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.

Friday Review -- The Devil In Winter

It's time for a new feature here at Damned Scribbling Women, particularly since we've finally managed to attract a few readers other than friends, family and those forced by future conjugal ties to pretend an interest in our writing.

Here it is, the first Friday Review, this time of Lisa Kleypas' The Devil In Winter, out in March.

My introduction to Kleypas (in college) was through her Bow Street Runners series, and I have to say, I wasn't a fan. Maybe it was the romantic suspense-y vibe, but I wasn't all that fond of the characters, didn't love her writing, just didn't get the appeal.

But when she started her new Wallflowers series (and I got the first book free) I decided to give it a try. I loved Secrets of a Summer Night, from the unabashadly mercenary heroine, to the rough and middle-class hero to the delightful group of friends that I knew would form the heroines of the following books (not an Amy March among them). I liked the second book, It Happened One Autumn, the story of brash American heiress Lillian and starchy aristocrat Marcus, even better.

Fortunately, Kleypas' streak holds in this third book in the series. The hero is a familiar type in historical romance, the dissolute rake who thinks he's much worse than he is, but the fact of his having been the villain in the previous book adds interest, and he thankfully doesn't spend too much time wallowing in guilt over his stained past. He also demonstrates a marvelous energy in turning around a decayed gambling club once he gets hold of it that I enjoyed. Not often we see aristocrat heroes doing anything other than thinking about drainage and their tenants and possibly allowing a railway on the property (when not tearing bodices, of course).

The heroine, Evie, is really marvelous. She's painfully shy, with frizzy red hair and a stutter. She's the daughter of a respectable woman and the up-from-the-streets owner of the aforementioned gambling club, and after her mother's death she was brought up by her strict and abusive maternal relatives. She's incredibly appealing: strong-willed and determined without being irritatingly or stupidly pig-headed (as a lot of "modernized" historical heroines can be).

The tone of the book is perfect, just the right mix of light humor, percolating suspense, and inner turmoil. And the series' other characters are used sparingly but well.

In fact, the book's so good it makes me regret that after the last Wallflowers novel, Scandal In Spring, Kleypas will be turning to contemporaries (romantic suspense, I believe, which I find really tedious). Please don't stay away too long, Lisa! We need more decent historicals!

Romance Fans in Unlikely Places

As preparation for an upcoming grad school interview (also known as "attempt to use my wit, wisdom, stawberry-fresh hair and vast appreciation of her corpus of work to charm senior professor into pulling for me with the admissions committee") I've been reading Mary Poovey's book "The Woman Writer and the Proper Lady." It's a really interesting look at Mary Wollstonecraft, Mary Shelley and Jane Austen and the ways each of them reacted to and against the myth of the "Proper Woman," which developed at the beginning of the nineteenth century and really took root in the Victorian period. I know it sounds dry, but it's fascinating and, hey, this is what I want to go to school for, right?

One of the quirks of my NYPL-issued copy (thank God for the Mid-Manhattan circulating branch) is that at least two, and possibly three of the book's previous readers have provided copious and sometimes entertaining notes in the margins. They include brief summaries of Poovey's major points, ammendments to her arguments and sometimes outright denials (I've seen "NO!" and "I don't think so" written a few times).

But imagine my surprise when, deep in a chapter about prostitution as empowerment in Wollstonecraft's final, unfinished novel Maria, I see the note "See The Bride of the Unicorn, Kasey Michaels."

I read Kasey Michaels! I read the Bride of the Unicorn! A later note about Joan Smith's A Kiss In the Dark sealed the deal.

Romance readers a clever bunch, no?

The Rule of Seven

“Medical school suffers from a distinct lack of period costume.”
– Theresa

As a migrant fourth-year medical student, a friend of mine recently found it necessary to sell off her entire romance novel collection. Now she finds herself in possession of a temporary residence and (gasp!) a bit of free time. When last we spoke, she was carting Middlemarch about and looking for a bit of light reading on the side. As Queen of Light Reading, it fell to me to make some recommendations that were a little less Honors Book List…

And so, Theresa, I place these three lists online in hopes to distract you from classic literature. Note that some of these books are part of a series (For instance, Don’t Tempt Me is the last of a trilogy). These are not listed in any particular order, and the lists are certainly not comprehensive.

Seven Favorite Contemporary Romances:
Bet Me (Jennifer Crusie)*
Charlie All Night (Jennifer Crusie)
Manhunting (Jennifer Crusie)
Don’t Tempt Me (Julie Ortolon)
Body Rush (Deirdre Martin)

The Chesapeake Bay trilogy—can’t just choose one! (Nora Roberts)
Woman Most Likely To… (Jennifer Greene)

*Quite possibly the best romance novel of all time. (Honorable mentions: See Jane Score, by Rachel Gibson, and Dream Man, by Linda Howard.)

Seven Favorite Regency Novels:
So Wild a Heart (Candace Camp)
The Duke (Gaelen Foley)
The Devil You Know (Liz Carlyle)
Something About Emmaline (Elizabeth Boyle)
The Bargain (Mary Jo Putney)
The Viscount Who Loved Me (Julia Quinn)
Educating Caroline (Patricia Cabot)

Seven Favorite Random Historical Novels:
Highland Bride (Hannah Howell)
Amazing Grace (Julie Garwood)
Ransom (Julie Garwood)
By Possession (Madeleine Hunter)
Something Wonderful (Kate Rothwell)
A Vision of Light (Judith Merkle Riley)
In Pursuit of the Green Lion (Judith Merkle Riley)*

*These last two are not precisely romance novels, but they are absolutely marvelous—a funny medieval series, if you can believe it. Read it and fall in love with the pragmatic Margaret and deliciously absurd Gregory.

Anyone else out there have a list of seven, or another reading recommendation for our good friend T?

Romance Novels, Bad and Good (And SBTG)

I received an amazing, belated, one-of-a-kind, straight-from-the-heart sort of Christmas gift on Wednesday, the kind of gift that makes you sit up straighter and say, "I love my life and I love my friends." At first glance, this remarkable present is anything but prepossessing. If you must know, it is an entry in Harlequin's Men From the 50 States series entitled In Good Faith. Appropriately enough, it's set on Manhattan's Upper East Side.

So what makes this book so wonderful? Is it the heroine's charming colleagues, fellow professors at Columbia, who exchange "witty" banter about her spinsterhood and calculate how many cows her various beauty spots would fetch on the marriage mart in Africa? Is it the way the hero's "pelt" of chest hair and penchant for staring at the heroine's crotch cause her breasts to visibly grow larger? Is it the gaggle of old Polish Jews or Christians (they are periodically referred to as both) who plot to bring the hapless pair together?

NO! It is surely the handwritten notes on all of the above in the book's margins courtesy of Kate D and the inimitable Theresa. Thanks for making me feel a part of your Seattle sojourn. Though the fiance was not too pleased with my uproarious laughter last night while he was trying to sleep.

I'm not sure if this book is so bad it's good. It's certainly bad. Would I enjoy it as much if I didn't have my friends' hilariously witty comments to spur me on? Is anything really "so bad it's good" until we share it with like-minded critics?

And, to conclude, a recommendation for an excellent novel that, while it wouldn't meet with the RWA's ten point description of the essence of the romance genre, contains one of the most beautiful love stories I've read in years. Ian McEwan's Atonement. Read it. Cry. Read that last chapter again. Cry again. You get the idea.

Engagements in the Air

My friend Tammy came home from medical school sporting a dazed expression and a big ol' diamond on her finger. The diamond stayed on her finger, but the dazed expression quickly became my own.

You have to understand that I've known Tammy since I was twelve. In high school, we were both major theater geeks. Along with our friend Kizzy, we spent every weekend discussing (what we thought were) major life issues over a cup of diner coffee, or dissecting our crushes' behavior while sitting on Tammy's kitchen floor, snacking on kimche and Top Ramen. Now one of our own is getting married, and I somehow find it hard to believe that we aren't still stressing out over potential prom dates.

I must thank Tammy's fiance for timing the deed right before I picked her up from the airport. This enabled us to do a grown-up version of all of our favorite activities from high school. Instead of dissecting crush behavior, we discussed the proposal. Instead of shopping for formal dance wear, we went out for wedding gowns. My mom drove us, as she often would in the old days, and at David's Bridal who should show up, but our other best friend's sister! She was the gown consultant, and we all (Mom included) had quite the giggle-fit as Tammy traipsed about in beaded satin and argyle socks.

So, I am feeling a strange cocktail of emotions: happiness for my friend, nostalgia for the old days, shocked that said "old days" are actually old and actually over, and faintly curious about what this whole adulthood thing might hold for me...

If only I could faithfully portray such nuance of feeling in my novel!

Resolutions Part 1

Kate D has womanfully womanned this ship while I've been off getting engaged and travelling to Mexico. But now I'm back and it's high time I gave her a break.

So, 2006 is upon us. For starters, a quip recap of 2005:

- Finished draft 1 of the Wedding Widow
- Made first collage of Wedding Widow
- Began revisions on Wedding Widow
- Abandoned revisions of Wedding Widow to work on graduate school applications
- Last but not least, co-wrote about 6 months worth of Damned Scribbling Women

So, for 2006, I henceforth commit to the following courses of action:

- Will finish the Wedding Widow and submit to publishers
- Will write short Young Adult novel
- Will begin second in Merry Widows series
- Will not allow actually attending grad school to derail writing in the way applying did
- Will not allow planning a wedding to derail writing...much
- Will not insert fiance into all future novels...though that wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing
- Will be much better blogging partner for the marvelous Kate D.

As far as more specific writing aspirations go, I will try to go cold turkey from my addiction to adjectives, never use a romance trope without searching for a twist on it, and will incorporate Clydesdales into every book I write in honor of Kate D.

Oh yeah, and I'll exercise more.

So...too ambitious?

On to you, Kate.

The Assisted Pursuit of Love

As I was speaking to Theresa on the phone while she was visiting Kate D., I realized there must be no better dating consultants than a pair of romance novelists (or, if you must, aspiring romance novelists, though I refuse to accept that designation).

After all, there are only a finite number of dating scenarios that crop up time and time again. It's the details that differentiate them. And we've examined them all, from the prosaic ("You're both too proud to admit you have feelings for each other" and "You're just not in the right place at the right time" ) to the extreme (somehow I doubt many of our friends have secret babies fathered by sheikhs, an inexplicably and perennially popular classic romance plot).

But we're especially good at reading the motives lurking in impassive male minds. His jaw clenched slightly and his eyelashes flickered while you were discussing your Friday night plans? Clearly he is overcome with jealousy and bound by honor not to confess his love to you. Just watch his hands. If he makes fists or grips the edge of a table until his knuckles turn white, you're golden.

Of course, I can't claim all powers of romantic-analyses for romance novelists alone. Even Theresa -- as medicinal a medical student as ever flipped the pages of a medical textbook with a scalpel -- had her time to shine as an inventor of romantic fiction (and I'm not just speaking about her senior year project on romance novels...sheesh, some colleges). I recall vividly several impassioned discussions we had in high school about a certain fellow I knew and his mixed signals. "I think he likes you," she said, "But he has a calling to the priesthood." When I informed her the fellow-in-question was a Protestant, she immediately followed with, "But maybe he believes in a celibate clergy."

While I can't promise feats of imagination on a par with that, I can stake a claim for Kate D. and my ability to slice to the heart (with medical precision!) of any romantic dilemma, and offer RWA-approved solutions. All free of charge.

Green Eyed and Bushy Tailed

My esteemed blog partner and my best friend (Theresa of the impossible-to-overpraise Knitting Underway) are currently enjoying ten Pacific Northwest days of knitting, in-depth romantic analysis, blog-maintenance tips (expect a vastly improved Damned Scribbling Women after this visit) and lots of novel-talk. And I'm...well, I'm feeling a little jealous. I want to be there, too!

I don't know if envy is an essential part of every writer's psyche, but it's certainly part of mine. Sometimes I think it spurs me on to work harder. I want what other writers have so much (namely, to be published) that I force myself to work even when I don't want to and would rather just watch Grey's Anatomy (though really, shouldn't the well-organized writer be able to do both?)

Then there are those times when I'm so jealous of another writer's talent, talent I know I'll never have, that I feel sick and sad. That's not good jealousy.

Living in New York refines your envy trigger to a whisper's touch. After all, most people outside this densely-packed city don't have the experience of walking past multi-million dollar properties on their way from their sad little fifth-floor walk-up one-bedroom converted on their way to the subway. Oh, and the townhouses look so pretty decorated for Christmas! They all have ivy and evergreen wound around the iron railings and wreaths on the doors and Christmas lights shining through the windows from huge, heigh-ceilinged rooms.

Ah well, have fun Kate D. and Theresa. Try not to miss me too much!

Happy Anniversary?

Somewhere along the way, this blog took a terrible detour, at least on my end. From being a forum to write about writing, it's become, for me, a forum to write about complaining about NOT writing. Thus, in my shame, I have been hiding from it a little bit.

But the ms and I recently had our first anniversary, which has compelled me to come back. I'm not sure of the exact date, but roughly a year ago, I banged out the prologue to the Wedding Widow in a slow moment at work and e-mailed it to Kate D, intending it to be a little germ of an idea to take my mind off my "real" project. Well, she loved it, and a year later, the real project is lost in the cyber-graveyard of my infected old computer and the Wedding Widow is in the process of painful revision. Weaning? Teething? Some other child-rearing metaphor?

It's so hard to know what to cut and what not to. Which additional scenes would provide great color and depth to the characters and which will disrupt the novel's flow? I've edited up to about chapter 8 (of 21) in the past month. Not an output I'm happy with. But that pesky thing called "the rest of my life" insists on pestering me.

Here's the real rub. I've told myself I can back off the revisions a bit until Christmas, when I intend to have all my applications for graduate school done. But is that...okay? Oughtn't I to be writing constantly. Writers write, that's the mantra. So can a writing writer...take a month-long sabatical and still be serious, motivated and pushing forward.

All I know is my senior project is still about 8 pages too long to be my NYU writing sample. Get out the scissors

Rave of the Week

Even before I saw all the promos and commercials for the new version of Pride & Prejudice (ampersand their addition) I was prepared... well, not to dislike it, because it would be impossible for me to dislike anything even tangentially Austenian, but not to love it. The stupid tagline (The greatest love story ever told...Sometimes the one person you can't stand is the one person you can't live without") the promos that kept pushing a line that wasn't even in Austen ("You have bewitched me, body and soul") and the presence of the irritatingly thin and chipper Keira Knightly sort of repelled me.

I was so, so, so wrong. It was just utterly, perfectly lovely. In some ways even better than the Ehle/Firth version. Maybe that last part's the head cold talking, but I don't think so.

I'm feeling a bit better, but still tired and weak, so I took another day off work. I went to the 1:45 showing at the theater a few blocks away, figuring it would be empty. It was completely full and I was the only person under 65 there. There were walkers lining the aisle.

So, what was to love...I liked Knightly's take on Lizzie. She wasn't as bracingly smart and superior as Ehle's Lizzie. She's a younger, livlier, laughinger Lizzie. She has moments of real insecurity, confusion, just feeling ill equipped to deal with the changes her life throws at her and her feelings for Mr. Darcy. Ehle's Lizzie always seems in command, and I think I like this version a little better.

The casting was perfect. Lydia actually looked and behaved like a 15 year old (something no one would buy Julia Swahalla as in the BBC version, as good as she is). Jane is actually kind of prettier than Lizzie is, for once! And has the exact amount of sweetness and placidity in her disposition without being too dull. (Incidentally, Kate, the actress who plays her is the perfect Calla...Rosamund Pike. Just see it and tell me she isn't. And I think I might have been channelling Mr. Bingley when I wrote Peter.) Donald Sutherland is a very good Mr. Bennett, and the film plays up his complicity in his daughters' downfalls by his absentee parenting, rather than just his wittiness. Even Mrs. Bennett and Mr. Collins get some sympathy.

And the film is GORGEOUS. The cinematography, the landscapes, everything. Even though it's only 2 hours, they manage to hit every major scene, though the final scenes require more condensing than I would have liked. There's even a coda that reminds me of the perfect ending to the Amanda Root/Ciaran Hinds version of Persuasion, my favorite adaptation of my favorite novel.

So, go see the movie and be prepared to walk down the street humming the film's musical theme (another improvement over the last version. I now want to write only to the movie's soundtrack) and pretending that you are walking through English hillsides rather than past the 2nd Avenue bus.

Addendum:
I just want to make sure everyone knows that I'm well aware of the historical/character inconsistencies in the novel and many, many, many lines that were added by the screenwriters. I would have loved to see the lines about Lizzie's "fine eyes," "We neither of us perform for strangers," and many others. But I can look past that, if the movie did a good job of conveying the characters as a whole. And I don't expect any movie version to supplant the book.

230 Questions... And Not One on Jenny Crusie

I am a bad, bad NaNo contestant and I deserve to be spanked. Or at least dropped by my critique/blog partner.

I am officially out. I thought I could handle a new ms, but I was beaten before I even started. Well, you know what they say. Don't hate the game, hate the size of the dog in the player. And now I suddenly want to watch Laguna Beach.

The revisions continue. I've reached the middle and the real work begins. Mashing chapters together. Removing characters -- I killed off an entire family of servants, and took a little too much joy in it. Oh, Jarvis family, we hardly knew ye! And adding scintillating yet wacky tidbits about Parliamentary procedure.

And getting my ass kicked 18th-century style by the GRE subject test in Literature. I think I may have finally uncovered the most perfect instrument of torture ever devised by man or woman. Take a small child. Teach her to read early. Tell her how very, very good they are at English all their life. Encourage her to apply for a freaking PhD, for God's sake. And then spend 3 hours slowly stripping away any ounce of belief she had in her ability to do graduate work. Add a massive head cold and a fever, and the pain is pretty much complete.

Seriously, is there not something massively wrong with asking one to differentiate between excerpts of Pope and Johnson when they're both written in heroic couplets? That's just stacking the deck!

If it weren't for blueberry pancakes, a wonderful house guest from out of town and a massive plate of bacon, I would probably be crouched on the sidewalk somewhere near Washington Square, rocking back and forth and asking passers-by to hold me.