The Cutsy Book

It takes something pretty spectacular to make chick lit seem intelligent, but something has -- the Cutsy Book. You know these books, often found under the "Great for Gifts!" sign in Borders, the oh-so-adorable hardbacks hoisted before us during each quasi-holiday, full of nothing but stock photography and cliche-ridden "wisdom"? I hate them. HATE them. Rather, I hate how many people not only buy these books, but go on to tout them as "good" or "touching." They're not good, they're not touching; they're tripe. These books are an affront to anyone who actually aspires to publish something saying anything at all.

I could spend the rest of my days writing from the depths of my soul, as many writers do, and be ignored from big and small publishers alike, as many writers are, not seeing a dollar for the effort. However, I could spend five minutes putting together one of these Cutsy Books, and ta-da! I'm published! It's sheer formula. I shall create such a book right now, before your very eyes. First, I'll select a holiday to ensure my crap will be sold year after year. Minor holidays are best, offering minimal competition; I could corner the market on sentimental Flag Day reading, which might spill over onto Memorial Day, 4th of July, and Veteran's Day (dammit, I'm brilliant). Then I'd do a stock photography search for images of flags -- flags in soft focus, flags before a brilliant sun, flags held by children, flags held by baby monkeys (that'll be the picture to really bring it home). Alongside these pictures would be words meaning absolutely nothing, like... "A flag. My flag. A country. My country." "Wake up to each new sun with love for your country." Mix up the fonts a little (the monkey would not lend itself to a serif, obviously), and voila! A book has been created without a single thought put into it. People in Books-A-Millions all over the country would call to their shopping companions, "Hey, Martha! Look! It's a baby monkey holding a flag! Do you know who would love this?" and proceed to give it to friends in lieu of putting actual thought into their gifts.

Has anyone actually benefitted from one of these books? Has anyone gone through life miserably, until that one glorious moment when one of these books just changed everything? Does anyone else notice that the people who buy these books tend to be the least happy people? The only way I'd make one of these books is if all the pictures were of lemmings. Sad, sad lemmings.

It's lowest common demonitor marketing. The second you say something, you lose someone. If you say nothing at all, the people are enchanted. (See also: Politics: American, 20th Century)