Last year at about this time, my publisher gave me a
challenge.
“We want to try some women’s
fiction for the Rapid Reads line,” she said.
“So I need a book from you by June.”
Huh? Me, the scribe
of mob comedy, write Chicklit? Romance? Okay, can I make it funny, I asked? Luckily they went thumbs up. And so Worst Date Ever comes out in September
this year.
More on that later. This
column is about something else.
Point being, all this writing-out-of-genre caused me to
think about what would happen if Gina Gallo, the original mob goddaughter, were
to be dragged kicking and screaming out of crime, and plunked right down into
another genre. Or three. So here goes.
Western:
(on a stage coach near you)
Gina: “Please move
over. You’re taking up two seats.”
Bad guy Cowboy: “Hey little lady. You can sit right here on my lap. What’s a pretty little thing like you doing
with that mighty big revolver, anyway?”
Gina (demonstrating):
<BLAM>
Cowboy drops to the floor.
Gothic Romance:
(in a seriously spooky old manor)
Fiendish male character, rubbing hands together: “You’ll never escape me, my pretty. Never!”
Gina (looking around): “Are you sure this isn’t a set for The
Rocky Horror Picture Show?”
Fiend: “Enough! You’ll be my wife with or without the church.”
Gina (sighing): <BLAM>
Fiend drops to the floor.
Literary:
(at a slam poetry evening)
Male Poet: “Stop.Cry.Laugh.Love
not war.Peace not profit.Climate change.Capitalists.Love crimes.War crimes.Killing
oceans.Killing whales.Every other cliché you can think of.Pain.I’m in pain.A
pain so great.
Gina <BLAM>
Poet is out of pain, and so is everyone else.
To be continued…
Brilliant! Thanks for the laugh, Melodie!
ReplyDeleteI thought you might like that poetry slam, Anne :)
ReplyDelete