couldn’t help it. Seemed appropriate for the romance genre. . . .
The flavor of the month seems to
be the Amish fiction. So, what exactly is an “Amish”? What every editor
is madly trying to acquire. For now. (Did anyone read last month’s
column on Chick Lit?)
Amish: of or
pertaining to any of the strict Mennonite groups, chiefly in
Pennsylvania, Ohio, Indiana, and Canada, descended from the followers
of Jakob Ammann, a Swiss Mennonite bishop of the 17th century
Well, that explains it. I get it
now. No need for this column. That’s one of those “grrr” definitions
such as: Apology: to apologize. Okay, so most of us
have an idea what an Amish story is. Good thing, ’cause I might not be
the best person to write about the subject (my editor made me).
Truthfully (as always), I’ve never read one, and wasn’t going to read
one in order to write this column. No, I have nothing against Amish
people. I don’t know any Amish people. Even if I did know an Amish
person, a nice Amish person, I still wouldn’t wanna read a manuscript
pertaining to them.
Why don’t I wanna read one? No
specific reason. But I already have a stack of books waiting for me,
their clean-cut pages crying out from a mod wire basket in my
fuchsia/orange/I Love Lucy–decorated closet. Those
books beg me to pick them up; dust their covers off on my plush, round
throw rug; and sink into their juicy chapters. Always room for one
more, right? No can do.
I tend to like fast-paced, plot-driven stories. You couldn’t drag me to
see The English Patient, but if Bruce Willis is
blowin’ somethin’ up—I’m there. Since the Amish shun electricity and
motor vehicles (Must be liberals. Sorry.), I assume they frown on
explosives as well. Don’t know where the spark would come from for me.
I can see where the plot would
have built-in conflict, as in the movie Witness, which
I did see. Woman is Amish. Woman loves Man. Man isn’t Amish. Woman has
to choose between Man and the only way of life she’s ever known. If
it’s a Romance, Woman chooses Man; if it’s Women’s Fiction, Woman opts
for horse and buggy. (I know a lot of horses I like better than a lot
of men, so mayhap I should try the Women’s Fiction.)
. . .
Man is Amish. Man loves Big City
Woman. (In this scenario, you can substitute “loves” for “lusts.”) Man
has to choose between horse-faced Amish Woman who’s never seen a blow
dryer, flat-iron, or curling iron—then again, she’s probably never seen
her hair either—(Don’t they wear those little white caps like the
nurses from the ’50s?); and wicked Big City Woman sporting cherry-red
lip gloss, blond highlights, and Spanx. In any genre, Man lunges for
Big City Woman. (C’mon, you know he does.)
Okay, so I’m havin’ fun at the
expense of some nice Amish people. Well, I think they’re nice. Supposed
to be nice. Anyway, I realize all Amish women don’t have horse faces.
(Kelly McGinnis was hot.) I realize there has to be more to the story.
(What? I dunno.)
If I were a bettin’ woman (Sigh.
I miss my old poker playin’ days. Dudes, ha! Get ’em every time. They
don’t think women know how to bluff. Oh . . . I guess the Amish ones
don’t.), I’d bet there are some tear-jerking, emotional,
heart-wrenching Amish stories out there, full of interesting plot
twists and colorful characters. (I meant personality-wise. Don’t the
Amish wear black and white?) I’ll leave y’all the job of checkin’ that
out for me.
Sorry, I can’t elaborate more on
this subject. I’m as clueless as an Amish man with a titanium Taurus
.38 caliber revolver. Besides, my time’s up. Gotta go finish my dark
paranormal where the seven Princes of Darkness are schemin’ to steal
Satan’s throne. . . .