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My October Cover…and the Sussex Coast

Here’s the cover of my October book, WHEN HORSES FLY, and I hope I can upload it and have it come out at a reasonable size….

The story takes place near Beachy Head on the southeastern coast of England…the castle is fictitional, of course, although I had some inspiration from Hastings Castle, only my fictitional one is not a ruin.

A link to the official Hastings site:

http://www.visithastings.com/attractions/default_castle.asp

And another:

http://www.discoverhastings.co.uk/discover_hastings/index2.html

Here are a few pictures of Beachy Head, The Seven Sisters, and the coast:

A long look down from the top of Beachy Head…the site of more than a few suicides…

And finally, a shot of Birling Gap, which figured in smuggling history among other things.

Laurie

Inspiration


Inspiration can come at the most unexpected times—visiting a lovely, historic place, as the posts this week have demonstrated; seeing a movie with a particularly attractive (some would say hunky) man; reading a book, even if it’s not a romance (man, the ideas I’ve gotten from Dashiell Hammett’s Maltese Falcon. No, just kidding.)
Chances are, each writer’s inspiration is idiosyncratic, speaking to our most primal thoughts and images. For example, I like visiting a nice historic site, but I don’t think I’d get inspired to write because of it, even if I went to Gretna Green, found a blacksmith, and did that whole anvil thing. All five of my fellow bloggers have posted about places they found inspiring.
Me, I’d probably just look around a little and then go find where they sell the coffee.
It’s not that I don’t enjoy visiting historic places, I do; but I don’t feel my writer’s soul quiver when I’m there. For inspiration, I reach back into what I first loved about Happily Ever After stories and come up with two main sources:
A friend of my mother’s gave me The Green Fairy Book when I was born (I’m certain my parents would have preferred burp cloths, but there you go). Needless to say, it took me a couple of years after that to actually read it. And when I did, my romantic streak was born. Andrew Lang collected and compiled fairy stories from all over the world, from Europe to Africa to Asia. His translations, accompanied by H.J. Ford’s amazing art, defined, and continues to define, romance for me.

There are twelve colored fairy books in all, and I would say I’ve read them all close to a hundred times each. When my copies got too worn out and mildewed, my husband replaced them as a birthday present (and this was before the internet made thoughtful shopping so easy).
Also when I was little, my parents and I lived in New Hampshire (stick with me, I am going somewhere). Since both of them worked, I went to a neighbor’s house after school to play with her daughter and her friend’s two daughters. My babysitter was Trina Schart Hyman, a multiple Caldecott Honor Award winning illustrator. Trina’s artwork featured beautiful, independent women with long, wild hair and handsome, honorable men doing noble deeds (it also featured a guy who looked suspiciously like my dad, Trina’s martini-drinking buddy. I always got the olives.).

I read, and re-read, and re-read these stories hundreds of times. I imagined myself disguised as a boy and rescuing a prince from a dragon. I imagined myself sleeping for twenty years and being awoken by a prince. I imagined myself watching as a prince completed an impossible task set him by my father (notice the plethora of princes?) . Of course, I imagined myself as beautiful, graceful and quick-witted as these heroines, too, even though I was a chubby glasses-wearing asthmatic (I’m not chubby anymore, but don’t ever put my glasses near your cat).
And when it came time to write, I didn’t even give it a second thought. I would write a romance, a story where I knew the ending was going to be happy. Those are the stories, and images, that make me happy. That inspire me.

Jane Eyre

Even people who haven’t read “Jane Eyre” know what it’s about. They know who Mr. Rochester is, they know about the mad wife in the attic, they know the heroine is a friendless governess. I found this out after writing an alternative erotic novella based on JE (called “Reader, I Married Him,” one of the book’s most famous lines)–and I showed it to a few other writers for critique. They immediately knew what it was about whether they’d read JE or not. (In my version, btw, it’s Mr. Rochester who’s chained up in the attic.)
It’s not my favorite Bronte–that’s “Villette,” also by Charlotte Bronte, a real kick-ass book that is even more brave, puzzling, difficult, and frustrating than JE (go to my website, http://www.janetmullany.com/aboutjanet.htm, to read my thoughts on that book).
I hate the fact that JE runs away from Rochester because he wants her to become his mistress–the fact that he’s lied through his teeth to her and taken advantage of her lowly status and lack of connections doesn’t really seem to bother her as much. The sexiest part of it is not the love scenes with Rochester (which I find cringeworthy), but life at Lowood. I remember reading it during adolescence and getting all steamed up in the early part of the book and bored with the rest of it, and couldn’t really understand why. Wasn’t it Mr. R who was supposed to float my boat? Although I have to admit that first meeting with the hound and the mysterious figure on horseback has a wonderful, mythic quality to it. The first sentence of the book is extraordinary for an era that specialized in purple prose (in which Charlotte Bronte did pretty well)–blunt, atmospheric, spare:
There was no possibility of taking a walk that day.
Very fitting for a book that is about repression, choices made from necessity, and the lack of opportunity for action.
My daughter, a tough, cynical sophomore (and English major) told me she was quite shocked by JE. Why? Well, there’s all that talk about mistresses, she said. It is an extraordinarily frank book in that regard–although of course all of Mr. R’s messing about took place on the Continent, where Englishmen went to behave like, well, foreigners. That makes it all the more shocking when he sets out to entrap Jane into a bigamous marriage. As for the fate of the first Mrs. R, it does make you wonder how many mentally ill female family members were quietly tucked away under the eaves. Better than sending them to a mental hospital, of course, but the same treatment could be meted out to disobedient or eccentric wives.
JE may be the first historical regency gothic. It was published in 1847, and is placed somewhere in the regency period. There are a few hints–a reference to a novel by Walter Scott, for instance–that place the novel anywhere in the first twenty-five years of the nineteenth century. I think Bronte is being deliberately obscure–it’s set in that period when England hovered on the brink of change that came about with the 1832 reform bill. It was a period that fascinated the Victorians–much of Dickens and George Eliot is set in the late 1820s–because afterward, everything was different. She’s writing about a time that is now history, from the perspective of the present, deliberately manipulating fact to fit fiction.
So, I really can’t avoid this: JE as a great love story. Well, yes, but… There’s Jane’s capitulation and surrender (on an emotional, not physical level) to Mr. R–almost–she’s always holding herself back, playing it safe, exercising caution and control. Jane is constantly reminding us of Mr. R’s brooding physical presence, his size, and ugliness, a Beast she cannot tame. It’s only when he’s debilitated by the fire that he become safe enough to domesticate. I don’t necessarily agree with the favorite theory that it’s more than his arm and eye that got damaged in the fire (and then how on earth did Jane get pregnant–I mean, I wonder anyway, but really, that’s just dumb…), but now Jane is the strong one, the heroine who makes the choice to begin her journey with him.
Comments, anyone?
Janet

Playing Dress-up

I’ve been loving this thread about places, and definitely want to return to it! But since I just got done sorting through my summer photos, I thought I’d share this one of some of us during the Beau Monde conference in Reno.

I’m the one in the middle. That’s Cara to my left, looking very cute. (Sorry Cara, you are cute! And I envy your skill at Regency dances. And your left foot, a left foot that actually knows it’s your left foot and not your right…) To the right is our good friend Regina Scott aka Regan Allen (www.reganallen.com). I miss that rakish dandy Sir Reginald Scott, who has made appearances at previous soirees, but I have to say Lady Regina is most elegant! As for me, although the high-waisted Regency style doesn’t highlight the real waist that I do have (honest, it’s under there somewhere) and anyone who knows me can tell I’d had a few glasses of merlot by that point, I don’t care!

It was fun, though looking at the pictures from the soiree did make me think about why we like to dress up in period costume.

It isn’t as if anyone is actually going to mistake me for Elizabeth Bennett on the dance floor. Maybe more like Mr. Collins, occasionally coming close to bumping into the other dancers and messing up the entire figure. Though of course real Regency folk would have many more opportunities to practice, it’s not as easy as they make it look in the movies!

It is actually a good learning experience to don somewhat-accurate period clothing and try to recreate period activities (though I hasten to say I am not a purist and did not have my costume hand-sewn, as I’ve heard some Civil War reenactors do).

But I think the bottom line is some of us never really outgrow the urge to dress up. I figure inside me there’s still a five-year-old who clumps around in her mother’s pumps, a necklace swinging way past her belly-button.

It’s just fun.

Elena
LADY DEARING’S MASQUERADE – an RT Top Pick – available now
www.elenagreene.com