Word: schmaltz

 

schmaltz

\ shmahlts, shmawlts \  , noun;

1. Informal.  exaggerated sentimentalism, as in music or soap operas.

2. fat or grease, especially of a chicken.

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Jen read the small but thick book with a goofy grin on her face.  She was currently lying on her dorm room bed with the book suspended over her eyes.  She periodically adjusted her position on the not quite comfy mattress, always keeping the book at an appropriate reading distance.

               “Uhg, are you still reading that thing?”  Jen’s roommate, Karin asked. Jen lowered the book, only moderately surprised by her roommate’s sudden appearance. 

               “Yes, I am.  Got a problem with it?”  Jen said.

               “Technically no.  You’re free to read whatever you want to.  I just don’t get how you can tolerate those magazine rack romance novels.”

               “Hey now.  Just because I didn’t get it off a book store shelf doesn’t mean it’s bad you know.”

               “True.  The fact that it’s bad is what makes it bad.”  Karin said as she plopped herself down on her own bed.

               “It’s not bad!”  Jen practically shouted.  “It’s really good!”

               “No, it’s not.  You’re just convincing yourself it’s good.  Why, I have no idea.”

               “It is good.  The characters are deep and well thought out, the plot is riveting, and it’s rife with emotions.”  Karin sighed at Jens insistence that her choice of reading material was good.

               “Ok, let me see it for a sec.  Just the cover will do.”  She said.  Jen raised the book so that Karin could see the cover.  Karin looked at it for a minute or so.

               “Ok then, let me see.  The female lead is a young, beautiful noblewoman, probably with the simple title of ‘lady’.  The leading man is a dashingly handsome servant who happens to cross her eye one day.  He probably saves her life from a runaway horse or carriage, which forever endears her to him.  Let’s see…there’ll be another dashingly handsome man, a noble this time.  He’s her fiancé via an arranged marriage agreement.  She acts like she likes him while still pining for the servant guy.  The servant leaves, probably to protect her honor as a lady.  Much tears are shed as a result.  With no other option, she marries the nobleman.  Then, just as the priest is asking if anyone has a reason why they shouldn’t get hitched, the servant guy comes barging in and sweeps her off her feet.  How’s that.  Am I pretty close?”  Karin asked.  Jen didn’t want to admit, but Karin’s summery was disturbingly accurate.

               “O-ok, so you got it right.  You could’ve read the back when I wasn’t looking or something.” 

               “You keep it with you at all times.  And when you finish this one, you’ll just pick up another one just like it and keep that one super close.  Seriously, Jen.  These books are horrible.  They use so many overdone clichés that it’s easy to figure out what happens just by the title.  The plot is predictable, the characters are shallow, and the romance is schmaltzy and forced.  The author doesn’t know how to write real emotions, so he uses overly dramatic language to try and force it.  It’s the same with all these kinds of cheap romance books.”

               “H-hey now, that’s not true in all cases.  Besides, you’re one to talk.  You read plenty of romance novels.”

               “Yeah, good ones.  Those I read are well written by skilled authors.  Although there are some clichés used, my books don’t rely on them like yours do.  The authors of my romances know what they’re talking about and how to evoke real emotions out of their readers.  You’re come from a rack.  Mine come from a shelf.”

               Jen puffed out her cheeks at Karin’s book bashing.  She knew they weren’t always the best books in the world, but that didn’t mean they were all bad.  She thought that many of them were as just as good as those written by better known authors.  She also didn’t like what Karin’s argument was implying about her.

               “H-hey now, not all of my romance books come from a rack.”

               “Oh please.  Twilight doesn’t count and you know it.  It’s just as bad as what you’re reading now, just longer.”

               Jen slammed the book shut.  She looked at Karin angrily.  Nobody insulted Twilight around her.  To Jen, they were almost holy writ.  She could deal with Karin bashing the romance books she normally read, but not Twilight.

               “Don’t you dare bash Twilight.  That is one of the best series of books ever to be written.”  She said.

               “Oh please.  It’s horrible.  I don’t know why people like those pieces of trash.”

               “You!  I bet you’ve never even read them!  I bet if you read the books you’d love them!”

               “Actually, I have read them.  All of them.  I had to keep myself from falling asleep for half of it, and the other half I had to keep my lunch from coming back up.  Yeah, I know how bad they are.  Oh, and I’ve also read some of those schmaltzy travesties you read regularly.  I snuck a few out after you finished them.  And trust me, the only emotion I felt while reading them was revulsion.  These are insults to the romance genre.  Now, can you say the same?  Have you read some of my good romance novels?” 

               “N-no.”    

               “Well then, maybe you should.  Get a taste of the real thing before you drown yourself in more terrible writing.  What do you say to that?”

               Jen thought about her words for a moment.  Most of her was still trying to wrap her mind around the fact that Karin had read the Twilight books and still didn’t like them.  How good could the books she read be if she couldn’t appreciate that literary genius?  But, she should also give Karin the benefit of the doubt.  If Karin could read Jen’s books, than she could read Karin’s just as well.

               “Well, I guess I could give a few a shot.”

               “There you go.  I promise, you won’t be disappointed.”  Karin said.  She got up and made the short trip to the small shelf she used for all her books, already picking out what to loan to Jen to expand her literary repertoire. 

               “But first I have to finish this one.” Jen said quickly.  Karin’s shoulders slumped and she trudged back to her bed.  Jen immediately went back to reading her book, a goofy grin once again forming on her face. 

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Part of me was tempted to use that second definition for a story, but I ended up with this one.

Ok, that's a lie.  I never considered using the second one.