The Language of Love (by Reese)

As I have yet to get my hands on one of Lizzie's most precious hot-and-heavy romance novels and do a "true and deep" analysis of it, I thought I'd occupy my time by revealing to the hungry eyes of all you readers the pulsing, heaving extent of, um, "descriptive" language used in every inch of the romance novel--even the summaries of books themselves, which don't explicitly refer to sex. Consider this example, from eHarlequin.com:

Deeper

by Megan Hart 

Twenty years ago she had her whole life spread out before her. She was Bess Walsh, a fresh-scrubbed, middle-class student ready to conquer the design world. And she was taken. Absolutely and completely. 

But not by Andy, her well-groomed, intellectual boyfriend who had hinted more than once about a ring. No. During that hot summer as a waitress and living on the beach, she met Nick, the moody, dark-haired, local bad boy. He was, to put it mildly, not someone she could take home to Daddy.

Instead, Nick became her dirty little secret— a fervent sexual accomplice who knew how to ignite an all-consuming obsession she had no idea she carried deep within her.

Bess had always wondered what happened to Nick after that summer, after their promise to meet again. And now, back at the beach house and taking a break from responsibility, from marriage, from life, she discovers his heartbreaking fate—and why he never came back for her. Suddenly Nick's name is on her lips…his hands on her thighs…dark hair and eyes called back from the swirling gray of purgatory's depths.

Dead, alive, or something in between, they can't stop their hunger.

She wouldn't dare.

(my highlights)


Of course, not all romance writers adhere to this particular philosophy. Take this, er, confident woman from AllExperts.com, in response to an inquiry about what sort of language should be used in in writing this sort of book:

"Personally, I'm not a fan of the flowery filler-words used in older romance novels. I'd rather them just get straight to the point with the real word."

Well, okay then.

(image via eHarlequin.com)

Roundup: The Best In Smut (by Reese)

Here's the no-brainer: Walmart's website will give me access to the full collection of, uh, quality reading.

This romance-novel directory promises to get "a little on the wild side." Sounds appropriate. Let's take a peek.

Oh, the mother of all woman-oriented crap: Lifetime wants to show me the ropes.

It may sound innocent, but Public Bookshelf promises me that I can read tales of "southern bells longing for lost lives or steamy, hot romance stories" for free online. Oh goody.

Apparently, this delectable variety of fiction is so intoxicating to some that they would go so far as to call it addiction. Not one, not two, but three different women in the first few entries of Google claim marriage problems and addictive habits as a result of their obsession with "written porn" (they claim they didn't know it was bad for them).

I always wonder about the people writing these things. Are they shut-ins with no other way to connect with humanity? Are they savvy businesswomen who know they can make big bucks cranking out 450-page bundles of "throbbing" and "quivering" sex scenes? I'm not sure, but they do have a website.

Please Allow Me To Introduce Myself (Reese's Turn!)

Hi, I'm Reese. You may have heard of me in the infamous interview that Lizzie conducted last week, but since I'm going to be taking over here for the next week, I think you deserve a few more details than my love of avocados and my hatred of cats.

I'm a junior in college and I'm trying to be a writer. I work as Arts and Entertainment editor of the school newspaper, The Chronicle, and write for it weekly (my stories are linked on my blog). I'm writing, or attempting to write, a memoir about my exploits as Most Likely To Run Into A Ridiculous (and Hilarious) Situation And Tell All My Friends. I work every summer writing, editing, designing and doing photography for a travel publication about summer travel in New York State called Upstate Summer Fun. I enter tons of essay contests, start innumerable freelance projects that may or may not wind up being fruitful, and stay up late at night writing things that may never see the light of day but might end up making me rich (who knows?). My dream is to move west and publish a travel magazine based out of my Jeep. With my dog as co-editor.

Writing for "The Walmart Novels" will be a treat because it's so far off from what my blog is generally about. Reese In Pieces is the tangible evidence of my life as a writer; to date, there have been few opportunities for me to post pictures of penis-themed knitwear or review novels where a man shape-shifts into a leopard when he approaches his lover (metaphorical?).

At any rate, I'm looking forward to letting loose a little and exploring some of the fun and funny stuff that the smut world has to offer.

Refreshing News and Billy Idol

I'll be on waitressing leave next week (guest-blogging over at Waiting on Wisdom), so I'm leaving you fine people in the hands of my most trustworthy and reliably bitter colleague: Teresa. What are you in store for? Let's find out.

The following answers are quoted verbatim:

What are your least favorite styles of music? Why?
Fucking opera, because I can't stand loud, screechy noises.

What was the last thing you bought at WalMart?
I don't remember. Why don't I remember!? Avocados. I think it was avocados. Say it was avocados.
 

What is the ideal name for a dog?
Peanut.


What is the worst book ever written?
Oh my god. Give me a moment to think about that one. Dude, what is the worst book ever written? There's this one by Danielle Steel that sucked so bad, but I forgot the name of it. 


How old were you when you got your first cell-phone?
Sixteen. It had flames on it.


How do you feel about Billy Idol?
I have no comment on Billy Idol.

Are swim-up bars really a good idea?
Yes. They are the best invention of humankind.

Where is the last place you would want to go on vacation?
Siberia...or China. Or Africa. Yes, Africa. Africa's worse than everything because they have Ebola. And female circumcision.

If you could only drink one thing for the rest of your life, what would it be?
Mmmm..it might be coffee. I would probably drink espresso forever. Espresso or Jack Daniels.


How do you feel about cats?
I fucking hate cats. Spawn of Satan.  [Why do you hate cats so much?] I just do. You're either a cat person or a dog person, and I'm a cat person. Cats are stand-offish, bitchy...I don't want them and I don't like them. That's like trying to convince me to have children. It's not going to happen.

Have fun, guys. I think I'm leaving you in good hands.

Something Is Fundamentally Wrong with Me

Often, I wonder how and why I turned out the way I did. What exactly made me so full of rage? For a while, I'll pretend as though I don't know the answer. Then, I'll watch this video from my childhood. I subsequently realize that I've been this way all my life, and I sit back and accept it.

Gone But Not Forgotten: the Top Six Old TV Shows

Ren & Stimpy

 Though some have tried, no one can convince me that this was not both the best and most inappropriate children's cartoon ever aired. Yeah, the newer version is terrible, but in its prime, Ren & Stimpy was fantastic. As a huge proponent of toilet jokes, I feel no qualms about ranking this number one on this list. Also, one of the main characters was a Chihuahua. Chihuahuas are one of the most popular dog breeds in America -- I've even got two myself. I rest my case.

Twelve Things Fat Guys Shouldn't Wear

I am not only a connoisseur of fine literature and master in the art of romance; I've also got my finger on the ever-changing pulse of the fashion world.

And lately, I've noticed a problem:  fat dudes don't know how to dress themselves. Gone are the days of the jovially rotund robber-baron. 21st-century fat people are just dumpy. There's no longer any happiness to that lifestyle. Nowadays, it's perfectly normal to throw on a muumuu or sweatpants and be on one's way. This has to change.

 William H. Taft, one of Fat's biggest names, impeccably dressed and sittin' pretty.

Luckily, I'm here to help. Here's a handy list of things I hope to never see a fat man wearing. Feel free to distribute this advice around the office, at church, at your nearest Denny's, on a billboard, or wherever else you see fit:

1. Nothing. This is especially applicable if you are covered in bedsores or cellulite. Bonus level of repulsion if there's an excessive amount of hair.

2. Their hearts on their sleeves.

3. A feedbag.

4. Crocs. Crocs are gross on just about everyone.

5. Footie Pajamas.

6. Fewer than three chins. Go big or go home.

7. Ladies. Most fat guys don't have to worry about this.

8. Cargo shorts. Nobody should wear cargo shorts, but when fat guys wear them, the end result is someone who resembles a butternut squash.

9. Food stains or residue.


10. Pounds and pounds of fa-...oh, wait. I guess that's a lost cause.

11. Speedos.


12. Bibs. A bib implies a person who is serious about their food. Your body shape precedes the bib in making clear your enthusiasm for eating. The bib is just redundant.

Hope this helps!