Thank heaven Valentine's Day is over.

by Nancy    

When I wrote romance novels, Valentine's Day was the holiday I most wanted to spend in a cave.

Sure, my husband brought me flowers.  My kids made adorable valentines out of construction paper and doilies. My mother sometimes sent a check just to spoil me.

But the local media brought me as much humiliation as they could manage.

You see, television producers, feature journalists and radio DJs (especially those!) see February 14th coming up on their calendars, and they start looking for a hook--something "fun" for Valentine's Day.  And what better story than a dippy local housewife who writes sexy stories? Sometimes the producer calls ahead to make sure the housewife is sufficiently dippy.

February 14th is the only day of the year when the media comes knocking on the romance novelist's door.

As a mystery writer, I no longer get asked to star in stories that make me out to be a stay-at-home mom who has nothing better to do but dream up wild sex scenarios. Nobody asks me to pose for pictures in my nightie. (It really happened.) Or with a rose in my teeth. (Ditto.) I don't get asked questions about my own sex life either, darn it, and you can imagine how much my whole family would enjoy that!

Now I get . . . respect. (Well, except for my local newspaper and of course Kirkus, but those curmudgeons are another blog, right?) Mystery writers are generally viewed as Real Writers.  But come February, everybody wants to jeer at the women (hey, nobody's laughing at Nicholas Sparks) who write romance novels.

A few years back when I was nominated for an industry award, a reporter for Channel 4 brought her camera man to my house for an interview. She plopped me on the sofa with my two pre-schoolers beside me, turned on the camera, then looked me in square in the eye and said,  "So.  People say you write porn."

A doctor friend who also had never read a romance novel came for dinner one evening.  As he opened a bottle of wine for the table of guests, he asked, "So, Nancy, are you still writing smutty stories?"

"Does your husband help with your research?" countless smirking acquaintances have inquired.

"We're doing a story on the sexiest movies that turn women on," one newspaper reporter called to say. "What's your top pick?"

Here's a classic.  And do you think this author really intended her remarks to be used like this?

Nobody really cared to hear that I'd been published in 19 languages.  Or that one of my books sold over 5 million copies worldwide. Or that I regularly appeared on bestseller lists in Japan and Italy. Or about my fan mail from readers all over the world who had enjoyed my books during the most trying times of their lives. No, even my husband's most conservative co-workers asked where I got my story ideas--waggling their eyebrows lasciviously.

Mind you, we romance writers brought some of it on ourselves. I cut my teeth in a publishing era when romance novelists routinely allowed publicity photos to be taken in their bathtubs. In swimming pools. And yes, in bed.

Get your face and your name (and sometimes your lingerie) out there any way you can--that was the thinking.  I blush to admit there's still a photo floating around of me reading NO BAD DOGS to our two Dalmatians.  Sickeningly adorable (except omigod, who allowed me to leave the house with that perm??) but in what universe did I imagine that photo might cause anyone to rush to buy my books?

The conventional wisdom: Any publicity is good publicity.

Tell that to Britney Spears after she was caught driving with her baby in her lap.

Tell that to our Vice President.

When the media came calling on Nancy Martin, the romance writer, they came to make fun, to exploit, to put down, to discriminate, to cheapen. Not even S/F and Horror writers take the punishment romance authors do. Journalists want you to say the most outrageous thing possible so it can become the holiday headline. On more than one occasion, I've found myself defending women's sexual fantasies when, frankly, I didn't have an opinion on the subject any more profound than, "Hey, if nobody's getting hurt, why should I object?"

Sure, I wrote about sex. But now that I write about killing people, suddenly I'm Real Literature. Murder, it seems, is more socially acceptable than kissing. It's taken seriously. Apparently, I have something more profound to say about life if I'm dismembering characters than allowing them to search for love.

Whatever.

Many romance authors are damn good writers, period. The best ones know how to fully explore an emotional conflict as well as bang out a rip-snorter of a plot. They know how to instill each character with a unique voice. They pare down description until it makes the story move forward, not stop it dead. They know their readers and exactly how to entertain them. And the best of the best take intelligent ideas and project them to the reader through complex and finely drawn characters.

Romance writers know how to get on with it, too.  Get a rejection? Toss it and move on. There's no time in romance to ruminate.  If a story doesn't work, you throw it away and start again.  (Only when I started moving among mystery writers did I encounter people who have been noodling the same pages for 10 fucking years, for godsake.  I mean--come on, what part of snowball's chance in hell don't you understand?!) Things move fast in the romance genre. Need to improve your craft? Romance writers have created a whole industry geared to building skills.  Get better or get out.

Then there's the whole financial issue. In the romance biz, I was regularly asked how much money I was making. And to tell the truth, I was making a lot because romance fans read an astonishing number of books.  They don't go to the library to put their names on the reserve lists, either.  They buy books!

In the mystery genre, however, I'm apparently supposed to survive on good reviews and to spend my advances promoting myself.  Just two years ago, I turned down a contract to write mysteries, telling my editor with complete honesty, "I can make a better living working at Burger King." A former romance editor, she winced and agreed. And upped my advance to something more reasonable. She knew I couldn't survive on respect alone.

Every romance writer has a tale to tell. A moment when someone said something insulting or demeaning.

But this year's Valentine's Day has come and gone, and nobody asked me the most outrageous place I've ever had sex. (Yes, I was once asked.  I politely declined, so don't bother inquiring today.) Nobody called me for tips on buying sexy underwear or which desserts I find most seductive.  It's a relief. 

But maybe a teensy bit disappointing, too.

Because I have some very firm opinions on the sexiest movies for women.

Nancy's new book, HAVE YOUR CAKE AND KILL HIM TOO, hits stores March 7th. 

Comments

[Harley]

You gave me a whole new reason to be thankful this morning. Thank God I started my writing career AFTER the Perm Years.

[ramona]

Bravo on a thoughtful piece, Nancy. Your experiences, while humorous to read here, do highlight one of the frustrations of the writing life, which I think comes down to simple prejudice: Unless you’re a Dead White Male (or Harold Bloom), respect for your work does not come flowing from the public. Or, sadly, your peers.

Every children’s writer I know has been hit with “When are you going to write a real book?” When I go to an event and admit that I primarily write magazine articles—for children--I get the double whammy of “When are you going to write a book? A real one?”

And in defense of desperate reporters stuck with the Valentine’s Day story, my husband, a journalist who once answered the dinner table question “What did you do at work today, Daddy?” with “I ducked gunfire at a crack house” still gets “When are you going to write a real story?” Meaning, one that’s made up.

I think it’s all in the perception that you’re not a “real” writer until you’ve done a hardcover adult novel. Preferably one that could be adapted into a screenplay.

No matter what I think about any genre or work inthe privacy of my own brain, I sincerely try not to diss anyone else’s work publicly. If I like a book, I recommend it. If I don’t, I don’t put it down. Although, okay, maybe I have made a comment or two when Katie Couric or Madonna publishes a children’s book. And you should see how my husband smirks when some TV anchor--or our sitting president--mispronounces the name of a foreign political figure. And yes, I confess, I have asked my sons, who love graphic novels, why don’t they read a book with words in it. But, apart from that, I'm respectful all the time.

Which is why I thought about this: even the great Dead White Males caught a little disprespect. The Divine Comedy was considered low rent because it was written in Dante’s regional Italian instead of Latin. In his day and time, Will Shakespeare was thought of as kind of a hack compared to Kit Marlowe. Truman Capote needed a press pass to write In Cold Blood. And, at the risk of sounding defensive, isn’t Jo Rowling richer than Elizabeth Windsor now?

Sorry for the long rant, especially when I really just wanted to bite: What ARE your opinions on the sexiest movies for women? Don't be a tease, Nanc!

P.S. As an apology to graphic novelists everywhere, I just read that Frank Miller (Batman, Dark Knight, Sin City, 300) is doing a Batman versus Al-Qaeda book. You go, Frank. I hope the Caped Crusader has better luck than our government.

[Janice the SweeTart]

Batman vs. Al-Qaeda? Bahahahahaha. I think it should be Dick Cheney vs Al Qaeda. Sorry my liberalism took ahold of me unexpectedly.

So Nancy where did you get all your ideas for those romance novels? Have you ever worn lingerie to a PTA meeting? Are your children traumatized because sex rules your life?

There ya go. Now you can feel like a romance writer again w/o the big bucks.

[sarah]

Okay, so what are the hot movies?
Personally, I wouldn't mind someone insisting I be photographed in the bed or the bath. It hadn' occurred to me before. Now, I'm just insulted that I haven't been asked.
Look at the USA Today bestseller list today and you'll see that a fair # are romance. God bless 'em.

[nancy]

The Big Easy.

hooo, baby!

[toni]

Wonderful post, Nancy. I am very curious, though -- what on earth did you say to the idiot reporter who asked you the porn question in front of your children? (I'm assuming you didn't maim her, though she would have deserved it.)

[nancy]

When the reporter asked me the porn question, I took a deep breath and said, "I'm not going to answer that."
She went ballistic. Tried to bully me, made faces at the cameraman, huffed & puffed, said I couldn't refuse because the camera was running. I waited her out. When she asked another question, I answered, and the inteview went on.

Funny thing is, this reporter is now an uber feminist radio commentator. I know she got her start . . . being a jerk to women.

[daisy]

I just think it's good to know that I'm not the only person who gets a little grumpy around V-Day.

[Mary Alice Gorman]

Nancy,
In my former lives------ACLU Director and Victim Service Director I did many TV spots. In fact, once with the reporter who I think you mentioned. I had two rules. Say three things, say them over and over and no matter what their qeustions. If they insisted on insulting or off the wall questions, I'd just say F@#* Never saw that question and answer on the news!
mary alice @ mystery lovers

[April Redmon]

Oh, Nancy, I hear you. I'm not published yet, but I have many friends who are, and ALL of them have a tale to tell. I even have a mystery writer friend who had a guy come up to her this weekend at ther booksigning, look at the people on the front (entwined, even tho it's mainstream) and ask, ala BUTTHEAD (huh-huh huhhuh) "who takes these pictures on your cover?" (huh huh huhhuh)

[Kathy Sweeney aka Smart Tart]

Just saw "The Big Easy" a couple of weeks ago. Hot - but not as hot as I remembered -Dennis Quaid was too skinny, or something.

"Last of the Mohicans". And in a previous life, "Dirty Dancing". No kidding.

And a special mention in honor of the Olympics - not a movie, but Torville & Dean's "Bolero" in the 1984 Olympic Ice Dancing Finals. No doubt I was one of millions who fully appreciated that performace long after they left the ice...

[nancy]

April--I know that guy! I've met Mr. Butthead many times. ;-)

[nancy]

Ramona, I'm still thinking about your husband dodging bullets at the crack house. Yeesh!

[ramona]

And I'm still thinking about Dennis Quaid trying to do a N'Awlins accent!

On the sexy movie topic, have you seen Passionada? Jason Isaacs sports an embarrassingly bad haircut--but boy oh boy, can Mr. Malfoy kiss!

[Josh]

Body Heat.

A plus for us lawyer types is the law school exam question that the movie hinges on.

[Kathy Sweeney]

Aaahh - the Rule Against Perpetuities. Most lawyers cannot even begin to remember it without conjuing up an image that includes Kathleen Turner. Whew!

[Kathy Sweeney]

sorry - that's conjuring. The whole thing is too distracting. I think I may need to put that one on my Netflix list...

[Carla Neggers]

The attitude toward romance and romance writers is much less hostile than it used to be even ten years ago. Helps to have the scholarship of people like Jenny Crusie to point to. ;-)

I can think of only one writer who had her photo taken in the tub (with bubbles!). I'm not going to use her name here, but she's said in public that she regrets that photo, but she's also one of the least self-conscious and uptight writers I know -- and she has a great sense of humor! I prefer to remember her for her work and her service. She was never a huge seller, but she's widely respected by readers, critics, booksellers and other writers for the quality of her writing and her generous service to the industry and other writers, which continues to this day despite her recent retirement. She's one of the true class acts of our business.

[Judith Will Fleming]

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