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Monthly Archives: November 2010

Frantic Friday

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This week, as Carolyn mentioned on Wednesday, she and her ridiculously smart offspring are here in Brooklyn visiting; thus far, we’ve been to the Pop Tarts store (see Carolyn’s post), seen the musical Wicked (so fun!), had Vietnamese food, watched Mongol, written side-by-side at my breakfast bar, had a Random Facts contest (my son did well enough against Carolyn’s RSO, but the RSO still won).

Busy! Fun! Busy!

But earlier this week I did get to write, and this week I’ve been working on my Urban Fantasy, which is about a New York that is definitely a melting pot, in a melting pot of species ways. There are, however, evil plans afoot, and my heroine (a normal, if insecure, woman) and hero (a foxy demon who wears goofy t-shirts) have had to team up to suss out the evil plans. Here’s a bit:

He rose to a crouch, clutching the knife with one hand as he pushed the dark curtain of hair in front of his face onto his back.

If he were going to continue this, he should start braiding it or something. Maybe some barrettes?

The thought made me giggle.

“And here I thought you would perhaps be frightened by the prospect of some sort of explosion occurring,” he said, a dry tone to his voice.

He gripped the knife harder, his knuckles showing white.

He was really going to go out there and do something about this, wasn’t he? Suddenly I didn’t feel like laughing anymore.

“Be careful,” I whispered as he rose to his full height. My face was right next to his boots, and a part of my brain noticed how bad-ass they were. Which shouldn’t surprise me, everything but his t-shirt was bad-ass, and even that was bad-ass in an ironic hipster way.

Wait, did that mean ironic hipsters were demons, too?

No, that would be too much to hope for. They lived in Williamsburgh, not Hell. I bet Hell had fewer dive bars.

I squeezed my eyes shut as he began to move. I heard a hiss, and a knowing chuckle (one of these days, I was going to have to ask about arch villains’ maniacal laughter; what was it with those guys, anyway?).

And then I heard something far more frightening than maniacal laughter: The sound of death. Deeply unpleasant death, not that any death was pleasant. Unless it was Death By Chocolate.

I hoped to God–wait, no I didn’t–that my evil demon guy would win. Although I didn’t know if demons were automatically evil; this guy lacked much of a sense of humor, but that didn’t make him evil, did it? And he was doing his best to protect me, which in everyone’s eyes but my third-grade teacher and my next-door neighbor George Soulias would be a good thing.

I did finish the work I posted last week, and am tweaking a bit before sending to the Champion Agent. Yay! And the Champion Agent just submitted some more of my mss. out to the world, so double Yay! and Yikes, too!

What Random Fact do you know? (Not that I have a chance, but maybe I can at least hold my own).

Megan

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Mr. Bishop and the Actress

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Since I’m fiendishly on deadline I thought I’d give you a sneak peak of Mr. Bishop and the Actress (March 2011) which is in the works and available for early order with free shipping worldwide at bookdepository.com.

The actress of the title, Sophie Wallace, auditions for lecherous Jake Sloven:

His lips descend to my face. He has had onions for dinner, it seems.

“Goodness!” I drop my reticule and duck, a major mistake as he assists me to an upright position. “Why, certainly I’ll read for you. What would you like to hear?”

By this time, in a ballet of gropes and evasion, we have reached the stage.

“In my office,” he says, breathing heavily.

“Oh, no. Here, surely. There will be more room for me to dance.” I swish my skirts and he breathes heavily at the sight of my ankles and licks his lips as I remove my bonnet.

Foolishly I let him choose the play and he thrusts a playbook of Othello at me.

“Fair Desdemona.” He removes the napkin from his waistcoat and dabs his thick lips. “And I shall play Othello.”

There is a sofa on the stage. Well, of course there would be. The noble Moor hitches at his breeches and gestures to me to recline.

“Should I not be praying?” I’m not sure I want to be on my knees in front of Jake Sloven—at least, I had not intended to assume the position so early—and it crosses my mind that I should run out screaming. But I am an actress! There is no reason why Sloven should not hire me (and doubtless he has dozens of prettier women in his employ).

I outwit him by standing with my palms together, eyes raised heavenward. Of course this way I cannot see what he is about—for a large man, he moves quietly (from long practice)—and I shriek as pudgy hands land on my hips and I drop my playbook.

“Down, strumpet!” he trumpets in my ear.

I fall to my knees and scrabble for the playbook, bringing myself on a level with the fall of his breeches, and it is not a pleasant sight, gravy stains and straining buttons. Having found my place again, I respond with throbbing pathos, “Kill me tomorrow: let me live tonight!”

“Nay if you strive—” Othello strives to get his hand into my bosom.

“But half an hour!” I must be the only Desdemona who wishes the scene to last but half a minute.

Sloven hauls me to my feet, a firm grip on bosom and thigh. “Being done, there is no pause.”

And there certainly is not. I scramble to my feet and run around the couch. “But while I say one prayer!”

Sloven lumbers after me, breathing heavily with the effort. I grab a pedestal, a good two-foot length of sturdy wood painted to look like marble, and thrust it in his direction.

“It is too late!” Sloven says with gusto, but not as Shakespeare intended, tossing his playbook aside and bearing me onto the couch, hoisting my skirts.

I swing the pedestal and it meets the side of his head with a loud thud.

He drops like a stone onto the couch that cracks beneath his weight and slowly subsides to the floor in a ruin of gilt wood and velvet. Blood spreads in a dark pool on the floorboards.

And don’t forget to enter the LOLRegencies 2010 contest! You can also visit My Jane Austen Book Club where I’m chatting today and giving away a copy each of Jane and the Damned and Bespelling Jane Austen.

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A Particular Regency World

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Elena’s point about our own particular Regency worlds, all perhaps a bit different, made an impression on me. How true it is! Even if we were writing non-fiction, biographies or histories, we still would be putting it through the prism of our own vision. This got me thinking….

Two Victorian artists, Marcus Stone and Edmund Blair Leighton, created a romanticized Regency full of images that you might find familiar. These artists looked back in time and imagined their own idea of the Regency.

Take a look at the painting on the left, a beautiful Regency scene. It’s no surprise that this painting by Marcus Stone graced the cover of Janet’s The Rules of Gentility.

Marcus Stone started his career illustrating books for Charles Dickens, who had been a friend of Stone’s father and took an interest in 19 year old Marcus, when the elder Stone died. Late in his career, Stone specialized in these sentimental paintings that present a very pretty, idealized version of the Regency (and make the images desireable for book covers).

Here are some more of Stone’s Regency Paintings.

Edmund Blair Leighton, like Stone, was the son of an artist, but his father died when Leighton was two years old. Although he trained for a different career, art turned out to be in his blood. He specialized in historical paintings of the medieval and Regency period. His first painting was accepted at the Royal Academy.

Here are some of his romantic Regency paintings:

Yes, these paintings are very sentimental and idealized, but what I love about them is that they all tell a story. The last one is called Playing for the Reverend, but can’t you just spin a story around that one? Or the one with the naval officer. What did he say to her?

Leighton was largely forgotten as an artist, even though his paintings were very popular in their day. In fact, he painted an iconic medieval image that I’ll bet you’ve seen over and over. It’s called The Accolade.

Have you seen these images? Have you seen them on a bookcover? What’s your assessment of the Regency world they depict?

I’ll be back at my own blog on Thursday, Veteran’s Day!

And don’t forget to enter Janet’s LOL Regency contest! I’m working on my entry!

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Live Long and Prosper!

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By popular request (Amanda’s), here are my Vulcans. Note the properly stoic expressions. My older one is a science officer in Starfleet; the younger is still living on Vulcan and studying for the Starfleet Academy entrance exams. We always have a script. 🙂

We like to carve pumpkins to go with the theme. Here they are. We are rather proud of them, but we are not the only ones to do this. Googling around, I found some really amazing Star Trek themed pumpkins. I also found this Jane Austen pumpkin. Cool, no?

“Shared worlds” like Star Trek are a lot of fun. Other popular shared worlds are Oz, Tolkien’s Middle Earth, the world of Harry Potter, and historical periods like the Regency.

People love these worlds so much that they create collections, go to conventions and play dress-up. They also get upset if there are inaccuracies (or perceived inaccuracies) in their portrayal. There are all sorts of reactions, from the reasonable to ones who have perhaps forgotten that this is all in fun? There are people who created online lists of every deviation from the books in Peter Jackson’s LOTR films. A friend who does Civil War reenactments has been criticized for using a machine to make her dresses.
And probably every author of Regency romance has or will hear from a reader upset over her depiction of the Regency.

Sometimes these are about real historical inaccuracies–Regency fans are extremely knowledgeable and authors can and do make mistakes, despite sincere attempts at accuracy. (It’s the stuff you didn’t realize to look up that bites you.) But I also think some readers form their notion of the Regency not from history, but from other books they’ve read, which adds to the confusion.

There are so many variations on the Regency. There’s the real historical Regency. There’s the Regency according to Jane Austen: accurate, but limited to the sorts of events and situations she experienced personally. (For instance, I read that she never wrote a scene with only male characters.) There’s a somewhat different Regency in Georgette Heyer’s books. A slightly different version again in the old traditional Regencies, and yet again with the long historicals.
There’s no other way to explain readers who think no one had sex during the Regency (I got that in an Amazon review once). Perhaps there are some now who think dukes regularly married courtesans. (Improbable, but why not?)

I find it hilarious–and also kind of charming–how many versions of the Regency authors have created. How many more peers of the Realm can the island possibly hold? Yeah, I’m guilty of adding my part. Though I do my research, I know that the world I depict is largely in my own head. I hope readers will enjoy it, too. That’s the whole point.

What do you think? have other favorite shared worlds? Did you “visit” any of them for Halloween?

Elena
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Floundering Friday

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What’s this? Carolyn is totally biting my ‘have nothing to say let’s be witty instead’ style of post?

Time for a throwdown. Only, since I tend to accept others’ premises (yes, therapists have long reminded me of that) I will likely defer to Carolyn’s superior insouciance.

So, shoot.

I got nothing.

Last week, I talked about doing NaNoWriMo; during the subsequent week, I’ve come to realize it is just not for me, but I am writing more than usual, so perhaps that is a nice side-effect of the NaNo Guilt?

I’m finishing up a short story set in the Regency about a returning soldier/viscount and the widow of his comrade. These two are quite different from the characters I’ve done in the past; the heroine is beautiful, and knows it. The hero is more beta than I think I’ve written before. He desires the heroine as soon as he meets her, but thinks she is above him. Because I’ve got nothing but my wit, here’s some of what I’ve been working on:

“What would you do if you had no responsibilities?” she asked, then immediately bit her lip as though regretting her question. Was she reading his mind? “Never mind, I should not have asked that.”

She turned with Joseph in her arms and began to set up a steady pace across the floor.

Mac’s heart hurt. “I think the prospect of no responsibilities was what led me to join the Army in the first place.” He watched as she paused before turning back towards him, maintaining the same slow walk. “But it didn’t work out that way.” He did not want to talk about himself, about what he should be doing. “What would you do?”

She met his gaze, her brown eyes narrowed in thought.

If he found her devastating when she was just being, it was nothing compared to what he thought when she was thinking. His knees actually felt weak.

“I think the same as you. No responsibilities.” She nodded to Joseph. “I’m not speaking of him.” She looked back up at him, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “I’ve just met him, and already can’t imagine life without him.”

Neither can I, Mac thought. A sudden pain hit his heart. When he left, he would be leaving Joseph. And her.

So–what would you do if you had no responsibilities?

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