… is the tip of your elbow. The one that when you hit it, it causes shooting pains that slice through your brain. Sick joke isn’t it?
Did you know that in the seventies and eighties Publisher’s Clearing House had a catalog where you could buy Harlequin and Silhouette novels in bulk for a very reasonable price? Yes, they did. They had cheap VHS tapes (if anyone remembers the old days of VHS), beautiful leather-bound copies of the classics and adorable fabric covered blank notebooks, perfect for girl’s birthdays or Holiday treats.
When my mom was in her seventies, she moved to a senior citizen apartment complex in Sunset Park, Brooklyn with a bunch of old geezers that were the funniest and feistiest old broads I had ever met. For fun, I’d go over on a Friday night and bring a fifth of vodka and a half-gallon of orange juice. I’d pour both into a large pitcher, fill a bowl with ice and get six of them and myself plastered. We’d play 500 Rummy or Poker and they’d tell me stories about themselves. Talk about fabulous memories.
They also loved to read steamy romance novels. These were the traditional romance novels where there was no explicit language or sex, just tickle and tease, boy meets girl and girl gets boy, usually the rich boy.
I’d order cartons from Publisher’s Clearing House. They came twenty and thirty in a carton at a bulk rate and the ladies ate them up. When my mom and her friends finished with them, the books would go to the community room, where other old broads would read them.
One of my fictional characters, loves romance novels. For your reading pleasure and because I want to tickle until you laugh, I have posted excerpts from Second Hand News (as in Rumors by Fleetwood Mac) my first romantic comedy. It is in first person, and my heroine Gail, is talking.
( 1 ) I came to the last page of High Noon Splendor, the second in a trilogy, the first Desperate Dawn, and the last, Red Sunset. I loved trilogies where three sisters or brothers each different in so many ways, struggled against adversity to find their true calling and their one true love.
( 2 ) I loved the hyperbole of romance language. The way Romance writers used all the words with “ly” and even made some up when necessary. Characters in romance novels never became just anything, they became extremely, wildly, incredibly and unbelievably something or other. Kisses were tenderly, madly, passionately and deeply felt. Tragedy was miserably, terribly, horribly brought to bear on the sincerely, innocently shy hero and heroine, though they were eventually, properly and finally vindicated.
I haven’t read a great deal of “chicklit” but I’d be “pleased as punch” if someone would do “geezerlit.”
fOIS In The City