R.I.P. Chick Lit--for Now

Depressing news comes more often by email and link these days, doesn't it? According to agent Jenny Bent, Barnes and Noble's head buyer has declared chick lit officially dead.

Boo hoo for me. I guess Crash Test won't be seeing the light of day anytime soon. But I kind of figured that out already. So am I giving up? Hell, no. And if Ms. Bent is to be believed, the hallmark of chick lit--the voice--isn't really going anywhere. It's just morphing into something else, say a mystery with attitude or mom lit or hen lit or whatever they're calling books about slightly older heroines whose voices haven't been quashed in the carpool line.

Some people never learn. Too much of a good thing is too much, and not a good thing. Flooding the market with questionable product simply because it's the new hot thing kills sales. In this case, it killed a subgenre with an interesting way of saying things. If some of the bandwagon writers had found more original things to say instead of creating Bridget Jones 3.2, then maybe things would be different.

But it doesn't help to speculate, and brooding over it won't get my next projects written. Those heroines have plenty to say, but don't expect them to abandon the forthrightness their chick lit siblings laid claim to. Or that they want to speak for themselves, in first person. I guess the true lesson here is that the Presbyterian way is pretty darned sensible: All things in moderation.

Okay, off to write.