Never underestimate the commercial value of mental illness.
We just gave up our water cooler and water service.
For those of you tightening your belts, even if you A) don’t have any need to do so but you are anyway (yay, you!) or B) don’t have any notches in your belt ’cause it wraps around twice already (it’ll get better!), go here:
Save $1,000 in 30 days. I follow this guy regularly.
I probably should’ve tweeted this, but I’m still trying to figure out exactly what its purpose is.
DISCLAIMER TO CLEAR UP SOME CONFUSION: This is NOT about my book. This is about SOMEONE ELSE’S book.
The Mysterious They say that contemporary romance (you know, without vampires, shapeshifters, werebeasts, ghosts, phantoms, and mimes) is dead. Yeah, I know. ’Swhy I wrote one. Sorta.
I have a very low tolerance for romantic suspense, paranormal romance makes me roll my eyes, and m/m doesn’t float my boat (although I can tolerate it in menage). Give me alternate reality or steampunk or post-apocalyptic or anything that could happen, and I’m good to go. Better yet, give me contemporary.
Okay, so in doing my part to save the whales–uh, er, straight heterosexual contemporary romance (because “straight contemporary” is taking on a whole new connotation these days), I’m going to plug the competition: Flat Out Sexy by Erin McCarthy, as reviewed on Dear Author.
Obviously, I haven’t read this puppy, but I plan to when it comes out and so I’m going to plug it in advance. Why?
I’m dying for a straight contemporary that’s more than 150 pages long (i.e., category length). That’s a snack (and besides, I stocked up on early ’80s Carole Mortimer Harlequin Presents at the thrift store Saturday). Okay, it’s 304 pages, not exactly a feast, but it’ll do in a pinch. I want to support straight heterosexual contemporary the way I want to support independent publishing.
Plus, the heroine is a cougar (not the werecat kind) and we could all use a few more cougars in romance.
My first full-on real-life romance novel was Shanna by Kathleen Woodiwiss. Naturally, it’s on my keeper shelf right next to The Wolf and the Dove. I have the ones with the original covers, though they are far from mint. The namby pamby covers on the ones with the links are meh. Unlike most of my contemporaries whose first (or close to it) romance experience was Woodiwiss, mine wasn’t with The Flame and the Flower or Ashes in the Wind, neither of which I cared for.
But she’s not my guilty pleasure.
It’s Carole Mortimer of Harlequin Presents circa 1979 through, oh, I guess around 1986.
