I was doing some research on the current releases for Harlequin and Silhouette, and bumped into this title from Red Dress Ink: Poonam Sharma’s All Eyes on Her 
At first I thought the cover copy was a joke, but I was wrong:
As a junior associate at the most-sought-after marital mediation and divorce boutique in Beverly Hills, Monica is part mediator, part lawyer, part marriage therapist and all celebrity babysitter. She’s so good at her job that she’s handling the firm’s superstar clients Cameron and Lydia Johnson—Hollywood It couple “Camydia.” Although things would be easier if the only other female associate would stop sabotaging her career, and if the drama queen she refers to as mother wasn’t moving back home!
When the latest Camydia scandal breaks wide open, it’s time for Monica to save the day, to don her Prada cape and matching bag, then wreak havoc on her office rival and run circles around the paparazzi.
So here I am, wondering if they really published a book that mimics the “Bennifer” and the “Brangelina” monikers with one that mimics… a sexually transmitted disease. But no, it was done with tongue in cheek, I think. This is from the excerpt:
I cleared my throat. “And I want to assure you all that despite recent news, this case of Camydia hasn’t been nearly as difficult to handle as some of the others I’ve had.”
Trust me, it’s not what you think.
Dubbed “Camydia” by the popular press, Cameron and Lydia Johnson had started their relationship as Hollywood’s “it” couple. They had been a publicist’s dream-come-true, since they appealed to every imaginable demographic….
The couple’s newly conjoined name, which did indeed rhyme with the venereal disease, was the media’s way of underscoring the fiery state of their current affairs. In particular, there were rumors that Cameron had been seen about town with an unidentified blonde.
FIERY STATE of their current affairs?! I am laughing but my legs are SO CROSSED.
Oh, please, don’t tell me the blonde’s name. Wait, it is “Rhea D’herpes?” “Steph Phyllis?” And we won’t even go near the fact that their surname is “Johnson.” Camydia JOHNSON.
And while I’m checking out the un/intentional comedy from HQ hq this month, is it me, or if you read this title too fast, or without your glasses on, does it say something entirely different?
Poonam Sharma’s first book was an unholy, awful mess of spun out plot and shallow characters. Thanks for the head’s up on this one.
Sweet mother of Gawdess, I thought it said . . .
Um, nevermind. I thought it said Clint.
” the clint ..the clint… a little more to the west!!!”
So much for me making a groundbreaking foray into Chick Lit by writing Indian-American protagonists…
Aargh.
I’ll be over here downing martinis at the table reserved for Bitter, Party of One.
But Mala, you can write a GOOD and INTERESTING Indian-American protagonist and a coherent plotline. There’s a huge need for that.
Mala, I’ll join you at that table. I had hoped to write something involving the only Indian-American girl in creation who doesn’t go to Harvard, but the Kaavya Vishwanathan plagiarism thing poisoned the YA well, and this just makes me cringe. Oy.
Ok, I totally thought Camydia were a lesbian couple. Would that make it better or worse?
Kerry – Thanks for the comfort! Is that your way of indicating that Sharma is basically doing crappy The Desi Wears Prada type knockoffs?
And La Reine, as one of the few Indian-American girls in creation who definitely didn’t go to Harvard, I’ll concur: Kaavya certainly did us no favors.
. . . if I take off my glasses, the L and the I kind of turn into a U. So, uh, yeah. You’re not alone, Sarah. :
…if you read this title too fast, or without your glasses on, does it say something entirely different?
Yeah, we learned to be very careful with L and I when we put up a guest’s name on the message board and got some double-takes—the client’s name was FLICK.
. . . hello there, rogue bold tag.
Here’s my brief review from 7/07:
Girl Most Likely To—Poonam Sharma: This is a book that sent me on a weeklong rampage of asking the question “Do you think I’m retarded?” Because this book insults the reader by feeding her a drippy heroine, a plot that rampages through everything but the kitchen sink with the search for true love, gay friends finding love, straight friends getting a clue, thinking your one night stand taped your sex to sell on the internet, insider trading, a yoga retreat, meddling Indian parents, and a deus ex machina arrival of a career change from banking to writing. Hi, I’m the author and I’m going to distract you from the lameness and unrealistic plot of my tale and paper thin characters you care nothing about by throwing EVERYTHING at you. Then I can cross “wrote a novel” off my life to do list.
Honey, it’s okay to be an underachiever if you do it well.
Will somebody please explain to me why stuff like this gets published while other, intriguing books languish on the reject pile?
And here’s three more books I can add to my DNR* list: Decadent, All Eyes, and the cLInt that ate Westmoreland.
*DNR – Do Not Resuscitate – also translates at Do Not Read….
Sorry about the rogue bold tag. *gulp*.
I can’t help noticing that Brenda Jackson’s cover over-uses Trajan, the Movie Font.
The worst part about the Kaavya thing is that I really think it wasn’t entirely her fault. She got blamed for it, and that is a pain. The worst part is that I actually rather enjoyed her book—it was nice to see a YA novel featuring an Indian-American protagonist who didn’t have super-traditional parents. I could actually relate to her protagonist.
If only that pesky plagiarism thing hadn’t come up. 😉
Though now you make me want to write something incredibly silly titled The Desi Wears Prada.
On the, er, “clint” front, allow me to share a slightly-irrelevant story that my BFF told me this weekend.
She went to the zoo with a male friend-who-once-was-maybe-kinda-sort-more-than? You know, that kind of friend. They stood there looking at the monkeys. BFF noticed that all of the monkeys appeared to be male, as they all had dangly bits between their legs. The aged (70-something) docent standing nearby says, “Notice anything strange about them monkeys? They’re not all males.” BFF: “Huh. Interesting.”
Docent: “Yep. Can’t remember what that’s called.” (Silence.) “Oh! I remember! It’s the clitoris or ‘clitoris.’” (Pause while BFF dies of humiliation.) Docent: “Can you imagine how much fun you could have…” (BFF makes obvious mental leap and gapes in horror) “…with a prehensile tail?”
Meanwhile, I am feeling sorry for the docent’s wife, if he’s only ever heard of the “clitoris” on monkeys.
agh! fire that docent! agh!
rebyj: HA!!
Man, this whole post/conversation just deeply satisfied my need for dirty laughs and silly sexual puns today. Thanks everybody!
Oh, dear…I think I have Trajan on my new book. Who knew?
I have a funny clitoris story!
>haha
<
We had to perform skits in 8th grade Language Arts class. My friend roped me into performing a Monty Python sketch. I hadn’t seen very much, but I was on board.
Well, she decided to perform
“The Crunchy Frog Sketch”.
I can’t remember, but one of us had to be Constable Clitoris.
I kid you not that I had NO idea what that was in 8th grade. I was the oldest of three daughters, and so I was sheltered in an attempt to keep them young and naive (ha…haha…hahahaha), and so there I was, saying “Clitoris” over and over again in my 8th grade English class.
I’m mortified now, but I’m pretty sure no one knew what the hell a clitoris was, since there was no cascade of laughter and mockery.
That I know of.
>darts eyes insecurely<
Oh, God, Erin! That’s worse than my horrifying class presentation story!
In 11th grade speech class, we had to invent and advertise a product. If the user name didn’t give it away, I’m a big Lewis Carroll fan. I was also very…innocent. I knew oral sex existed, but I didn’t know any of the slang terms for it. So my “product” was the Eat Me/Drink Me growth/shrinking stuff from Alice in Wonderland.
So I stood up there and advertised something called “Eat Me,” which will make you grow.
I suddenly want to crawl under my desk.
OMG Erin and snarkhunter!! I am LMAO.
I have a similar story, but it didn’t happen at school and I had no clue I should be embarrassed…I embarrassed my sister and her friend.
Anyway, we were shopping at a grocery and they had a Princess Leia doll. I saw it and said ‘Hey Julie, they have a Leia Orgasm doll’.
Julie was not impressed.
Sam
SamG—the sad part is, there probably *is* somewhere (deep down in the dark basement-like reaches of the Interwebs) where you *can*, in fact, buy something called Leia Orgasma. Rule 34 says it must be so.
I don’t say this often about covers or cover models, but…there was a title? Wha? It took me a few minutes to register the potential for mis-reading because I was kind of distracted by the fact that holy crap, there’s a really, really hot black guy on a Silhouette cover—twice a rarity because hot guys and black people aren’t things I’m used to seeing on category romance covers.
I have to say, I also thought Camydia was a lesbian couple. It wasn’t until later on in the synopsis I realized my mistake.
I don’t understand. The infection is called chlamydia, so why is camdydia so funny? Daft, yes, but not funny.
Sorry about the extra ‘d’ there.
I didn’t even read the title…was too busy drooling over the hot black cover dude. Let’s have more of that, shall we?
Hot black cover model, yes, but also…..
Making the Derek Zoolander face.
I’m just sayin’.
who’s looking at his face? *blinking*
lol.
Heeeeee, sula.
I cant believe i almost passed up the opportunity to yell..
” CLINT NECTAR!!”
Why can’t I see things like everybody else? What a freakin’ curse!
First, I didn’t get what was wrong with the cover…until I read the comments, went back, and crossed my eyes a little. Then, I didn’t understand the raves about the cover model (very dim photo that doesn’t highlight many contours at all, further obscured by author’s name and title pasted over his torso)…until I realized I was maybe supposed to pretend I could clearly see the man’s physique so I could bust out and polish my LIBERAL WHITE CHICK button. And finally, I thought snarkhunter’s anecdote was going to end with “prehensile penis” (probably because I know someone who talks about these. A lot.)
Guess I’ve been driving the wrong way on a one-way street lately.
A little off topic but once I asked a guy at work if he wanted some of my peanut M&Ms. He look straight at me dead serious and said “No thanks I’ve never like chocolate on my nuts.”
Not sure where to find the liberal white chick button. I do however have a ‘dating a black guy for the past four years and counting’ button and it works fine. You could say…it pushes my buttons, even.
That is 100% Blue Steel.
Niiice.
Hot black cover model, yes, but also…..
Making the Derek Zoolander face.
I’m just sayin’.
Bwaaaaah!
Holy shit, that is so true.
Nah, that’s totally Magnum! Blue Steel is so last year.
Wry Hag: Excuse me, I have to object to your offensive presumptions about me—that’d be my “Liberal Banana Girl” button, if you please.
Ok…what is wrong with me? I didn’t even notice the cover model was black! Or maybe it was the name that threw me off – because is he supposed to be “Clint”? I guess I don’t hang around cowboys enough but I’ve never met a black man named Clint.
I recall being in Catholic school and in 8th grade all the girls were brought together into the church to have a sex talk given by a hip visiting priest. He asked if we all knew was oral sex was. No one raised their hand to ask for clarification so he went on to explain how it still counted as sex and was wrong, wrong, wrong. As soon as everyone got the idea there was a general rumble of surprise and disgust which of course really embarrassed him. Hard to look hip when you are blushing…