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Monthly Archives: May 2010

Sally MacKenzie and The Naked Viscount

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Sally’s going Naked again. No….not that kind of naked. Sally MacKenzie is back again with her latest Naked book–The Naked Viscount. Sally will be giving away a signed copy of The Naked Viscount to one lucky commenter.

I’ve been with Sally at various conferences and events and one thing is always true. Readers greet Sally with a smile. I’m delighted that readers will soon (June 1, for certain) find Sally’s The Naked Viscount on the bookstore shelves.

“Ah, another naughty, naked hero to brighten MacKenzie’s irresistible romance.
There’s plenty of sizzle, delicious repartee (filled with double entendres),
excitement and mystery to satisfy anyone who needs a bit of love and laughter to
brighten their day.”–Kathe Robin, RT Book Reviews

So let’s give a big Risky Regencies welcome to my pal, Sally MacKenzie!

Welcome, Sally. Tell us about your latest Naked book, The Naked Viscount.
Here’s the story from the Viscount’s back cover copy: After eight London Seasons, Jane Parker-Roth is ready to quit the dull search for a husband in favor of more exciting pursuits. So when she encounters an intruder alone in her host’s townhouse, she’s not about to let the scoundrel escape–especially when she discovers she’s wrestling Viscount Motton, the one noble she wouldn’t mind meeting in the dark. And when their struggle shatters a randy statue of the god Pan, even more mischief ensues. The viscount is indeed searching for evidence of a scandal, but the shocking clues inside the nude statue are far from what he expected. The same can be said of Jane, who shows a talent for interfering in his affairs. And as his quest becomes more than a little bit improper, he finds the impetuous lady has a talent for impropriety as well.

Did you come across any interesting research writing The Naked Viscount?
Hmm. I’d have to say the most interesting thing was the drawing that became the inspiration for the sketch Jane and Motton are looking for in The Naked Viscount. I was leafing through Vic Gatrell’s City of Laughter; Sex and Satire in Eighteenth-Century London when there on p. 404 I saw Thomas Rowlandson’s pornographic print, Lord Barr…re’s Great Bottle Club. Very eye-opening, indeed. I knew Rowlandson drew pornography, so that part wasn’t a surprise. But this particular print…there’s a lot going on there. Perhaps it’s just me, but I tend to picture our forebears as stiff and formal like the portraits I’ve seen in art galleries and school history books. This sketch is more “peers gone wild. “

We’re all about being risky. What is risky about The Naked Viscount?
You Riskies were in the back of my mind as I was writing this book–it has “risky” written all over it. Did I mention the pornographic inspiration? And then there are the Pan statues with the prodigious penises in which the clues are hidden. And all the visual jokes as our lovely heroine goes about finding the clues–while our manly hero gnashes his teeth. And then there’s the aphrodisiac… I suspect there is really no such thing as a true aphrodisiac, but by then my characters were on a roll.

You recently attended the RT Book Reviews Convention. Can you tell us about it? What was the most outrageous part of the Convention? Can you share any photos?
Well, I had a novella, “The Naked Prince,” due May 1, so I spent more time than usual in my hotel room. Wednesday I was part of a group that hosted the Midnight Mad Hatters Historical tea, which was great fun except for the midnight part. Here’s a picture of me with my friend (and one of the other hosts), Kristina Cook/Kristi Astor. And here’s another picture of me at the event–my borrowed hat appears to be trying to escape. I had a lot of laughs during the historical panel I was on–“Bringing Historical Characters to Life.” The panel was moderated by Kristi, and my fellow panelists were Courtney Milan, Victoria Dahl, Sylvia Day, and Victoria Alexander.
Perhaps the craziest thing happened before the Faery Ball. I write for Kensington Zebra, and “they” (I think the idea came from one particular editor) thought it would be fun if some of the Zebra authors made a grand entrance at the ball as a herd of zebras. Here we are–I’m the one with the tan “hooves” on the far right. Two of the zebras are editors, but I won’t say which two!

What is next for you?
I’ve got two more Naked stories coming. My novella The Naked Prince will be out in February 2011 in the anthology An Invitation to Sin. Jo Beverley is the lead author; Vanessa Kelly and Kaitlin O’Riley join me rounding out the list. Then The Naked King is scheduled for June 2011.

And now for some questions: 1. Do you think of historical figures as very proper folks, always polite, never speaking in contractions? Or are they just like us, only wearing less comfortable clothes? 2. I know I can never write with a completely historical perspective–heck, I’m an American writing about English nobility for goodness sake. Where do you think the line is between strict historical accuracy–dirty hair, bad teeth, and all–and romance?

Great questions, Sally. Go at ’em, Risky Readers, and remember that one lucky commenter will be chosen at random to win a signed copy of The Naked Viscount.

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Who’s My Hero Now?

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(Apologies in advance for my woeful lameness in posting pictures. Everyone else here can make theirs line up all nice, but I just can’t.)


A few years back, two friends and I started working on a fun historical project, a writing collaboration that was almost as much fun to write than it was to talk about.


That got tabled, but is now back in my sights, and so all of us are back on board again, trying to knock out some words so we can show people what we got.

As I’ve realized (and talked about a lot), I cannot write a compelling character unless I have a rock-solid image of the person in my head.

So earlier this week I went to Twitter, and asked:

“Suggestions for a male actor who’s lanky, tall, intellectual-seeming, kinda nerdy, but secretly hot? Bonus pts for a brunette.”

And, boy howdy, did I get a lot of replies.

Just to give you a taste of the guy (so to speak), here is how we’re first introduced to him (this may change, but it works for me thus far):

Damn it. Where the hell was his cravat?

Last time he knew he had it on was when he was tugging at it, when he was doing his translation. Right before Lulu arrived.

Aristotle surely didn’t have these kind of burning sartorial questions. Even more than usual, he envied the ancient Greek; all he had to deal with were those flowing robes, perhaps a sandal or two; now, Society demanded he wear several items of clothing, which usually meant he walked out on the street frequently missing a jacket, or a hat, or gloves. Gloves. Even the word made his jaw clench.

Gloves were the devil’s bane.

Christian frowned and ran his hand through his hair.


And after all the looking, I ended up with Matt Smith, the new Doctor Who.

Now I just have to find my heroine.

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Contest Reincarnation, Cover, Confession, Excerpt

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I have been waiting so long to show you the fabulous cover for Jane and the Damned (October, 2010) and here it is! I hope you love it as much as I do.

Last week I announced a contest on Twitter for a giveaway of the ARC (Advanced Reading Copies) of the book. It was a massive failure. Twitter would not play nice with my hashtag and I know it was retweeted–my thanks to all who did so–so I’m inviting you to enter again. But this time I am not using Twitter. Twitter, you let me down. You are my Wickham, my Willoughby, my ruination. If you were my footman I’d fire you without a reference. If you were my relative I’d cut you off without a penny.

So go to the contact page on my website, fill out the form, put ARC in the subject line, and away we go. I’ll take entries until Sunday May 23 at midnight, EST, and I’m giving away three copies. Good luck!

Here’s an excerpt from the book:

“I am come here to take the cure,” she said, her resistance ebbing away.

“A cadaver can not take any sort of cure, my dear Miss Austen, and that is what you’ll be soon enough. It’s a delicate matter, the cure; you must be strong enough to withstand the poison of the waters—for such it is to us—yet the stronger you are the more difficult and painful the cure will become.”

“What is it to you? Why will you not leave me alone?” She hated herself for the whimper in her voice.

He pushed her into a chair. He stood over her, hands moving to the buttons of his coat. “My honor, as one of my kind, demands it, Miss Austen. This Mr. Smith abandoned you, a most dishonorable act, and it is my duty, honor, and privilege to do what he should have.” He shrugged the coat from his shoulders and let it fall.

“But what about me? My family fear me and rush me to take the cure. Your honor, frankly, is no business of mine. No one asks me what I want … I ….” Her voice faded away as Luke unbuttoned his shirt cuff. He raised his wrist to his mouth and breathed upon it, then showed her the blue veins against his pale skin.

“I cannot,” she said faintly. “Please, sir, do not…”

“My name is Luke.” He bent and held his wrist to her lips. “Your canines extend. We call it en sanglant. You cannot help yourself. You feel pain but that’s only because it is a new sensation. With time you’ll recognize the condition of en sanglant as a sign of desire, of need, of the pleasure you’ll anticipate—oh, I beg your pardon, you are the daughter of a clergyman; I doubt you’ll appreciate the—”

“Hold your tongue!” She grabbed his wrist and bit, hard.

“Ouch! A little more finesse, Jane, but no matter, you’ll learn.”

Through a mouthful of blood she growled—yes, Jane Austen, the cultured and respectable daughter of the Austen family growled, and then laughed messily.

And the taste—like lightning, like the way she felt once, in another life, when the words flowed and she laughed aloud at her own cleverness and the delicious interplay of her characters.

As for the confession… I wrote down to the wire last week on a book that I’d been telling myself was “almost finished” and which suddenly assumed a life of its own. It became fifteen thousand words longer than I anticipated (I write short usually) and I wrote that, and more, in the last week. It was terrifying, exhilarating, and exhausting and I shall never do it again.

When was the last time you played fast and loose with a deadline or other commitment? Do you have any confessions to make? Make them here!

There’s a new blog in town featuring HarperCollins paranormal authors, Supernatural Underground and a Facebook page. Check us out! We’re having our official launch June 1 with giveaways and fun stuff.

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A Conspiracy Theory of Napoleonic Proportions

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May 7, 1821, 189 years ago, on the island of St. Helena, the great Napoleon Bonaparte died. An autopsy at the time declared that Le Empereur died of stomach cancer, as had his father. Case closed. He was buried in an unmarked grave on the island, unmarked because the English wanted the marker to say merely “Napoleon Bonaparte” and his faithful entourage refused to allow that.

But did he die of stomach cancer? An important man like that, just getting sick and dying? Who would believe that?

Bring on the conspiracy theorists!

In the 1950s the memoirs of Napoleon’s valet were discovered and it led one man to question whether Napoleon might have been poisoned. Technology even offered proof. An article in Nature in 1961 offered the evidence that high levels of arsenic was found in samples of Napoleon’s hair which had been taken as keepsakes upon his death.

Some even claimed to have discovered his murderer– an opportunist named Count de Monthelon. The plot thickens when it came to light de Montheon’s wife left St. Helena shortly before Napoleon’s death, after having given birth to an infant surmised to be Napoleon’s. A Love Triangle, perhaps? Or part of the plot to get Napoleon to put de Monthelon in the will?

Then others offered other reasons for high levels of arsenic– the pomade he used on his hair, the wallpaper at his estate on St. Helena.

In 2007, scientists took another look at the physicians’ descriptions of Napoleon’s autopsy and Bingo! The descriptions were consistent with stomach cancer…Most likely Napoleon died of what the officials said he died of 189 years ago.

But! Does that prove there wasn’t a conspiracy???

It was known that Napoleon, in his lifetime, occasionally used stand-ins. One of his stand-ins, Pierre Robeaud, disappeared in 1818. Robeaud purportedly had stomach cancer and traveled to St. Helena to switch places with Napoleon. This version has Napoleon flee to Verona and assume the name Revard. It even gives him a tragic, heroic end–Falling to his death in 1823 die trying to climb the walls of Castle Schonbrunn in Austria in an attempt to see his ill son.

Yeah. That’s a lot more credible than the great Napoleon merely dying of cancer….

So, tell me? Why do we so easily believe Conspiracy Theories? You know we do. We’re much more interested in intrigue, secrecy, drama, and conspiracy than common sense. Explain this to me, please!

(Don’t forget! I’m Blogging at Diane’s Blog on Thursday and giving away a signed copy of Gallant Officer, Forbidden Lady to one lucky commenter)
Blogging at DianeGaston.com

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Randomer Than Random

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This week has been a crazy one, crazier than usual; I had my friend from Portland, OR, in town (I refer to her as the Picky Vegetarian because, well, she is: the woman hates tofu, in addition to many other things), my mother-in-law returned home, and then I had another in a series of unpleasant dental appointments (’nuff said on that; just floss already, okay?). Not to mention I’m trying to write and was editing on a tight deadline for a friend whose agent is prepping to take her book out.

So I’m gonna skip around topics. First off, the picture above is of me and the aforementioned PV at this replica of Stonehenge a guy built as tribute to fallen WWI soldiers (he was mistakenly told that Stonehenge was a sacrificial site, so built the faux ‘henge as a reminder that “humanity is still being sacrificed to the god of war.”

It was very cool, and the accompanying museum–his mansion, with all his quirky treasures–was delightful. Plus the town has a winery, so you know I was happy.

Then, I had to howl at today’s post at Awful Library Books; after all, isn’t this what we write every day, only with less cartoony covers?

(What would you most want a boy to know about you, by the way?)

And last, I have been continuing to try to write every day–not always succeeding, but my good friend Kwana is threatening to kick my ass if I don’t. And I believe her (plus, she doesn’t live far away; Carolyn Jewel has threatened the same, but she’s in California. She has to wait until our annual face-time at the National Conference to follow through on her threat, whereas Kwana can just drive half an hour).

So thanks for bearing with me as I’m all over the place, but what else is new, and maybe share how some friend helped YOU out recently. Or what you want a boy to know about you, or what you really want to know about boys.

Thanks!

Megan

PS: LeBron, if you’re out there? New York is a lovely place. Just saying.

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