a thriller

I can't swim, and the current around the island is too strong anyway. I don't know if he can swim or not.

I know the tales, about hunting. A three-square-mile island, only one of us leaves. He thinks the middle-aged, pudgy woman is hiding. He's a Wall Street banker, thinks that is the jungle, thinks his gym-toned body is a predator.

I've already visualized how to break his leg and where to shove my pointed stick to stop his screaming.

Woo, Anne. Excellent. There's a poem by Louise Glueck called "Gretel in Darkness" that yours reminds me of.

A thriller?

We worked steadily, in silence, while the sweat dripped into our eyes. It went quickly at first, but then we ran into tree roots tangled with beer bottles and broken concrete. The shovels, still sporting their $9.95 tags from Big Lots, weren't really up to the task. Mine kept bending, and I had to bang it back to the correct angle. The last time I did that, I hit Joe in the ribs, and then he pushed me against the dirt while prying out a rock. I told him to rest. Eventually, a grave for one must be dug alone.

He's a Wall Street banker, thinks that is the jungle, thinks his gym-toned body is a predator.

Love this.

The shovels, still sporting their $9.95 tags from Big Lots, weren't really up to the task.

And this.

Ho. Lee. SHIT.

Has the Board of Directors for RWA lost its collective tiny little mind?

They've issued this edict:

With respect to all RWA programs and services, the following shall not be depicted or represented: exposed male and female genitalia, exposed female nipples, cunnilingus and fellatio, hands or mouth covering naked female breasts, naked or g-string-clad buttocks, and bestiality. The following words: cock, cocksucker, cunt, fuck, motherfucker, shit, and tit, will not be displayed.

Who runs Romance Writers of America, anyway? A bunch of fundie tongue-speakers in twinsets from West Repressiveville?

Dear RWA, I am not a member and now won't be - a pity, since you'll be missing out on a kickass love story, but alas, my characters talk like people. But, were I a member, I would be suggesting that you go have intimate relations with yourself, and then give my regards to your unwed mother.

Like, any stories that despict those acts, or use those words? I don't understand.

Context?

What are romance sex scenes going to be like, now? I mean, there will be kissing, and groping, and then, whoops! Pillow-talk and the L-shaped sheet.

Okay, from the quoted text, it looks like only photos -- covers? convention ads? -- and promotional description is what they're talking about. And, that's fine, no cootchie shots on the ad campaign. But, without explicit sex scenes in the actual novels, there's a huge casual audience (read: 96% of my college classmates) that will go elsewhere.

(edited to make sense)

I'm thinking it's talking about promotional/conference materials, not the books themselves.

Now, see, I think every conference should have a welcome banner featuring a 69ing couple, reading "Hello Cocksuckers!"

There goes my pitch for "Love in West Baltimore" yo. I'm kidding, but, you know.

For my answer to the genre challenge, I decided imitation is the sincerest, so this first one should be recognizable to "Tales of The City" fans.

Mary Ann Singleton had finally found the source of the scratching in her closet. Her best friend in the entire world, Michael Tolliver, was crouched among her dry-clean bags looking disconsolate. “Mouse,” Mary Ann whispered, “You’re the last person I’d expect to find in a closet.”

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” Michael tried to stand up, but was blocked by a garment bag containing one of Mary Ann’s old Cleveland party dresses. “I think I used to go out with him, too.”

“So glad you had the chance to catch up,” Mary Ann said drily. “Now will you tell me what you’re really doing in here?”