Wench Pat prosing on here:
I have heard discussions, mainly among romance authors and readers,but also in journalistic and business articles, about "dumbing down" writing for mass market audiences—or the lowest common denominator as many discussions scornfully refer to them. In the early days of this debate, I would agree, if only because my editor and copyeditors insisted on substituting simple words for three-dollar ones (“blossoming” instead of the oh-so-piquant “nascent”? What are they thinking!), or they’d ask if it’s utterly necessary to include a complete description of whatever fascinating topic I had researched so carefully (but the construction of a corset is so fascinating, even if it is in a sex scene!). Naturally, I was outraged that my prose and my research were so demeaned. I was a student of literature, after all, and had cut my teeth on Dostoesvky, Dreiser, and Bronte. Heck, I’ve even read Joyce and wished I could have sent him a bushel basket of punctuation.
But with time and experience comes a modicum of wisdom. Gradually, I realized that the romance books I most loved were models of complex characterization and subtle plotting and strong dialog. Yet their authors didn’t need three-dollar words, paragraph-long sentences, rambling descriptions, and erudite monologues to create exciting, romantic, emotional tour de forces. 
Which, of course, left me analyzing what readers really want. And the answer, obviously, is exciting, romantic, emotional tour de forces, in whatever manner they can be conveyed best.
Eventually I came to understand that editors wanted me to clarify my stories to reach a wider audience. Even I don’t have the patience to read Joyce anymore, and I doubt that I’m much dumber than in my youth. Perhaps television has created a world of ADD readers, or we’re all too busy to sink into thick sentences, puzzle out heavy prose, and unwind digressions. It’s the sentences that move smoothly and invisibly through action and dialog that hold me enthralled these days. Where once I melted in awe and read and re-read the lush descriptions of Kathleen Woodiwiss , now I’m far more inclined to lose myself in compellingly simple tales of authors like Patricia Briggs and her strange werewolf world, or John Moore's fairy tales with princesses who rescue themselves. I don’t even like werewolves, but Briggs’ direct, straight-forward prose and portrayal of a world and history that doesn’t exist holds me enthralled. (I'm using fantasy books as an example to broaden your reading lists. You already know the Wenches are my favorite romance writers!)
So I now consider the discussion of “dumbing down” an insult to all those authors who have worked so hard at what looks so simple on the page--writing accessible prose. Admittedly, not everyone is into complex plotting (and I happily grin when Publishers Weekly reviews MYSTIC GUARDIAN by saying “Rice pieces together an intriguing, complex plot.” Who, moi? Complex? Nah. It’s just sex. What’s complex about that? --very wicked grin), but I’m equally happy reading books that run on humor and romance as well as ones that draw me in with action and characters. My main requirement is that they suck me straight into the world they’ve created, and that’s impossible to do if I’m staggering through a sentence looking for its end, or hunting around to figure out who’s talking.
I understand that some readers fall in love with the romantic, lush, and/or exquisite prose of wordsmiths—authors who can polish a sentence until it gleams. Laura Kinsale ranks high on many scales as a writer who can tell a cracking good story with superb characterization and still write a sentence that sings in perfect pitch. But wordsmiths prove that a mass market audience reads and wants intelligent writing—as long as it’s accessible.
Since clarity and perfection, like beauty, are in the eye of the beholder,
I’d rather not start digging around and spewing out examples. But if you’d like to have some idea of just the tip of an iceberg of how a writer must approach editing his imaginative creation, check out "sentence clarity" . After you’ve run through a 100,000 or so words looking for those kinds of constructions, plus the absolute perfect word to describe the hero’s nose, character, and temper, you can understand why perfection is rare. And why attempting clarity isn’t dumbing down.
So let’s dispense with the term “dumbing down” and go straight to the nitty gritty: what irks you most about genre writing? You may complain about quality, quantity, or subject matter all you like, just don’t call “blooming” instead of “nascent,” dumbing down!