50 Shades of Malibu Barbie.

A friend and I were recently discussing reading and how we've long since believed books should have a rating system. She was telling me about a group of preteens who were giggling and pointing at a fresh shipment of erotica novels that had just made it into the bookstore, before one girl finally bought a copy. Say what now?

Movies, video games, even adult magazines have age requirements. Where is that rule for literature? Why isn't there a difference between Harry Potter, a relatively innocent story about a kid in wizard school and Crank, a hard-hitting, in depth novel about substance abuse? Those novels really shouldn't be in the same section, but unfortunately, the problem has gone from watching the train wreck to being in it.

Erotica has always been around, but I'm sure most kids would sooner read their comic books than deliberately seek out a sexually explicit novel. But with the recent explosion of the world-renowned 50 Shades of Grey, finding an over-the-top book isn't a problem. And really, with the epic coverage this very adult novel has received, why wouldn't a barely-teen be curious about the subject of her mom's wildly successful book club? I'll bet the money-makers in this situation didn't consider that.

But it brings us back to the original subject. Why can a thirteen year-old child walk into a bookstore and openly purchase an erotica novel? Who gets to say this is okay? I have two young daughters, and I realize I'm responsible for what they read, but that doesn't assure they can't get a hold of something they shouldn't, even accidentally. If they wouldn't be allowed to walk into a movie theater and watch Pretty Woman, they shouldn't be allowed to walk into a bookstore and buy it off the shelves.

What do you think? Do you think literature should be more carefully monitored?

Social Lemmings

I generally don't double dip when it comes to blogging--this one is for writing, the other blog is more personal snarkasm--but my Bumbling Alice post makes sense here, too. So I'm double-dipping. Leave me alone.

There's never a shortage of people who want to hate on something, and half the time, I don't think they even know what they're hating on ... they just want to be a part of something. And I get that. Heaven forbid people have their own opinion. I mean, who wants to be out on that limb alone? No one. Even so, at least know what and why you hate this new breed of evil. Don't join a team of social lemmings who just follow the pack to their own watery demise in the name of being part of the "in crowd".

People love a person/book/band when they're in their prime, but the second someone bigger than themselves start running their mouth, we're left with a group of turncoats. We saw it happen with Charlie Sheen and Britney Spears, and we're beginning to see it happen with Justin Bieber. But I think the biggest shift in allegiance has been for poor ole Stephenie Meyer *cough* she's-laughing-all-the-way-to-the-bank *cough*.

Here's the thing, like it or not, Meyer moved millions of people to read. I've heard countless tales of people who've said, "I loved Twilight so much, I began writing. If a stay-at-home mom can be successful doing something she loves, so can I." Complain and say we have a plethora of crappy writers, but that's not the point. The point is, we now have people who are trying their hand at a thing they enjoy. Most will decide it's more work than they care to continue, but a select few will continue on, grow, and become successful ... the soon-to-be benefactors of all those vicious and fickle turncoats. Because as quickly as they attack without warning, they're just as apt to welcome you with open arms ... or wallets, if you have happen to be selling books.

Be who you are, because eventually, those lemmings are plunging off that cliff. Better make sure you know what's waiting at the bottom.

Peace. Love. Happy blogging.