…then revels condescendingly at her own faceplant, and then manages to sell a smug little literary essay about it while touting her ‘purer’ work.
To round out the trifecta of writing-related articles this week, here is the National Post’s unintentionally funny ‘confession of a failed romance writer’. Jowita Bydlowska’s essay touches on every single stereotype of romance writers – as seen from the outside. Usually from literary writers, for some reason.
Okay, okay, it’s amusing in a cringeworthy, Lena Dunham-esque way (indeed, Dunham has enthusiastically blurbed for the author’s literary fiction).
The comments (now closed) on the essay effectively take Bydlowska to task for her misinformation, laziness, and insulting tone.
Her pen name’s fake profile would have been a better parody, if marketed openly. Her knowledge of the romance field is apparently limited to one self-published friend’s efforts, as well as decades-old recollections of old Harlequin novels encountered during a friend’s parents’ divorce. Bydlowska never bothered to research publishing in the romance industry.
Her agent is apparently just as clueless, if we are to judge from Bydlowska’s essay.
Sure, the same old Harlequin books nearly put me off romance novels completely. For years, I had almost the same attitude as Bydlowska. I’m grateful that I looked deeper at modern romance novels, and learned they push far beyond the old formulas. Romance and erotic romance gave my (rather plotty and overcomplicated) stories a home when commercial mainstream science fiction and fantasy couldn’t.
If I was having a really bitchy Thursday, I could insert a longer, equally condescending analysis of pretentious, self-absorbed, over-sharing literary writers who make bank on their miserable childhoods, sleazy personal addictions, and dirty laundry through memoirs and thinly-fictionalized autobiographies**.
But I’m going to leave the rest up to readers, and give Bydlowska’s own book Drunk Mom (Penguin, 2013) a link, so that folks can read the sample and reviews, and judge for themselves. Her book seems to be selling well enough and getting strong enough reviews* that she might not need to ‘lower’ herself into smut to make a living at writing.
The really sad thing to me is this: if Bydlowska had applied the same grit and fearless emotional resonance from her memoir to her romance novel, done the proper research to either properly self-publish it or have her agent sign it with a commercial publisher – it would probably have earned her as many great reviews, as much notice, and perhaps more money than Drunk Mom. And her agent should have known that.
*Then again, maybe not. The strongest negative reviews of Drunk Mom tend to focus on the self-centered behavior of its author, as revealed by her own words.
** I’ve since had a reasonable email exchange with Jowita Bydlowska. While I maintain my criticism of her tone and lack of research, I would like to add that the National Post failed Bydlowska when its editors removed one key paragraph. It didn’t change the gist of the article, but it might have softened a lot of snark against Bydlowska.
It seems the Post knows very little about the romance field.
Added 1-4-2015: No less than the Smithsonian Magazine has weighed on (albeit on a tangent) with the following article about romance studies in higher-learning institutions. It references the stereotypes still popularized by many mainstream scholars and literary writers, as well as the recent Library of Congress symposium on romance fiction.
The Post didn’t fail me. I said to you in an email I fully approved the removal of that part. In other words, I take full responsibility for the way the essay is. Thank you.