Hats Off

Sep 12, 2007

I’m very interested in period clothing. Everything seems more “more,” somehow, lots of embellishments and furbelows. Bustles, ruffles, buttons. Ribbons, lace, rosettes. My heroine Juliet in Spell Check keeps albums that show her fashion sense through the ages. Since she’s been around since 1762, she’s seen all the crazy things people put on their heads, from miniature barques at full sail to beady-eyed birds to Carmen Miranda’s fruit basket.

Head coverings really took off in the Middle Ages after the church decided to follow St. Paul’s peevish dictates from I Corinthians 11:2-16:

Every man who prays or prophesies with his head covered dishonors his head, 5 but every woman who prays or prophesies with her head uncovered dishonors her head—it is the same as if her head were shaven. 6 For if a woman will not be covered, then let her be shorn!

You know, we’re still paying the price for some of his ideas. St. Paul is not one of my favorite people. But the wimple resulting from his words, which covered all of a woman’s hair, led us eventually to what we use as a bridal veil today.

I love gorgeous hats…but not on my head. I grew up in an era where little girls went to church with hats and gloves. St. Paul would have been proud of me. Now, I don’t even own a hat, and I’ve got gloves only because I live in Maine and I’ll get frostbite if I don’t wear them. In case you’re worried about my ears falling off, my winter jacket has a hood.

I hate wearing hats. Because I wear glasses, I just think I’ve already got enough stuff going on. Plus my head gets hot and my hair sweaty and/or static-y. Very attractive.

But I love to imagine a Regency miss with a feathered and flowered bonnet. Or a 1950s sophisticate with a flirty little black-veiled hat perched at a jaunty angle.

When I read, I refuse to picture all the married women with the little lace caps they should be wearing to be historically accurate. My heroes don’t let bonnets stop them from stealing a kiss in a carriage either, where more than likely they’d have an eye poked out before they ever got close enough to anything resembling lips.

I haven’t seen a man wearing anything but a baseball hat in ages. My father used to have all sorts of felt hats from the Knox Hat Factory, where he would take me once a year so he could get a hat that looked like all the others in his closet. He collected snazzy checked caps, too.

I know people still wear hats in Great Britain. When I watched Charles finally make an honest woman out of Camilla, I was mostly impressed with the creative designs. Alas, the United States seems to have lost its head when it comes to looking “proper.”

Own any fun hats yourself? Toss your comment into the ring.

A veil can bring on more shenanigans than forgetting your silk underpants.


I don’t think that’s what St. Paul had in mind. For a head-hopping trip through time, check out https://www.vintagefashionguild.org/content/view/604/75/

Avon Homage

Sep 8, 2007

Exactly one year ago on September 7, 2006, I submitted the first of seventeen chapters in the Avon FanLit contest. It placed near the very, very bottom of all 513 entries. I was crushed and wanted to quit. By October 20, the chapter I wrote for Round 6 came in fourth out of the top ten (thanks to Tessa’s sainted sacrifice). I admit that felt good, but even better, I learned something about the writing process each week. And more about myself.

I’m sure some of my favorite bloggers/writers will be getting reminiscent right about now thinking of last September and October, where all our hopes were placed on two Regency Rebels Without a Cause named Patience and Damien. The Vagabonds have already done VagabondLit, so perhaps we’ve got FanLit Fatigue all over again. But I want it known that this post was begun a month ago at 6:10 AM on August 12, 2007, after I woke up and felt sorry that summer was almost over for me. Forget the fact that I had two full weeks left to do relatively nothing. I wanted more time off. I didn’t want to return to work. I wanted to be sitting in my garden with a book or in my pajamas all day typing away.

But when I thought of things ahead, my mind returned to the mists of time: last fall’s fabulous, frustrating Avon FanLit contest, several weeks of inconsistency, immortality and insanity. The contest, for those of you who don’t know, pitted hundreds of would-be writers against each other to craft a six chapter novella in a kind of round-robin, building the next chapter on the previous week’s winner. There were some glitches in the voting, but it was amazing to read chapters and see how others used the same bare bones, fleshed them out and fattened them up.

I was lucky enough to final twice in the top ten entries in Rounds 3 and 6, and I “know” quite a few of the participants and ultimate winners now, whose work was bound up into These Wicked Games. Here’s a salute to every man and woman who spent two months pouring their hearts out into a hysterical historical, where the husband didn’t recognize his wife, cats ruled the roost, and purple was the color of choice. I’m drinking the whole pot of chocolate in your honor, and soon, I’ll be reading your published books!

To get mushy, the Avon contest kind of changed my life. For the first time ever, I wrote something that other people actually read. I bonded with lots of great writers. I finished my WIP, two novellas and am 75,000 words through another book. I started this blog. This past year has given me some confidence, even with rejections. I’m more serious and focused—comparatively speaking. *g* So, thanks, Avon. Even if I grumbled a bit, I grew.

Any thoughts on writing contests?

Elyssany entered and won! E-mail maggierobinson8@yahoo.com

Love is the only game that is not called on account of darkness~Thomas Carlyle