Turning down the Corners

by Cassondra Murray



There is a bit of a....

well...WAR is far too strong a word.

Rivalry doesn't quite fit either.

Disagreement? Well, that's a bit weak for the passion with which this is handled.

It's a "THEM vs US" thing I suppose.

The Bandits have not come to blows or drawn swords or anything...

Still, there is a division.


Let me explain the origins of something many of you may take for granted. (Okay, not the REAL origins, as in where they started, but the origins as in how most of us end up with them now--as promotional tools.)

I'm talking about the humble bookmark.

You see, if you've never attended a writer's conference, you've missed out on a lot.

There's the mayhem of a huge hotel lobby, with 2000 writers arriving, hugging each other because we're seeing friends we haven't seen for a year, vying for the hottie bellman's attention (really it's the bellcarts we want, but don't tell the bellmen that), and finding our way to registration.

At registration, we're given a goody bag, filled with promotional items and emblazoned with the name of the sponsors on the side of the bag.



The next morning, we make our way to bad hotel coffee dispensed from industrial-sized urns, then we stand, bleary-eyed and tired from our travels, in corners and small groups, trying to unravel the mysteries of our conference program, make our way to workshops held in little rooms all around the conference hotel (this often involves complex puzzle-solving skills to find our way) and to appointments with editors and agents, where, with sweaty palms and note cards in hand, we do our best sales pitches to weary industry professionals who hope to find the Next Great Romance Author among the throngs.

Then, with a few minutes to ourselves, we wander into that black hole of conference clutter.

The Goody Room.

The Goody Room is where authors (Bandits included)at a conference deposit their promotional material in hopes of attracting the attention of even ONE new reader.

Here's what it looks like.

You walk in the door. It's not a large room. It might be the size of an average living room of the not-so-rich-and-famous. Except there's no sofa or recliner or tv or velvet Elvis on the wall. Instead there are tables lining the walls. And probably one long table down the middle. So you have a little aisle you can walk down and around and back out.

And on these multiple tables are piles and piles and PILES of promotional material for authors and books.

Pens with author's names and logos and brands and last releases.

Little cutesypie plastic bags covered with hearts or flowers, and filled with yummy chocolate Hershey's Kisses (yes.....finger-in-throat at this point.....MORE chocolate--for those of you who have never attended a conference, you should know that chocolate is EVERY-FREAKIN-WHERE at a romance writer's conference. They feed and chocolate you nearly to death.)

On the nezt table you'll find piles and piles of postcard-size bookplates. Those are the covers of books reduced to a postcard and printed on expensive glossy paper.

Then there are more stacks of pens with author's names or logos.

There might be a stack of little personal-size, battery-powered fans emblazoned with the author's name.

At the last conference I attended, there was a table full of bottles of water (okay this was a darn good idea, cuz you get mighty thirsty at a conference) with labels custom-made, advertising the author and latest release.

I have to tell you, that I remember the water, but I don't remember the name of the author.

And therein lies my question.

Because spread among all these goodies are always, ALWAYS a slew of bookmarks. Tons and tons of bookmarks. This, I believe to be the origin and birthplace of the bookmark (hey, it's as good a theory as evolution, with nearly as much evidence).

I could own a thousand bookmarks if I picked up one of everything I see at a conference.

But I don't.

Because I don't use bookmarks.

I bend the pages down.

*Ducks massive amounts of flying fruit and stays down there under cover for several minutes while fruit still flies*

Is it safe to come up yet? *peeks over top of laptop screen*

Yes, yes. I know. Many of you are tearing your clothing and pouring ashes over your heads at the thought. But this is reality.

I've brought home a TON of bookmarks, and lost just as many. I have a few metal bookmarks in the shape of moons or rectangles with wise sayings engraved upon them, and ribbon run through a small, precisely-engraved hole at the top. They were stupidly expensive.

But when I go to read a paperback book at night, by the light of the 60-watt bulb by my side of the bed, here's how it goes....

I read. I read some more. I read until I start to drop the book because I'm so sleepy. Then...

I turn the corner of the page down. I close the book (or drop it onto my lap). I put it on the nightstand if I'm still awake, turn out the light, and go to sleep.

It's true. I turn the corner of the page down on a paperback book. Even some hardcover books.

Nothing like this book. That's just an abomination. Because you can't read the book. That's the point. For me, it's about not damaging the book to the point a person can't read it.

It's why I have such a difficult time throwing books--ANY books--away. Even books from the early 1800s, (I have some of these packed in my garage) which still recommend the use of leeches for curing diseases. Hey,it's ignorant and dangerous, but IT'S STILL A BOOK, yaknow?

While I know I am not alone in turning the page corners down, there are those who say I am, at the very least, heretic. Uncivilized. Low.

Nancy, for instance, thinks this is pure, unadulterated blasphemy. Nancy may not use bookmarks, but has proven intellect and mental power upon which to rest.

"I remember the page number, or at least the chapter, of the book I'm reading," she says. And she reads up to three books at a time.

Humph. I can't remember what I had for dinner last night.

Jeanne has....evolved....a bit. She can now turn the page down on a paperback. But it's taken her YEARS to get to this point. Her dad was a librarian. She says when she was a child, that the decree ran something like the following:

"You did not...


bend the book

turn the pages down

lay the book in any manner which might damage the spine, pages or cover

read while eating, lest you mar the pages (the parents finally gave up on this one)

God forbid you should THOW the book...THAT got you grounded.

Damage came out of your allowance.

Stern stuff....."

Indeed.

As a kid, I brought home about 40 library books per week, on average, and did NOT turn those pages down, because they weren't my books. But now that I pay for my books, and they're mostly all paperbacks? Oh yeah.

I bend, fold (don't usually staple) and mutilate those books.

I bend them around like a newspaper when I'm lying in bed at night, trying to get the printed pages into the light so I can see the text and hold it in one hand. This is not a museum. This is is a spa. It's about relaxation. Entertainment. It's about story. And to hell with the binding.

And when I get ready to turn out the light, the bookmark that might have been there half an hour ago is either a) under the bed b) somewhere buried in the covers or c) at the bottom of the East River, never to be seen again. I cannot hold onto a bookmark to save my life.

So I fold the page down and flip off the light and go to sleep. And I am no worse for the wear. The book? I've not had one fall apart yet. They're rumpled, but still intact.

Two hundred years ago I might have behaved differently, because books were so rare and difficult to produce then. Now, books are everywhere. I have piles of them. They're like air. I can't live without them, but I don't pamper them unless they're very special collector's editions.

And this, you see, is the source of the contention in the lair.

The other night, when we finished our reading session in the lair's library, I folded down the page, and Nancy noticed. She covered her face and looked away. Jeanne actually cringed. (It WAS a Claudia Dain novel after all). Some of the other Bandits coughed and left the room. Even a few of the cabana boys stopped and gaped, open-mouthed.


But some Bandits yawned and went back to reading.

Bookmarks were strewn all over the library table. Promotional ones, with Bandit book covers emblazoned across their slick, glossy surfaces.

I might, on occasion, shove a bookmark into my pages. If it's handy. Or if it's not handy, I turn down the page.

If it's a self-help book or a non-fiction or reference book, I'll highlight, underline, and write in the margins. Oh, yeah. That's a workbook, as far as I'm concerned.

Some do, and some don't.

For some, books are tools. Education.

For others, books are sacred.

Maybe, for some, books are both.

How about you?

Will you turn down the corners of a book page?

Does it matter whether it's hardcover or paperback?

Trade or mass market?

Does it matter who wrote it? Or whether it's a keeper shelf book or a first-time read?

How do you feel about the sanctity of the book?

And while we're at it, would a bookmark given to you ever cause you to BUY the author's book?

How about a pen?

We, as Bandits, always want to know how to spend our advertising dollars, and you, our readers, can tell us.

Has any of the goodies from a bookstore, or anywhere else, ever made you buy a book? What gets your attention?

Inquiring writers want to know!