Love in the Time of Hogwarts

J.K. Rowling revealed that Dumbledore's gay. Hurray! Another reason to email my gal pals and analyze the Harry Potter series yet again. Part of our e-conversation below… please feel free to join the discussion with your comments!

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Sam: I don't think I was surprised, particularly about the Grindelwald thing. I do, however, think it's sad that none of Rowling's characters seem to be able to get past their first loves and move on. If I let my first unrequited love be the driving force in my life...well, no comment, but it would be a sad life indeed.

The wizarding world seems to be somewhat less forward-thinking, socially, than the more liberal countries of our world. So maybe having gay relationships is Just Not Done, andif Dumbledore wanted to retain his post at Hogwarts, he had to keep his deep, passionate love for Ron's grandfather a secret.But of course, that's not what Rowling said. She said he never got over Grindelwald, and how upset he was when his One True Love turned out to be Wizard Hitler. And since I believe in authorial intent, I have to say that I find this tendency of her characters immature.

Kate: About the first love thing: in terms of our three main characters, it makes sense for them to end up with characters we've met. The romantic readers among us craved such an ending. It would have been a total cop-out if Rowling mentioned in the epilogue that Hermione broke up with Ron and met a lovely man at Wizard Grad School. That's just lame.

And Harry's parents had to have a shared Hogwarts history in order for their son to have plenty of "dead parent moments" at school. It's easier to build a connection between Harry and his parents if they have lots of places and people in common.

Snape and Dumbledore, both transformed eternally by their first love? Doesn't surprise me. After all, by Book Seven they parallel each other in a weird way.

I guess I'm also reassured because I sense back stories for some of the characters. I totally think Sirius was a big fan of loving and leaving the ladies. I wouldn't be surprised if Lupin had a relationship in his past that he thought was scarring but eventually got over. And you just know Trelawney did some kinky hoohah in the name of divination.

But you're right. If Cho Chang is our one example of a wizarding relationship that doesn't work out, that would be pretty darn lame.

Jaime: Also--and I know I've said this before--you have to remember that being a wizard is like being an Orthodox Jew in Memphis. Your community is very small, and dating outside the community it is difficult to meet people and frowned upon, and there are other communities but they're far away. Realistically, Ron and Harry's cohort is pretty small. There are around 70 Gryffindors at any time, so 280 Hogwarts students, and first years don't date seventh years. If you date only one gender, you've got maybe 120 people to choose from. If you refuse to date Slytherins, you're down to 90. So like the orthodox, you date less and marry young.

Also, as to Snape, his whole ridiculous double-crossing life is built upon Lily and makes it super hard to meet girls (all of whom think he's double-crossing.) Quite possibly he now has the hots for Narcissa or Tonks, but really, how could he woo either without betraying his principles? And Snape's a man of principles.

I still think Dumbledore was getting it on with Fawks, if anyone--and I can see how it'd be better to say "I never got over Grindy" than admit the bestial truth.

In the Family Way

Recent events in my own life (read: marriage) have had me thinking about a topic I've never considered in depth before, the importance of family in romance. Attempting to calculate what desserts I'll actually have time to make on Thanksgiving day that will hold up on the hour-long drive from my parents' in PA to my in-laws' in NJ will do that to you (because, yes, we're trying to visit both families on the same day. We'll see how it goes).

Families are so important to our real-life romances. I feel like my husband has married my whole crazy clan. Considering the fact that he's known my youngest sister (now twenty) since she was twelve, he really is a brother to her. And I wouldn't be as excited about our married life together if I didn't know that I love spending time with my husband's family and really do want them in my life for better or for worse.

But how many romances make use of this element of the marriage story? Off the top of my head and entirely unscientifically, I'd say not many. Or not enough. Think about it: the numbers of orphaned governesses out on their own (ripe for the seducin'), or lonely dukes who inherited it all after their cruel father croaked. Or wretched fathers forcing their children to marry where their hearts don't lie. Doesn't it seem that those sorts of stories outnumber the one-big-happy-family kind, at least in the historical genre? In contemporaries there may be more, but there are still rarely supportive, loving parents, even while sibling sagas threaten to take over the world.

We know that happy families can work great in romance, whatever Tolstoy had to say about them. The Bridgertons are a prime example: those books would lack so much without the B's hanging out together as a clan. In fact, the one B book I really didn't care for (Francesca's story) missed the mark for exactly that reason, too little family interaction.

But I'm guilty of not practicing what I preach. My first book: heroine, estranged from family; hero, mourning loss of brother and father (though he did have a mother, sister, and brother-in-law around to torment him). My current WIP: heroine, an orphaned only child; hero, estranged from his rather large family. If we're supposed to write what we know, I'm afraid I've broken that rule.

Is it intimidating to write about family life? Is it too close to our (my?) hearts to delve into right away. Or are the dramatic possibilities inherent in the gal/guy-on-her/his-own plots too tempting to pass up? Whatever the case, I've got to get over those qualms soon. The heroine of my next WIP is the oldest of thirteen children. And they're ALL making an appearance.

While I'm trying to sort that out, why don't you chime in: Is romance (real and fictional) better when it includes family? Why do so many authors cut the family out of the plot? What's your favorite family in romance?

Note added: check out the review of Lisa Kleypas' Mine Till Midnight at Smart Bitches, Trashy Books here to get Sarah's take on the topic.

From Friends to Lovers

Recently on Romancing the Blog, Daniela L. posted about a strange, sick trend on Grey's Anatomy. I speak, of course, about the relationship between Izzie and George.

This is especially interesting to me because the Izzie-George tangle is TV's latest attempt to cash in on the "friends to lovers" storyline. This happens to be one of my favorite set-ups in a novel, so it's perhaps not surprising that it's also the set-up for the romance I'm writing. As such, I'm super-sensitive to when it works, and when it doesn't.

Izzie and George don't work, for a number of reasons. First of all, there's the adultery thing. Maybe I'm a prude, but I don't like the glorification of adultery in our media. Secondly, their hook-up corresponds to an unfortunate flattening of the characters from complex and likeable to whiny and somewhat inconsistent. Third, there's the fact that we didn't see a real build-up to this relationship. There was no sexual tension. And is Izzie really over Denny? Is George really over Meredith? Finally, you just don't get the sense that these characters could ever have an HEA. What do they actually do for each other? How do they complement and complete one another? Very, very unclear.

But despite this specific romantic trainwreck, I'd like to think that the "friends to lovers" storyline is one of the most powerful around. Just think about the legendary shenanigans of Rachel and Ross. Even if the constant back-and-forth of their relationship annoyed you, you've got to admit that the initial build-up was fabulous. Think about it: he always had a thing for her, but his underlying character traits made it impossible for him to say anything. You have a little time and distance built into their backstory--both characters went on to find other loves, but at the opening of the show it's clear that Ross's feelings are back, full-strength. The strong friendship between them is one of the attraction points, but it's also one of the conflicts (maybe this is too weird, do I dare risk the friendship, etc). Friends, I feel, also did an absolutely fabulous job of involving the (nosy, delightful) secondary characters in their romance.

Of course, the grand-mommy of all friends-to-lovers relationships would have to be Anne Shirley and Gilbert Blythe. Who didn't love their courtship in Anne of the Island? I'd say that Anne and Gilbert were my first romance. To use a friend's phrase, Gilbert's my ur-crush. Don't be surprised if Anne and Gilbert get their own post sometime in the near future!

So, what do you think? Does "friends to lovers" work, or am I crazy? If it does work, what are the necessary ingredients--what do you like? What do you hate? And what are amazing examples of the past (movies, books, and TV shows) that you'd recommend to the rest of us?

Autumn Musings (and TV)

Don't you just love autumn? As Tom Hanks said in You've Got Mail, "It makes me wanna buy school supplies. I would send you a bouquet of newly sharpened pencils if I knew your name and address. On the other hand, this not knowing has its charms."

This is the time of year that I feel most nostalgic for New England. I miss being able to stare at beautiful foliage as I walk to a class I'm not teaching, kicking the hem of my long wool coat as I admire the pumpkins on various Colonial and Victorian porches (sadly, the ranch ramblers and strip malls out here just don't have the same charm).

Of course, there are plenty of autumnal pleasures to be enjoyed indoors, as well. I'm speaking of television premiere season! It's always fun to hunker down for a new season of old favorites. Then, of course, there are all the new shows.

This year, I'm watching Life and Pushing Daisies. I like both of them thus far. For Life, it's mainly because I look at the protagonist and I think, "Yay! Dick Winters! Oh, wait. This is not Band of Brothers." And then I look at Alan Alda and think "Yay! Adam the Alaskan gourmet chef! Oh, wait. This is not Northern Exposure." But I love those two actors and I can't wait to see what they come up with together.

I'm not worried about that show at all. Procedurals are hot right now; Life should find a mainstream audience.

Pushing Daisies, though... well, it has several strikes against it.

(1) It's quirky (and network execs these days don't seem to like quirk).

(2) The Fiancé and I both like it (always a kiss of death).

(3) The cinematography is Technicolor taken to a deliciously lush extreme... I can't imagine that's cheap to film.

I am going to keep my fingers crossed, though. The show feels Tim-Burton-y, it's narrated by Jim Dale, and the supporting cast includes a West Wing alum and an aging, one-eyed synchronized swimmer. What's not to love?

Speaking of love, I want to know what you're enjoying these days. What do you love about fall? What do you think of the new fall line-up? Talk to me, people.

Of Rakes and Heroes

Currently, for my graduate class on the 18th-century novel, I'm slogging my way through Samuel Richardson's Clarissa. For those of you who have not had the pleasure of this pithy little 1,500 page monster, a brief summary: Boy meets girl. Girl's family tries to force her to marry a gross other guy. Boy tricks girl into running away with him to escape said family. Boy rapes girl. Girl dies. Fun times.

Despite its length and verbosity, the novel's actually much more entertaining than that dismissive description would suggest. The "Boy" himself, Lovelace, in particular, is a fascinating portrait of a clever, humorous, charming man with all his wits bent toward some rather unscrupulous ends.

As I'm reading, I find myself marveling at the way Lovelace conforms quite neatly to the image of your typical romance alpha hero. Commanding, brilliant, handsome, rich, titled: how is that not exactly the description of 6/8th of the heroes in historical romance? He feels certain he knows Clarissa's true desires better that she does. He plans to help her unlock the hedonism that surely lies in her seemingly virtuous soul (rape is sort of a last resort, if you will). He vows revenge on her family for attempting to keep them apart. Even contemporary romance makes use of the "lying to her for her own good" trope.

This is not meant as yet another excoriation of the anti-feminist backwardness of romance, by any means. I like a good alpha hero! Done well, they can be sympathetic, appealing, exciting, and sexy as hell. I even like Lovelace, when he's not crowing about how much sweeter the rake's victory feels when he wins it from an unwilling woman. (In this I'm not alone, as Richardson's 18th-century readers were so taken by Lovelace that they begged for him to be reformed by the love of Clarissa, and for the book to end in marriage rather than deaths--yeah, he dies too, in a duel).

I'm just wondering where we draw the line: in the books we read and in our own fiction. What separates the villain from the hero? I think I write pretty "good guy" heroes for the most part, maybe even beta men, and I often feel obligated to make them...a little meaner. As though, if they don't occasionally insult the heroine or go off and fight someone or get drunk, they're not "real" romance heroes.

Readers, please weigh on on where you stand. When does a hero become a villain? When can a villain become a hero? Where's your invisible line between redeemable and wretched?

Finding "The One"

Guess what? I found the dress!

Yeah, I know this blog is supposed to be focused on all things writerly... but I couldn't resist sharing with y'all. And anyway, what could be more romantic than a wedding dress? (Certainly not the sad state of my revisions...)

I'm including some pictures of the "almost rans" in my post. If you want to see the real deal, leave me a comment and I'll email it to you.

This is what I've discovered about shopping for important apparel. The correct method includes the following:

(1) Gather together a clique of delightful female relatives (it helps if one of your relatives is an incredibly stylish salon owner).

(2) Have dinner beforehand at a cute bistro.

(3) Make sure that dinner includes wine. Get slightly snockered.

(4) Don't wear hideous granny panties while you're trying on dresses (the lines, I've discovered, are very unflattering).

(5) Try on the veil, even if you think you'll hate it...

(6) ... but stick to your conviction that tiaras are definitely not "you."

(7) Revel in satisfaction that the dress you first saw in the magazine really is the one you wanted after all.

(8) Approach with a sense of humor. It is entirely possible that you will get stuck in a dress. It is entirely possible that total strangers will have to pull you free. And at least one of the dresses will make you feel like an organza-covered hippo. Apparently someone out there craves that look. Go figure.

Ultimately, I spent one two-hour trip and found the dress. It was faily hassle-free, and I really enjoyed spending time with my mother and aunts. Knock on wood--I'm sure the insanity's just a few short months away...

Character Crushes

Have you been over to Naughty 'n Spice lately? The ladies over there are having an excellent discussion about celebrity crushes--and there are posts where you can discuss your tingly feelings for both male and female Hollywood hotties.

Of course I posted. In a world that gave us Gerard Butler and Salma Hayek, how could I not? And yet... to be perfectly frank, I don't often lust after movie stars. There was, of course, the Summer of Crowe. But that's another story and definitely needs its own post.

The truth is, though, that my lust isn't usually aimed at Hollywood stars. It's aimed at characters. Movie, book, TV... doesn't really matter. If they're fictitious and slightly twisted, chances are I like them.

Just consider Spike, from Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Every time he tilted his head and gave one of his trademark smirks, I felt myself getting a little melty. Then he'd cause mayhem, with leather coat billowing, and I'd think, "Hot. Goth." He was complicated and powerful, capable of both great evil and great loyalty. The best part? He was also insanely witty.

Frankly, he'd be a great romance novel hero.

So. I had a thing for Spike. I didn't quite want to have his evil, soulless babies... but I thought he'd make an absolutely fabulous mistake.

And this is what I'm wondering now: does anyone else in Blogland possess this little quirk? And if so, who is/was your character crush? (As always, feel free to link back to this post.)

Childhood heroes

I just learned today that one of the most beloved authors of my childhood, Madeleine L'Engle, passed away this week. I vividly remember reading A Wrinkle In Time for the first time at age eight. The book was a revelation, in the same way that Anne of Green Gables would be a year later or that The Secret Garden had been the year before. I was seduced by the story and the sheer process of story-telling, and I decided that year, I remember, that I wanted to be a writer when I grew up.

I also found myself captivated by Meg and Calvin, wondering what would happen between the two of them. See, even then I was a budding romantic! And I loved following their family through the rest of the books in the series. My pleasure on learning that they'd married when I read A Swiftly Tilting Planet was way beyond the interest any nine-year-old should have taken in the subject.

So pick up a L'Engle book in her honor, check out her obit in the NY Times, and let us know in the comments: What is your favorite Madeleine L'Engle novel, or your best-remembered early reading experience?

Say Our Names

Big changes afoot here at Damned Scribbling Women, born of our rediscovered writing mojo. We're back, we're busy, and we're ready to tackle this business like never before.

So, to begin, a word about the shiny new names you see to the left of this post under "Meet the Scribbling Women." Kate D. is now the dazzling Kate Diamond, while theflitgirl has unveiled herself as Anneliese Kelly. We're tying the blog to our individual writing projects, so blogging under our writing names is a natural fit.

Yes, I said "writing names", not "names." Kate and I have followed in the footsteps of luminaries like Lemony Snicket, George Eliot, and all three of the Bronte sisters (Acton, Ellis and Currer Bell) in adopting pseudonyms, rather than publishing under our everyday names.

The decision to use a pseudonym of course brings up a host of conflicts and questions. It's fairly common in the romance industry, although increasingly less so. Writing under a name like Lulubelle von Flurryfeathers does feed into the stereotypes about this genre: frivolous, ridiculous, outdated, over-feminine. It also smacks of "hiding" behind a false name out of shame or embarrassment.

So why have two modern, unabashed women like us decided to go this route. For starters, both Kate and I are involved in education and literary studies. While we feel that writing romance only adds to our credentials as proud feminists, not all our current and potential bosses/teachers and coworkers/fellow students will agree. Additionally, the parents of the little darlings we instruct may not want to associate Junior's English teacher with lusty Regency dukes or shag sessions in lakeside cabins.

For me, however, there's another factor: my life-long love of names. Since I was a child I've poured over baby name books and as an adult must confess to an addiction to baby name messageboards. When else will I have the opportunity to name myself? My new name comes from my family history (my mother's maiden name) and from several of my favorite, most life-changing novels. Plus, it's pretty!

We'd love to hear from other readers and writers. What do you think about noms de plume? Would you/ Do you use one? Why are they more common in romance than any other genre, even mystery fiction?

Finally...what do you think of ours??

Big News

Guess what? The Boyfriend is now The Fiance.

How did it happen? Well, with lots of love, a few ultimatums, and almost four years together it all came together one Saturday morning. After hearing several stellar proposals engineered by my college buddies (Parag's roses and love notes tacked on trees, Riley's miracle rays shining down on Romanian mountaintops, etc), my own proposal story is deliciously mundane. I was puttering in the kitchen and told The Fiance I was getting frustrated with his indecision. He said something along the lines of, "Dammit! I haven't figured out how to propose yet and there's no way I'm going to top Parag, but I sure as hell didn't want to propose next to our nasty sink full of dishes." Whereupon I shrieked like a banshee, asked "Really?" several times, and finally made it clear that my answer was yes.

Maren wanted to know if I was wearing yellow dish gloves at the time of the proposal. Sadly, no--but feel free to spread that rumor. It makes the story more entertaining.

We decided to tell our parents in person. At the same time. Which was rather crazy, since the ring is a family heirloom that's been hiding in my mom's underwear drawer for about five years now. The Fiance didn't want to ask for it--because then my parents would know before his--and he didn't want to go looking for it himself, for obvious reasons. So, we invited our parents over for a Wednesday night dinner and on Tuesday morning I completed a Grand Theft Diamond after rooting through several hiding spots (my mother's all about the "places no self-respecting burglar would look." See underwear drawer comment, above).

Anyway, it was quite the high. I think I've missed my calling as a petty thief. Yet after the big production of stealing the ring and getting our parents together (not to mention the absolutely fabulous dinner I made), it was a little anticlimactic when we announced, "We're engaged," and they said, "We knew it!" Ah, well. Turns out I'll never be a professional poker player or an international spy. But who cares? As The Fiance said, "Honey, I'll be annoying you now for the rest of your life."Perversely enough, I'm looking forward to it. :)

Special bonus: I guess everyone knew before The Fiance and I told them. In Theresa's case, she knew long before The Fiance and I even contemplated marriage! On a trip to Washington several winters ago, she gave my mother a beautiful, handmade lace shawl. The knitting is gorgeous, and the pattern is all symbols of the Pacific Northwest. She said, "He's The One. When he proposes, give her this." My mother was so sure of what was happening, that she brought that shawl to dinner.

Thanks, Theresa! I love it!

Why I Hate Rewrites

I'm in the midst of rewriting my opening seven pages for the Emerald City Opener Contest. I've now, officially, spent half an hour staring at potential first sentences and agonizing that I might not pick the perfect one. So now I'm soliciting opinions from others. Which one do you like better? HELP ME!

Option A: "In the midst of her boyfriend’s achingly appropriate birthday party, Jessica Jo Carter began to think seriously about leaving him."

OR

Option B: "If it hadn’t been for the Gouda cheese, Jessica Carter’s whole life would have been entirely different."

I modeled that second sentence off of my favorite opening line of all time. Bonus points for anyone who can identify the original! (And if you are one of my friends that regularly visits this website but doesn't leave comments... please make an exception just this once!)

Judgment Day-- This Time It's Personal

I just got the scores from RWA for my Golden Heart submission. I was bummed when I didn't get "the call" announcing my status as a finalist (which, somehow, I'd convinced myself would happen). I'm even more bummed at receiving these scores.

First of all, my overall score places me in the bottom half of entries. Not too far down into the bottom half, but still there. That sucks. I've seen some of the crap that actually get published by the industry and had flattered myself that my book was better than a lot of it. To find out I'm not even in the top 50% of hopeful authors really stinks.

Second, the scores are kind of all over the place. Three of the five judges rank me pretty consistently in the mid level (5, 5.5, and--my new sworn enemy-- 4.2). Then two other judges rate it pretty highly, a 7 and a 9, the highest score possible.

I get that opinion's subjective, but how in an at least somewhat merit- rather than personal opinion-based competition can one judge rate my book a 4.2 (a D) and another a 9 (A+)? Of course, the Golden Heart gives no editorial feedback, so I have no idea what was so appalling to Judge 5 and delightful to Judge 2.

At least I didn't get any 1s. I guess I should take from this that I'm not a terrible writer, my book appealed to someone, and that I've got a long way left to go. A few more weeks left of the semester and then I'll throw myself into shopping Then Comes Marriage and writing Secrets and Spies.

Triplet Update

The triplets will be six months old on April 19th! I almost can't believe it. I call them "my little fatties," because they're getting to be so big. The other day I was over there and they were hanging out on their tummies, and I discovered they have little fat creases behind their knees. That, coupled with the dimples instead of knuckles, gets me every time.

So, here they are, hanging out in the onesies I got them over at Retro Baby. Am I a cool aunt, or what?

Slings and Arrows

As my dear, darling critique partner Kate D. now knows, it's official: I'm a rejected author.

Last week I received in the (e-)mail box my long awaited response to my first agent query (an exclusive, which is why I hadn't sent any others out). Then Comes Marriage was denied. Shot down. Turned away. And all those other we-don't-like-you-soundy phrases.

However, let us not despair. After about 20 minutes in which I surprised myself by wanting to cry, I pretty much got over it. Wannabe writers get rejected. That's part of the process. And at least I'm now a wannabe writer, not a wannabe wannabe writer.

The email was also a "good" rejection, and I feel rather fortunate to have received one of those famed breed on my first try. The typo in the first sentence leads me to believe it's not a form rejection (if it is, then this agency's a bit more slipshod than I thought and I made a lucky escape). With addresses and proper names omitted, it follows:

"Thank you for submitting to ------ Agency.

"We greatly appreciate your submission, and though Then Comes Marriage is not a good fit for us. The story line and love scenes were strong; however, it felt too familiar to be able to distinguish it in the market. Still, your writing shows promise and we would be interested to consider any future projects.We wish you the best of luck in your writing career.

"Again, thank you for thinking of ----- Agency."

Now I understand why they advise having a stockpile of ready manuscripts under your bed. If Secrets and Spies were ready to go, I'd shoot it off to the agency with a personal "Hey, you asked for this!" note faster than I could get to the post office. Sadly, it's only about 1/5 written, and I likely won't even have a first draft until the summer.

Still, I'm cautiously optimistic.

Sick Days Done Right

No writing news (still waiting to hear back from an agent), but I've spent my flu days this week watching some excellent movies any romance fan would love.

First up, the new BBC/PBS Jane Eyre. I caught most of this when it was on Masterpiece Theatre a few weeks ago, but missed about an hour--naturally, the hour in which Jane and Rochester declare their love and have the aborted wedding. So of course I had to order the DVD. It arrived yesterday and I watched all 4 hours in one sitting. One of the best Jane adaptations I've ever seen. Rochester is sexy and brooding, but also smiley and neither too movie-star handsome, nor too weird-looking and frightening. Jane is self-assured, not a quivering little nervous flower. Some liberties taken (as expected) but over all, strongly recommended.

Second, I caught Casanova on tv today. Not the Donald Sutherland /Fellini version (which is incredibly stylized and oddly compelling), but the 2005 version starring Heath Ledger and Sienna Miller. Heath Ledger makes a fabulous Casanova, witty, clever and charming. For once I don't hate Sienna Miller in a movie. Maybe it's her brunette 'do (and lack of leggings). It's a witty, frothy script and entirely fun. Plus, it's filmed on location in Venice, set in the 18th century and full of incredible Baroque music by Albioni, Vivaldi, Teleman and Handel.

Okay, off to use my last remaining strength of the day to pick up some sick reading from Barnes and Noble: Jenny Crusie, Celeste Bradley, Madeline Hunter and Susan Elizabeth Phillips.

Banter, Not Bedroom: A Plea

Here's the thing. I love American romantic movies. Really, I do. Sometimes, after a bad day at work, I'll indulge myself by spot-watching such sugary fluff as Just Like Heaven or While You Were Sleeping. But in all honesty? Unless we're talking about an old black-and-white film starring Cary Grant and... well, Cary Grant and anyone, really... there's just no contest.

The Brits do it better.

Why is this? I think that Americans have grown too dependent on the cinematically beautiful love scene. I'm tired of seeing the oh-so-masculine hand running smoothly up a toned, tanned thigh. I'm tired of the theatrical gasps, dewy-eyed gazing, and discreetly passionate music in the background. It's not romantic. Often, it's not even sexy. And if you're accidentally watching the movie with your father, it can be downright squicky.

So, when will American film producers (and American audiences) learn to love the Verbal Tease?

Brits don't torture us with gratuitous love scenes. Often if there is physical sex, it's awkward and funny and all-around entertaining. (Think Bridget Jones's Diary and the granny panties.) Mostly though, the Brits put eye sex and word sex into their films.

Case in point: Colin Firth gives the best eye sex of all time, especially in the A&E/BBC version of Pride and Prejudice. C'mon. Whenever he gives Lizzie a melty look over the pianoforte or what have you, all I can think is: hoo, boy. Shiver me timbers. You know that he's totally and hopelessly in love with her and the fact that he's so restrained and repressed only makes it hotter. Seriously. At the end of the six hours, when you finally see him smile for the first time, it almost feels like you're seeing him naked. Ooh, naughty! Teeth! What a reveal!

It's infinitely preferable to artificial Hollywood nudity, though I suppose I enjoy man candy as much as any red-blooded heterosexual woman.

Here's another lesson: word sex is important. Word sex makes the leading man. Even if he doesn't have an oiled six-pack, he opens his clever mouth and we fall in love. The banter. The accent. (Okay, maybe American cinema can't reproduce that, but really...) Again, case in point: Hugh Grant. Totally adorable in Four Weddings and Funeral as he stutters out, "In the words of David Cassidy, before he left the Partridge Family, I think I love you."

So, Hollywood, a task for the summer: I want banter. I want emotional suspense. I want the tease. In short, I want a decent script!

October/November Lightning Log

Nobody's Baby But Mine – Contemporary (Susan Elizabeth Phillips) – Superb

Only a Duke Will Do – Regency (Sabrina Jeffries) – Superb

The Dance of the Gods – Paranormal Romance (Nora Roberts) – Superb/Very Good

The Valley of Silence – Paranormal Romance (Nora Roberts) – Superb/Very Good

The Masquerade – Regency (Brenda Joyce) – Very Good/Good

Night Play – Paranormal Dark-Hunter (Sherrilyn Kenyon) – Very Good/Good

Eat Like A College Student, Write Like...

A Moveable Feast, indeed!

Every once in awhile I'm overcome with regret that I'm not an angry, chain-smoking ex-pat living in Paris during the 1920s. Tonight is one of those nights, and I blame it on the Hemingway lecture I'm preparing to give my students tomorrow. Why oh why couldn't I be a Great American Author, hanging out with other Greats as I pickle my liver in absinthe?

I suppose we all have our own form of greatness, just as we have our own Great Flaw. Hemingway wrote what are, in my opinion, the greatest American short stories of all time while he drank and wenched his way through life. My greatness? I'm still working on that one. The flaw, however, is over-committing myself to projects and people and then agonizing when I can't give every facet of my life the full attention it deserves.

Hence this evening. After a long bubble bath, I decided to forego the pleasures of finishing up my essay-grading. I should feel ashamed, I know, but I'm suffering a bad case of burn-out and it's only first quarter. So instead, I'm drinking red wine and eating my first tin of Danish butter cookies since the Great Butter Cookie Overdose of 2000. (Oh, the thrills of finals period my junior year of college... but that's a tale for another time...)

I'm also thinking about why I teach, and why I seem to be ignoring my teaching philosophies on a day-to-day basis. I'm thinking about the books I want to write, but never finish, and the vacations I want to take, but never do. I'm thinking about the relationships that are important to me, and the way I tell myself, "I'll let them know how much I love them tomorrow."

Perhaps this all sounds incredibly depressing and I suppose, objectively, it is. But hey, at least if I died tomorrow none of my friends would portray me horribly in their autobiographies, as Ernest Hemingway did to F. Scott Fitzgerald (basically calling him “a drunk, a weakling, a hypochondriac, a fool, an irresponsible writer, a nuisance, sexually insecure and wife-dominated…”

[1])

Ouch! With friends like that, who needs enemies?

Tonight, I'm wondering what I'm really doing with my life. When will I stop putting off my own ambitions? How can I be the writer, sister, daughter, girlfriend, friend, teacher and "wild woman" I feel that I was born to be?

When do we stop waiting for our dreams and actually take a step towards achieving them? Deep thoughts, I know, and not the usual norm for the public side of DSW. But hey, when I'm avoiding grading it makes me philosophical!

* * * * *

[1] Matthew J. Bruccoli, Fitzgerald and Hemingway: A Dangerous Friendship (New York: Carroll & Graf, 1995) 1.

Auntie Kate

Big Hand: the Brother
Baby Hand: a Nephew (Alex)

Just thought I'd let you all know that I'm now a proud aunt to triplet boys. Benjamin Thomas, Ryan Anthony, and Alexander Michael joined this rainy world on Thursday, October 18th. They made it to 33 weeks before demanding a birthday... which is pretty good for triplets, from what I hear.

Last weekend, I got to visit them for the first time. The family spent a marvelous hour or two tickling Alex's feet and laughing at Ben while he smacked Alex in the face (they share an incubator). The coup de gras: I got to actually hold Ryan. He was so darn adorable and wiggly.

Just a few weeks old and they're already proving what I suspected: they have my brother's energy, so we won't be able to turn our backs on them for a second!

My brother and his wife are doing well. They're back home in Olympia, but one or both of them drives to Seattle every other day to visit the boys. Ben's already hit his four-pound mark, and all three babies have begun to spend part of their day in an open-air crib before being returned to the incubator.

I am going to be That Disgusting Aunt. You know, the one who spends her entire paycheck on fabulous baby books and ridiculously cute baby socks? I think this is a lovely trait to add to my resume.

But what with nephews to spoil and parent conferences to survive, I haven't worked on my novel or--truth to tell--even thought much about the blog. Life's been a blur of Other Stuff. But today I have the day off from school... so, after I go into school for about three hours of grading and planning (see how that "off time" works?) I'm going to come home, clean my apartment, do a little shopping and then WRITE bef0re The Boyfriend gets here for our weekend.

Exciting, no?

The Creature From the Black Lagoon

Would be me. If by "Black Lagoon" one means "Library." Thanks to Kate D for single-handedly keeping hope alive.

Don't get me wrong, graduate school is fantastic, and I'm so happy to be reading and thinking and analyzing literature again in a more professional setting than online (not that talking romance here hasn't been great, too). But the utter neglect of my completed-the-week-I-started-school final draft of Then Comes Marriage had me low and it had me down.

Until this morning when, perhaps still under the effects of Halloween cocktails from last night, I grit my teeth and took the step I've been contemplating for weeks.

That's right, I entered Then Comes Marriage in RWA's Golden Heart contest.

So, let's see, what's left to tackle by the submission deadline of December 4? Reformat entire ms, write exciting and interesting synopsis, and cull first five chapters of ms into a gripping and cohesive partial.

And write three 20 page papers while keeping up the normal reading course load.

I'm sure I'll regret this imminently, but I think it's time I force myself to get back to work on my other potential career, and there's nothing like a deadline to get me moving.

Bonus! By entering the contest, I'll have my synopsis completed, and with trimming and revising, should be able to begin submitting to agents next month! Wish me luck!