You know the phrase “mind the gap?” Methinks that Gap and Old Navy have taken that to mean “the gap between one’s waistband and the end of their shirt”…and decided to steadfastly ignore the advice. I was disconcerted recently when I went to buy some new blue jeans at Old Navy and discovered these cutesy new distinctions:

The Goddess – “natural-rise” (curiously UNAVAILABLE at the Old Navy stores I’ve been to.)
The Sweetheart – “classic-rise”
The Flirt – “mid-rise”
The Diva – “lowest-rise”

So, I didn’t even know that “The Goddess” existed until today, when I went to the store’s Web site for references purposes! Given that “The Goddess,” which are their high-waisted, “normal” jeans, was unavailable — meaning NOT advertised on the racks with a jaunty logo and a price tag — I bought “The Sweetheart,” thinking it was their regular style. I’m not wrong in thinking so, right? With the name “classic-rise?” Oh, but nooooo, my friends. I was sorely mistaken. I’m not saying they’re obscenely low but who’dathunkit: “Sweethearts” like you to see their belly buttons and muffin tops! While “Flirts” show you an ass crack, and “Divas”…okay, I don’t even want to KNOW what’s hanging out there. As such, I think Old Navy’s distinctions are false advertising.

I propose this replacement system:

The Sweetheart – the “you-ain’t-seeing-nothin’-till-you-buy-me-dinner-rise”
The Tease – the “my-tramp-stamp-let-me-show-you-it-rise”
The Hoochie – the “one-more-centimeter-and-you-see-more-than-my-proctologist-rise”
The Exhibitionist – the “I’m-only-wearing-these-because-the-law-won’t-let-me-be-naked-in-public-rise”

And lest we descend into the murky territory of “are you saying a woman who dresses provocatively is a slut?”… no, I’m not. I’m saying that companies like Old Navy, which are putting forth affordable, cute, clothes for the average woman, are marketing clothing in a way that’s deceptive. In a way that encourages labeling oneself according to how high your jeans fall on your hips…and does so disproportionately. I have to wonder if anyone whipped out a dictionary to actually look at the definitions of the words before they picked them.

Plus, there’s the simple fact that low-rise jeans don’t look good on…well…MOST women. We’re just not built that way! Women like me have too much in the mid-section and thinner women don’t always have the bountiful posterior to hold them up. I have three pairs, but I always, always wear a shirt that hangs below my waistband. Nobody needs to see Mala’s love handles, mmkay? So, why is “The Goddess,” so hard to find? Why is low-rise now the default style?

As one of the true poets of our time, Samwell, once asked…what what in the butt?

A friend of the bloggers at Smart Bitches, Trashy Books stumbled upon proof that noted –and, indeed, not just noted but representative — romance author Cassie Edwards plagiarized much of the factual content of several of her novels. A grand exposé, much gnashing of teeth, much ridicule, and some drawing of lines in the sand has ensued.

Okay, first quit laughing that I said Savage Winds and its ilk had any “factual content.” Yes, Cassie Edwards did some version of research to “accurately” portray the Chief Manly Pecs in each of her books. Anyone who has read romance for even the shortest length of time knows who Edwards is. Her name is synonymous with exploitative and fetishizing Native American-themed bodice rippers. Now, like Kaavya Vishwanathan and Janet Dailey, her name is also synonymous with “plagiarism.” What floors me about Edwards’ particular situation is that it took so long for someone to stumble upon this. The woman is 71 years old and has written over 100 romance novels. Why didn’t someone realize the hinky differences in her prose before this? It took someone not as entrenched in the genre to pick up on the stylistic differences and investigate.

I know that, for me, when I’m reading the umpteenth book by an author, there’s an element of flip-through-flip-through-whatever. You start to accept that they have a formula and quit reading too closely. Or, also in my case, you quit reading that author altogether because you’re bored. Is that what most people who read Edwards do? Moreover, is that what anyone who reads any kind of genre fiction does after a while? In this day and age, genre fiction is still struggling to gain acceptance as a “legit” craft. It’s not literary fiction, it’s not “respectable” fiction, there are no book club discussion questions in the back. It’s pure pulp and enjoyment…which automatically makes it suspect. The reveal of Cassie Edwards as a plagiarist does not help this misconception. Someone fell asleep at the switch. Her publisher, her editors, her agent. Her own culpability is one thing, but why didn’t anyone else catch it? It starts to feel like a quality control issue, like romance publishing isn’t interested in accuracy or originality, they just want to keep churning. It’s mass production, plain and simple.

Unfortunately, that’s hardly unique to romance. More and more, you see brands and labels and series in fiction. Authors writing book after book. Be it Gossip Girl or Meg Cabot’s various series (I love her, but how many does she HAVE now?) or Laurell K. Hamilton’s neverending Anita Blake and Merry Gentry pseudo-porn. And what happens? It gets derivative. It gets tired. You lose the characters. You lose your voice. How much can one person realistically write without 1)burning out, 2)writing the same thing over and over, 3)hiring a staff to ghost write for them or 4)resorting to plagiarism of some kind?

I remember when books took time. Even romance novels. You had to wait years for a follow-up from your favorite author. While it was maddening, it was also comforting, because you knew someone was really working at it. Putting out a book a year, a book every six months… it’s turning a creative craft into an automated one. A book is not a car. It shouldn’t be built by machines on an assembly line. But, on the other hand, cars have to go through stringent safety tests before they’re put on the market. Why are there no crash test dummies for books?

Then again, flipping through the likes of Savage Love and Running Fox might be cruel and unusual punishment for a beta tester.

I’m a writer. Even when other designations like “crazy person” or “screw up” or “geek” or “program associate” were what I was operating under, I considered myself a writer. It’s what I do. Unfortunately, it’s not what I do. While thousands of people sign up for things like National Novel Writing Month so they can churn out 50,000 words and dub themselves a novelist, I suffer from creative paralysis, unable to finish anything of consequence. That’s not to say I’m not creating. I do write for fun, I do write for work. The latter is published, the former is not…for various reasons. Primarily length and secondarily legal issues.

The other night, my friend Carrie was trying to convince me to write something and as I shared misgivings about doing the idea justice, she asked, “Aren’t you the Queen of the Implausible, Who Somehow Makes It Seem Logical and Right?”

Am I? It was a nice thing to hear, and yet… if I was “the queen of the implausible,” wouldn’t I have something published to show for it by now? And I’m speaking fictionally. Nonfictionally, I’m definitely bringing it already. There are so many authors who started out on the Internet, on the message boards and e-mail communities and the blogosphere, who have taken the next step. Mostly in genre fiction but also in other realms. Why can’t I do it? Because I may be able to make a plot or characters seem “logical and right,” but I don’t have the discipline to follow it through on a longterm level. I’m afraid, I’m lazy, I lack the ethic. It’s hard to finish things. I’m a great starter, but finishing…? Yeah, I’m the Queen of the Implausible all right.

And lest this get entirely too whiny and navel-gaze-y, I present to you some completely unrelated links:

Rodents of Unusual Size: They DO exist!

A company that makes the giant Union Rats, one of which was in front of my office building for a couple of days last week. No, I didn’t take my own picture, but I was REALLY tempted. The things are FREAKY.

Judith Light’s Karen Wolek breaks down on the witness stand – Totally classic One Life to Live from 1979, one of the MOST famous soap opera scenes ever. Has nothing to do with rodents, except that Marco Dane was one.