Northern Heat

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?

Who Was That Masked Man?

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

Fear Factor

Jan 24, 2008

Writers are encouraged to give their characters fears, flaws or foibles for several reasons. I know I hate to read about “perfect” people. They remind me of the annoying kids in the “In Crowd” in high school, the kids with the new cars and the cool clothes who got onto the Honor Roll and into the best schools without breaking a sweat or needing a scholarship. They were already living their happy ending, or at least it looked that way when I was a young jealouspuss.

I’m mature enough now to agree with Roseanne Roseannadanna: “It’s always something.” You never know what hidden misery lurks behind that perfectly brace-less smile and cheerleader uniform. Thus has my well-earned wisdom spared me from watching the new crop of teen reality shows. There’s always plenty of angst to go around.

So, I’ve been toying with what makes a good, reasonable quirk for a hero or heroine to have. I’ve read about those afraid of thunderstorms, commitment, going blind/insane, horses, performance failure, dancing, etc.

If I were my own heroine, I’d have major rodent aversion. Lately, we have been overrun with field mice, which’ve abandoned the snowy pastures and are holing up in drawers, basement boxes, and my pantry closet. The other night one ran into the bathroom while I was—uh, using it, and I’m surprised you didn’t hear me scream wherever you live.

We are now hosting a Decon buffet throughout the house, since the little bastards just licked the peanut butter and cheese off the spring-traps. I’m leaving the hall light on so there are no furry surprises as I stumble around in the night. My grandmother was similarly afflicted with mouse mania; I remember her leaping up onto a chair when she was in her seventies, the most exercise she’d gotten in decades.

There is no rational reason to be afraid of tiny, cute creatures, but I hate them with an all-consuming passion. And it’s not because I’m concerned about that virus they can harbor, either. Even if they presented me with a clean bill of health from a vet, I’d want them dead.

Do you have any mouse tales? Any irrational fears? What about characters in books, either your own or someone else’s?

Fear is static that prevents me from hearing myself. ~Samuel Butler

I’m talking about imaginary friends (not mice) on Romantic Inks this Sunday. Please join me! And there are still some great items to bid on at the auction, which ends on Saturday, January 26.

Cover Up

Jan 21, 2008

For every exquisite Candice Hern, Eloisa James or Lauren Willig book cover, there must be at least fifty cheesy clinch ones—a muscle-bound half-dressed guy in the snow with a wild-haired woman climbing him, her bodice falling tantalizingly toward her navel. I wonder where their mothers are to tell them to button up, it’s cold outside. You’ve all read people complain about covers and state their preferences on other boards and blogs, so this post isn’t going to be like that. Nor are we going to whine about the tacky titles, with sin and wicked paired with some peer. Well, maybe we will just a little.

We’re also going to laugh. Click onto this delightful site. Then come back to get serious. When I shop at Wal*Mart, I frequently turn books over in my cart so people can’t see what I’m reading. I am ashamed. In Wal*Mart ! Center of all things cheesy and tacky! I love romance, both reading and writing it. In order to indulge myself, I sometimes feel like I’m walking through fire. Why is my favorite genre marketed the way it is? It must work, because cheese and tack are almost all that’s on offer. So I grit my teeth and spend my $6.99.

Would men buy beer if the cans were covered with little pink elephants? No matter how tasty, I think not. But yet we’re forced the spend money on something we know is good but has “You are an idiot” written all over it. I venture to say there’s not another thing you purchase that assaults your dignity as much as a romance novel. If you can think of something, let me know.

I won’t say one word about e-book covers. At least nobody sees them but you.

Rant over. Here’s the burning cover question—bare chest or neatly tied cravat? Be honest. I’ll tell you I’d rather have the half-naked man if he’s standing alone. That way I know he’s all mine.

The cheese stands alone, the cheese stands alone, hi-ho the derry-o, the cheese stands alone.

No cheese at the Romantic Inks auction, just tasty romantic protein!

Favorite Mistake

Jan 17, 2008