Feb 15, 2008
The first full-length book I worked on was
Bride by Midnight, a Cinderella-ish historical. A snowstorm strands a desperate-to-marry young man, Sir Harry Chalmers, and Cynthia Elling, who is traveling to London with her stepmother and two empty-headed stepsisters. Fortunately the inn they were stuck in was right across the road from a church, he has a special license, and Cynthia becomes Lady Chalmers just in time. By midnight, in fact.
How many times have you read the stranded-by-a-snowstorm story? Probably lots. It seems pretty lame to me now. And quite frankly, I don’t think BBM will ever make it to a bookstore near you in my lifetime. I worked on winter imagery some, but after rereading the manuscript, not nearly enough. I did write “sugary snow.” Somewhere the windows panes were frosted. Living in Maine, you’d think snow and ice descriptions would come easy. The fact is, I dislike winter intensely. I’d much rather write about summer, as I did in this passage from my current languishing-because-I’m-revising-something-else WIP, Mistress by Midnight (I still am fixated on midnight, apparently):
They were in the field once again beneath the hot sun, his long-discarded hacking jacket tossed beneath them. Her skirts were rucked carelessly, uncomfortably. He smoothed the stiff fabric with impatience, his hands brushing against the curve of her belly. The scent of fresh cut hay clouded his senses. The rich dark soil pillowed soft beneath his knees. He heard the insistent buzz of insects spreading life from bramble to berry in the distance. But soon there was nothing in the natural world to divert him but her body, her own scent, her cries, the sun-warmed heat of her skin. In their haste there were still too many layers of clothes between them, but nothing had the power to stop this summer storm or bring them down to earth. Not Con’s duty, not Laurette’s innocence, not even, when it came to it, his marriage.
Okay, so it’s more about the sex than a weather report. *g* But I’m now consciously trying to use the seasons to my advantage. Hello Lisa Kleypas. Fall’s my favorite time of year (being an October baby). What’s yours? How do you use the seasons when you write, or do you think about them at all? Do you prefer indoor or outdoor sex scenes (in fiction, people—I’m not that nosy!)?
Feb 4, 2008
One hundred bottles of beer on the wall—no, wait. This is my 100th blog, so let’s go with bottles of champagne. I’ve worked in elementary schools where they celebrate the hundredth day of school. Kids bring in 100 pennies, 100 pieces of macaroni, 100 Legos. You get the idea. What are you bringing to my
Virtual 100th Blog Party? Note the capital letters. This is a big deal to me, considering I was so clueless about blogs I named this one completely by mistake and I’m stuck with it now.
Remember, a hundred bucks just doesn’t buy what it used to. A hundred heroes would be excessive and probably put my back out (and John wouldn’t like it). Of course, you may bring me 100 somethings and 100 somethingelses. The more presents I receive, the better your chances to win a fabulous, or at least free, prize! I want Pandora to be jealous. She only got one box.
A hundred hearts would be too few
To carry all my love for you.~Author Unknown
Thanks for sticking with me one hundred times! Check back February 12 to see who wins and for some early Valentine fun. Don’t miss the official ascension into the blogosphere of Vauxhall Vixens on February 5 and my own debut post there on February 7.
Feb 2, 2008
Once upon a time, Vauxhall Gardens was the place to go for music, wafer-thin ham…and stolen kisses along the Dark Walk. Vauxhall and its entertainment are front and center in many historical novels. And now, some new history is being made! The Vauxhall Vixens have arrived to share our variety of voices with you. We’re a group of writers determined to find pleasure and publication. Come join us in our journey. We’re still getting dressed backstage, but we’d love to have you stop by.
And because I am certainly certifiable, you will still find me blogging here at MRMR and on Sundays at Romantic Inks. Because I’m blog-bewitched, my next post here will be the 100th! Who knew I had 100 ideas? Please come to my virtual party. You know there will be fun and prizes. See you soon!
Jan 31, 2008
You know I get my philosophy straight from fortune cookies, even though I actually dated a philosophy major in college and took the required courses. One of my favorites is “Ignorance on fire is better than knowledge on ice.” I’m about to prove that right.
I’m hot. Well, maybe luke-warm, but a handsome fireman at hand is never a bad thing to extinguish the self-immolation.
I placed first in the East Texas RWA chapter’s Southern Heat contest in the historical division! The book is Waking Beauty, a tale of a sweet young woman who supports her niece and an impoverished viscount who needs an instant family so he con his old aunt out of some money. This was the second book I completed (more than a year ago), long before I knew about POV and GMC. The editor who judged the SmartlyHeated contest will now read the full manuscript. This is exciting, but also scary. Much revision looms ahead because of the vast quantities of ignorance flaming throughout. The book is so hot my eyeballs are on fire. Say your prayers for me that I can reacquaint myself with Penelope and Dominic. They both have good bone structure but their clothes are sadly shabby.
And they must remain fully dressed, as the publishing house I’ll submit to states “There is no graphic or premarital sex or sexual tension in any of our novels.” Amazingly enough, Penny insisted on remaining a virgin until the last chapter, even after Dominic had married her! Some of the secondary characters were naughty, but they’ll be going south anyway—I have to cut about 20,000 words.
So you know what I’ll be doing for a while. How about you? Are you entering any contests? Dating any firemen or philosophers?
Jan 28, 2008
I recently finished a romance novel with a plot based on a hot anonymous encounter between two old friends. The heroine was masked, and despite the fact that the hero had known her forever, and kept encountering her as her “real” self, he never made the connection. To this, I say, “Faugh!” I’ve been to a few costume parties in my time, and never once was I ever confused as to anyone’s identity. I believe I’d be highly insulted if someone failed to recognize my full, pouty lips and breathy voice just because I wore a feathered mask. But I realize this improbable masquerade scenario can be found in countless romances.
We generally suspend belief when we read fiction, but I fear the masked ball pushes me into severe rationality. As much as I would like to misbehave without getting caught, I’d be the one in the corner saying, “Oh, that’s George—see his weak chin? Look, it’s Lady Glum. She’s still laughing like a hyena.” So this plotline is not one that automatically makes me plunk down my hard-earned cash.
Read or written any good masquerades lately? What plots bore you to bits or strain your credulity?
Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth. ~Oscar Wilde
