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Sexism in the SFWA ~ a handful of semi-related, semi-organized thoughts

I’m not an SF writer, nor do I read a lot of it, so I am not really in the middle of the long-standing SFWA disagreement between their old-guard (sexist?) old-man members and what seem like a lot more modern-day thinkers.

In this latest episode, a couple of old guys (Mike Resnick and Barry Malzberg) past their physical prime (don’t know about mental/creative prime) wrote a column about “lady writers” and their appearances.

Though this is not really my fight — even “as a woman,” because I just don’t write or read SF — I am still reading through the major reactions from E. Catherine Tobler’s departure from the organization to president Scalzi’s professional and personal response to Vox Day’s almost-rational defense of the old guys — being near to one of them himself.

From my position as a distant newcomer to this conversation, it looks like a case of “people will be people” — old people who have golden memories of the good old days (when men were men and women were secretaries who wore chainmail bikinis?)  It sounds like these two people used to be in power, got used to their voices being the majority, discovered that they were becoming obsolete, and so started trying to rewrite the world by harkening back to their old views and making them seem current.

The gender issue is probably a smokescreen.  It could be race, culture, age — gender is just the issue of the day.  I think the real basis is fear.  Fear of becoming null and void, going from somebody to nobody.  Fear of death.  Without having the miraculous, rare ability to reinvent yourself, your day will be done — and anyone can succumb to fear of that.

I suspect that everybody wants to feel in control of their lives — even though nobody really is.  I have my own neurotic ways of coping.

Perhaps if I were in the SFWA and this directly affected my sales, I would be personally offended and up in arms.  But instead, I am just sad and embarrassed.  It’s especially embarrassing to see this particular human trait exposed so openly in a professional publication.  Though I support the right to these guys’ being able to say what they want in their own op-ed column (correct me if that’s not what it was), I think Livejournal is more the place for this emotional, self-focused processing.

I read the Resnick & Malzberg’s whole thing, and it made me want to cry.  Not for the slight against women, but because they look like fools, holding onto the point of the relentless, speeding arrow of time, trying to slow it down.

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How much does physical beauty really matter in romance?

I haven’t posted here in over a year because most of my thought-power has been going to my job at a publisher.  But lately, I get the urge to write an essay, or share some random observations, and I realize that I actually miss blogging.  I blog for my job, but I have to be careful.  My opinion, my personal thoughts, sometimes are just not appropriate to express when I speak for a brand.

I missed the opportunity to really reveal myself, to be honest with my own thoughts.  Like the phoenix, I blog once more!  (Wait, that didn’t quite work.)

A few thoughts about modern romance novels & physical beauty.

So, I’ve been doing some reading for work.  We’re slowly getting ready for our first “New Adult” release, so I’ve been reading some YA, paranormal romance, and urban fantasy, which usually has some romance in it.  In a crime / urban fantasy series I picked up, one of the viewpoint characters is an adult police detective, and what I knew about him was mostly from his actions.

It wasn’t until I got into the second volume, where he mentioned his own ordinary looks, that I realized I had absolutely no idea what he looked like.  I hadn’t even tried to visualize it, because the author didn’t even give a hair or eye color.  And I was all right with that.  Granted, this was mostly an urban fantasy story with a sliver of romance in it, and I had a slightly better idea of what the lead female looked like.

But only slightly, with the emphasis on her nonhuman features (she is an elf.)  And, to my memory, she was never discussed as being beautiful, pretty, voluptuous, sensual, or even particularly feminine.  I still cared about the characters, and, for the most part, still believed their attraction.

It made me wonder how essential being beautiful / handsome / pretty / hot is for romance characters.  For us to want to participate in the story and the romance, do they have to be beautiful? It wasn’t in the urban fantasy series, but the romance wasn’t central.

I read another book for work.  Reading is such a generous term for it; this was one of those New Adult books that seems to be flooding the digital market.  I’m a full adult and have no inherent interest in twenty-year-olds or their developmental angst.

It’s not that I avoid central characters who are 18 – 25, it’s that the New Adult books aren’t any more compelling just because of the age of their characters, any more than I expect my son to be interested in friendship with someone just because they go to the same school.

I never would have considered reading it, except that it’s part of my job. And it was number one on Amazon for a long time (though not anymore.)  That alone was enough to spark my interest.

The main character was a senior in college, and naturally, smokin’ hot.  But of course she didn’t feel hot and was quite insecure because of her history of abuse.  The love(?) interest / lust object was a teacher, only slightly older, but still forbidden fruit because he’s a teacher where she’s a student.  Also smokin’ hot.

In fact, it seems like the only thing these two had going for them was emotional baggage from the past and good looks.  Their personalities?  There wasn’t much there for him except some generic charming behavior.  Though I spent 300+ pages with the viewpoint character and her feelings, I still didn’t feel like there was much ghost in the 20-year-old shell.  If anything, she was presented as nothing more than a victim of her own emotions.

The plot was a constant series of coincidences and dramatic outside pressures that made sense within the story… but only barely.  The attraction between them seemed to be only based on mutual sympathy for each others’ tragic pasts and being beautiful.

So why the hell was this so popular?  Every time I read a book like this, I get the feeling that the moral of the story is that romance is only for the young, hot, wounded, and / or plucky.

Romance is a deeply vital and human motivation.  Everyone has an attitude about romance because it’s part of life, whether directly or indirectly, but when I read books like the second one, I start to lose faith that writers are still tapping into the actual substance of the human experience to create their works.

Because this is my blog, I’m offering up my strong opinion.  Here it is:

In this age of self-publishing, I think more erotica and romance writers should take a chance.  If they’re so inclined, I would love to see them depart from the lazy, superficial groove of what sells, and go more into what moves us, or at least moves me: some actual human experience.  I would like to see more romance writers stop relying on the “halo effect” of beauty, and stretch their imaginations and go further with what’s actually inside the character’s heads (if anything…)

It seems lazy to have a generically beautiful / hot character without the reader or other characters having to do the work of finding out what is beautiful or sexy about them.  Our own attraction is what makes people attractive.  Desirability isn’t a quality that someone inherently has; it’s a quality that the one who desires them gives them.

I’m interested in characters as whole people, not only aesthetic objects of desire.  It’s actually rather insulting to me that most of the writers in a majority genre thinks I won’t be interested in characters unless they’re beautiful.

Perhaps they should trust the readers a little more and see what happens?  Anyway, I’ll read it…

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Stories as real-life fanfiction

I haven’t made many serious attempts, but I’ve never been able to write fanfiction successfully.  My good friend and I have talked about fanfiction many times, since she started in it, and she described it like this:

It’s like you’re righting wrongs in the original story.  Somehow, you wanted something out of the original that just wasn’t there, or the original somehow screwed up.  And you get the urge to write fanfiction.

I could understand that, of course, but it explained a lot about why I can’t write fanfiction!  Unless I’m reading professionally, I prefer to make no judgments about other people’s work, and enjoy them for what they are.  If something is really wrong, I just don’t finish it, since my faith in the storytelling is shot, and I can no longer suspend my disbelief.

But real life is another matter.

The other day, I saw my neighbor.  She is around 70, and her twenty-something year old son committed suicide, some time ago.  Apparently, he hung himself in a church yard.  My neighbor’s hair turned completely white, and she wasn’t able to even speak his name for many years.

My own child now has his Hungry, Hungry Caterpillar book, which was given to him on his “beautiful 3rd.”  Over the years, I’ve seen photos of him on her fridge, portraits drawn by her late husband, his baby photos.  “The guy who committed suicide” started becoming a real person to me.

While in my neighbors house the other day, I looked at a photo of his high school graduation and had the impulse to somehow bring him back in a story.  A hero, who somehow triumphs over his own mental illness.  Who eventually finds that life is worth living.

It led me to wonder if all stories are the fanfiction of real life.  Don’t we all have something to prove?  Don’t we all want to right the wrongs of life, to show ourselves and others that some things are at least possible, if only in a temporary, fictional world?

The existence of true love.  Good winning over evil.  The intense survival instinct of people prevailing.  The inherent worth of all living beings.  What wrongs do you want to right?