Daisy Harris's Blog, page 39

Ten Most Popular Professions for Romance Novel Heroes In Space

Mmmm…Cyborgs…

So if you're in the romance biz, I'm sure you've heard about this study that looked at the professions of romance novel heroes in a cockeyed attempt to ascertain something about women and social psychology. The issue of whether romance novels are a good place to study real-life women's real-life expectations is a whole can of worms I won't even get into. But I take other issues with the study's methodology.

…and yes, I am *totally* the kind of person to take issue with methodology…

Here's the thing: they only looked at Harlequin novels.

While I agree that Harlequin in some ways defines the romance genre, there's no denying that the publisher does not encompass the scope of the whole of the genre. Besides, one could argue that all Harlequins display a certain feel, a certain vibe. Certain guidelines are uniform throughout Harlequins various lines. Notably, Harlequin is the home of the "alpha" hero. Ok, okay, I admit– most romance involves a strong alpha hero. But that bias is stronger with certain publishers than others. Of course Harlequin novels generally feature dudes with alpha-male jobs!! A lot of lines specify in the guidelines that the hero should be an alpha male.

It's like doing a study of people under 5'10 and finding that most people are short. Or conducting a study of immigrants in the US in little El Salvador down by Seatac, then coming to the conclusion that most US immigrants are from El Salvador.

This is in no way a criticism of Harlequin. I think it's great for publishing houses to define their customer base and the type of product they want to put out. (Hehe, I said "put out.") But no one house defines romance. At least as far as I'm concerned.

For example, Harlequin doesn't have a science fiction line. Carina press, their new ebook arm, does carry scifi, but it's safe to say that scifi is a tiny, tiny subset of what the company offers. If the researchers had taken Samhain or Berkely as their sample publisher, they may have seen a lot more fantasy/paranormal. If they'd chosen Elllora's Cave or Loose Id, they would have thought, "Man! There sure are a lot of folks who own BDSM clubs in romance novels!"

I know I'm a weirdo, a geek, a nerd. I like scifi romance and paranormal, and am not a terribly big fan of contemporary. So I'm not the "average" romance reader. Still, this is my blog, and I deserve to be heard. I like romances set in space (and the future, and underwater.) So without further ado, here is a list of top professions for romance heroes in space based solely on my personal reading experience and opinions.

1. Captain

Pretty much every hero in space must be captain of his own vessel, whether it's a government ship, a smuggling operation, or a zombie fighting craft. If it's a romance, there's a 75–90% chance (depending on publisher) of the hero being an alpha male. Even in space.

2. Smuggler

In the tradition of Han Solo and Malcolm Reynolds, a lot of space heroes are smugglers, outlaws, pirates existing just barely on the wrong side of the law. Of interest, I've seen many female space smugglers too. I'd wager equal rights have come a lot further in off world.

3. Warrior

Wait…am I just listing archetypes here? It is possible.

Space warriors are generally also politicians. Their planets are in jeopardy, their people suffering.

4. Pleasure slave

Now here's a job you don't see too often in mainstream romances. But in space? Hoo-hah! There's a slave market at every port, teeming with young nubile girls and damaged but intense heroes. I love space so hard!

5. Recycling Tech Guy

In the future, you can't be throwing shit away. Food and supplies are scarce. We've poisoned, destroyed, and used up the earth and have been forced to outer reaches of the galaxy. And the guy who recycles our trash into food and clothes is a man to be respected.

6. Scientist

Yeah, we're back to listing archetypes…in space. One of the things I do love about space is there's always research going on somewhere. Either the scientist is cut off from human emotion (my favorite) or skating the line between good and evil. But space scientists are hella hot.

7. Cyborg

Mmmmm…even more cut off from human emotion than the scientist! Cyborgs are like the space version of a Navy Seal. But hotter. Way, way hotter. They have special parts…and stuff. *fans self*

8. Alien

Not really a job per se, but often sexy aliens are caught by she-scientists. To study…um, and stuff.

9. Ship's Mechanic

This guy is rarely the hero, actually. More often the one who ends up in a threesome with the heroine and the captain. But that's okay, threesomes are way more common in space.

10. Doctor, sherrif, boss, knight, prince

What, you think space doesn't need all those other professions too? There are totally princes and knights in space! They just better have their own ship and know how to outrun an enemy vessel, or they will never get the girl.

What's your favorite space profession?

I'm In, Are You?

Coffee and Romance's Spring Blog Hop is commin' up! Keep your eyes peeled for links to great giveaways, including one from yours truly!

Rise of the $13 EBook

$12.99, huh? That's the price tag I've been seeing on a few ebooks lately, and not just new releases by ginormous names either. The famous "fucking your ass, saving your life" tome, Decadent, costs $12.99, despite the paperback costing under $8. Nalini Singh's new release Kiss of Snow carries the same $12.99 price tag.

Apparently $12.99 is the new $9.99, with publishers hoping to squeeze an extra three dollars per book out of an established readership. What's $3? I can hear them asking. Not even the price of a latte!

Now, I am in no way a cheapskate. Ask anyone! I'll buy Ellora's Cave books on Amazon for $2 more just for the convenience. I've had friends offer to send me free copies of their books, and I'll choose to purchase instead– just to have said book in my kindle library. (And also to support said friends.)

But $13… Hmm… $13?? Really?? THIR-TEEN? That is *so* much money. Is that book going to be scratch and sniff? Come with a life-sized cabana boy? What exactly is a $13 ebook going to do for me that I can't find from an ebook that costs $9.99? Or $7.99? Or $4.99? There comes a point where as a consumer I simply feel gypped. $13 marks that point.

At thirteen dollars, I start to wonder if the pirates have it right. I'll bow out of a series even though I've read that author's every other book. I'll feel like the publishers and Amazon are laughing at me because I'm stupid enough to pay $13 when I have hours of Netflix I can watch for free, a zillion websites yet to explore, and a kindle app chock full of free samples from new-to-me authors. Not to mention Twitter, Facebook, and that long-forgotten thing called "real life."

Listen, I think Nalini Singh and Shayla Black and every other author whose publisher is charging this inflated rate deserves to make money. Authors deserve to make a living! However, in order to make money, you need customers. I'm concerned that inflated prices will ultimately drive book-buyers away.

The thing is– I don't linger over books anymore. It doesn't matter if a book is a Spice Brief or high fantasy, I want to read it in a day. So, as with other things in life, longer isn't necessarily better. One evening's worth of entertainment for one person is not worth more than $10, IMO. What's more, I can breeze through a book every other night indefinitely. Before I started writing, I pegged my book-budget at about $100 per month. That was a $7.99 book every other day. If books cost $13, that budget would hop up to $200 per month.

I don't spend $200 per month on cable, or internet, or netflix. $200 per month is a big, fat expense, and more than publishers can reasonably expect working readers to spend. Besides, the publishing world teems with talented, motived, and far cheaper authors just waiting to snag a market share. If readers don't want to spend $13, I can name them a half dozen other badass scifi/paranormal authors just breaking into the scene whose books are far more reasonably priced.

After all, what am I likely to find when I embark on a book by an established romance author? Lemma guess– A strong alpha male? Some vampires? A twenty six year old virgin (or near virgin) heroine who's all in her head? Bigger name authors delight me, but newbies surprise me. And for half the price, I'm likely to develop a taste for "pleasantly surprised."

What do you guys think? Is $13 too much? Am I being stingy? What do you see as a "breaking point" price where you'll no longer be willing to shell out? I wanna know!!

Rise of the $13 EBook

$12.99, huh? That's the price tag I've been seeing on a few ebooks lately, and not just new releases by ginormous names either. The famous "fucking your ass, saving your life" tome, Decadent, costs $12.99, despite the paperback costing under $8. Nalini Singh's new release Kiss of Snow carries the same $12.99 price tag.

Apparently $12.99 is the new $9.99, with publishers hoping to squeeze an extra three dollars per book out of an established readership. What's $3? I can hear them asking. Not even the price of a latte!

Now, I am in no way a cheapskate. Ask anyone! I'll buy Ellora's Cave books on Amazon for $2 more just for the convenience. I've had friends offer to send me free copies of their books, and I'll choose to purchase instead– just to have said book in my kindle library. (And also to support said friends.)

But $13… Hmm… $13?? Really?? THIR-TEEN? That is *so* much money. Is that book going to be scratch and sniff? Come with a life-sized cabana boy? What exactly is a $13 ebook going to do for me that I can't find from an ebook that costs $9.99? Or $7.99? Or $4.99? There comes a point where as a consumer I simply feel gypped. $13 marks that point.

At thirteen dollars, I start to wonder if the pirates have it right. I'll bow out of a series even though I've read that author's every other book. I'll feel like the publishers and Amazon are laughing at me because I'm stupid enough to pay $13 when I have hours of Netflix I can watch for free, a zillion websites yet to explore, and a kindle app chock full of free samples from new-to-me authors. Not to mention Twitter, Facebook, and that long-forgotten thing called "real life."

Listen, I think Nalini Singh and Shayla Black and every other author whose publisher is charging this inflated rate deserves to make money. Authors deserve to make a living! However, in order to make money, you need customers. I'm concerned that inflated prices will ultimately drive book-buyers away.

The thing is– I don't linger over books anymore. It doesn't matter if a book is a Spice Brief or high fantasy, I want to read it in a day. So, as with other things in life, longer isn't necessarily better. One evening's worth of entertainment for one person is not worth more than $10, IMO. What's more, I can breeze through a book every other night indefinitely. Before I started writing, I pegged my book-budget at about $100 per month. That was a $7.99 book every other day. If books cost $13, that budget would hop up to $200 per month.

I don't spend $200 per month on cable, or internet, or netflix. $200 per month is a big, fat expense, and more than publishers can reasonably expect working readers to spend. Besides, the publishing world teems with talented, motived, and far cheaper authors just waiting to snag a market share. If readers don't want to spend $13, I can name them a half dozen other badass scifi/paranormal authors just breaking into the scene whose books are far more reasonably priced.

After all, what am I likely to find when I embark on a book by an established romance author? Lemma guess– A strong alpha male? Some vampires? A twenty six year old virgin (or near virgin) heroine who's all in her head? Bigger name authors delight me, but newbies surprise me. And for half the price, I'm likely to develop a taste for "pleasantly surprised."

What do you guys think? Is $13 too much? Am I being stingy? What do you see as a "breaking point" price where you'll no longer be willing to shell out? I wanna know!!

REAWAKENING: with Muthereffin ZOMBIES! by Charlotte Stein

Hi guys! Today on the blog, I have the lovely and talented Charlotte Stein! (No relation to my stein creatures. ) Her fantabulous zombie story, Reawakening, came out Wednesday. I've already read it, and loved it! Yay, zombies!

So without further ado…Charlotte Stein!!!!!

*****

When Daisy said I could be on her blog and do things, I must confess. I was very excited. Mainly because Daisy is super cool (even her avatar pic is cool) and she says cool things and she writes orsum stuff about Gods and zombies and things.

Which makes a neat tie-in, because I too have written about zombies! We are practically zombie writing partners in crime. Or so I like to think when I'm feeling much less of a dork and much more of a totally cool sort of person.

But enough about me and my levels of coolness! Onto my book, which has zombies! And humans having threesomes amongst the zombies!

Well, maybe not amongst, exactly. I mean, it's not like the zombies are in a big pit and the humans in the story decide to writhe around on top of them. Mostly they just writhe in a bedroom, away from the zombies. But you get the idea!

And if you don't, it's because I'm shit at pimping my stories. So I'll just let the blurb and the excerpt do the talking:

Blurb:

June has spent the last two years of her life trying to avoid death at the hands of murderous psychopaths and ravening zombies. So when Jamie turns up on the scene, careless, still whole and promising her safety on a little paradise island, she isn't quite sure she can trust him. Especially when he tells her that it's just him, and his equally big, burly, handsome friend Blake.

But Jamie and Blake are even better than her wildest dreams—sweet and funny and charming. And worst of all: sexy as hell. Though they're trying to be gentlemanly with her, all she can think about is how much she wants to get tangled up in them, and forget the nightmare the world has become. She's waiting for her reawakening—back to life and happiness and love.

And they seem like just the right sort of men to wake her—body and soul.

Excerpt:

All June could think was—Kelsey is dead, Kelsey is dead, Kelsey is dead—while the image of the ravening hordes feasting on Kelsey's body played behind her eyes. She tried to shut it off, keep it down, keep running before they got to her, but Kelsey's blood was still wet and all over her right arm.

And if Jamie hadn't shot Kelsey—right as she was still screaming, and begging for help—she'd be one of them, now. That's what happened. Once they bit you or bled on you or hell, spat on you, you had maybe thirty seconds.

Before you turned.

She needed to stop, just stop for a second. Lean against something and catch her breath. But Jamie had somehow led them into this building and he just kept running and running—only up instead of out.

June didn't even know if Jamie was really his name, or if he was leading them right into a dead end. But he kept going, none-the-less.

She could hear the hordes, busting through the door below. He'd barred it, but they were coming in anyway, to this place that was an almost total deathtrap. The staircase was narrow and blanketed in darkness, one winding section after the next. Even if she dared to pause and look over the railing, she wouldn't be able to see them until they were almost on her.

"Jamie, wait!" she shouted, but not because things would be easier if he had hold of her hand or was there to comfort her in this dire hour of need. She'd made it this far, on her own.

Or at least, she'd made it this far, with Kelsey.

No, it was just that—if he kept going, eventually they'd be trapped, on the roof. And she couldn't have that. That was one of her and Kelsey's rules—don't run to someplace with only one exit.

Only it was just her rule, now. This guy, this Jamie…he didn't seem to have any rules. He'd decided to run to the roof of a twenty story building then potentially wait outside until the hordes pushed through a probably very flimsy fire door.

Kelsey had said to her. She had said—wait. He's as crazy as they are. A safe island? He's nuts. We can't go with him. He's probably an insane apocalypse rapist.

And she'd been right, God help her. Maybe not about the insane apocalypse rapist part, but even so and besides—there was still time for that. He could be anyone, be into anything. He could have planned this all along…Kelsey's death, the run to the roof…hell, maybe he had a whole party of insane assholes up there, just waiting to do horrible things to her.

Even if that was as nuts as he now seemed. Why would he trap himself on the roof, just to have a little fun with her? Nothing in her head was functioning in quite the way it should. Connections had been lost. Wiring had come loose.

She still called out to him again, when they got to the level before the last one. Her voice came out hoarse and breathless, burning lungs making everything difficult, Kelsey in her mind making everything worse. But somehow the words emerged.

"Jamie, stop. Take the nineteenth floor exit, okay—we can go back down on the other side of the building—answer me, fuck!"

He did, then. She heard him call out over her own shrieking breaths, the pounding of her sneakers on stone, and the sounds of the once-were-people below, slathering and barking like animals.

There were two cracks, like he'd fired her gun into the stairwell. Though she couldn't see where he was shooting or at what. Then—

"Just keep following me, June-bug—come on!"

Only it sounded more like come own, because of the Texan twang Kelsey had sworn up and down was fake. And he'd called her June-bug again, because he was crazy, he was crazy, oh dear Lord he was probably leading them to their deaths.

This was all just some final mad hurrah. He was suicidal, and this was how he wanted to go out. Death by stairs or death by zombies—because they were zombies, no matter how much she tried to pretend otherwise—or even worse, death by roof.

Was that what he was going to do? Hurl himself off? Plummet to his untimely end? She didn't know. All she could really think about was how close the first ravening cannibal was getting, and how unfit she really was. She'd started believing all the cardio was really beginning to pay off, but as it turned out, eighteen flights of stairs and she was out for the count. Her heart clawed at her ribcage. Her thigh muscles screamed and screamed.

While her zombie pals kept coming and coming, as though the stairs were nothing, really. Why, leaping up eighteen flights was like a morning stroll to them! They could have climbed these stairs forever and still had the wherewithal to eat her innards, once they got their claw-like hands on her.

She hit the fire door to the roof just as one of said claw-like hands brushed the back of her shirt.

It made everything inside her leap, including the heart she'd thought had escaped. Whenever they got really close—that was when you realized just how terrible they were. How awful the world had become. How much it wasn't like a movie at all, but like a constant and unbearable pressure against your sanity, always threatening to make you go over.

She felt like going over, when the door wouldn't close on them. For a second of pushing and heaving with their hands coming through and all over her, her mind tried to fly away. It told her to start screaming uncontrollably, while clawing at herself—that doing so would really be her best bet. No more running constantly. No more pain over Kelsey—and before Kelsey, Joanne and Pat and the old lady whose name she never learned.

Just peace, finally. One moment of agony, then peace.

Only it wouldn't be, would it? No, it wouldn't be. If she stopped pushing at the door and jamming it at them and just God, let the door snap their arms, let it crush them, let it kill them all forever, if she stopped…they'd turn her into one of them. And no matter how much she tried to let it hurt her that Jamie had pointed the gun and shot Kelsey between the eyes, it didn't. It couldn't.

Being one of them was worse. After all, it could have been that they'd caught a disease. It might have been that they were infected with something—like in 28 Days Later, rather than Night of the Living Dead. But part of her wondered whenever she stared into their hollow, ink-black eyes, if they'd simply lost their souls.

He looked like it. The one who'd managed to squeeze his mottled face into the crack she was struggling to close in the door. He had no pupils, no irises, no whites to his eyes. It was all just blackness, empty and weirdly unseeing, as though they operated on no more than a bloodlust now. Like upright land sharks roaming the land, blindly searching out prey.

She wrenched the door from him for just an instant then smashed it back into his face. It was a risky move, but oh so worth it. Worth it for the satisfaction, worth it for Kelsey, worth it for everything these things had taken from everyone. People's souls hadn't left. These things had stolen them.

And when it slithered away and the door quite abruptly shut, the idea didn't go with it. It stayed, and festered—so much so that she wanted to open the door for one mad moment, just to smash it back in their faces again, and again, and again.

She wanted to, but Jamie was calling to her. And other sounds were starting to flood through her now, too, other big, big sounds that she should have noticed ages ago.

At first she thought it was some kind of weapon. That he'd found a chainsaw or a pneumatic drill or a wood chipper. Something he'd known was up here all along for them to use against the enemy.

But then the wind whipped up and she turned to see something far more incredible than a zombie eating wood chipper. It was so incredible that she forgot the zombies battering on the fire door, for a second. They'd bust through it soon enough because although they couldn't figure out handles, the sheer pressure of them would figure out the release bar.

Though it didn't seem to matter. For the first time in these two years of hell, it didn't matter. She found herself laughing out loud, high and probably hysterical.

Jamie had only gone and gotten himself a helicopter. And not only that, but he apparently knew how to fly a helicopter. The rotors were going. They were kicking up the fine gravel that lined the roof of whatever building this was, and he was yelling to her—

"Come on, June-bug, get your ass in here!"

She thought of him talking about the island. About his buddy who was waiting for them. How they'd just wanted to find survivors, and populate their safe haven, and how crazy that had sounded when he first started yakking about it.

Then she ran to him.

Link:



http://www.resplendencepublishing.com/m8/318–201-107–490-1–reawakening-forever-dead-series-book-one-by-charlotte-stein.html



Thank you for having me, Daisy! As ever, you were fabulous, dahlink. *smokes cigarette*

Spray-On Nair: The Worst Product Ever Invented

In the world of hair-removal, only a few options exist: shaving, waxing, depilatory creams (like Nair,) and Epilady (assuming they still make the Epilady.) Now, for years I have defended Nair. It works for me. It's longer-lasting than shaving, cheaper and less painful than waxing. Today, though, I tried out a new Nair product for which I shall never forgive the company. Nair "pretty," a spray-on foam.

Why would they make a spray? one might ask. Good question! I suppose it's for two reasons: 1. For hard-to-reach places, and 2. To assure a thick enough layer of depilatory coats the skin. Only the latter of these two reasons makes any sense, because if you can't reach a spot, you shouldn't be Nair-ing it. The foam indeed coats the skin, but the downside far outweighs the up.

Firstly, one can't control every droplet of foam. So tiny particles of it are now scattered all over my bathroom, waiting to be touched accidentally and burn a hole through my kids' skin. Second, one can't control every droplet of foam, and some of it drips down the legs and onto the feet.

Imagine– You're standing in a bathtub covered in spray-foam. Now, Nair contains a thick rich moisturizer. Y'know– to counteract the fact that it eats away the top layer of your skin. So as the foam drips and spreads, it coats your feet. So, now you're standing in a bathtub (or shower stall) with slippery crap on your feet. You can't wash it off for 4–10 minutes because you're waiting for it to scald off your body hair. And you're trying like hell not to slip.

Even were you to decide to attempt to sit, you'd risk slipping, spreading Nair to places you don't want it, and wiping the foam off the places you do want it. I made it 80% of the way through the process without falling in the bathtub, but only because I'm a healthy young woman who regularly does yoga. When I reached for a washcloth, I slipped, and fell cursing into a slick pile of stuff that strips away the outer layers of human cells.

Spray-on Nair is a stupid, stupid product. Mind bogglingly stupid. Honestly, someone may sue the company.

What does this have to do with writing? I suppose I should come up with a corollary. How about this: Just because something is an idea does not mean it's a *good* idea. There are a million stories one could write, and they'd waste your time and resources as badly as this spray-on endeavor wasted Nair's. So, next time you decide to write a story (ie develop a product) consider running the idea by a few people. And not just people who know you're an awesome writer and will read anything you put together. Ask some random people in your neighborhood or twittosphere if your idea makes sense or is too f*cking stupid to live. You're unlikely to make people break a hip falling in the bathtub, but why risk it?

Video Blog: What is a Stein?

Winner, Winner, Chicken Dinner!

Oops! I totally forgot to announce the winner of Danica Avet's new book, Lifestyles of the Fey and Dangerous.

It's…

Ciara Knight!!!!!!!!!!!

(Email me or Danica to collect your prize!)

Congratulations

Six Sentence Sunday

Todays Six Sentence Sunday comes from my novella Zombie Bride, in revisions now. In this scene, the hero, Bane, watches the zombie-bot Josie through the window of her maker's home. He starts out making sure she's not being mistreated, but then she gets ready for a bath.

*****

The long line of her back arched to the side as her one leg stepped in the water. Goosebumps rose on her skin and he could almost imagine the feel of them under his fingertips. The girl must have wondered about the water's temperature, because she bent forward at the hips to test it.

His right hand dropped to cup the bulge in his pants. He was a douche, and a pervert. And he would jack off to this image for the rest of his undead life.

The Lamest Apocalypse I've ever Seen

Dude– Rapture, my ass! Giant billboards or not, nothing the frak happened in the last 24 hours to signify rapture. And sure, I didn't really expect god to come down to earth or people to rise body and soul to heaven. But…but…a decent prank? Some crazy people with signs outside the white house?

For the love of Pete, I asked a college kid yesterday if they were going to any cool pre-rapture parties and he didn't even know what I was talking about. Kids today! They're so busy with their *jobs* and *plans.* They can't be bothered to get stoned off their faces and have irresponsible end-of-the-world sex.

Frankly, I'm embarrassed for Americans, if not the human race. A few weeks ago, Osama bin Laden got murdered and people took to the streets (at least in Washington.) Effin Jesus was supposed to come today and no one even bothered holding a boom box over the head playing, "In Your Eyes."

When I was in High School the world was supposed to end, and we took that tish seriously. Everyone hung out after school listening to "Forever Young" and bearing our souls. It was all very Breakfast Club.

After all, isn't that what the apocalypse is about? Focusing on what's really important, pondering your mortality, making a big deal out of an artificial date so as to all think about mortality at the same time? Personally, I enjoyed this year's rapture. I faced some things about myself that I'd long felt guilty about…and decided, "meh." That was nice, but I might have liked to do it more publicly, in some kind of large-scale emotional demonstration.

But nooooooo. We're all too busy to pay attention to the end of the world. …gee, you'd think we didn't take the whole thing seriously.