Driving this morning, contemplating my woes—plenty of material for long journeys—I hear the radio DJ’s talking about the sequel to Fifty Shades of Grey, Fifty Shades Darker. And it got me thinking. Where will they go from there? Where can they go? Well, being a woman of almost forty-five years, the only answer to that is; The Darkest Shades of Fifty. (I swear if EL James & Co. use this title I will sue. You are my witnesses)
I’ve never read the book. I’m not against steamy subject matter, but there are far too many titles ahead of that one on my To Read list. However, I have spent a lot of time thinking about it. In fact, it keeps me awake at night. You probably want me to say the content is what’s stimulating my brain’s core to the point of distraction, so, I will.
It’s the content.
There’s been so much talk about how poorly written this book is. About how it’s written like a high school student—someone who just found out how babies are made and takes it to a whole other level to prove they didn’t just find out how babies are made.
This book has been criticized by many people. People who do not have a published novel sitting on a shelf…anywhere…or a blockbuster on a screen…be it big, small or silver.
I could be bitter about EL James’ success. I could be angry that her apparent grade nine scribbles didn’t slip to the bottom of the pile of slush, where most people (who gobbled up her prose) say they should be. I could be sad that such writing has a place in the literary world at all.
But, I’m not.
I’m jealous. I’m envious. And I’m spurred.
She had something to offer. She wrote it down. She believed in her work. She got it published. She completed her mission. And then some. Good for her, I say. After all, she’s not fretting over putting food on the table or making her minimum Visa payment.
We’re all we’ve got. There is no other us. We have only our take on things, our thoughts, our originality. Our idea of what makes a story good. This is what we have to use to win in this game. We have to plug our ears, put on our blindfolds and handcuff the haters to a bedpost.
“I’m jealous. I’m envious. And I’m spurred.”
All appropriate, and I can only say me, too. (Though I am in no way inspired to write Twilight fan fiction. Like, not at all.)
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LOL. Really Adam? Are you sure? I hear it’s popular. ;0)
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Spot on Hazy 👍🏻
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Thanks!
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It’s soft core porn for suburban soccer moms. At least that is what a few women I know who read it told me. They also said it really is horribly written. Not on my to-read list!
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Mine either, but I admire her conviction and belief in herself.
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You touched a nerve with me. People have bugged me since its publication to read it. Finally, I decided to forgo my jealousy and snobbery and read. Never got past 40 percent. I’m no prude but it just didn’t interest me. I said to the woman who finally goaded me enough that I even considered reading it, “I just don’t understand the main character’s motivation for getting involved with this man. But if I keep reading, perhaps it will be revealed.” She looked puzzled. “I’ve read all three (yes, there are three, Hazy), and you never find out why she does what she does.” I quit reading. As you noted, I too have far too many other titles with fully developed characters awaiting my perusal. That’s just my personal choice. I’m over my jealousy and my snobbery (mostly). I want to read what pleases me, and what’s her name can write whatever moves her fingertips over the keyboard. I just don’t have to read it.
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No, we definitely don’t have to read it! But I wouldn’t mind sneaking a little of her resolve into my back pocket. You already have that, PC!
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