Cutting Room Floor

What happens when you have to cut a beloved part of your first draft? Oh, I am in agonies! I wrote the following excerpt from Revising Mr. Right in response to a writing group exercise, and it doesn't fit with the rest of my novel at all. For one thing, it's written in first-person and the rest of the novel is third-person POV. For another, if I included this excerpt then I'd have to write about a whole camping trip... and that leaves them up in the woods too long. Not good. I want the ex-boyfriend to have quick and easy access to SeaTac Airport, so he can get the hell out of my narrative.

So. I know I need to cut it. And yet... it's so fun to write about men behaving badly. I feel weirdly attached to this scene. I enjoy it more than the alternative "pissing contest" I've set up over a game of pool. And I also feel bizarre and slightly naked posting it on this blog, but I wanted it to exist somewhere in the world, if only for a little while.

Soon I will feel self-conscious and paranoid and ashamed of taking up so much space on DSW. At that point, I'm sure, I'll remove it from the blogosphere. But in the mean time... here's an excerpt that won't make any sense to anyone but the Flitgirl. With that warning, please feel free to wade through my prose. And if you manage to get through to the end, riddle me this:

What's an author to do when an alien chunk of cut text feels more fun than the rest of her draft, but would spin the final third of her (much beleaguered) manuscript in a wholly new direction?

* * * * *

Revising Mr. Right
by Kate Diamond
Jessica Jo Carter, the heroine, tells her story (excerpt):

Bad things happen when I feel generous. Case in point: Walter sitting in the cab of Jude's truck, his knees not quite relaxed because he doesn't want his khakis making any more contact than necessary with the old, duct-taped bench seat.

I'm literally sitting between the two of them, wishing I could be anywhere but here--except not really, because then they'd be alone in the vehicle without my specialized supervision. Perish the thought.

I never should have said yes to this. It was supposed to be just like old times, a birthday camping trip--leave the presents in the trunk, hike in enough cupcakes and Ramen to last us the weekend. The only difference was that now we were actually old enough to bring beer. Oh, and Becca was on her cell phone every five minutes making sure her deadbeat husband hadn't managed to lose, mangle, or kill their kid in her absence.

And Walter. Walter was suddenly there, too, an outlier with his oatmeal colored Eddie Bauer sweater and barely concealed hostility. Why my ex thought it so important to join us--to the tune of $800 in new camping equipment--was beyond me. Personally, I could have done without the Cape Cod contingency.

He didn't really love me. I think we both knew that by now. When I'd told him to get over himself and go back to Boston, I think he was just annoyed to hear the word "no." I mean, let's face it: we were never the best match on earth. He spent countless hours drilling me in etiquette and railing against my aversion to pantyhose and high heels. And from my point of view, no true romantic should ever marry a guy who thinks faxing a prenup counts as proposing.

He knew all this. I'm sure he did. But Walter? Walter hated to lose. For that reason he refused to leave without a fight, and Jude seemed more than willing to give him one. This left me on horrified standby, wondering why men's logic seems to drop as their testosterone levels rise. Suddenly, my childhood best friend felt the need to pose and beat his chest over me--would probably drag me around by my hair if I let him. It was creepy. More than that, it was obnoxious. After all, thanks to Jude's lack of maturity my nostalgic birthday trip was about to turn into some sort of nature boy pissing contest.

If he'd listened to me, we'd all be spared some heartache. I'd told him he'd win any kind of contest against Walter, hands down. I'd said that he was my choice, that I was staying the Northwest for good this time, and that I wanted to make things work between the two of us. But apparently Jude didn't believe me. Either that, or he felt the need to test my love by goading my ex in the great outdoors.

I'd tried to change his mind that night at the bar, when he first issued the invitation--or was it challenge? I'd made another effort when we were packing up the food supplies and adding extra rations for Walter. This morning was my last attempt. By mile twenty, I'd realized that Jude refused to hear anything I'd try to say to him. He was too busy being macho, singing along with Johnny Cash to the "Cocaine Blues."

"Don't you have anything else we could listen to?" Walter practically hissed.

"Sorry, Walt," Jude laughed, not sounding sorry at all. If we hadn't caught the insincerity in his voice, the fact that he then turned up the volume was a big tip-off. And I couldn't believe he had the audacity to glare at me, as if this was somehow my fault.

I crossed my arms over my chest and hoped he could read my mind: no sleeping bag nookie for you, Neanderthal Boy. Finished glaring at my annoying beloved, I stared out the windshield at the car up ahead of us.

Hmm. All things considered, maybe I should have ridden with Becca after all.

* * * * *

All rights reserved. No part of this Revising Mr. Right excerpt may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the author's written permission except in the case of brief, credited quotations embodied in critical comments.

Oh. My. Gawd

I'm done.

DONE.

DONE!

No more plot holes. No more rewrites. No more fixing.

I'm e-mailing it to my first writer acquaintence tonight. Sending it in the mail to others (and to the long-suffering Kate D.) as soon as I can get my ass to Kinkos.

Holy crap, I'm actually doing this. I know I'm not sending it to agents and editors yet, but I'm still nervous at the thought of someone who doesn't know and love me, someone in the biz with an objective eye, reading over this thing I've created. My people, my world, all 418 pages worth of it.

Okay, Wedding Widow, it's in your hands now. I've got to get started researching con men. The next book's not going to write itself.

A blog by any other name...

Would not be Damned Scribbling Women, unfortunately. But if I haven't been blogging here much of late about romance and romance writing, I have been blogging elsewhere about love.

I'd love all of DSW's dedicated readers (however many that may be) to check out my new writing venture at the New York Observer's Bridal Blog, where I'm one of several brides and a few grooms blogging about our wedding plans. All names and identities are real names and identities, so here's a hint to identify my posts: I didn't recently discover I'm pregnant, I don't run a profitable wedding stationery business, and I'm having a full-on, girly-as-all-hell wedding in July '07.

Enjoy!

Anyone for Travel Lit?

I ask this question for several reasons.

(1) I recently read Sarah Vowell's Assassination Vacation, which is an excellent book. Seriously. Highly recommended for anyone who likes American history, historical plaques, and road trips to obscure landmarks and/or graveyards. (Yes, Theresa, this means you...)

(2) I'm currently writing a course prospectus for my Pacific Northwest independent study. The students in this theoretical class I'm creating are writing a regional travel guide for their final Geography assessment...

(3) ...which makes me want to go on a real road trip to some of these places I'm looking at, but instead I'm stuck here, slogging away at all this stuff that's due June 5th. (Pause. Panic.)

(4) Writing a course for Pacific Northwest History makes me think about how much I'd love to teach an interdisciplinary humanities course entitled "Travel Literature," in which students read such edifying works as Assassination Vacation and Confederates in the Attic. Perhaps a bit of Bill Bryson, as well? And then they go on their own road trip to inspire a final project travel memoir... a bit farfetched, I know, but a teacher can dream...

(5) And then I think, why aren't there more romance novels about road trips? Does anyone know any good ones? 'Twould be a great summer read.

(5) And finally, being stuck inside writing curriculum on a gorgeous Memorial Day makes me want to rip my hair out and/or take a mini-break away from it all. Alas, I haven't the time. Instead, I shall have to content myself with taking a mental mini-break, back to a more carefree time when The Boyfriend took me on a day-trip to the Skagit Valley Tulip Festival and I was free to take pretty photos of my beloved... Ah, memories...



So, to get back to the point: anyone have any good travel literature recommendations for the theoretical class I wish to teach someday? Or, better yet, can you add some road trip romance novel titles to my summer reading list?

Now what is love? I pray thee, tell

Yet what is love? I pray thee sain.
It is a sunshine mixed with rain;
It is a tooth-ache, or like pain;
It is a game where none hath gain;
The lass saith no, and would full fain:
And this is love, as I hear sain.

Yet what is love? I pray thee say.
It is a yea, it is a nay,
A pretty kind of sporting fray;
It is a thing will soon away;
Then take the vantage while you may:
And this is love, as I hear say.
— Sir Walter Raleigh

The spirited debate on love--functional, dysfunctional, ethical, selfish and otherwise--that the Grey's Anatomy finale inspired in our comments section got me pondering the subject that dramatists, poets, etc. have pondered for centuries. Does true love require pain? Madness? The rejection of all else? Or is it something far more rational and practical and orderly?

Seeing that I'm an aspiring romance novelist, my take on the subject may surprise. But I don't believe in perfect love. I don't believe "true" love is willing to flout all laws, conventions and morals to be with the loved object. I believe what a lot of people celebrate as true love is really just redirected narcissismism.

I do believe in soul mates. I do believe there is a right person out there for everyone. But I also know that keeping a marriage together takes work and effort and sacrifice, and that a person who behaves wrongly toward others in the name of "love" will eventually behave wrongly in spite of love.

So how does a girl write romance without all the angst? Very carefully. Romance novels require confusion and obstacles and arguments and missed cues and mixed messages. But I hope that my characters have a kindness toward each other and an understanding of each other that transcends the drama. I hope they behave better because of their relationship, not worse. I hope to never write a book in which readers can't picture my characters having a happy, contented, fulfilling life together after the action is finished. I'd like my eventual readers to be able to close the book and picture my characters as an old man and woman sitting alone in a room, not saying anything but happy to be near one another. That to me is true love.

Final Word on Grey's Finale

ON THE SUBJECT OF IZZIE, CONT.

Kate D: Is it wrong that in this whole storyline, the thing I liked most was Alex? I mean which would you rather see: Psychotic Barbie having a meltdown, or Evil Seed Ken riding to her unwarranted (but totally hot) rescue? You're right, Flit. There's something wonderful about Alex Karev.

Flitgirl: If you're wrong, I never ever want to be right. That was an uncomfortable moment for me, solely because I was watching the show with a passel of rabid Denny fans (who knew?) who were sobbing their eyes out and I wanted to cheer. At least this story line is over. And the possibility of Izzy and Alex's much more fun type of banter is...?

But really, Izzy didn't deserve her friends to stand up for her like that, and she doesn't deserve to be a doctor. She fell in love with a patient. I know, blah blah can't help who you fall in love with. Bullshit. She didn't have to let herself go down that path. She knew it was wrong. And this is the perfect illustration of why. Her emotional involvement caused her to make stupid illegal decisions that endangered her patient, threatened the hospital and deprived a guy with two kids of a heart.

I'm torn. I want the character on the show, but I'll be really, really mad if they let her get away with this.

Kate D: Yeah, I loved the show of intern solidarity... but her behavior was totally unethical and she didn't deserve it. (The others were a little unethical, too, but I can be forgiving of them.) Still, the sight of George and Alex walking out with her like bodyguards at the end was pleasing. Though I must say, the pink dress only solidified everything that annoyed me about Emotionally Unstable Izzie. Buy your CoDependent Barbie today! Now dressed for the prom! Ick.

Flitgirl: Or a new special series from Harlequin, “I Have No Life Of My Own.” Please get this character back on track. Confused and emotional I can handle. Morbidly self-destructive and feminist nightmare I can not. (BTW I just peeked into the Writer's Blog on the official site. Holy Crap do people love Denny. Like, want-to-kill-their-husbands-and-children-for-a-chance-to-have-a-real-life-Denny love. What are we missing, Kate?)

ON THE SUBJECT OF CALLIE, CONT.

Flitgirl: I think Sara Ramirez is gorgeous (and much smaller in person) but it may have been a mistake to pair her with such a little man. They're so well matched I kept thinking they were going to get into a physical altercation in that hallway.

Kate D: Okay, I'm glad I'm not the only one. I was waiting for a little domestic violence in the OR... and any hits George got in would definitely be in self-defense. Hm. Can I just say for the record that I'm still in love with George? I realize this puts me in the minority, but I don't care. In fact, I kind of like it. He's mine. All mine.I loved what he had to say to Callie about making it mean something when he said "I love you" back, though I have my doubts that this particular couple will ever actually get there.

And one of my favorite moments of the show had to be when George and Meredith were left in time-out together and he apologized to her for his actions on The Night That Shall Not Be Named. How marvelous. Coupled with his explanation to Callie that Meredith is family, and he can be pissed at her but he'll always defend her? So pleasant. Also, nice that Callie tied Meredith's dress for her after McSkeazy dirty-mistress-ied her up.

Flitgirl: I forgot that dress-tying moment, and I really liked it. But I wonder if it will have repercussions. Callie's not an intern so she doesn't have that loyalty. And she doesn't like Meredith.

George finally admitting his own culpability in The Night of Crying Sex was much needed. Even the rabid Denny-fans/George-haters I watched with agreed.

Kate D: Who are these George-haters? Why are you friends with them? Just kidding. I think. (I feel a need to soften up that last comment with a little punctuation smiley face, but then I would be That Girl Who Crossed Into Emoticon Land and it might be over for me.)

ON THE SUBJECT OF MCLAMEASS, CONT.

Flitgirl: I feel for Addison so much, but this was inevitable, wasn't it? And...kinda hot? I think this storyline will go in one of two ways. Either: Meredith and Derek get back together and Addison is hurt and has lots of sympathy and finds herself a great new man who appreciates her and loves her and has sex in ORs with her. Or: Meredith won't get back together with Derek because of all the "You did the right thing" talk to the Chief. I think the latter's more likely, but I hope Addie still gets the OR-sex-having new man.

Kate D: Wow. This sex scene revealed that I am actually quite a prude. Here I am, big bad romance novelist-in-embryo... and yet the sight of McDreamy rolling down Meredith's nylons made me blush. It might have been hot, except I kept thinking "You adulterous bastard!" Sorry, Flit. I just can't get behind McDreamy on this one. Now all he needs to do is have sex with Izzie and it can be Lack of Ethics Fest 2006. I think Nicole B. over on the writer's web said it best when she posted, "So McDreamy and McTramp'n'whiny got it on." (Implication: so what?)

I've got to say that I would love for Addison to meet a man. A nice man. One who is not a surgeon, but is brilliant in his own way. Maybe she could knock boots with McVet. Or maybe they could introduce a professor from UW and they could have hot tweed jacket sex surrounded by books? (Pause. Kate D retreats to her own private fantasy world.)

ON THE SUBJECT OF PATIENTS

Flitgirl: Hey it's Tessa Thompson (aka Jackie) from Veronica Mars playing the Chief's niece (You don't want to know how many VM actors I've spotted on this show. I think someone in the casting department has a thing for Kristen Bell). That was a sweet story...but why the hell were all the doctors in the hospital at the prom? Shortsighted much?

Kate D: I think it's so we could see them all in formal wear. And on that subject... awh, Addison was a band geek. How cute is that? And yet how horrible. Poor Addy. You had a horrible prom the first time, and the second time is actually worse because your date/husband is leaving you to screw the intern. Again. And he's not really making a secret of what he's done with the guilty McPuppy Eyes. Bastard.

Flitgirl: Patrick Dempsey, Chris O'Donnell and Justin Chambers in tuxes. I think I see the rationale now.

ON THE SUBJECT OF BURKETINA, CONT.

Kate D: I spent two whole hours screaming at the screen, "What the hell is Christina's problem? Character violation! Violation!" I know the woman has commitment issues, but she was there when Burke needed her after Musical Heart Guy died. I refuse to believe that she couldn't handle this. Thank God for hand-squeezing at the end... I almost had to threaten to stop watching the show.

Flitgirl: That didn't seem like character assassination to me. It was frustrating and painful to watch, but felt in character. Christina's a runner. But more than that, what was in jeopardy here was Burke's future as a surgeon. I don't think there was anyway Christina could process that rationally and put aside her own preoccupations. She's a rather selfish person, still. But I'm glad they pulled them back together. They're still my favorite couple.

Kate D: I guess you're right. She needed time to process. But I'm glad they got them back together... because on the one hand it seemed like she was being selfish, and I couldn’t take it. But then she talked to the chief and I was like "Aha!" And finally she showed up with Burke and I got all warm and fuzzy.

Flitgirl: Oh, that conversation with the chief. Send Sandra Oh her Emmy already. She was heartbreaking.

Grey's Season 2, First Finale Analysis

ON THE SUBJECT OF IZZIE

Kate D: Okay, watching her freak out in Denny's room I actually felt uncomfortable. I squirmed and covered my eyes because I couldn't stand watching a previously rational woman whine, "What about me? Don't go towards the light!" I was aching for her to get caught.

Flitgirl: DIE DENNY, DIE!!!!

Ahem, now that that's over with. What are the writers doing to one of my favorite characters? She worked her ass off to get out of the trailer park and into med school. She gave up her daughter for adoption to build a better, different life for herself. And now she's declaring "I don't care about my medical career!" for the sake of some unshaven lug who talks through his chin? Did they forget who she is and where she's come from? Is there some in-character justification for this I just don't see? Or did the writers' yank this out of their collective ass because they thought it would be dramatic? Why? WHY??????

Kate D: I agree. It felt like character violation… maybe one of the reasons I was so uncomfortable. And then at the end, when she pulls George into her mess, all I could think was that I hope he doesn’t get in trouble for her stupidity.

I’ve got to say, I’m really not happy with this storyline. One of the things I originally loved about this show was the prevalence of strong female characters—yes, they may have been flawed. But they were brilliant and capable and ultimately admirable. Now, Izzie is a nightmare romance novel heroine—she works really hard for a career and then gives it all up for some toss-pot she barely knows. Ugh. Enough soap opera drama already—we liked it back when the characters had some intelligence!

ON THE SUBJECT OF CALLIE

Flitgirl: I love Sara Ramirez, the actress. She was fantastic in Spamalot. But I'm confused about why Callie has turned from this ballsy here's-my-number chick into whimpering, cowering why-don't-you-like-me-enough girl. I'm not sure if this is realistic character development, but even if it is, I don't find it all that interesting to watch. At least George got some and can move on to a more appropriate (i.e. more sane) love interest. Which, I agree at last with Kate, he deserves.

Kate D: Word on the ballsy-to-cowering transformation. Though, have you noticed that, in addition to the lack of strength, she's started being mean? When we first met Callie, you got this sense that she was Hot Edgy Goth Chick. Now, she’s making fun of Meredith because her puppy has bone cancer. Who the hell does that? Not Nice.

ON THE SUBJECT OF MCLAME-ASS

Flitgirl: Okay, I have a confession...I like McDreamy. He's hot. (I just watched the fab ABC Family movie Lucky Number Seven again over the weekend so I'm kind of in a Patrick Dempsey can do no wrong stage). And...I like elevator scenes with Meredith and Derek.

But more than either of them, I love Addison. She's a fantastic surgeon, she's strong and beautiful, she's willing to fight for her marriage, own up to her mistakes, and finally, FINALLY, call Derek on his passive-aggressive victim act. She deserves soooo much better. Hers is the romantic journey I want to follow. Don't ever change, Addie! Mwah.

Kate D: Three cheers for Addie. 'Nough said.

ON THE SUBJECT OF BURKETINA

Flitgirl: Holy crap! Keep Burke alive!

Kate D: I’m going to be severely pissed if they do some sort of organ-donor “hardest choice I ever had to make” thing. Who gets the heart—Burke or Denny? Millions of lame women all over America will be squealing in the hopes that Denny lives, while I hurl popcorn at the screen and cheer him towards the light.

Or is it going to be one of these lame-ass things where Denny gets Burke’s heart and we lose Hot Turtleneck Surgeon for Sunken Neck “Virile” Man-Child? Oh, please. I hope not. There's only so much parallel storyline I can take. Besides, Isaiah Washington has created a fascinating, complex, and capable character. Unless the man had contract negotiation issues, I don’t see any way they could ethically replace him with Lame Guest Star Who Needs to Shave.

Live Free Or... Shop At Barnes & Nobles?

Interesting article in Slate today about the importance or lack thereof of the "death" of the independent bookstore. I have to ruefully confess that I do most of my bookshopping, such as it is, at the Barnes and Noble 4 blocks from my apartment. But when I'm at my parents' home in the suburbs, I split my time between the chain store and the local book and record exchange, where I buy (and unload) most of my romance reading.

I haven't found a similarly great, romance-based used book store here in the city. Is there one? If any of our phantom readers knows of a great NYC store, holla, okay? As it is, I'm forced to unload the non-keepers on my unsuspecting – err, grateful friends.

For all Tyler Cowen's pooh-poohing of the importance of the indies, I think the fill an important function in genre fiction. While independent general bookstores have faded away, those focused on romance or mystery or children's writing still manage to persist. Perhaps it's because, with the tremendous volume of books published in each of those areas each month, let alone each year, readers value the guidance ofknowledgeablee owners who can steer them toward great newcomers and away from the duds.

Or maybe I'm crazy and those stores are all fading just as fast.

How about you? Where do you buy your books? What's your take on Indies vs. Chainies (Cheneys!)?

Employed in Oly

It's official: I'm no longer a starving not-quite-artist with zero job prospects and stupid PowerPoint presentations to distract me from my novel. I still have the looming PowerPoint reports... and the creeping fear that all this sociology work is causing atrophy in my historian's brain. But I am no longer an unemployed waif.

That's right. I came, I saw, I conquered: after sending out one job application, I am now the proud recipient of one job offer. Huzzah! Looks like I'll be relocating to Olympia, Washington at some point this summer. I'll be teaching 9th grade Language Arts at my old high school, which means I'll get to build curriculum for Romeo & Juliet and To Kill A Mockingbird. I'll also have front row seats to The Boyfriend's awkward interactions with former teachers--that's right, we went to the same high school--whenever I force him to attend office Christmas parties. Oh, yes. The stories I shall be telling on this blog!

In addition to my new role of "adult with 401(k)," I'm also going to inherit a cat. Oh, and did I mention that I'm going to be an aunt? Yes, my sister-in-law is pregant. With triplets. Hence part of my desire to move back to Olympia... my brother's going to be outnumbered by babies from the get-go, and I figure they're going to need lots of help.

A house with a yard. A job teaching great literature. A cat. No more stupid PowerPoint reflections on What I've Learned About Performance Assessment. No more roommates to distract me from Chapter Twelve of The Neverending Novel. And babies. Blood-relative babies that I can love and spoil and introduce to The Paper Bag Princess, all without a single mandatory diaper-changing...

Toes on the Cliff's Edge

It's official. I'm afraid to finish my book. I have a quarter of one chapter left to revise and I just...can't...do it. There's nothing more terrifying than staring into the void of queries, slush piles and rejections.

I have made two baby-steps in the right direction. First, after years of talking, thinking and planning about it, I finally joined RWA (Romance Writers of America, for the uninitiated). I'm going to go to my NY local chapter meeting on June 3rd. I have a huge packet of Editors and Agents in the industry (they're in caps because that's how I think of them) with everything they seek to acquire and their addresses. And it's recent as of May '06.

Second, I've been e-mailing my writer acquaintances and asking if they'll look over my ms. You never know, one of them could love it so much they refer me to their Agent. A girl can dream. Even if they don't, feedback from a professional is always worthwhile.

Finally, I'm going to rework my prologue and first chapter for submission in my first contest on June 1st. With Kate D's copious assistance, of course.

And then I free fall?

Beacon from the Past

Fun fact: long before the advent of blogs, I was keeping old-fashioned paper journals. I have diaries dating back to seventh grade, when each entry was basically an excuse to use purple ink and dot my i's with hearts.

In a fit of trying-to-avoid-my-second-sex-scene, I told myself that I needed to get out my old journals and look through them for writing inspiration. The high school years were too dramatic to face (I regret to say I used excessive capital letters like a Victorian novelist) but the college years have been hilarious to revisit. I'm not sure I'll ever use any of this for writing inspiration, but it certainly is fun to explore old angst. For instance, this entry is from the summer right after college, when I was living on the Jersey shore and working at a bed-and-breakfast:

I must admit, the day did not begin auspiciously. There are always one or two obnoxious guests at the Beacon House and this morning was no exception. It's always the bottle blondes, I swear. This one chastized me for the dust on the sideboard, admonished Theresa for not clearing the table quickly enough, and complained that her tea water tasted faintly of coffee. We had a great time in the service kitchen bitching about her. She was not as bad as the hungover aerobics instructor, however. She and her friends, I think, merely existed as a warning to me and Theresa. They were the early 30-somethings from Hell. Watching them, Theresa and I decided to perform mercy killings upon one another if we ever show signs of 1) living our lives to be hung over every weekend 2) yelling at service staff for such inconsequential things as not topping off coffee to the imaged appropriate centimeter 3) contemplating affairs with married men and finally 4) ever making a living off of Jazzercise.

This, dear people, is why we need friends. Gal pals keep us sane, whole, and in touch with that little thing I like to call reality. This is also why I feel that the friend characters in romance novels have to be absolutely excellent. Your heroine's best friend must be able to steer her away from crushes on men who a) are married and b) do Jazzercise.

In honor of best friends everywhere, I ask you: of the novels you've read, what novels contain the best "friend" characters ?

Support Our Show!

At the risk of turning this into a tv-recap site rather than a romance reading/writing blog, I have to interrupt our irregularly scheduled posting to alert all readers to the fact that tonight is the season, possibly the series, finale of my, nay our, beloved Veronica Mars.

Please watch. For me? Okay, not for me, watch for you. If this show gets the dreaded c-word (no, not see you next Tuesday) I'm throwing away my tv and reveling in old episodes of Lois & Clark and my season 1 Veronica DVDs. My show needs you. SUPPORT MY SHOW!

Ahem. 9 pm. UPN (Channel 9 in New York). I swear you'll love it, even if you have no idea what's going on. They're solving a bus crash! Epic (teenage) love! She's smart and feisty!

Don't make me come after you. I'm wily.

Grey's Anatomy: Damage Case

I must comment on last night's episode of Grey's Anatomy. Indulge me. I'm a dork. Without further ado, here are ten things that stuck out about "Damage Case."

(1) Damaged Hillbillies: Ha, ha, ha. A Hillbilly family got into a car crash. The mother powders her face in traction. She refers to her vagina as her "good girl." And the way they're all yelling at each other from various gurneys is like a frantic Walton family hollering goodnight to John-boy... but then it gets sad. And then it gets really sad. And then I start crying and feeling guilty because this poor guy might lose the 22-year-old big haired, hillbilly love of his life and how could I have laughed like that?

(2) Alex-hole: Just when I think I'll never forgive Karev for being an egocentric slime-wad, he does something semi-nice... because let's be honest, the man could never be purely nice, and therein lies the appeal. He might be evil, and he might betray his colleagues and his friends, but he'll never be a saccharine or self-righteous bore like Izzy. What other intern could manage to be morose after saving a baby's life? Who else would belittle an attending with such a complete lack of self-preservation? The man coined the term "She-Shepherd." For that alone, I love him... and I think it would be so, so great if he ended up joining the loathed Vagina Squad.

(3) She-Shepherd: Do you remember those fargone days when Addison was a Harpie Bitch Queen who was not worthy of McDreamy? What a difference a season makes! I have so much sympathy for this woman, and I'm so tired of seeing her make all this effort in her marriage while McFuck-Up (MFU) does his best to string two women along. Yeah, she slept with his best friend and this was a terrible, terrible thing. But she's trying to make amends. She doesn't play the victim every episode. And she doesn't sigh and cast come-hither-not-really gazes on defenseless interns. So I like her better than MFU.

(4) MFU: To all of the fans who persist in viewing Derek Shepherd as Meredith's Tragically Heroic Soulmate, I have this to say to you: stop smoking crack and get over it. This isn't the first time I've expressed my opinion regarding Derek's unfair I-can't-have-you-but-I-fully-intend-to-string-you-along behavior. But he reached new lows in this eppy. This man lied to Meredith about being married. He strung her along as he "made his choice." He keeps stringing her along with warm gazes and regretful one-liners, not the least of which was when he showed up in the wee smas after the bomb threat to say asinine things in Meredith's living room. Now he yelled at her in front of others, called her a whore in the stairwell, and mumbled bitterly that it was over before sweeping off like an over dramatic thirteen-year-old girl. People, it should be over. Really. But I don't think it is. And like me, you should be queasy over that prospect.

(5) Finn-tastic: In striking counterpoint to McTantrum-McAngry-McDouble Standard-McFuck Up, Chris O'Donnell's granola crunching vet is absolutely delightful. The man cooks. He treats Meredith to witty banter. He's not pulling her easy access slut-slut lever and getting her into bed. Instead he gives her wine and teases her that she's scary and damaged. He takes her to look at horse birth. And he's a vet... which makes him a rare breed, indeed. (Check the numbers, people. It's much harder to get into vet school than med school.) His speech at the end made me want to run my fingers through his hair and help him shave. Ah, McVet. Unlike some people you have cause to act like a whiny prima donna... and yet you don't. Marry me.

(6) Don't Mess this Mojo: I've got to say, I am not happy with this week's tension (and season finale's implied tension/breakup) between Christina and Burke. I love them together, and I think the dramatic possibilities within the relationship are much more interesting than creating yet another angsty we-broke-up-and-we've-got-awkward-colleague-stuff-happening dynamic. Was it just last week that we saw Christina comforting Burke after the death of Musical Heart Guy? Come on. More dancing around the kitchen together as Christina brushess her teeth. More competitive board game double dates. Less with the anger. Please? Thank you!

(7) Izzy's Tizzy: We have here a curvaceous, driven trailer park alumna who put herself through college despite the fact that her mother squandered her tuition money on a psychic. Getting to college involved no small sacrifice: in addition to her painfully public career as Bethany Whisper, Izzy also had a painfully secret teen pregnancy that ended with her daughter's adoption. Given all of this, why is she flirting with disaster in the form of DeadMeat Denny? Come on! I like the guy, too, but that's no reason to blow off an entire career. Besides, he's clearly toast. So stop smearing yourself all over the hospital bed already.

(8) Creepy Callie: Was anyone else delicously skeazed by Callie's morning bathroom appearance? It was hilarious, but I've got to say that when The Boyfriend was living with people I always put a shirt on before heading to the bathroom. Never assume that the roommates are gone and you can prance around naked. After all, they pay rent. You don't. But maybe I'm just being critical because I have yet to warm up to George-Callie. Maybe I just can't forgive her for the tragic haircut she inflicted on George. Or maybe I just think she's creepy and a little crazy and living in a boiler room.

(9) You Go, John Cho: Who'd have thought that guy from Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle could convey such pathos? I like the fact that the person who caused the Hillbilly Car Crash didn't have a medically valid excuse for his behavior. He didn't get to say to himself, "Oh, I have a tumor so I don't have to feel guilty." Instead, the fact that he was a sleep-deprived intern made it so much more poignant. When he escaped from Meredith to go observe the surgery, my heart broke a little. I'd also like to say the fact that they had an Asian intern makes me so happy... I feel like the multicultural casting on this show breaks a lot of prime time boundaries. It's also an accurate representation of Seattle.

(10) O'Malley Moment: I heart George. Really. Give me O'Malley over McDreamy any day. His interactions with Meredith in this show didn't get much buzz on the writer's blog, but they were the highlight of my Sunday night. He shows compassion. He extends the olive branch. And he still clearly has feelings for her, yet doesn't call her a whore in a stairwell. I can't say more than this. All I know is that I want to watch that scene in the locker room over again, where they're sitting there in awkward silence and he just says, "I'll see you at home." Melt, people. Melt.

Feel free to comment on the episode, my obsession, or the fact that I wrote this when I should be constructing a Personal Impact Plan for the purposes of No Child Left Behind.

"Romance," circa 1983

Hint, dear publishers: “no” means “no.”

Be forewarned: this is not the pleasant, light reading you usually find on this blog. No, this is a rant inspired by my recent perusal of How to Write Romance Novels That Sell, a writing guide from 1983. If you've ever read any romance in your life, please do the scribbling women a favor... read this post, read the comments, and join this important discussion.

I was glowing with excitement when the vintage writing book fell into my possession—after all, I love gendered advice books from bygone eras. Sadly, though, some of the writing advice was so distasteful that I couldn’t even label it as “quaint.” Instead, it angered me. For instance:

The most innocent of romances implies that the hero, if he so desires, can rape the heroine. The reader must be aware that the hero is free to do with the heroine as he likes. His size in comparison to hers helps to remind us that he is in control. That he doesn’t take advantage of her characterizes him and shows how truly he loves her.

Um… excuse me?! So, the hero should somehow score nice guy points because he doesn’t commit a degrading and illegal assault on the heroine? I don’t think so! Picture me vomiting. Then picture me reading onward with increasing horror as I was advised:

The reader must not feel disgusted by the actual rape scene. Early in the “bodice-ripper” romance plot, the heroine is usually raped by the hero; and we must remain sympathetic with both characters…These rapes are more acts of passion than of violence, and we mustn’t feel as we would while reading about an actual rape.[1]

Newsflash, people: rape is rape. It’s never okay, and I can pretty much guarantee that if your novel contains a forced sex scene, I’m going to spend the rest of the book waiting for the heroine to press charges and slap the "hero’s" ass in jail.

How’s that for disgust?

To be fair, I think the genre has come a long way in the twenty-plus years since this writing book was published. But reading this dated, appalling “advice” only serves to remind me that we still have work to do. I’m still reading too many stories about sissy heroines who find their hero’s domineering ways appropriate, attractive, and manly. I’m still reading about supposedly hot “anger sex” that treads a fine line between consensual and… well, something quite icky.*

Alpha males are one thing, folks, but reinforcing dangerous stereotypes and behavior—that’s something else, entirely.

* * * * *

[1] Marilyn M. Lowery, How to Write Romance Novels that Sell (Macmillan Publishing Company, New York) 1983, p.75.

* My definition of supposedly hot anger sex: Usually occurs in a historical when the hero comes home from some sort of physical altercation. His blood lust is up, he basically ravages his wife, then goes into a total shame spiral only to discover that the little woman “likes it rough.” She, of course, would never think to ask for a tempestuous quickie… she merely participate when her husband initiates. Is it just me, or is there a squick factor here?

Wanted: One Teaching Job

Kate: I’m afraid I can’t get you a job. But I can get you a sheik, which must be worth something. Hang in there, hot stuff.

~Jaime

Job-hunting, how I loathe thee.

Yet how I love the support I've received from various friends and fellow sufferers as I attempt to find gainful employment. Witness Jaime, several time zones away, who sent me The Sheik and the Virgin Secretary in order to brighten my job-hunting saga. Witness the haiku written by a classmate despairing over ever getting her placement file finished:

Job hunting trauma
Forms, letters, references
Please, God—employment!

It looks like I may have an interview this week down in Olympia. Now, assuming that I actually get the interview, and then assuming that I get the job... do I want to take the position? It would mean moving an hour south of Seattle. Olympia is not nearly so urban, but it is the capital. So my Language Arts teaching would suffer from a lack of theatrical variety, but what a great place to teach Civics!

So, aside from the appalling lack of good Indian food, a Trader Joe's, and all my friends (who will be living in Seattle) it's ideal. After all, in Olympia I can afford to rent (and then eventually buy) a house. The Boyfriend and I grew up in Oly, so perhaps if we moved back our parents would stop nagging us to bear grandchildren. But should I ever reproduce, I would be happy to send my children to any school in the area. I will be closer to the ocean, and Mt. Rainier. And if I move to Olympia, my gardening/pet ownership fantasies are totally within the realm of possibility.

Finally, as nerdy as this is, there's the farmer's market. I know, I know. Seattle has Pike's Place. But let's face it, people. Fighting your way through the crowds at Pike's Place makes even the most good-natured tourist want to poke her eyes out with a Space Needle figurine. Imagine how it feels for the natives, who just want to avoid the flying fish and get some cheap veggies for dinner.

Basically I'm leaning towards Olympia. That is, of course, if they offer me a job (that's right, in addition to all the benefits I just listed, I would be done with my job search).

I guess I just need everyone else to tell me it's okay to leave the metropolis and head towards a smaller, greener town. Be honest, though: does making a fiscally responsible choice at the age of 25 mean that I've turned into a hideous bore?

Bring In the Angst, Bring In the Bad Boys!

Fortunately for my health and sanity (and relationships) I don't go for bad boys. I've always been attracted more to the clean cut School President type, or (as in the case of Toasty Joe) the skinny musician type. Boys who live on the edge, heartbreakers, men who live by no law but their own...I pretty much run from them. So unstable!

But in fiction, it's a different story (witness my love for the profoundly unstable heroes of our dear angsty Laura Kinsale). And on tv, this bad boy jones get pretty extreme.

So I turn, for the first time on this blog, to my favorite show in all the world, Veronica Mars. (Okay quick sales pitch for the unitiated: neo-noir set in a Cali high school; tough teen PI heroine with witty wisecracks and a supportive PI dad; class warfare; kooky cases; truly evil adversaries. Once described as Heathers meets Chinatown. Watch it. You'll thank me).



So Veronica's a smart girl. A tough girl. An admirable girl. A girl who's had her fair share of trauma, what with her best friend's murder, her alcoholic mom's splitting town, her dad's loss of his job as sheriff, ad infinitum. If she were one of my friends, I would drag her away from her screwed-up but blisteringly charismatic ex Logan so fast her head would rattle. But on tv...

On tv I LOVE episodes like this week's, where Logan finally confessed to Veronica (after nearly a season of watching her canoodle with his best friend) that he's not over her, that she broke his heart, that he thought their relationship was "epic," that he can't stand the thought that she'll be out of his life after graduation. The fact that he was drunk and wearing a charmingly disheveled tux only added to the poignancy.

Of course he had to screw it all up by forgetting the entire thing when she showed up the next morning to take him up on his offer of reinitiating their relationship. Of course she had to catch him with the predatory step-mom of his best friend (like I said, it's noir).

That's what bad boys do.

If you'd like a screencap of this swoon-worthy episode, click here.

The Power of Myth?

Having read some writers' blogs, I checked out Tami Cowden's website about hero/heroine/villain archetypes. She breaks each one down into 7 or 8 archetypes like the Boss, the Waif, the Warrior, the Lost Soul, the Professor, etc. Some writers really talk up her categorizations. While I'm a fan of Joseph Campbell, I'm not entirely sure I buy it.

I tried to scrutinize my own characters through this lens and didn't find it completely applicable. Maybe because I'm too close to them? Calla seemed part Nurturer/part Waif, Peter is part Warrior/part Best Friend and Julia Chesterwood, the closest thing to a villain I've got, is a Schemer (though all these villains just sound too mean! I know Kate D. disagrees with me, but I kind of like Julia. She's fun to write).

Maybe it's too late to apply the archetype after the book's already written. I know my characters so well, it's hard for me to think of them as less-than real people. Where I see the effectiveness of these categories is in the planning stage. I know almost nothing about Marion's book (Widow in Red, perhaps?) except the preliminary set-up, but I already know her hero's a Professor.

On the revisions front, getting so close I can taste it. Three chapters left to revise. My birthday is May 2nd, one week away, and I've given myself the goal of finishing the book before I turn 26. Can I do it?

Who Are You At Hogwarts?

Kate D. is Hermione. No surprise there. As the quiz says:

You're one intelligent witch, but you have a hard time believing it and require constant reassurance. You are a very supportive friend who would do anything and everything to help her friends out.

Hermione Granger: 85%
Albus Dumbledore: 75%
Draco Malfoy: 65%
Ron Weasley: 65%
Remus Lupin: 65%
Ginny Weasley: 60%
Sirius Black: 60%
Harry Potter: 55%
Severus Snape: 30%
Lord Voldemort: 10%

C’mon, you know you want to see your own results:
Your Harry Potter Alter Ego Is…?

The Silliness of Publishers

I liked Stephanie Meyer's Twilight as much as the next girl (probably more, unless "the next girl" is Kate D. or some other possibly-too-old-for yet captivated-by teen-centered, extremely chaste romance reading type). I'm looking forward to the sequel, New Moon, out in September.

But I would not follow the lead of the publicists at Little, Brown and call the series "well on its way to literary immortality."

Immortality. I'll say it again. IMMORTALITY. That's... Shakespeare. That's...Mozart. That's The Illiad, for fuck's sake.

Words have meanings, people. Try to use them as if they did.

Darcy Me This

Yesterday, while avoiding my job applications, I decided to finally watch the Keira Knightley version of Pride and Prejudice. As far as distractions go, it was definitely a letdown... but to be fair, I'm saying that as a history major, a Social Studies teacher, and an Austen devotee.


In my mind, no two-hour movie could ever come close to the A&E miniseries. But before I launch into my complaints, please remember that the flitgirl gave this movie a much more generous review back in November. And I would like to concur with her assertion that the cinematography was gorgeous. Also, this movie had the best handling of crowded indoor scenes that I've ever enjoyed in an Austen adaptation. The Assembly Rooms and Bingley Ball were quite crowded romps!

I also liked the obvious economic stratification between Darcy and Lizzy. That's another way in which this version trumps the A&E miniseries.

However, as the flitgirl noted, the writers cut beautiful lines of Austen to make way for clunky dialogue. I found the transition between the two modes of speaking quite jarring--"now I'll speak like a Regency miss." "Now I'll translate the plot for stupid audience members." This was especially offensive when they cut true gems, such as the famous first line of the book!

I also thought the production team made ridiculous efforts to "sex up the story." Lizzy wandering over to Netherfield with uncovered bedhead, attending a ball with no gloves, or receiving visitors in her nightgown? I think not! And her visit to Pemberley... I couldn't tell whether her new feelings for Darcy were a result of honest reflection, or a lustful byproduct of looking at naked statues. Didn't mind the rainy proposal so much... I'm a sucker for wet movie stars, ever since Breakfast at Tiffany's.

This is one story I don't think should be cut and condensed. With so many pieces missing, we never really hated Caroline Bingley. The scandal of an elopement seemed minimal, and Wickham only appeared in two scenes. Moreover, without Bingley showing up at Pemberley I almost forgot he existed and wondered why he bothered proposing at all... I also wondered why Jane accepted, but that's another story.

You're right, Flitgirl. This was definitely the best portrayal of Jane I've ever seen. But Bingley was a simpering dork and I honestly questioned his intelligence. Why would she fall for such a fellow? And Mr. Bennet as the doting but absent-minded naturalist, who seems to have a healthy relationship with his wife? Ugh. It's like they took all the satire out of Austen and left an unremarkable romance story.

With all that said, I'm still glad that I saw the movie. As an Austen devotee who adores Pride and Prejudice, I consider it my joyous duty to see all permutations of the story! Next up on my viewing agenda: Pride and Prejudice, A Latter-Day Comedy, which takes place on the modern-day BYU campus. Should be interesting, and definitely worth a post!

Elsewhere in the Blogosphere...

The wonderful women over at Sanctuary's Finest are having a marvelous discussion about romance novels being turned in to movies. Check it out!

And the fine ladies of Smart Bitches, Trashy Books are advocating for the authentic use of names in romance novels! Please, join their crusade because Candy has promised, "if I see another rakehell named Lucien, Damien or Devlin, I’m going to, I don’t know, punch a crotch, or something."

Friday (err... Monday) Review — The Taming of the Duke

At long last, the awaited review of Eloisa James' latest, The Taming of the Duke. I know I promised it back in March, when it would actually have been early. But life, Lent and literature (in the form of graduate programs, which I'm currently debating between) all intruded. Enough excuses. Without further preamble, the Essex sisters!

I know Kate D. is bracing herself for Imogen's story. I shared her low (and irritated) opinion of Imogen in the second book in the series, Kiss Me Annabel. But I am perhaps more forgiving of annoying secondary characters, as I was never (or only a very little) worried about how Imogen would fare as heroine of her own novel.

In fact, the novel far exceeded my expectations. I liked it much better than Annabel's story--I'm always disposed against heroines with perfect beauty and heads for math to boot--and better than many of the books in the series that began with Duchess In Love (wouldn't Esme's story alone have made the best novel of them all?). But first, a little background.

Imogen is the third of the poor-in-money but rich-in-horse-flesh Essex sisters. She is the impetuous romantic one who trapped her girlhood crush into marrying her in the first Essex novel, only to see him killed in a horse race a few weeks after their marriage. In the second book, she threw herself into bold flirtations in an attempt to gain a reputation as a disgraceful widow.

Now, a year after being widowed, she's mellowed quite a lot and is much less grief stricken. She's still looking for a lover, though in a less obvious way. When she is forced to spend some time at her former guardian Rafe's country estate, she sets her sights on his illegitimate brother as her best candidate.

I won't go too much more into detail as I don't want to deprive you of the pleasure of this read. Suffice it to say, long-drunken Rafe, the Duke of the title, cleans up his act and a very fun case of mistaken identity, courtesy of A Midsummer Night's Dream, influences the rest of the novel.

Imogen turned out to be a delightful heroine away from London and most of her sisters. She's not showing off, playing for the audience, and trying to prove herself as she was in the previous books. She's much more reflective and her oblivion to her attraction to Rafe is pleasant and natural, rather than contrived.

Rafe is a brilliant hero, witty, self-deprecating, strong but confused. The dialogue is snappy and the situations entertaining. There's even a subtle throw-away reference to Mansfield Park in the subplot about an amateur play taking place at Rafe's estate (that's my version of "You had me at hello"). I can't promise this Duke is for everyone, but those willing to look past Imogen's prior misdeeds will be pleasantly surprised.

It's the End of the World As We Know It...

... and I feel ecstatic.

My student teaching is done, and in light of the fact I'll spend part of my spring break finishing up with grading, I've decided to order myself a copy of Don't Look Down as a "reward read." My endless March is finally over, which means I can also avoid working on my novel my checking my horoscope. Yay for a distraction you can count on every month! And so much more fun than losing your cell phone and going into hysterics as you calculate just how expensive it will be to pay off a thieving someone else's three-hour phone call to Borneo...

(The phone was actually down in my car, in the back seat. It was located by The Boyfriend who, unlike me, has an ability to remain calm in unexpected situations.)

Also of interest this week: I did a guest writing stint for my friend Theresa's knitting blog. Though I don't knit, I do watch Grey's Anatomy... and there was knitting involved in last week's episode. So I employed the only expertise I had and talked about that!

What I didn't do, because Theresa's blog isn't about obsessing over romance novels, was talk about the Big Moment O'Malley had with Meredith's deadbeat dad. Luckily, however, I have a forum here!

The writers on Grey's have done such a great job of building a parallel between George/Meredith/McDreamy and Thatcher/Ellis/Richard. If all plays out as it did in the past, then McDreamy will stay with his wife, George will be "broken," and Meredith will end up bitter and alone. But what makes the parallel truly interesting is that they're starting to mess with it.

George stood up for Meredith (to Thatcher, no less!) and really protected her from having to deal with her dad. He then went on to kiss Ortho Doc who, while hot, doesn't actually have any chemistry with him. And Meredith went to pick up the dog and met hot vet Chris O'Donnell. I dub the vet "McSwoony" and pay homage to his beautiful Henley shirt.

Said the boyfriend, after watching the show: "Do you realize that practically all the men have ruggedly wholesome five o'clock shadow? Do they know that some people in the Pacific Northwest actually shave?"

So now I'm torn. On the one hand, I think it would be very interesting on a writerly level to implode the parallel and actually have Meredith someday get with George, thus breaking the icky pattern her parents set (this, of course, would have to happen somewhere in Season Five or so...) But on the other hand, I'm seriously drooling over McSwoony O'Donnell. What are the chances of keeping him on the show? Yummy yum yum.

But let us be clear: I lust for O'Donnell, but I love O'Malley. What a sweetheart. What a competent doctor! What a wonderful thing that he's finally getting a haircut!

People, let me know: where do you stand on the Grey's issue?

Inspiration Point

I'm still basking in the glow of the warm Bermudean sun.

Well, not really. It was windy and fairly cold throughout Toasty Joe and my Bermudean sojourn over the weekend. But we managed to have fun: visiting historic lighthouses and the old Dockyards, getting massages and eating spiny lobsters and fish chowder.

And finding writerly inspiration. During a summer visit a year and a half ago, I first learned of Bermuda's importance as a base for Confederate blockade runners during the Civil War. While I toured a preserved colonial mansion, I pictured the life of a young woman on the island, growing up in that home, the conflicts that could arise from a non-slaveholding island supporting the slave states of America. Returning to the island only whetted my interest in researching this topic. I'm certain there are the makings of a great book here.

I generally feel that way when I go on vacation. Maybe it's the distance from my ordinary life that allows me time to brainstorm. More likely it's my obsession with visiting historic homes. Writing historical novels (for now, don't get me started on my plans for contemporaries), visiting historic sites. I think that's what they call synergy!

Now if only I could publish one of these books and finally deduct my "research" trips from my taxes. That would be inspiring.

But the bigger question is, what makes an idea a fruitful one? I think I've really got one with this Bermuda book. Can you tell when you've hit upon something real? I certainly did with Wedding Widow: sat down and wrote the prologue the day after visualizing the first scene in my head, before I even knew who the hero was.

Other writers?

The Problem With Mary Anne

My friends, I have succumbed to the evils of Mary Anne. And just who, pray tell, is Mary Anne? She is Mary Sue’s quaint but still socially awkward second-cousin.

For those of you not yet in the know, "Mary Sue" is actually a writing term that refers to a new type of insidious heroine. She comes to us from the wonderful, wacky world of fan fiction. Basically, a Mary Sue is created when the author projects an idealized version of herself into someone else's story... I, for instance, might write myself into a fantasy episode of Grey's Anatomy as George's sexy new love interest. Perhaps we would arrange for a candlelit picnic at the Fremont Troll, or exchange witty quips over dinner at Bleu on Capitol Hill. And then Meredith would get jealous, and George would be totally over her (and into me)... oh, and while we’re at it I’d be a natural redhead with long, thin legs…

But I digress. I was supposed to be talking about Mary Sues and Mary Annes, and not my fantasies involving fictitious surgical interns. Having defined Mary Sue for y’all, I now move on to “Mary Anne.” This is a term I’m using to refer to my own terrible tendencies. A “Mary Anne” is a character in an original creative world that bears a striking resemblance to the novelist who summoned her forth.

And I’ll admit it. When I write “fiction,” I’m usually writing dramatic versions of my own life. Hence a romance novel about a romance novelist (set in the Pacific Northwest), and lately the urge to set that draft aside and start a romance novel about a teacher… because really, there’s so much potential for conflict in the education system. And if I wrote a romance novel about teaching, I could create a Frankenstein Villain who exhibits all the obnoxious tendencies I've ever seen in school administrators.

Now, doesn’t that sound like fun?

Let me know where you stand on the Mary Sue / Mary Anne issue. And while you’re at it, check out this hilarious comic by GMonkey, lampooning Mary Sues and Harry Potter fan fiction.

SOS--Parting Gifts

I need your help!

My student-teaching stint is almost over, and I want to procure parting gifts for my cooperating teachers. What would be most appropriate? Books, of course!

I'm very close to one of my cooperating teachers and I want to get her something humorous. She knows that I read romance novels and that I'm attempting (not so much, lately) to write one. So I want to find her a really well-written romance novel starring a teacher as the heroine.

Any recommendations? I need these ASAP--last day of teaching is April 7th!

Sexual Pervisity in New York

There's a danger in writing about fictional sex and romance for a living (well, an aspiring living): not just the danger that people will think the incidents you write about are biographical. That's to be expected. No, the greater danger is that people will assume sexual experiences you haven't written about are yours, too. Let me explain...

I recently became a staff writer for a startup literary magazine, Lost Writers. I'm writing in several different departments: Sex & Relationships, Travel, Reviews. My first piece, a look at aspects of my relationship with my fiance, went up last week in the S&R section, and I e-mailed several friends and family members about the article.

Unfortunately, by the time some of my more laggardly acquaintances checked out the link, the editors of Lost Writers had switched the featured content in the Stay In Bed department. Instead of my personal essay on being in an interfaith relationship at the holidays, my friends read 23 haikus about Cynthia Taylor's former sex partners.

And yet, several people (including one of my sisters) e-mailed me to say, "Love the piece. Is Cynthia Taylor your new pseudonym?"

What? Excuse me? You people, who have known me for years, thought that this piece was mine? When would I have found the time to have 23 sex partners? I've been in a monogomous relationship for the last 5 years! Do you honestly think I've dropped acid? Dated a felon? Slept with my best friend's husband?*

Either they assumed the piece was fiction...or writing romance can really wreak hell on your reputation.

*As a clarification, let me say I enjoyed Ms. Taylor's writing very much, found it funny and worthwhile. This is not meant in any way as a comment on her experiences, fictional or not. Live and let live, and all that.

Friday Review -- Jane Austen In Scarsdale

After an absence due to the sudden onset of panic attack disorder (thanks Kate, for keeping the blog afloat), I'm back with another Friday Review.

My favorite novel in the whole wide world is Jane Austen's Persuasion. I love it, love it, love it for reasons emotional and intellectual. Like so many romance fans, I love all Austen. But aside from the insanely good Clueless and the more insane but not as good Bridget Jones, I don't have much familiarity with the JA "updates." I wondered if Paula Marantz Cohen's new modern Persuasion, Jane Austen In Scarsdale, would fill me with delight or horror.

Having read the novel, I have learned that I will never find Austen's basic plot (rich girl meets poor boy, rich girl's family convinces her to ditch poor boy, rich girl's family loses money, newly poor girl remeets bitter and now rich boy) anything less than charming. I smiled when I discerned the underlying Austen-structure, smiled with something like the fondness of recognizing an old friend, rather than gritting my teeth at lesser reflections of Austen's characters and incidents as I worried I might. Cohen does an admirable job of replicating in her heroine, Anne Ehrlich, the quiet dignity, subtle wit, unshowy self-confidence and non-irritating superiority of Austen's Anne Elliott. And if her Ben Cutler is less swoon-worthy than Austen's Fredrick Wentworth, well, that deck was stacked from the beginning. He's a fine hero and a fitting reward for our lovely heroine. I especially enjoyed the flashback chapters to their young romance, in which they bonded over Ruskin's Stones of Venice.

The romance holds up well, but Cohen really shines when she steps away from the Austen template to focus on the cut-throat world of college admissions in an elite suburb like Scarsdale. College counselor Anne Ehrlich is a beacon of sense in the maelstrom of irrationality, pride, anger and ego that the parents of her students produce. Cohen's satire of the whole admissions process, from the private "application polishing" consultants, to parental expectations, to college fairs, is spot-on (and I can speak with some authority, not only as a recent college graduate, but also as the daughter of a college counselor at a high school in an exclusive suburb). Best of all, Cohen never descends to sniping meanness, always seeming to understand the emotions that drive these hard-to-please parents, even at their most unreasonable.

To any Persuasion novice, I emphatically insit on your reading the real thing before sampling any imitators (the letter scene!). But for those who love Persuasion and want a pleasant romance for a winter afternoon, or those who enjoy gentle contemporary social satire, I can strongly recommend JA In Scarsdale. For myself, I'm off to read her first novel, Jane Austen In Boca. Pride and Prejudice at a Jewish retirement community? Why not!

Next week: Eloisa's latest (sorry Kate, it's about Imogen) and some exciting news of my own.

The Real McDreamy

You may take a look at the picture on this posting and think that it doesn't belong on a romance blogging website. But dear reader, please consider that television has brought us some of the finest romances of all time. Unlike novelists, TV writers can tease us with six or seven seasons of sexual tension. How marvelous is that? How inspiring (and distracting) for someone like me, who definitely doesn't want to sit down and start writing Chapter Eleven for Revising Mr. Right?

Inspiration for writing has to come from somewhere, and for me it often comes from other people's characters. (Be prepared: I am about to take you through the twisted inner workings of my brain.) Know that I am well-versed in the art of fictional obsession. As a child, my first crushes were on book people--Gilbert Blythe, for starters, and Mr. Darcy as I got older. As I discovered well-written television, I expanded my affections towards Chris in the Morning from Northern Exposure and various sexy undeads ala Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

But in all my years of drooling over men who don't exist, nothing (and I mean nothing) could have prepared me for the advent of George O'Malley.

For those of you who don't watch Grey's Anatomy , this is a show about surgical interns living and lusting at a Seattle-based hospital. The show pivots around intern Meredith Grey, who spent the first season carrying on a clandestine affair with a hot brain surgeon labeled McDreamy. O'Malley was a platonic roommate who just so happened to be harboring a titanic crush on her... but she was clearly "off the market" until McDreamy turned out to be married.

Now, like most of the G.A. fan world I felt bad when McDreamy's cheating wife showed up and spoiled his adorable romance with Mere. But as the weeks went on, I grew considerably less enchanted. Meredith kept making calf's eyes at another woman's husband, and McDreamy (though ostensibly committed to working out his marital problems) kept sending sexy gazes and star-crossed comments in Meredith's direction. Reading the writers' blog, it's become clear to me that most fans take this as a sign that Meredith and McDreamy are Meant to Be. They make all sorts of comments about the two characters needing to get back together.

But personally, I think it's rather disgusting. The man needs to make up his mind and quit stringing along two women. Newsflash, fans: McDreamy doesn't love anybody so much as he loves himself. And Meredith's allowed a certain amount of wallowing, but it's not okay to totally ignore and then wantonly use your closest friends for totally disturbing and callous sex.

You want real love? Take a look at O'Malley. If we're looking for a Rachel and Ross equation at Seattle Grace Hospital, this guy is definitely Meredith's "Ross." He is by her side, literally holding the umbrella when her emotional *%#@ storm descends. He tries to protect her from the lameness that it McDreamy's emotional manipulation. He's a caring and compassionate roommate. He gives her sympathy, but he tells it like it is when she needs some criticism (see: men are not all dogs). He's good in a crisis, too (see: open heart surgery in an elevator, helping Bailey through labor complications, etc).

I have my heart set on O'Malley and Meredith finally getting together, after she gets over McDreamy (and herself) and finally grows up a little. But after last week's episode, I'm convinced that this will take awhile. O'Malley finally confesses his feelings to the oblivious object of his affections and instead of turning him down (like a real friend would) she decides to jump his bones just to make herself feel better. Very high ick factor. And of course he doesn't say no, because he's in love and he's horny and he's wanted her for how long? Besides, one gets the sense that he's a little inexperienced with these things and... well, basically I just want to hijack this character, place him in the middle of a romance novel, and make him happy. He deserves happiness.

When will women learn that having a McSweetie is ten times better than having a McDreamy? And if I write romance novels about legitimate McSweeties instead of self-involved langorously gazing jerks, will anyone want to read them? Or are heterosexual women really committed to fantasizing about alpha-ass-as-love-object?

Mini-Macky-D Post

I'll post a longer, official Friday Review later today. But for now, an observation:

I'm reading Susan Elizabeth Phillips' Dream A Little Dream (widow of a crooked televangelist returns to the town he swindled, etc. etc.). And I'm noticing the excessive amounts of fast food consumed by the characters. Seriously, every meal mentioned is either McDonald's or KFC. The hero's trying to fatten up the starved heroine, but hasn't he heard of broccoli? Pasta? Complex charbohydrates?

They even get their coffee from McDonald's, which no sane person would do! The complete lack of any understanding of how awful this food is for you (combined with the fact that one of the charcters gets a "sexy" makeover and starts wearing tight tops tucked into white jeans) convinced me that this book was written in the '80s. But the copyright* is '98.

Is this a reprint? Or does SEP just really enjoy crap food?

* original post read copywrite. I have a one-track mind.

February is... Light Regency Month!

What do we mean by "Light Regency?" Think Julia Quinn and the sparkling Bridgerton wit, as opposed to Mary Jo Putney and Waterloo officers with post-traumatic stress syndrome. Y'all know what we're talking about here--I don't need to elaborate!

Send us recommendations of books full of dukes with stunning pectoral muscles, frothy-skirted damsels, morning trots through Hyde Park, jokes about Prinny, and intrepid pug dogs who inadvertently bring about catastrophe.

Groundhogs are for Poetry

Today is the day for blogger-wide silent poetry readings (which I learned of on Knitting Underway). I knew I wanted to post some Donne, my favorite poet of all. But rather than my trusty stand-by, favorite poem and likely wedding program motif "The Goodmorrow," I'm going a little religious. Not something often seen on this blog, but if anyone can make religion seem sexy, it's dear old John. And while this reading's supposed to be silent, if you read the poem aloud it's that much better:

Holy Sonnet XIV

Batter my heart, three-person'd God ; for you
As yet but knock ; breathe, shine, and seek to mend ;
That I may rise, and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend
Your force, to break, blow, burn, and make me new.
I, like an usurp'd town, to another due,
Labour to admit you, but O, to no end.
Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,
But is captived, and proves weak or untrue.
Yet dearly I love you, and would be loved fain,
But am betroth'd unto your enemy ;
Divorce me, untie, or break that knot again,
Take me to you, imprison me, for I,
Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,
Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.