ELIZABETH EAVESDROPS

I was in a bookstore the other day (Barnes and Noble superstore for Inquiring Minds who must know), seeing what was new and how the old was surviving.

The mystery and romance sections looked healthy. As Bellingham is a college town, so did the science fiction/fantasy section. John Grisham was shelved in “literature and fiction” along with Steinbeck and Hemingway. (Like mystery/romance/sf/fantasy fiction isn’t fiction? Excuse me? And other than having hang-downs, what makes Grisham mo’ bettah than Nora Roberts?)

But I digress.

I began pulling out my titles and checking the print run number in the front of the book. It’s about the only way for me to know when my publisher reprints a given title. Yes, I could require an accounting for each and every title each and every year, but I got tired of doing it and I’m sure my publisher felt the same way. Big publishers are like any other big business—not only doesn’t the right hand not know what the left is doing, the right palm has no knowledge of right digits. Finding out which book was in which printing was like pulling hen’s teeth. By the time I actually found out, it was time to check again. Arrrrgh!

But I digress.

Again.

As I was checking my titles, I couldn’t help overhearing some women who were also in the romance section looking at the new titles. I’ll pretend to quote them exactly, because if I put in all the you knows, hmmms, umms, broken phrases, and partial sentences you’d run screaming from your computer.

Ya know?

First woman: “God, not another neck-biter! Whatever happened to knights?”

Second woman: “I love the paranormals! Can’t get enough of ‘em.”

First woman: “What about me? I love historicals. It’s the Regencies I want to throw against the wall. Nothing but regencies for historicals. What’s wrong with the authors? Don’t they get it? One more simpering virgin/cruel rake book and I’m going to hurl. Regency wasn’t the only part of history that had men and women.”

They continued on down the rows, grousing about not getting enough of their favorite flavor of romance.

Other women came and went, wanting other flavors—more/less romantic suspense, more/less sex, more/less “reality,” etc.

So I thought I’d ask you.

Are you getting enough of your favorite flavor?

Have you changed flavors?

If you've changed, what do you read now that you didn’t read five years ago?