Political Correctness vs. Accuracy

From Wikipedia, here's the definition of Political Correctness-- Political correctness (adjectivally, politically correct; both forms commonly abbreviated to PC) is a term which denotes language, ideas, policies, and behavior seen as seeking to minimize social and institutional offense in occupational, gender, racial, cultural, sexual orientation, disability, and age-related contexts.

See the guy in the photo. That's the Marlboro Man. He was created the year after I was born. I grew up seeing him on tv ads and on billboards He, along with Joe Camel, the Lucky Strike guy, and a whole host of others were part of popular culture during my day.

I mention this because I was sitting here writing. The scene was my hero, agitated, staring toward the horizon, alone with his troubled thoughts. I was trying to think of ways to "show" his agitation when it suddenly dawned on me that just a few short years ago, I might have had him make a smoke, strike a Lucifer on his bootheel or thumbnail, then grind the hot match head into the dirt. But not anymore. Why? Because these days it's not politically correct for a hero to smoke. I'm not even sure why it popped into my head. It just did. Which got me to thinking about all the things we don't write about anymore because they're not socially acceptable. Well, it's my opinion that we've become so attuned to political correctness, we've lost something in the process, which is historical accuracy and the authentic flavor of times past.

But back to the smoking guy in the white hat. The Marlboro man usually did wear a white hat. Because he was the good guy. These days, the villains are usually the only persons who smoke. Because smoking is bad so it must be cast in a villainous light. Is this accurate? No, of course not. But think about the smoking man in the X-Files who left his trademark butts lying everywhere. That guy was the very definition of villain. The message is clear, but it's not historically accurate.

The fact is, the American cowboy of the Old West had about a 50% or better chance of being a smoker. Most all cowboys carried "the makin's" (a pouch of tobacco and rolling papers) in their pockets. Not only did they smoke tobacco, they chewed it in mass quantities. Why else did they have all those brass spittoons in every saloon.

Please do not think I am for one second advocating smoking. I'm not. I'm just trying to make a point about how all this political correctness has affected us as writers. And, frankly, I don't get it. We can write about murder, torture, vampirism, pagan gods and demonic heroes, etc. etc. and yet we don't dare have a guy light up when he's stressed. Does that make any sense at all?

Other than the slavery issues in Civil War romances, what other things can you think of that have become taboo subjects in our romance novels. As fiction writers, do you think we should always tailor our stories to conform to political correctness?

Devon

A Turtle Tale

We live in the country, so we see all kinds of wild animals out here. Mostly, they're the cute kind, sometimes not. An example of that would be the copperhead hubby killed in the garage last week. Not so cute.

Anyway, back on the afternoon of May 30th, I went onto the back porch with Molly. I hadn't even sat down when Molly (who started having a fit) and I heard something scratching at the storm door that goes into the garage. The weird thing was, it was scratching from inside the garage, like it was trying to get out. The bottom of the door is aluminum, the rest glass. The glass was raised for ventilation, but I wasn't about to go over there and stick my head inside to see what it was.

So I go back inside the house, through the laundry room, and peek out the door into the garage. The mystery scratcher was a huge snapping turtle. The moment I stepped into the garage, the thing turned to look at me. I slipped over to the wall where hubby keeps all the tools and grabbed a big flat-bottomed snow shovel. Okay, so I've got the tool for removal, now how to put it to use? I had a devil of a time getting behind the turtle because every time I moved, it turned toward me. Finally, I went for broke and shoved the shovel against the turtle's back side and started sliding it as fast as I could across the garage floor. I shoved it right out the big door and then pulled it down so Mr. Turtle couldn't come back inside. He didn't look too happy as the door was coming down.

A little later, hubby came home from work. I told him about the turtle and we went out to see if we could spot it in the yard. It was nowhere to be seen. I was surprised because the thing had to really put on the speed to get gone so fast. Then hubby noticed a furrow in the nice, thick mulch he'd just put down in the shrub beds. It looked like a miniature plane had crash landed in the mulch. He looked closer and saw that the turtle had buried itself in there. So he got the hoe and plopped Mr. Turtle out of there. Turtle was very unhappy about this treatment and latched onto the hoe handle. Then--like me--hubby used the snow shovel. Unlike me, he actually scooped up the turtle and carried it down to the edge of the yard and released it into the woods.

Now you would think that's the end of the story, but it's not. The next morning--May 31st (I remember the date because it was hubby's birthday)--hubby was on the back porch having his morning coffee when he yelled for me to come out and look at something. The turtle was back. It was down in the yard acting really strange. It was stretching up on its legs as far as they would go, then dropping down to the ground. It did this several times before hubby and I decided a closer investigation was in order. We walked over to see what it was up to, which apparently upset it, because it decided to leave. As it turns out, Mr. Turtle was a Mrs. She'd dug a hole and was in the process of depositing her eggs. So we had a nice, neat hole full of turtle eggs, but she left without covering them. Hubby gently put the loose dirt over the eggs and we placed a patch of moss over the disturbed ground to disguise it from predators. Every day after that, we went out to look at the nest to make sure it hadn't been disturbed.

For the past week, we started to think the eggs wouldn't hatch. We knew they took anywhere between 60 and 120 days, depending on the temperature. (we looked it up online) With the heat wave we've been having, we figured it would only take the minimum amount of time. Then, today, the baby turtles came out of their shells and left the nest. I hope at least some of them survived the trip to the pond across the road. Happy birthday, baby turtles!

Devon

Sex Sells EVERYthing

Have you seen this? Part of me thinks it's cute as heck. The other part of me feels it's an abomination. What do you think?



Devon

Wycked

This afternoon I ordered Patricia Rice's latest book, The Wicked Wyckerly. Love the title, but I've always been a sucker for alliteration. I can't wait to read this. I decided to order after reading an excerpt and an interview Pat gave to RT. I admit, it's been a while since I've read one of Pat's books, but this is a traditional Regency without any paranormal elements and it sounds wicked good.

In this book, Pat has taken the usual fare for Regency Historicals and set it on its ear. This one is about impoverished nobility. Yikes! You mean there were nobles during the Regency period who weren't stinking rich? I say, bring it on, this will be a breath of fresh air. It's the first in a series about younger sons who will not inherit. Pat also has a wicked sense of humor, which I've always loved about her, and from the excerpt I read, she's given it free rein in this latest book.

Speaking of a wicked sense of humor... this is a switch in subject, but I can't go without sharing my hubby's latest jab. He owns a small retail business and today a male customer asked if he sells "smart water." My husband said, "No, I've never heard of it. But if I had some, I'd hand out samples." Ah, I love that man. ;o)

Devon

Kicking and Screaming

The title of this post refers to me, being dragged into the 21st century. I freely admit, I don't want to go. If I had my way, we'd all still be writing on manual typewriters. In fact, I was much more productive when I wrote on an old manual. The computer is a window into a boundless world of distraction and playtime, which equals a lot of wasted time, at least for me. The plain truth is, I'm a techno-phobe and I dislike change with a passion. Does that surprise you?

Yesterday marked yet another reluctant step into the new millennium. We got our first cell phones. Yes, first time ever. Hubby and I both swore we'd never have one. Aside from being just plain old stick-in-the-mud fuddy-duddies, our main issue was the rudeness factor. Too many conversations interrupted by someone's cell phone ringing and them stepping away to talk. Too many people driving down the road with phones glued to their ears. Too many people walking through stores, itemizing the things on the shelves to an unseen person on the other end. Hubby complains often about customers holding up the line at his business because they're too busy talking on the phone to tell him what they've come to buy.

So, we hated that people are walking around, not paying attention to what they're doing because of the gizmos pressed to their ears. We swore we'd never be those people. Then, something happened. Our son got his driver's license and hit the road, alone. He went out into the big world with no way at all to communicate or call for help if something happened. That scared the daylights out of us.

So there we were last night, sitting at the kitchen table, trying to figure out how to turn the things on. (son wasn't here to show us) They'd been activated and charged, but we were clueless about how they worked. Hubby finally resorted to reading the user's manual and we were in business. We called each other, just to see if they worked. One was switched over to voice mail mode (which hadn't been set up yet) so it was back to the manual. Now we're good to go. We hope. These things have features we'll never use, though our son just might. But at least now we'll feel a little easier when one of us gets in the car and drives away. Help is just a phone call away. As far as hubby and I are concerned, these are reserved for emergencies only. The last thing I want is a phone ringing in the car while I'm driving to town and back. I do some of my best thinking while I'm driving. Yeah, I sometimes miss a turn because I'm all up in my head, but I eventually get where I'm going. ;o)

Devon

June Already

Well, it's the 1st of June already and, as usual, I'm amazed at how quickly time has flown. For me, this is the official start of summer. I'm disappointed that I'm not farther along with writing projects and on schedule with what I planned back in January. But this is nothing unusual. Life always has a way of throwing a monkey wrench into the best laid plans.

For a change, I spent the entire weekend doing non-writing things. It was hubby's birthday, so I made an effort to curtail my obsessions and spent some quality time with him. At least I hope he considered it quality. Yesterday, the weather was so beautiful, we spent most of the day outside. As a result, the yard, shrub and flower beds look really good. Not a weed in sight. I was down on the ground in the landscaping out front when my nosy neighbor walked by and told me I should just spray everything with weed killer. Where's the fun in that? And wouldn't that kill things I don't want killed? No thanks. I'd rather do it the old fashioned way, down on my knees with my hands in the dirt. It's a good excuse for quiet, thinking time, and I've always enjoyed weeding, as strange as that may be.

It's been an especially long, dismal winter and spring, but I think summer may finally be here. And we have plans which, as usual, involve work around here. Hubby wants to put a roof over the deck out back. That would be nice. We haven't been able to use the deck since the huge, native trees came down. Weather took out some of them, and we finished off what was left for safety reasons. Now, the sun blazes down all day out there. So a roof and some shade would be nice. Also, we finally decided on a color for the outside of the house. Funny thing is, it's almost the same as the color we have now, just fresher. Hubby had wanted to go with an entirely different color scheme because all the surrounding neighbors have ended up siding their houses with our color, which made us wonder what the hay they were thinking. But after much haggling and many samples, we decided not to make a drastic change. We had the color first, so they're all the copycats. And why does it matter anyway? But for some reason, whenever we do anything around here, the neighbors all soon follow suit. We were very tempted to paint the house some off-the-wall color just to see what they would do next. No, we don't get out much and so we take our entertainment where we can find it. ;o)

Happy June, everyone!

Devon

Doom and Gloom ~ Day Three

I wasn't going to post anything about his, but I think I need to get it off my chest. I've been moping for three days and gotten nothing done except a lot of walking the floor and staring out through rain-spattered windows.

My husband's small business was robbed Wednesday night. Yes, just days after I wrote the Brinks Stinks post. I took that down, by the way, because I realized I had given potential thieves too much useful information about the store's security system. And yes, Mags, I also concluded that the false alarm the other night was probably just a dry run for the thieves to see what would happen.

Here's what did happen Wednesday night, without going into minute detail. The thieves disarmed the security system, then went to the back side of the building, where they couldn't be seen from the highway, and cut a hole through the back wall. They built a blind for themselves using discarded metal racks and old signs and they must have worked at the wall for quite a while, using tin snips and a pry bar. They peeled through two layers of metal and the material between and essentially opened the wall like a sardine can.

After all the panic and mess, we ended up lucky--this time. The thieves took only the Marlboros and a small number of other items. It amounted to 68 cartons of cigarettes. But it seems they were mainly interested in the Marlboros because they took those and left all the rest. How strange is that?

In the aftermath, hubby and others have worked feverishly to restore order. The builders came the same day and replaced the damaged sections of wall. The security people have corrected the flaw in the security system (we hope) and are in the process of doing an update with state of the art camera equipment. And let me tell you, this is setting us back a pretty penny. But how can we afford not to do it. Our income is dependent on this little business.

All of this, plus a number of other things, has left me in a state of mind that I can't really describe. I feel restless, insecure. I feel like I need to do something, but I don't know what it would be. I'm seriously considering taking classes and learning a skill I could do from home that would be relevant in today's workforce. This excites and scares me all at the same time. It's been thirty-some years since I was in school. Can an old dog actually learn a new trick and produce a bit of income? My personal circumstances force me to stay at home. I had always hoped I could earn money from writing. But the reality of that is, writing fiction for publication is like buying a lottery ticket and hoping it comes up a winner. And you're only allowed one ticket every few months or even years. So, realistically speaking, what are the odds?

I don't want to give up my writing dream. But at the same time, I feel I must do something more than what I've been doing. My husband carries the entire load. And he's a brave man. When he lost his good, long-time job three and a half years ago, we were forced to live off his retirement. We were essentially down to nothing when he made the decision to start his own business. It was an act of desperation, but he made it work. Now I feel I need to help him. Especially since Wednesday night. We were lucky this time, but the reality is, we could be wiped out financially next time around.

Sorry for the doom and gloom, but that's just reality sometimes and, just now, I'm standing right smack dab in the middle of it.

Devon

Twitter-Tweeter, Jibber-Jabber

Last night I received an email from Twitter, informing me that someone was following (or whatever they call it over there) my profile. Until then, I'd forgotten that I'd signed up for that. And the only reason I did sign on was to try and see all the brewhaha known as #queryfail.

Well, I never did see the agent postings, nor could I make sense of how to navigate the site. Rather than waste time trying to figure out how to take part in yet another time suck, I clicked out of it and never went back. Pretty much the same thing happened with Facebook. I don't see what all the excitement is about, so I won't be doing it.

Back when everyone was first getting into MySpace, I was resistant to that, too. But, finally, I broke over and created a page for myself. At first it was foreign territory but, eventually, I learned how to add a few bells and whistles to my page and found the perfect layout to complement my book cover. All of that took time. Lots of time. Now that I'm familiar with the workings of MySpace, I no longer spend much time there. If I get a notice of a friend request or comment, I sign in and okay them, then I'm out again. I just don't see the big attraction.

Lately, I've been wondering just how many more ways people are going to come up with to "communicate" via cyberspace. I feel I already spend enough time keeping up with my friends via email, doing this blog, keeping abreast of my other favorite blogs, and keeping my web site current. Is it just me, or does anyone else feel we may be getting an overload of communication and information out there? Some people, and I'm not only talking about writers, but editors and agents, spread themselves so thin among all these new communication and information sites, I wonder how they ever have time for writing or editing and agenting. No wonder we don't have time to do everything we need to do, we waste most of it. One strange side effect of having so much information and personal glimpses into the lives of editors and agents is that when I sit down in front of my keyboard these days, I no longer feel like it's just me and my story. As I write, I sense all these industry professionals looking over my shoulder, and it's a tad inhibiting to the old creativity.

Now don't get me wrong. I'm not saying I'm against these things. I'm just saying I think we need to pick and choose the things we feel are worthwhile and stick to those. I love keeping up with my friends over email, and I love doing this blog. But that's pretty much where I draw the line. Any more than that is seriously interfering in the time I should be working on my manuscript or attending to home and family.

Peace,

Devon

The Big "E"

I wish the subject I refer to in the title of this post was The Big Easy, but it is not. It's the economy. I try not to think about it. I've even stopped watching the news, but I still hear snippets when hubby turns it on in the evening. We're worried. Who isn't? Anyone whose income depends on consumption by the private sector should be worried. Heck, anybody who punches a time clock right now has every reason to be worried. My husband's job is in retail sales. If the public has no money to get out and buy...

As writers, our product is also dependent on retail sales to the public. A public that is now strapped for cash and worried about their own futures. So how do we handle this new, added stress?

In the past, writing has been an escape. The place I went to and lost myself in to get away from the daily worries of real life. My hopes and dreams were there. The dream of being a published author, the hope of maybe someday adding to the family income with my writing. Now, real life has invaded that hopeful, imaginary world. And now people in the industry are beginning to openly talk about the financial crisis and how it's affecting the publishing industry. Within the past few days, Bookends and Editorrent both posted on their blogs about the effect the economy is having on submissions. If anyone has more links to articles or posts on the subject, please post them because now it's like a train wreck and I can't look away. Anyway, according to these agents, submissions are up beyond anything they've ever seen, and they say editors at the big houses are reporting the same thing. People who are out of work are writing and submitting. Authors who have been cut loose are submitting. Yet, after all that, both blog posts try to end on an up note by telling us to keep writing and sending in those manuscripts because books are still being bought. All I can say is, thank God for small presses because without them, too many of us would be left out in the cold.

The market was tight fourteen years ago when I first paid my dues to gain entrance to the romance community. I can't imagine what it's like out there now with more and more authors and fewer and fewer slots. But I have a feeling that as more authors turn to other publishing outlets (small press, e-pub, vanity pub), the alternative market will turn into a veritable swampland that few book buyers will dare venture into. On the other hand, if more recognizable authors toss their hat into the small press ring, maybe it will give us more credibility. Who knows what the outcome will be. People who've been in this business for decades have been saying for quite a while that the publishing industry will have to undergo a complete metamorphosis if it is to survive. Is that time now upon us?

How are you handling the economic news that gets worse by the day? How has it affected your writing? Do you see light at the end of the tunnel? If so, please tell me about it.

Devon

What Lengths Would You Go To...

...to sell books?

The guy in the dangerously overloaded thong (at least I hope that's a thong, but the more I look at it...) is called The Naked Bookseller. When I ran across this image, I cracked up because it's absolutely perfect for this post! I once had a friend tell me, she would strip off naked, paint herself red, and run through the middle of downtown during the yearly festival if it would get her some book sales. Honestly... I think she was only half kidding.

I know once you're published, promotion is the name of the game. Everyone says so. Well, I'm not good at it. Since all my neighbors and some of my family members still don't know--after two years--that I've published, I must really stink at it. I would have made a lousy salesperson. I feel guilty asking people for money, even when I have something they want to buy. I think it goes back to the way I was raised. You didn't talk about money and you certainly didn't ask anyone for it. If someone asked you for something, if you could, you gave it to them. But times and mores have changed, haven't they, and the last thing I want to do is get sidetracked with some kind of statement about our materialistic society. This is supposed to be fun!

Anyway. What kinds of things would you be willing to do in the name of promotion? Or... without naming names of course, what's the weirdest or most outrageous thing you've heard about or seen an author do in the name of selling books?

Tell me about it.

Devon

edited to add: I just discovered something nifty. You can resize photos in edit mode right in your post once you're uploaded them. I did not know that!

Another edit: after learning the old dude was actually naked, I marched him right over to paint and spray painted him. I'm still shaking my head over the fact that I posted a photo of a naked guy. Sorry, but I still think it's hilarious.

Light Bulbs -- Warning!

You may think this post is about those rare moments of inspiration we sometimes get. I wish it were, but it's not. This post is about exactly what the title says -- light bulbs. The following is copied from the Daily Mail which, oddly enough, is a British news agency. I Googled for facts before I went spouting off and this article--dated April 27, 2008--was the first one I ran across.

~~~~~~~~~~

Energy-saving light bulbs are so dangerous that everyone must leave the room for at least 15 minutes if one falls to the floor and breaks, a Government department warned yesterday.

The startling alert came as health experts also warned that toxic mercury inside the bulbs can aggravate a range of problems including migraines and dizziness.

And a leading dermatologist said tens of thousands of people with skin complaints will find it hard to tolerate being near the bulbs as they cause conditions such as eczema to flare up.

The Department for Environment warned shards of glass from broken bulbs should not be vacuumed up but instead swept away by someone wearing rubber gloves to protect them from the bulb's mercury content.

In addition, it said care should be taken not to inhale any dust and the broken pieces should be put in a sealed plastic bag for disposal at a council dump – not a normal household bin.

None of this advice, however, is printed on the packaging the new-style bulbs are sold in. There are also worries over how the bulbs will be disposed of.

~~~~~~~~~~

I posted this because I want everyone to know about it. Hubby and I actually saw a news story warning of the hazards because of the mercury content on the Nightly News with Brian Williams about a week ago. I had planned to tell my mother and a few people because no one I know is aware of any of this and they all use the bulbs to some extent in their homes, then it promptly slipped my mind. Just goes to show how scatterbrained I am these days.

What really got me about this, besides the obvious dangers, is the fact that we live out in the boonies where there are no hazardous waste disposal places. So what are we supposed to do with these bulbs when we've ready to throw them away? You can bet your boots these babies are going right into the garbage dumps with the rest of the trash around here--and how many do you think stay unbroken from the crush in the back of a garbage truck.

Just one more thing to boggle the mind and unleash more poison on us. As if we don't already have enough in all the food products we consume.

Devon