Sherrie, here. Susie Felber's post will go up later today, so do check back! In the interim, we've put up a Wench Classic from last December, which will be replaced by Susie's post when it goes up. The purpose of Susie's blog post will be to announce the release of Edith Layton's final book, To Love a Wicked Lord. Edith finished this book shortly before her death earlier this year, and it is a fitting farewell to her devoted fans. TLWL is getting excellent reviews and recently received 4 1/2 stars from Romantic Times. Here's what RT said about TLWL:
“The Regency world comes to life as a wickedly handsome hero, sharp-tongued heroine and her ditzy grandmother are drawn together.” (Romantic Times Top Pick) Maxwell, Lord Montrose, is the only man who can help Phillipa find her missing fiancé. On the trail of the elusive husband-to-be, Maxwell and Pippa have the best of intentions. But a simmering attraction builds in close quarters . . .
Read more about the book by clicking the cover in the sidebar in the lower right side of this page. Don't forget to return later today. And now, here is Susie's interview from last December. ~Sherrie
Hi there! It's Edith Layton's daughter Susie here again. In my last post, I shared photos and memories about what it was like growing up as my mommy morphed into some lady named Layton.
For part the second, I promised you tales of romance conferences, my gazillion prepubescent research trips to England and the tale of why I helped throw mom her second-ever book party 30 novels later.
But you know the saying "brevity is the soul of wit"? Well brevity is also the soul of OMGits10pmIjustfinishedwriting4mydayjobbrainischeese.
So, I think this time, I'm just going to talk about research trips I was dragged on to ol' Blighty. We'll tackle the other topics another time.
OK. I've just poured myself a glass of cheap-o 2005 Bordeaux -- let's roll!
How about some pictures? Yay! On the right, you see Edith Layton sometime in the 80's. In this photo, one can clearly see her steely resolve to visit each and every historical site in England. Posing on the walls of York, her jammin' Pat Benetar haircut says, "Love is a Battlefield and I will cut anyone who gets in my way of visiting anything with a plaque and every Perkin Warbeck urinal from here to Penzance."
I know what you're thinking. "How sharper than a serpent's tooth this child is! What an ingrate! She was lucky enough to be whisked all over the UK and has nothing but disdain and mockery for dear mum?"
OK, no. That's not true. I loved many -- nay most -- of the places we visited.
Castles were the best. Loved the ruins and we stayed in many that had shored up their battlements and turned a buck as hotels in England, Scotland and Wales. Second to castles were museums. Then cathedrals. We couldn't miss those. Quite interesting. Although when you're fourteen years old and on your umpteem chilly crypt, you tend to get a tad cranky. Of course then there were small village churches, where, if you were very unlucky, mom would find some arthritic man running the parish who would then be interrogated about his knowledge of somebody who hung out there 200 years ago.
Oh and then there were the pilgrimages to ancient stone circles in the middle of nowhere. Pre-GPS, actually finding one of these rumored stone circles buried within the fog of the mountains and the sheep exhalations was nearly impossible. And once you got there, you clambered over a stile to tip toe over ewe poo to drink in the drama and mystery of rocks that looked like Stonehenge if it were engineered by mice.
See that picture on the left? That there is the late 80's. My brothers had both gone off to college and my parents kindly brought my great friend Mary with me. I'm not sure where this was taken. Mary recently uploaded it to Facebook. But, what you can clearly see is that we are likely the only visitors to a castle yet we looked like some sort of Cagney and Lacey/Flock of Seagulls trainwreck. And at that age, hyped up on New Wave as we were, we set out on each crypt-filled research adventure with outfits made of synthetics and hair moussed into next week, hoping against hope some dreamy British rock star-ish type would amble by.
Let me say from
bitterness experience, that more hot men can be found in a small convent than are passionately researching the Regency in all the rutabaga-sized towns of England.
And why always England? I begged to go to France, Spain, Latvia -- anywhere but another trip to the land of a thousand historic homes with psychotically perfect gardens selling dainty flowered items.
On the flip side of kvetching, we did meet wonderfully nice people and we stayed at some amazing places. Thatched cottages galore in the Lake District, at the Grosvenor House in a suite so big I couldn't believe it was a hotel, in manors with bathtubs so deep they should've come with a snorkel. And yes, those fabulous castles, many of whom served continental breakfast in the dungeon, making you feel you were living a Monty Python sketch.
Of course the joke's on me. All those trips to England obviously brainwashed me. Because while happily enjoying my cosmopolitan crypt-less and thatch-free life in NYC -- I met and fell in love with and eventually married a Brit.
He even lived in a thatched cottage for a time and his family has a coat of arms, which I made into a onesie for our son. I took that charming thatch roof pub pic you see here on our last visit to see his family. Also, it's in our pre-nup that if he ever loses the accent -- it's over!
OK lovely Wench readers! If you've made it this far, put on your silver cape, shake it off and pat yourselves on the back. Once you've recovered, leave a comment and say hi!
PS If you are looking for more blogtainment, please visit www.dumbasablog.com which is just one of my online endeavors!