Kathleen sent me an alert that Australian booksellers Angus and Robertson are holding a writing contest to celebrate relaunching the Mills & Boon line.
Kathleen’s take on it is similar to mine. Holy crap. Are they kidding me?
Unleash your inner Romance Novelist
Fans of the ‘bodice ripper’: unite! From March 26, Angus & Robertson are relaunching Mills & Boon books in 108 of their stores nationally.
To celebrate their return, Angus & Robertson are giving aspiring romance novelists the chance to win one of five ‘pamper hampers’ valued at over $350 each. Hampers include a sensual mix of champagne, chocolates and gourmet food, Mills & Boon novels, scented candles, and a deluxe dressing gown.
This is your chance to probe your talent in the world of romance writing.To win entrants must write the first paragraph of a novel in Mills & Boon style and send to publicity@angusrobertson.com.au. Submission must not be over 200 words. Submission will be judged on the skill of their writing, use of detail, development of character and understanding of the Mills & Boon genre.
Competition runs between March 26 and April 18, with winners announced on April 20.
But no, that’s not the best part. Aside from the images I get when I read the words “pamper hamper” (two words: dirty diapers), and the flinching I do at the conflation (2pts!) of “bodice rippers” and category romance, it gets better and better. Get a load of this:
Tips for writing in the Mills & Boon style
– characters should have unusual names
like ‘Slade’, ‘Blaze’, ‘Calliope’ and
‘Sergio’ (Yes, because nothing makes me giddy like a hero named Calliope)– detail and description is extremely important (But they’re short books and this is a short contest so break out the adverbs, she said sarcastically.)
– love interests are often Princes, Earls, surgeons, pilots or thieves (Sing it with me now: “Princes, Earls and Thieves! But every night all the men would come around… and lay their money down” )
– giving a character amnesia is a useful narrative tool (for bugging the shit out of your reader.)
– the bachelor rogue always has a heart of gold, he just needs the right woman to tame him (if he can break free of the amnesia and remember who she is)
– the first kiss between the lead characters is perhaps the most important part of the book (after the amnesia affecting Slade, the Earl of Blaze, of course)
Oh, dear, oh dear. And to make matters extra more special with a side order of what-the-freaking-shitfuck, the contest announcement thoughtfully provides three cover samples at the bottom with classic M&B/ HQ: Presents title samples, like The Greek Tycoon’s Convenient Bride.
But the worst part is that I cannot get over one of the cover images at the bottom of the message. Now, I fully understand that the world is not tuned into US news at every moment, and my reaction is solely my reaction, but there is no way I could every buy a book with this image on the cover were it marketed in the US.
A baby in the arms of a firefighter in front of a giant blaze? NOT SEXY. NOT ROMANTIC. In fact, SCARY AS FUCKING HELL.
And if you’re like me, the image brings up a tragic memory. After the Oklahoma City bombing, one of the images that was circulated most often was of a firefighter carrying a 1 year old girl, Baylee Almon, from the wreckage of the building. The image won the Pulitzer Prize in 1996 and came to symbolize the victims of the attack. Baylee Almon died of her injuries. Bottom line: that’s not a romance cover. And if anything underscores the dance across the line of revolting that is played out every month by the titles and cover images of category romance, that’s it.
i broked the intarwebs, sorry – can someone fix that a tag for me?
Thanks, Nora!
I was thinking that the Marx Fairy Godfathers could give Prince Blaze the following:
Groucho could bestow cleverness,
Chico could bestow fiscal discipline,
Harpo could bestow a sense of humor,
Gemmo could bestow a pair of Wellies, and
Zeppo could bestow a sense of moderation.
Alas, except for Groucho’s gift, none of the others are remotely romantical.
🙂
I thought about it some more and like these gifts better:
Groucho could bestow his mustache,
Chico could bestow his hat,
Harpo could bestow his car horn, and
Zeppo could bestow his hair oil.
Also, Gemmo should be Gummo and I left him out this time ‘cause he stopped performing before the other four made it big on Broadway.
🙂
Dear God, yes, thirded. Give that woman her title!!
Is it bad that I read “Fans of the bodice ripper unite” as “Fans of the bodice ripper untie” and immediately had a picture of dozens of women in corsets unlacing them in the middle of an Australian bookstore?
Regarding the firefighter with the baby, as a non-American I quite liked the image. Definitely one of the less annoying Mills & Boon covers, though I wondered what a firefighter was doing on the cover of something labeled a Medical romance. And I actually do have faint memories of the Oklahoma City bombing and the photo in question, but I would never have made the connection, had Sarah not pointed it out.
I think, in many ways this issue is similar to a recent case where some American viewers complained because a character in a British film or TV show happened to have the same name as a notorious murderess in the US.
An image or reference that may be offensive in one country can be completely innocent in another.
If Nora Roberts is not already a member of the Smart Bitches nobility there is something dreadfully wrong with this universe.
Unless she renounced her title to show solidarity with the common folk of Freedonia, as they seek to overthrow the hunchback’s Fearsome Tyranny. Which is always a possibility.
Nora, I bow before you, I am unworthy, so I can only sing a few verses of “Everyone Says I Love You” in your honor.
Hail Freedonia!
My husband wrote this:
Duke Greekopoulus opened his eyes to the sharp clear light of the morning. His bed felt unfamiliar, like he had forgotten it; the sheets were specifically warmish. Who am I? he thought questioningly. Where am I? How did I get here? Suddenly a shape moved next to him with a seductive movingness. The duke turned to face a naked, large-breasted, blonde-type-haired woman. “Who are you?” Duke Greekopoulus asked her with an aching lust. “I don’t have a baby!” the woman cried large-breastedly. “Seriously! No baby! No baby at all! I swear to God!” She lapsed into a childless silence.
There was a pregnant pause.
There was a pregnant pause.
Ahahahaha! Win!
I always assumed she was the Queen. Or the Goddess. Or both.
“Calliope? Calliope? Your 2 o’clock is here!”
I shot my intercom a furtive finger; it wasn’t Melody’s fault my mother was an idiot who named me for a steam whistle with delusions of grandeur. Didn’t make me like my first name any better, though.
With a sigh of impending doom—I’d seen the resumes on queue for today—I stood and headed for the reception area.
It was worse than I thought. My 2 o’clock was about 6 feet tall. That was his good quality. He had a windblown mess of blond hair, with a couple of braided strands stuck here and there as if his 4 year old sisters had played hairdresser with him just prior to the interview. Surely not, though. Surely, no 4 year old sister would have dressed him in a flowy white shirt, complete with puffy sleeves. Nor suggested the skin tight breeches—were they really leather?!? Good Lord. He looked like a freaking pirate straight off the cover of those bodice rippers Melody read endlessly instead of picking up the company main phones occasionally.
I glanced down at his resume to double check his name. The hell?!? “Raece Caighe”
“Er….Race?” I tested the pronunciation waters tentatively.
“Reece” he corrected. “Reece Cage”
Holy mother of God.
I held out my hand. “I’m Calliope; I’ll be conducting your interview today for the position of insurance adjuster.”
Melody interrupted me. “You know Calliope? I have a ton of messages for her and I can’t remember what room she’s in!”
I took the messages with a smile, “I’ll get them to her. No problem, Melody.”
Raece peered at me quizzically.
“Don’t mind her,” I reassured him, ushering him down the hall to my office. “She’s got amnesia.”
Count me in as another non-North American who doesn’t find the idea of firefighter+baby squicky in the slightest. Well, if it’s a male firefighter, he’s not going to do much for me anyway.
Naturally, we’re probably all familiar with Oklahoma, but I don’t recall any such image in the media in the places where I was living. Really, for us antipodeans, no biggie (and I’m sure attractive for some – although I really don’t get the whole +baby thing for romances.
Nora, is that the first paragraph to your 2010 HC release, or the first in your trilogy after your quartet? LOL
You’re probably right that I’m being far too sensitive as to cover imagery from a navel-gazing Americanist (is that a word?) standpoint. But I stand by my first comment that a fire fighter is often sexy. A man holding a baby and smiling is also often sexy.
But a fire fighter holding a baby with a goofy grin on his face in front of what looks like a smoke-filled inferno: not sexy. Scary as hell. For me anyway.
And like I said, IT IS ALL ABOUT ME.
Wait, it’s not?
Shit.
When I saw “Pamper Hamper” my first reaction was why would they offer a diaper Genie for a prize.
I’m going to back you up on this, SB Sarah. Maybe you’d primed me, but except for the smile on his face and the fact that the baby isn’t torn and bleeding, that picture is hauntingly reminiscent of Baylee Almon.
I clicked on the link before reading the paragraphs after, and yeah – that image is disturbing to me too.
I didn’t immediately think “Oklahoma city bombing”, but I knew it looked vaguely familiar and I got all sort of BAD! BAD! BAD! vibes just looking at it.
Although, the cover actually makes a perverse sort of sense. (minus the lazy “I don’t want to bother with a real background” inferno) Part of what makes it appealing to non-Americans is the same reason why the image of Baylee Almon was so heartbreaking.
The firefighter held her so protectively and you really, really, really wanted to pretend that he had saved her after all. That would have made it such a nice, hopeful image and would have provided solace amongst everything else. But even before hearing/reading that he hadn’t, you could see defeat in the way he held and looked at her.
Here the photo we are talking about, for anyone who hasn’t seen it.
What’s the matter with the world? Why, there ain’t but one thing wrong
with every one of us—and that’s “selfishness.”
—The Best of Will Rogers
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