stealth, all of us were out in the open, and lordy we were all too damn tired to play hide-and-seek-for-nefarious-information. (I had no feeling in my lower extremities for about a week afterwards)

We all had a great time, hell I know I did. It was my third conference and by far the most enjoyable experience so far. I mingled, I mixed, I met many great people. So it was a bit of a surprise (to poor naive me at least) to return home only to have Blog Land erupt after the fact that the evil blogger/readers were there. KristieJ excluded because everybody loves her and she wouldn't know "evil" if it smacked her upside the head.

Since then there's been the question in some quarters whether or not "readers" or "fans" should even attend the conference. Let me preface this by saying that RWA has in no way shape or form said "we" can't attend. They've only said we can't get in for free on a press pass. "We" are still welcome to attend as long as we pay the cover charge. And that's cool! They have their reasons, all of which involve money/cost. No, I've seen these comments elsewhere and I'm feeling verbose. So here it is:

Should "fans" attend RWA? My answer is that it depends on the fan. Just like the RT Convention with it's costume balls and male cover models won't be for everybody, neither is RWA. What "fans" need to understand is that RWA National is a writer's conference. Certainly the Literacy Signing is for "fans" and you don't need to pay the conference fee to attend that. Any Joe Schmoe off the street is welcome to walk right through the front door! But other than that? The workshops are geared towards both published and unpublished writers. There are agent appointments. Writers meet with their editor(s). It's very business oriented. That's not to say that people don't have fun - but it's an opportunity for authors to network outside of their own local RWA chapter. Also, it might be one of the few opportunities for writers to actually "see" their editor(s)/agent face-to-face.

So why would "fans" want to attend? Well, I think fans can get a lot out of the conference depending on their interests. I've attended workshops in the past that caught my eye. I know for a fact that KristieJ attended one last year on web site design. I also really enjoy the Publisher Showcases, which is where most of the major publishers spotlight upcoming titles and what "they're looking for" when it comes to queries. Although I'll admit I can only hear,"We aren't interested in westerns because westerns aren't selling in this market right now" so many times before I want to scream. Sure, finding this stuff out is great for my librarian gig, but it's also of interest to me as a "fan" because dang I'm nothing if not a major book whore.

That said, cost is a major factor. Most fans aren't RWA members, so that means a higher registration fee. Also, this year's conference is in San Francisco, which even by California standards, is a pricey city. Fun as hell, but pricey. I can afford to go, but after looking at the hotel, registration fee (and I am an RWA member) and the fact that I'll have to pay to park my car (yes, I'll be driving), I still went to The Boyfriend and said, "Uh, whatta think?" Cause it did give me pause. It's my damn frugal Midwestern blood. By the by, he told me to go because "it's good for your job and you'll have fun." What a guy.

So should fans go? I think the policy of allowing fans to attend should continue, and RWA has given absolutely no indication that they want to rethink this. The ultimate answer though is that it depends. Can the fan afford it? Will the format of the conference appeal? Does the fan think she'll get enough out of it to justify the cost? For me, that answer is yes. But that answer won't be yes for everybody. Ultimately the choice belongs to the fan. I say if you think you'll enjoy it, promise not to behave like an asshole and ruin it for the rest of us, the more the merrier. Because honestly, everybody seemed genuinely happy to have us there last year. It was only after the fact, under the cloak of anonymity that any kind of kerfuffle ensued. And ain't that always the way?

Procrastination Station

For those of you out there who think I might be exaggerating my TBR, let me share with you Exhibit A. Here is concrete proof that I really am a sick little monkey.

Back in 2000 I reviewed the first book in Susan Wiggs' Chicago Fire trilogy, The Hostage, for The Romance Reader. I loved it. Then in 2001 I reviewed the third book in the trilogy, The Firebrand, for The Romance Reader and loved it. In fact, The Firebrand is one of my Top 5 all-time favorite romances. So where did that leave book two in the trilogy, The Mistress? Sitting in my TBR since 2000. No joke. Now honestly, how warped is that?

Plot Description:

As the historic fire ignites across town, Kathleen O'Leary finds herself dressed in borrowed diamonds and silk, enjoying a lavish masquerade. The penniless maid has caught the eye of Dylan Francis Kennedy, the rich, handsome gentleman all of high society has been speculating about. The night feels alive with magic. . . and ripe with promise.

Then fire sweeps through the city, cornering the young lovers with no hope of rescue. Desperate to share their last moments together, Kathleen and Dylan impulsively marry. Incredibly, they survive. Now, as the fire burns down to cold ash, Kathleen must tell Chicago's most eligible bachelor that he has married a fraud. But the joke's on her. For this gentleman is no gentleman. While Kathleen had hoped to win Dylan's love, he had planned only to capture her heart and steal her fortune. Dylan Kennedy -- con artist, gambler and ne'er-do-well—has been unwittingly caught in his own game. Now the real sparks are about to fly.

Since I adored The Hostage and The Firebrand it will probably strike some as odd that The Mistress was a major slog for me. The only way I can explain it is by stealing KristieJ's It's Not You, It's Me Theory. I have too much history with this book. Having read and loved the other two titles in the trilogy, I already had a good idea what this book was about. Harlequin's back cover copy doesn't help matters either. Basically it's the Reader's Digest Condensed Book version of the first 234 pages! It took me forever to get through them, and I skimmed chunks all the while muttering under my breath, "Yeah, yeah, this is all on the back cover copy. Let's get on with it!"

To be fair to Harlequin, they may not have had much of a choice. I remember when The Mistress first came out eight years ago. There were many readers on my various e-mail loops (my pre-blog addiction days) who were horrified by Dylan Kennedy. A hero who is scoundrel?! The shock! The horror! Fake rakes and bad boys who wouldn't know "bad" if it bit them in the ass are just fine - but give them a hero who really is despicable and a case of the vapors ensues. And make no mistake, Wiggs wrote an honest-to-goodness scoundrel. Dylan is a world class liar, a con artist, a charmer who waltzes his way through life when he's not running away from it. It's not until the con man gets conned himself, and finds himself falling in love, that he even begins to contemplate little things like honesty and trust.

Kathleen is a good, hardworking Irish girl who covets a better life. Having been employed as a ladie's maid, she envies the rich and has big dreams. When a couple of the well-heeled girls at the finishing school where she works suggest she masquerade as a proper lady for one evening, she agrees. She's desperate for a taste of the good life and it's not until she finds herself hitched to Dylan that she realizes how wrong she's been.

This is a hard book for me to assign a grade to, only because I don't feel I'm being entirely fair to it. The first couple hundred pages were a real drag for me, but I suspect that's largely because of my own personal baggage. That will learn me to leave trilogies unfinished and read out of order for 8 years. Geez. But on the whole, this is a good entry in what is probably my favorite historical romance series. I love the setting, I love Wiggs' historical voice, and I love the way the author seamlessly blends the fire sequences over the course of three separate stories. Oh, and the characters are pretty good too.

Final Grade = B-

OK, Can You Please Shut Up Now?

Wendy is having a tea party, and you're all invited!

Those who know me know that I hate conflict. It's not that I'm Little Miss Sunshine Pollyanna, it's just I don't like people yelling at me. Or each other. Or at anyone in the immediate vicinity. I just want everyone to play nice and get along. Is this terribly realistic? Um, no - but I can't help it. Everything you've ever read about what a "typical middle child" is, that's me. Honestly, it's really disturbing.

One of the biggest reasons I didn't wade into the Cassie Edwards plagiarism discussion (until now) was because it sent my middle child spidey senses tingling. I knew there was going to be conflict. I knew it was going to get ugly. So I grabbed my wubby, crawled off into a corner of the Bat Cave, and resisted the urge to start sucking my thumb.

But now that time is here. The time that I knew was inevitable. The time when some authors have waded into the fray, and started posting mind-boggling comments all over the Internet.

Please, why do you do this? For some of you, I don't really care. But for the others? I love your books. Could you please shut the hell up so I can keep on loving your books?

I'm reminded of a post I did back in October on separating the author from the book when it comes to reviewing. I may like the author as a person, but not enjoy their book(s). That's why I wish authors wouldn't take less-than-stellar reviews so personally. When reviewing is done right, it's not personal. It's about the book - not you. Yes, I know you slaved over the book. Yes, I know you worked hard on it. But just because I didn't like it, doesn't mean all readers are going to hate it. And it doesn't mean I dislike you as a person.

However, this separating the author from the book thing gets really hard when the Internet heats up with discussions like the Cassie Edwards plagiarism story. Part of me is glad so many authors are speaking out, and another part of me is sad that some resist the impulse to just not say anything. Think before you speak. If you're thinking of saying something that can be construed as professional suicide and condoning plagiarism - um, maybe it's best not to hit the submit button.

I know, a librarian promoting self-censorship? Scandalous, isn't it? Of course, I didn't flip off the driver who cut me off this morning and somehow I'm still able to live with myself (end dry sarcasm here). Two words to live by? Impulse control.

So where does that leave us, the readers? The readers who just want to pick up books, preferably non-plagiarized ones (oops, dry sarcasm again), and travel outside of our little world for a few hours of pleasurable reading? Suffering from Too Much Information Syndrome. So what to do?

Well, I think Karen Scott said it best on this comment thread at Dear Author (#3):

I also think that it depends on your previous ‘book-reading’ relationship with the author in question. If you love his/her work, then it’s easier to excuse him/her for their stupidity or ignorance. However, if you’re not familiar with any of their books, or have perhaps only read their one best-seller that was published ten million years ago, then their fucktardiness will only ensure that you avoid their works in the future.

We are influenced everyday by stuff that we see, read, and hear, but we still have the ultimate choice when it comes to deciding whether to actually believe these things or not.

(Text in bold = Super Librarian's emphasis)

She's right. There are authors I've "given up" because of things they've stated publicly or their online behavior - but it was easy to do. I had read one book by them and found it ho-hum. Or I'd never read them before, so it was no skin off my nose. Doesn't mean I don't still buy their books for work, I just don't buy them with my own personal dollars. But authors who have written books I adore? Much harder. So even though a favorite author might say something that I cannot fathom, I don't necessarily give them up unless it's something truly unconscionable (for example, if an author said something like, "The Holocaust never happened."). Like Karen said, everyone has their line in the sand. It's up the individual reader to decide where their personal line is.

All that said...

Even though I might not give up an author who exhibits bad behavior, it does not mean I'm unaffected by that behavior. Because it's there, lying dormant in the back of my mind. It's there when I buy their book(s). It's there when I'm trying to read their book(s). And that's all I want to do. I want to read the book(s), not be distracted by the jackassery and lack of impulse control.

If I can take any comfort in any of this it's that I know I'm not alone. That readers all over the Internet, readers who have been following this story closely, are just as dismayed as I am. However, that is cold, cold comfort indeed. Pull up a chair, the tea party is breaking out the hard liquor next.

The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year

Like most drones who work Monday through Friday, I do my grocery shopping on the weekend. Usually Sunday morning. This Sunday my trip to the grocery store was more memorable than usual. Why?

Cadbury Creme Eggs are back! Oh happy, happy day!

I swear, sometimes I think the gypsies stole me from an English hospital and swapped me with another child in Michigan, USA. It's the only way I can explain my undying devotion for tea (One word = junkie) and Cadbury chocolate. Oh, how I love Cadbury chocolate. For you ignorant Americans who are operating under the misconception that Cadbury chocolate is "too sweet," I just have one thing to say:

Are you insane? No really - are you? "Too sweet?" How is that even possible? There is no such thing as "too sweet."

And yes, I know I'm American too. Whatever.

But damn Cadbury's eyes for practicing good business and creating demand. I can only get my Creme Eggs and Mini Eggs (also delectable!) fix for a few months out of the year. If I could get them all the time would I still love them so? Well, maybe not as much. They're more special because I can't get them all the time.

Yes, I know I have an unhealthy relationship with chocolate. I'd say I'm working on it, but we both know I'd be lying through my teeth.

Oh happy day! Cadbury Creme Eggs are back! Tomorrow, I get a life.

When You Say Nothing At All

Anyone who has read this blog for any amount of time knows that I have two sisters. Both of whom are intelligent, gorgeous and way more outgoing than I am. My older sister in particular loves a grand debate. She'll tell you her opinion whether you want to hear it or not! To my sister's credit, she does her best to stay well-informed. If she's ignorant on the topic, she won't talk out of the side of her mouth. She'll hit the public library and research that topic within an inch of it's life. And then she'll debate her ass off.

I wouldn't call my sister apathetic. She's well informed, vocal and has a strong enough personality that no one is going to run roughshod over her. I am exactly the opposite. Honestly, it's amazing we sprang from the same gene pool. While I like to think I'm reasonably well informed, and marginally intelligent, I'm not very mouthy about it. Code for: I'm perfectly happy sitting alone in this corner, can you please leave me alone now? So I wonder:

Does being silent automatically make one apathetic? In some instances, yes - although I always thought apathy was more about being ignorant and choosing to remain that way. But maybe I'm wrong?

The reason I ask is because of the latest controversy/discussion going on in Romance Blog Land. I have chosen to remain silent on the matter, which probably strikes some as odd given 1) I'm a librarian and 2) this debate involves plagiarism. I probably shouldn't have stayed silent, but felt that others were essentially saying what I would have and far more eloquently. Seriously, I wouldn't know eloquence if it bit me in the butt. But now I'm wondering, have I made the right decision by not discussing this? Does my dusty Master's degree in library science automatically make me some sort of authority? I don't think so, but other people might.

Part of me is glad to have largely observed this debate without weighing in because it has degenerated into name calling in some circles (notice I said some, not all) and after almost five years of blogging (yes, five) I've grown weary of train wrecks. Which is what I think this discussion has "evolved" into, again, in some circles. Which is a shame, because the issue at large is a very, very important one. It's an issue that should be discussed, and very seriously. Unfortunately human beings are extremely flawed creatures.

Part of me thinks that some that have commented on this issue should have just kept their mouths bloody well shut, while the other part of me thinks "Wait a minute, isn't that condoning apathy?" And honestly, I'm not sure where the answer lies. I'm not condoning goody-goody nice girl behavior and do think that honest, open, challenging discussion can and does happen in romance blog circles. But then I inevitably get cheesed off when someone wanders in, spewing forth nonsense, thereby degenerating the discussion into a bunch of finger gestures and name calling.

Which is when I exit stage right. Or in this case, don't enter at all because honestly, when I first read about the plagiarism allegations my first thought was, "Oh, this isn't going to go over well." And you know, I was right. Damn. I probably have been blogging for too many years. I'm getting more jaded than usual.

So what say you? Are there instances where saying nothing or "staying out of it" is the best course of action? Or should people freely weigh in and voice their opinions (no matter how unpopular)? And honestly, were you happy that I kept my damn yap shut because the Bat Cave was a happy oasis on the outskirts of the Romance Blogging Universe? And have I just gone and ruined everything? Typical Wendy, really typical.

Where Did All My Buttons Go?

I've been thinking about the term "bodice ripper" a lot lately. Probably because I work with librarians, and let me tell you, librarians (at least the ones I tend to work with) are very fond of the term. Despite my vast efforts to educate them. I tell them that 99.9% of the romance authors I've met bloody well hate the term and a lot of readers find it insulting as well. Saying the word to the wrong library patron will either cause 1) frothing at the mouth or 2) they won't say a damn thing, feel alienated, and never darken your doorstep again. I tell them to forget the word even exists. You'll get in less trouble that way.

Now for me personally? I don't have a problem with "bodice ripper" as long as it's used in the correct context. Which, inevitably, it rarely is by people outside of the romance reading community.

Let's be honest here. Looking back at the history of the romance novel, a lot of those early stories were bodice rippers. That's just what they were. You had the jackass Alpha hero, the virginal good girl miss, and much heaving of bosoms ensued. Some (not all) of these types of stories were overwrought, melodramatic, and in many cases, completely over the top. Hey, that's why people read them! They were exciting! They were page turners! It was like a soap opera for your brain! And let's be honest, if you were desperate for romance novels back in the day, you didn't have a lot to choose from. You took what you could get.

But romance novels today? I have a hard time defining any of them as bodice rippers. Even those select few authors that write in what I call a "throwback" style or feature some less than popular elements (oh, like "forced seduction"). These books are few and far between these days. Oh sure, they exist. We all know they exist. But it's hardly like the market place is flooded with them. They're the exception, rather than the norm.

Unfortunately, most people not in the know still use the term bodice ripper because they haven't read a romance novel in recent memory. They read one romance novel back in 1985 where the hero kept ripping off the heroine's dress and they've tarred and feathered the entire genre with that brush. So from here on out everything classified as a "romance" is a bodice ripper. The cover art isn't exactly helping our cause either, especially given the proliferation of bare chested men. Nakedidity, regardless of gender, has a way of screaming "Beware! Beware! Many Bodices Ripped!" Dang, sometimes it screams that to me, and I'm a romance reader!

Part of me wonders if we, as the romance reading community, should try to take back the word or if we should keep howling in disgust when people not-in-the-know fling it around carelessly. Personally, I like the word to describe the genre's history - but can totally see why authors get hopping mad when some clueless idiot sneers, leers at them and says, "Oh, you write bodice rippers." Like they're somehow feeding propaganda into the patriarchal machine. Geez

So what say you? Annoyed by the bodice ripper term? Want to start throwing rocks at people who fling it about with careless abandon? Or are you like me? Think the term has it's place in history but wish people would put it in the proper context?

Of course, maybe I need to quit trying to distinguish it for people and just commence with the rock throwing.

Watch, This Will Go Straight To Her Head

Sybil and I chatted a couple of weeks ago, and sometime during the course of the phone conversation she mentioned, in passing, how much she enjoyed Dear Santa by Karen Templeton and had I read it? Karen is a semi-regular commenter on various online forums, and being as I'm always on the lookout for good category romances, I decided it was time to inaugurate my new Sony Reader.

I'm glad I did, and big-fat-wet-sloppy kisses (but not in a gay way) to Sybil for recommending this one. I really, really enjoyed it.

Grant Braeburn is the very definition of eligible bachelor. He has a great house in Greenwich, Connecticut and an insane amount of money thanks to his prowess at making sound financial investments. He's divorced from upwardly mobile lawyer Justine, but together they have a beautiful, almost-four-year-old daughter, Haley. Then on one of his weekends with Haley, he gets a call that Justine has died in a car accident. Grant goes into panic mode. How to break the news to his daughter? And while he's a passable father, he's not exactly close to the little girl thanks to his quiet, reserved nature. Now he has to raise Haley on his own and he is beyond terrified.

Desperate beyond words he reaches out to Mia Vaccaro, Justine's best friend. Mia used to work at the same law firm as Justine, until she decided to start her own party-planning business. A lot of people think she's a flake. I mean, who gives up a lucrative career at one of the most prestigious law firms in Manhattan to plan parties? Plus, she's not exactly Grant's biggest fan. She thinks he's a major cold fish. But she does love Haley, and if helping Grant become a better father helps that little girl, she'll do it. Little does she know that Grant is hiding a Big Secret, one that could rock her faith in her now deceased best friend.

Dear Santa is a perfect example of why I love the category romance format. Grant and Mia are both extremely likable characters and don't fall victim to cliche. It would have been so easy for Templeton to write Grant as the aloof, dour, emotionless bachelor stud, but that's not what she gives us. Grant isn't cold, he's just the sort of man who keeps his emotions in check. He doesn't do well with theatrics. A drama queen would probably damn near kill him. But that doesn't mean he's cold or unfeeling - it just means he doesn't put his baggage out on display. I don't know about you all, but I've known a number of men like this in my life. I think it stems from The Boys Don't Cry philosophy.

Mia is a smart girl, from a boisterous family, who just doesn't "get" Grant - at first anyway. But the more time she spends with him, she realizes that she has judged him poorly. And it doesn't help matters that she only saw Grant through Justine's eyes.

The Big Secret here packs a wallop. Readers know what it is almost immediately, and it's devastating enough that I was chomping at the bit for Templeton to reveal it to our heroine. The resulting fall-out doesn't disappoint.

I do have a couple of quibbles. I found some of the chapter transitions a bit abrupt at times. This can probably be chalked up to personal preference. The sexuality level in this story probably falls somewhere around PG, and the author fades to black a couple of times regarding love scenes. Now, I don't need hot, kinky sex in every book I read - but the sexual tension between Grant and Mia was so well done that these moments of the door slamming in my face were a tad disappointing. Hey, romance readers are nothing if not voyeuristic. Also, there were moments when I thought Haley sounded a little too mature for her age - but hey, what do I know? I don't have my own almost-four-year-old to compare her to and at least the precocious tot doesn't have a lisp. Thank God for small miracles.

Minor quibbles aside, I really enjoyed this story. And goody goody - it's the first book in a trilogy. Book two, Yours, Mine...or Ours? featuring Mia's former cop, single father brother is out now with book three, Baby, I'm Yours about another brother, this one a recovering drug addict, due out in the spring. Needless to say, book two is getting downloaded to the Sony Reader this weekend.

Final Grade = A-

My Weekend

No reading. I've been sucked into the vortex known as the NFL postseason. Situation expected to be back to normal by Monday.

A Time Of Legend

To kick off It Came From The TBR, let us hop into the Wayback Machine to a long forgotten time in Romance Novel Land. A magical time. A time of legend and myth. A time when Avon still published historicals that didn't take place in England. Hard to imagine now, but such a time did exist. Here in the real world we know it as the year 2000.

And in case you're wondering, it's really not that hard for me to be this much of a smart ass. Just ask my mother.

Mail Order Bride by Maureen McKade is a wonderful trip down memory lane. It reminds me, once again, of the great western romance authors Avon used to have writing for them. This isn't as emotional (and gut-wrenching) as McKade's more recent work for Berkley, but it's still pretty darn good.

Kate Murphy is a girl with limited options. Her abusive, drunken father finally had the good sense to die, but he left her with nothing but a dilapidated cabin and debt. She sells what she can, and decides to become a mail order bride. She answers an ad from a miner in Orion, Colorado. However she arrives on the stage the same day as a mine cave-in and learns her intended has died. Now she's really screwed, since she only has a few dollars left to her name. But luckily good fortune is smiling on our gal. She quickly secures lodging with a local widow woman (who has outlived five husbands, bless her soul) and gets a job as a nanny taking care of the mine superintendent's, Trev Trevelyan's, children. Kate don't know nothing about no babies, but it's either take care of 4-year-old Annabel Lee and infant Brynn or work in a saloon. Not much of a choice.

Trev's wife died in childbirth and she left a long shadow. She was above Trev in social standing, and resented her step down in the food chain. She also wasn't much of a mother, suffering what one might deduce as severe postpartum depression (or she could just be a spoiled child herself, but I like the depression theory). Since her death, Trev's daughter hasn't spoken a word, leaving many in town to think the girl is daft. Trev adores his children, but he has to work for a living, which means finding day care. The woman he was leaving them with turns out to be unacceptable, and he's damn near desperate when Kate Murphy falls into his lap.

Any romance reader worth their salt knows where this is going. Kate and Trev soon find themselves attracted to each other even though Trev has sworn off marriage, and Kate vows not to marry a miner once she learns how dangerous the job is (being from Kansas, she had no idea). She needs money to get out of Orion and Trev needs a sitter. It's win-win for both of them until they go and fall in love with each other. External conflict involving the mine cave-in and a looming labor strike keeps the story humming along between the tap dancing that Kate and Trev do around each other.

What I really enjoyed about this story is that both hero and heroine were grown-ups. They both had their own dreams, desires, and problems to deal with. Kate is my favorite kind of heroine. A Plain Jane spinster who is practical, not given to fits of vapors, and has a brain rattling around in her head. Trev is a good man living with past mistakes. It was a very pleasant read about nice people who don't succumb to silly, contrived conflict. It was well worth digging out my TBR, and it's well worth a look should you run across it during your next visit to the used bookstore.

Final Grade = B

Good Intentions

I know I declared 2008 The Year Of The TBR, but that doesn't mean I had any intention of slowing down my book buying. I actually spend very little money on books. Shocking given how many books I own, but I really don't. I happen to have a Borders Visa card, which is my "everyday" credit card. I buy groceries with it. I buy gas with it. Basically any occasion where I use plastic in my life, I use that card. In exchange I get gift certificates for Borders, and I had $30 burning a hole in my pocket. So what did I get?


The Spymaster's Lady by Joanna Bourne - The cover turns me off. It's just goofy looking. But hey, at least this guy has some hair on his chest (check out the "happy trail" that leads "below the Equator"). Everyone else seems to be loving this novel, and I'm nothing, if not desperate, for really memorable historical reads. Yeah, I know. I'm a sheep. So sue me.










The Wicked Ways Of A Duke by Laura Lee Guhrke - It's getting comical how many of Guhrke's Avon romances I have in my TBR (uh, all of them). I really should try reading them, dontcha think? She's one of my few autobuys for the sheer fact she wrote the wonderful pre-Avon romances Breathless and To Dream Again. I have "issues" with Avon, and while Guhrke is one of the very, very, very few authors I still buy new from that house, she's still languishing in my TBR because I'm scared. I know. I need help. Serious help. And side note: next time you're in the bookstore look at the back cover of this one. Is it just me or does the hero look like Clayface?




Revenant by Carolyn Haines - A suspense novel about a washed-up reporter who sobers up long enough to land a story that could resurrect her career. The remains of five murdered women have been found in a mass grave, each one buried with a bridal veil and missing their ring fingers. Two fresh bodies eventually appear, sending everyone into a panic? Is the serial killer back in action or is it a copy cat? Dead bodies and a damaged lead character basically makes this book Wendy Crack.







Deadly Advice by Robeta Isleib - Easy peasy Japanesey. I liked the second book in the series, so of course I went out and bought the first one. Doesn't get much simpler than that.

Stiff Upper Lip

A couple of nights ago I finally watched The Queen, a most excellent movie about the royal family's reaction to Princess Diana's death. I have a fairly useless undergraduate degree in British history, and had to spend some time explaining to The Boyfriend that Elizabeth isn't really a "cold fish." Elizabeth was raised in a "different time." She was taught that duty is above everything. I mean, hello? This was a girl who found herself staying in Britain all the while the Nazis were bombing the hell out of them during WWII. Was she scared? I'm sure! Anyone with two brain cells to rub together would have been. But it was her family's duty to stay. To "rally the troops" so to speak. And that's what they did.

I admire that. So much so that it's what I prefer in my political leaders. I don't want them reduced to a pile of sniveling goo. I want them there, stoic and strong, taking care of the rest of us who are falling to pieces. Which probably explains why I've been so insulted by the Hillary Clinton news over the last couple of days. You know - how she got emotional and weepy in New Hampshire because she's getting her ass kicked in the polls. It's like the media is telling us, "She's a woman, of course she's bound to get weepy!"

Bah humbug.

Maybe Clinton thinks this will "soften" her image. Me? I think the people who hate her will always hate her and that this moment of weepiness is a gross miscalculation on her part. I don't want my potential political leaders falling to pieces. I want them to suck it up! But hell, what do I know? It's not like I have George Stephanopoulos tied up in the Bat Cave.

Wow, politics here at the Bat Cave. I promise, I won't make a regular thing out of it.

Footnote: The Queen really is a very good movie and the chap who plays Tony Blair is fantastic! Highly recommended.

It Came From The TBR

Anybody who has been crazy enough to go tip-toeing through my Library Thing account knows that I own an obscene amount of books. What I don't think most people realize is that all of those cataloged books? Every single one of them? I haven't read yet. That's right. I have over 900 books I have never, ever read.

It's a horrible sickness I tells ya.

So I am declaring 2008 The Year Of The TBR. That's right. I hope to read as many books as I can out of the TBR, concentrating on the ones I've had lying around for years. For the sake of this mission, let's say more than three years. Believe me, that gives me a ton to choose from.

It Came From The TBR will be a year-long, ongoing feature here at the Bat Cave for all of 2008. Stick around, read about my madness, and maybe add to your used bookstore shopping list while you're at it. Because honestly, we're all just a bunch of enablers here in Blog Land. And by all means, feel free to steal my idea for your own blog or reading resolution for 2008. Because I know I'm hardly the only one with this illness.

Prayer For The Dying

Cozy mysteries are my comfort food. A really good one is always particularly tasty and I'll devour it in record time. Roberta Isleib's second Advice Column mystery, Preaching To The Corpse, is just such a book. It's light, lively, and such a fast read I zipped through it in 24 hours.

Dr. Rebecca Butterman is a psychologist who moonlights as an advice columnist for her local New England newspaper. She's happily asleep one night when she gets a phone call from a local detective. Her church's minister, Reverend Wesley, found one of his parishioners, Lacy Bailes, dead in her condo and called the police. The hospital ER doctor strongly suspects Lacy was poisoned, and naturally the cops are looking pretty hard at the good reverend. However he is refusing to say one word until Rebecca gets her butt down to the hospital. She does, and is shocked when all the man wants from her is her solemn promise to take over Lacy's position as chair of the assistant pastor search committee. Rebecca thinks it bizarre that that's what Wesley is so freaked out about (hello? murder?!), and agrees - mainly because handsome Detective Meigs thinks to use her as his eyes and ears inside the church.

As one would expect in a cozy mystery, things soon get complicated. Wesley is behaving strangely, then a bizarre accident during a church supper adds some drama. Who would want to kill Lacy and why? Does it have anything to do with the search committee? And can Rebecca figure it all out while surviving the holidays, a head cold, and an inappropriate crush on Meigs?

This is a charming, fast read. Rebecca is a smart woman, albeit still adjusting to life as a single after a divorce she's still coping with. The church back drop provides plenty of suspects and politics to keep the proceedings moving, although readers shouldn't think church setting = inspirational read. The violence level is low, with the murder happening off stage, but there is no preaching religious discussion, and Detective Meigs drops the F-bomb during an argument with Rebecca (they were both a tad upset). Still, this is my favorite kind of story - one I would easily recommend across multiple demographics. I slipped right into the story, and the author provides plenty of back story to refresh fans of the first book and newcomers alike. Also, this back story lays a foundation for future story lines in the series. Between Rebecca's divorce and her family baggage there's oodles of possibilities.

My one quibble is that I wish the author would have laid out a few more bread crumbs. There's a little too much guess work for a large chunk of the novel, and I really had no idea for the longest time where the mystery was going to lead. It's good that I didn't solve the thing before the end, but a few tantalizing teasers would have spiced up the proceedings a bit.

All in all though, this was a classic comfort read. If you're a fan of the lighter cozy mysteries, this one should be right up your alley.

Final Grade = B

The Year In Reading 2007: The Dreck

My final post about my reading in the year 2007 is all about the dreck. The train wreck books. The books that almost killed me. But I am strong! I am Super Librarian! I will not be thwarted in my quest to read something halfway decent! Let's start out with the horrible and descend into the mildly brain-dead.

The Worst Of The Worst:

My only "F" read of the year belongs to The Cat Who Had 60 Whiskers by Lilian Jackson Braun. The worst part is that it's all my fault. I was a teenager when I started reading this series, and I still firmly believe that the very early novels are pitch perfect examples of cozy mystery writing. But frankly? The books haven't been readable in the last decade. I finally got to the point where I stopped buying them, but damn my job, I keep borrowing them from work. The characters now display as much range of emotion as a Stepford wife and the "mysteries" are a joke (half the time I'm lucky to get a motive). Stop Wendy. Just stop already. If it is possible for nostalgia to kill a person you've got one foot in the grave.

The Dishonorable Mentions:

Bad As She Wants To Be by Thea Devine - I can't help. I like Thea Devine. When she's "on" she writes some of the best trashy soap opera books out there. When she's "off?" Well it's just painful. I originally graded this a C, but I must have been drunk at the time, because it truly falls into my D territory. I found the book readable (Devine's writing excesses are reined in considerably), but the indiscriminate sex just got really icky after a while, even though it was all rather nondescript. I'd like to see Devine return to her roots. Maybe do an over-the-top Victorian like her earlier Bravas, or return to the American south like in Desired (my personal favorite). As it is, her foray into contemporaries isn't really working for me.

His Boots Under Her Bed by Ana Leigh - Think of every bad cliche you've ever read in a western romance and you'll find it in this third book of Leigh's Fraser series. Long lost gold mine? Check. Hero spying the heroine while bathing? Check. Heroine who enables a useless relative? Check. Hero who thinks the heroine is a lying whore? Check. My eyes bleeding? Check.

For A Few Demons More by Kim Harrison - AKA The Book I Thought I'd Never Finish. Every mystery series I ever got hooked on was because I picked up one of the books out of order. I followed the back story just fine, loved the book, went back and read the rest. Mystery authors seem to be able to handle this, so how come so many romance and urban fantasy authors are incapable? I spent the entire 450+ pages of For A Few Demons More confused out of my mind. I am a bit thick sometimes, but I'm not that dense. I had to read reviews of all the previous books just so I could figure out who all the characters were, their place in the universe and why I should either 1) love them or 2) hate them. That's wrong. So very, very wrong. I've never been happier to finish a book in my life, and upon reading the last page I chucked the ARC straight into the trash can and weeded the first book in the series out of my TBR. Series that can't be understood out of order is easily my biggest pet peeve. To add insult to injury, this book was the author's leap into hard cover. How many unsuspecting newbies picked up this shiny hard cover at the library or bookstore only to have the same frustrating experience that I did?

And that's it! The reading year that was 2007! Looking back it was kind of a rough year for me, between slumping and reviewer burn out, but I'm feeling positively revitalized with the promise of the new year. Stick around, who knows what treasures I'll unearth from the Mt. TBR Pile.

Man, That's Harsh

"I'm sure you're wondering what a nice girl like me was doing left for dead in the trunk of a piece of shit Honda Civic out in the industrial wasteland east of downtown Los Angeles. Or maybe we've met before and you're wondering why it hadn't happened sooner."

The only way to describe Money Shot, Christa Faust's debut for the Hard Case Crime line, is brutal. Everything about this story is brutal. It's like Death Wish with a pair of boobs.

Angel Dare made a name for herself in porn, but was smart enough to not do drugs and get out before, in her words, her "p*ssy turned back into a pumpkin." She now runs Daring Angels, a talent agency of sorts for female porn stars, and has a good life. Then one day she gets a call from old friend, and porn director, Sam Hammer. Sam is in a jam, and needs a hottie to do some screen time with hot, young stud Jesse Black. Angel agrees, in part because she adores Sam, but also because she's got a girl hard-on for Jesse. But once she arrives on set, it all goes downhill quickly. Beaten, raped, shot and left for dead in the trunk of the Civic, all because of some underfed Romanian girl who walked into her office earlier that day carrying a briefcase full of money.

This is a revenge story, pure and simple. It's also compulsively readable because, as a writer, Faust has no sacred cows. Besides the dynamite first person narration, and the eye to detail, there are enough dead bodies in this book to make Hannibal Lecter choke. Angel has every reason to be pissed off, and shows a lot of gumption (her escape from the trunk of the car is great), but the long and the short of it is she's a killer. She shoots people. In cold blood. Not without cause mind you, and there is a certain amount of justice to it, but I'm not sure she'd rate terribly high on the Likability Scale. She works for me, but I can see her not working for some readers (oh, like say, 90% of my blog reading audience).

My only quibble with this story is The Man. No, not The Man, but Lalo Malloy. A former LAPD officer, he now works security for Daring Angels. This is all about my personal expectations, but I would have much rather had Angel carry this tale by herself. I can't entirely fault the poor girl. Once she escapes that trunk, she has to call somebody (who knew there were still pay phones in L.A.?) and Malloy is it. But instead of him riding off into the sunset, he rides shotgun for the bulk of the story. Basically I just didn't think Angel needed a man along for the ride. In the end, she handles it her way, but for a while I was kind of annoyed by his presence. I don't know. Maybe the feminist in me just wanted to have Angel do all the ass kicking.

I thought this was a crackerjack book, and it will be interesting to see how it fairs. Will it appeal to men? Will it appeal to women? Will it appeal to anybody who isn't bitter? Who knows? But I thought it was raw and gripping. Sure it holds true a lot of the conventions of the pulp crime noir genre, but dropping in a female lead (a pissed off one at that) is inspired. If you want different, look no further.

Final Grade = B+

Note: This book goes on sale January 29.

I Think I Can, I Think I Can...

My latest column is up over at Romancing The Blog. Smoke 'em if ya got 'em.

The Year In Reading 2007: The Gems

I'm a firm believer in getting to the good stuff first, so here is a list of the best books I read in 2007. Let's start out with the gems shall we?

The Gems:

Dirty and Broken by Megan Hart - Easily my biggest discovery of 2007. It's not even a close contest. Hart single handily restored my faith that the Harlequin Spice line could actually work (prior that it was an extremely bumpy experiment) and she is easily the most mature, thoughtful, and intelligent voice writing erotic fiction today. Emma Holly opened the door, Hart kicked it off it's hinges and broke a few windows while she was at it.

Heartsick by Chelsea Cain - A suspense novel with an clever hook, deeply flawed characters, and a serial killer that has screwed with more minds than Hannibal Lecter. Heartsick gets my Page Turner Of The Year award and I firmly believe this author is The Next Big Thing.

The Best Of The Rest or Honorable Mentions:

Strip Poker and Beg Me by Lisa Lawrence - Who would have thought I'd discover two great erotica writers in the same year? Strip Poker isn't perfect (Beg Me is the more solid effort), but Lisa Lawrence has created a firecracker series character in Teresa Knight. Strong, capable, kick ass and smart, I'm totally gay for Teresa.

A Reason to Believe by Maureen McKade - I originally graded this a B, and over time I've come to realize that it's a much more remarkable book than that (I'm thinking an A-). McKade took a huge risk with this novel, writing a heroine who isn't always likable, with plenty of personal demons, and takes to drinking whiskey in secret. It's gutsy, downright ballsy, and she deserves major props (as does Berkley) for giving romance readers more than just the same old tired, played-out crap. For my money McKade is the successor to Maggie Osborne's abandoned throne.

Games Of Command by Linnea Sinclair - This one was a slow starter for me (all that science fiction mumbo jumbo!) and the secondary romance didn't do a darn thing for me - but oh, what a hero! This is the textbook on why I love Beta heroes.

Count To Ten by Karen Rose - Rose writes some of the strongest romantic suspense out there, featuring capable heroines who always seem to find their perfect hero along the way. Grisly body counts and page turning suspense round out the fun. I predict she makes the jump to hard cover within the next couple of years. She's that good.

Outside Of Genre Fiction:

Nefertiti by Michelle Moran - A remarkable historical fiction debut about the life of the Egyptian queen told from the point of view of her younger sister. This book has everything - love, betrayal, intrigue, and death. Like a soap opera set in Ancient Egypt, it's that compulsively readable. A must read for lovers of historical fiction.

Lonesome Dove by Larry McMurtry - Sure the ending kinda ticked me off, but that didn't keep me from loving McMurtry's now classic saga about a cattle drive from Texas to Montana. Fantastic characters and high running emotions make this one glorious epic. It also surpassed Leon Uris' excellent Trinity as the longest book I've ever read (but just barely).

Next up? My final post on reading in 2007; the books I'd sooner forget about. Stay tuned.

The Year In Reading 2007: The Numbers

It's a new year, which must mean it's time for me to break down the previous year's adventures in reading. For the last several years I've kept a rudimentary database that covers authors, titles, genres, publication dates and my own rating system. It's not terribly involved, but it helps me keep track and being the dork for making lists that I am, I find it fun in a perverse sort of way.

2007 saw me reading 72 books. This is good. That's more than a book a week. Of course when you compare it to the fact that I read 95 books in 2006 and 105 in 2005 - well it ain't that good. I largely blame this slump on my slow descent into Reviewer Burn Out Hell, and prior to leaving The Romance Reader in July I had only managed to review 18 books for them. Yikes! Hopefully 2008, and no hard core review commitments, will see my reading totals climb.

As far as the quality of my reading, well that was pretty much par for the course. Over the years I've learned that the bulk of my reading lands around the B/C territory with a few books rising to the top, and the stragglers sinking to the depths. 2007 was no different.

• A grades = 3
• B grades = 33
• C grades = 26
• D grades = 9
• F grades = 1

As far as sub genres, there are a few interesting things here. Keep in mind, I tend to give books multiple labels, so these won't add up to 72 books. Also, these are all romances unless otherwise specified.

• 4 Anthologies
• 4 Single Title Contemporary
• 1 English Historical
• 12 Erotica
• 1 Urban Fantasy
• 1 Futuristic
• 1 Historical Mystery
• 12 Mystery
• 2 Historical Fiction
• 3 Paranormal
• 3 Romantic Suspense
• 10 Series (Harlequin/Silhouette)
• 3 Suspense
• 16 Historical Western
• 1 Young Adult

The thing that jumps out at me here is that I only read one English Historical romance. Since 2006 I've read a whopping 6 English Historicals. Wow, how telling is that? Nothing else really leaps out here. Given I read 20 fewer books this year than last, everything is slightly down. That said, my Erotica total was the only sub genre that showed a significant increase (no pun intended) up from 9 in 2006 to 12 in 2007.

This year I thought I'd breakdown publication dates as well. Given I still had a reviewing commitment for the first part of the year, these numbers should come as no shock.

• 2008 = 1
• 2007 = 41
• 2006 = 6
• 2005-2001 = 19
• Prior to 2000 = 5

Given that I'm no longer doing any heavy-duty reviewing, I hope to put a dent in the old TBR in 2008. I expect these numbers to be very different this time next year. Hope springs eternal for those of us suffering from TBR Anxiety.

Next up? When I get around to it, I want to highlight some of the great and good books I read in 2007. Stay tuned.