Word Wenches

Welcome to The New Wench! Nicola Cornick

Anne here. As regular readers of this blog know, there have been shifts and changes in the Word Wench line-up over the last few months, as first Loretta, then Edith, then Susan Holloway Scott decided to concentrate on their books and become Wenches Emeritae, still part of the community, but only blogging occasionally, rather than every fortnight. 

Andrea Pickens has already joined us as a part timer (a demi-wench?) and we've had another Honorary Word Wench poised on the slip-rails for some time, shrouded in mystery and waiting to be launched as a regular Word Wench on June 5th. And I've been poised to crack a large bottle of champagne over her head, make a small speech and shove her into the water. ;)

 Edith's death has devastated us all, but one of our last joint decisions with her was to invite Nicola Cornick to become our newest wench, and we, as a group, feel very sure that Edith would want us to go ahead with Nicola's planned launch date, and do it joyfully and with celebrations. 

So please join us in welcoming Nicola Cornick. Nicola has been interviewed here before and has blogged as a guest. She's a talented, popular and prolific author and, living in England, she ensures that we're now even more global. Welcome Nicola! 

Thank you to Anne for such a moving, gracious (and damp?!) introduction and to all the Word Wenches for a very warm welcome indeed. It is a huge privilege to be invited to join the ranks of the Word Wenches and I am honoured to be here and will do my very best to uphold the traditions that Edith and all the other Wenches have established with such wit and charm.

I write Regency-set historicals and this month sees the launch of my new series, the Brides of Fortune. The heroine of the first book in the series, The Confessions of a Duchess, is Laura Cole, dowager duchess and former highwaywoman. Laura’s adventures began back in my previous book, Unmasked, when she was one of the leaders of the Glory Girls, a band of outlaws who worked to protect the poor and the weak against the injustices of society. Whilst I was writing Unmasked I was prompted to wonder what exactly is the appeal of the outlaw hero – or heroine – not just in fiction but why is it so deeply rooted in myth and legend? Are these characters criminals and as such can their exploits never be justified? Or do they represent some primal desire within us all for justice and equity?

There is a new film of the Robin Hood legend currently in the making, featuring Russell Crowe as Robin and with the new twist that the Sheriff of Nottingham is one of the good guys. At the same time the BBC drama of the same name is in its third series, much of its appeal deriving from a young and good looking cast and a rather knowing, deliberate use of anachronism! But why is this outlaw so popular? Robin and his Merry Men are legendary characters but they are the most sympathetic outlaws in history.

 

The earliest folk tales about Robin Hood date from the 13th century. Famous for stealing from the rich and giving to the poor, Robin has been variously depicted as a commoner or as a dispossessed nobleman, Robin of Loxley. The original tales of his activities place him in Yorkshire but by the 16^th century he had moved to Nottinghamshire and taken up residence with his Merry Men (and Maid Marian, a 16^th century love interest addition) in Sherwood Forest.  It is in the ballad-style narratives of the 15th and 16th Centuries that Robin’s story really takes shape. In these tales most of the present-day legend is already in place. We have Robin’s dedication to protecting the poor and needy, his brilliant skill as an archer and his dislike of corrupt authority.

 

There are some very appealing elements to the Robin Hood legend. The camaraderie, the idea of rebellion against a corrupt society, the romance and the timeless theme of good versus evil are all very attractive ideas. And in the current economic climate of recession, the Robin Hood legend also resonates with people. In a BBC interview Thomas Hahn, professor of English at Rochester University commented that the character’s popularity had long represented people’s frustrations with life in a capitalist society. Although the legend is medieval in origin his contention is that “it is a fantasy broad and deep enough to possess the imaginations of people in almost all times and places.”

 

It is interesting that the popularity of the Robin Hood legend blossomed in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, a time of capitalist enterprise. One outlaw theme that developed later, during the Regency era, was that of the pirate. Lord Byron had a great deal to do with promoting the cult of the pirate as hero. His poem The Corsair was published in the summer of 1814 and was immediately interpreted by an eager public as a smouldering, piratical self-portrait.  When taken in combination with a painting of Byron sporting an exotic headscarf and cutlass, the poem added yet another fantasy element that fed Byron’s celebrity status.

Ten thousand copies of The Corsair were sold on the day of publication. Byron had  based his story on tales of Barbary pirates who sailed the Mediterranean and Aegean kidnapping men and women to sell as slaves. He idealised his hero, Conrad, as “a man of loneliness and mystery.” In effect his poem was a wildly romantic fantasy on the brutal reality of pirating but it caught the public imagination. Like the Robin Hood legend, the cult of the pirate changed and grew through the following decades and centuries. There were five different ballets inspired by Byron’s poem between 1826 and 1856. The corsair cult spread to other arts and like the Robin Hood legend, was transformed again with the birth of the movie industry.

 

Arguably Robin Hood was the first footpad or highwayman. The idea of a nobleman fallen from grace, the protector of the poor and weak who is up against an oppressive regime is a very powerful one. There is a real gap between reality and fantasy here. In reality highway robbery was violent, dangerous and criminal but in the public imagination it is romanticised and glamorous. The highwayman is seen as dashing and likeable, a rogue with the qualities of courage and confidence, someone with not only strength of personality as well as skill with arms but arguably a superb horseman, a possessor of stamina and patience. Claude Duval, a Frenchman who emigrated to England in the 1660s did much to reinforce this view of the highwayman as gentleman, with the polished gallantry with which his carried out his robberies, his Gallic good looks and flirtatious tendencies!

 

Highway robbery flourished at a time when the hold of government and of law and order was incomplete or when the forces of government were unpopular or illegitimate. It also required some degree of economic prosperity in order for the highwayman to have appropriately wealthy victims. By the beginning of the nineteenth century, when the implementation of the law was becoming stronger and more organised, highway robbery started to decline and the highwayman’s exploits turned into legend.

 

So is the appeal of the outlaw hero a celebration of liberty?  Do they act as an example to all of us by being completely free and personify some of the aspirations that lie deep in many of  us, not to go out and commit a criminal act, but to be a devil-may-care individualist? What do you think? Does the outlaw hero or heroine appeal to you in fiction or do you think that outlaws are no more than criminals? Who is your favourite outlaw or your favourite film/book with an outlaw hero or heroine?

 

 I’ll be giving away a signed copy of The Confessions of a Duchess to a winner drawn at random from one of the people who leave a comment here. Thank you!

Sad News about a Great Lady: In memory of Edith Layton Felber

To our regret, the Word Wenches must announce the death this morning of Edith Layton after five years of very private struggles with cancer.  During those years, she continued to write her wonderful books, post blogs, and welcome two much adored grandsons into the world. 

If any of you met Edith in person, you know what a warm, incredibly funny person she was.  And if you’ve read her books—you know exactly the same thing.   

She was a born New Yorker, with all the wit and sassiness that implies.  She was proud of her Jewish heritage, and adored blond men with English accents.  She loved her three children and two grandchildren deeply, and they returned that love. 

Edith was one of the first writers I met at my very first conference, when I’d just sold my first Signet Regency, and she has been a friend and mentor ever since.  I could go on about her for a very long time, but this blog is a tribute to Edith, and there are many, many people who remember her with equal warmth.  Below are some of those tributes.  Please add your own—later we wish to collect these for her family.

From Wench Andrea Pickens:

I remember very vividly my first meeting with Edith. I had just sold my first Regency to Signet, and was attending my first RWA Conference. I was completely clueless about the publishing world, having by sheer blind luck managed to stumble through the process of  finding an agent and actually selling my manuscript. My editor, Hilary Ross, rolled her eyes at my dumb questions and said, "I think you need some advice." Looking around, she spotted Edith having a cup of coffee in the lounge. "Oh, there's Edith Layton. She's the perfect person to talk to."

I froze in my tracks. THE Edith Layton? The goddess whose books I adored? No way I would dare approach her!  I tried to dig in my heels but Hilary had me firmly by the elbow and marched me to the chair—or rather, the throne. Edith, as always, looked perfectly regal decked out in her jewel tone florals and gorgeous jewelry. I was probably tongue-tied, but it didn't matter. She smiled and with her pithy wit and warmth spent the next little while making me feel welcome to the sisterhood of writers. I'll never forget her incredible kindness—and her generosity in sharing her experience and advice with a total stranger and unfledged author.

I was lucky enough to become friends with her over the years, and as a person and author she enriched my life more than I can say. Oh, I will miss you, Edith!

From Wench Jo Beverley:

I'll always remember Edith smiling. She's always been a warm and vibrant member
of the romance writing community, especially the regency romance writing
community. She'll be missed for her liveliness and her wit both in her person
and her books.

From regular Wench guest Margaret Evans Porter:

It's hard losing someone I've known since before I was published--more than 20 years.  When I first met Edith in person, at an RWA conference, I was an over-excited fan-girl who had just sold her first Regency.  In the blink of I eye, it seemed, I became not only her fan, but her friend.  We often corresponded by letter, way back in the pre-email days, and then by email. 

There are so many memories, mostly associated with writers' conferences, but some were not.  Like the time I was at her house on Long Island and Abraham, her huge Bernese Mountain Dog jumped right into my lap, and we laughed and laughed.  Her home was full of love and laughter, with an eclectic mix of art and antiques.  I remember her study, her writing room, where she crafted all those memorable stories--the crammed bookshelves and books piled on the floor.  I adored Norbert, her delightful doctor husband, who accompanied her to many a conference (as did Abraham the dog, sometimes!) 

I fondly remember more than a few dinners together in various hotel restaurants--good food, entertaining--and often hilarious--conversations.  Eventually I met Susan and Adam and Mike, the kids of whom she was so proud.  She didn't have many years as a grandma, but how thrilled she was to be one.
 
She was incredibly talented and a consummate professional and so very brave.  I'm thankful for her body of work.  The phrase associated with Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire: "the face without a frown."  I've always thought of Edith that way, and told her so.  Because whenever I think of her, I see her smiling. 

From Robin Rue, a former agent of Edith’s:

She was a wonderful, classy, talented lady.  I loved working with her, and had so much respect for what a research wonk she was.  She will be missed. 

From Wench Susan Holloway Scott:

When I was first published as a romance writer, one of the greatest compliments a reviewer paid me was to say my writing reminded her of Edith Layton's. Of course Edith's writing was in class by itself, full of the same wit and charm that were hers as a person. While books fall in and out of print, that special spark will continue through her much-loved children and grandchildren. 
The world is a little less merry today without her in it...we miss you, Edith!

From Wench Susan King/Sarah Gabriel:

The first time I saw the legendary Edith Layton was at an RWA conference, when I was a newbie in awe of her and she didn't have a clue who I was. Someone said, "Look, here's Edith, let me introduce you--" I turned, and there she was riding alone down an escalator in bright sunlight -- what a grand entrance! Dressed to kill, red hair and lips, and the biggest, warmest, most wonderful smile. She grabbed me in a hug - didn't know the trembling newbie but was sweet to her - and she was deliciously friendly, then and each time we met and chatted over the years.

What a Grande Dame she was, and showed the rest of us how to be the best - the bestest, as she would have said - that we could be, as writers and people. I was delighted each time I saw her, thrilled when she joined Wenches, and deeply grateful when she read my Lady Macbeth, loved it, effused in e-mails as we discussed writing medievals, and gave me a kind and generous quote that I will always treasure. That quote is frameable art to me now.
 
What I'll also remember about Edith is how funny she was just by her bubbly nature, without ever trying. And I will remember her wonderful, whimsical way with words (though she didn't like a string of "W's" in speech for some reason, sorry, Edith!). I learned new words from her, like: bestest, luff, lurvings, lurve, mostest, and she was all of those -- the bestest, the most luffing, the mostest ever.
Thank you, Edith. We adore you.

From Wench Patricia Rice:

I remember meeting Edith first at a conference when she and Joan Wolf were sitting behind me, discussing horses.  I was a brand newbie, and they were two of my absolute favoritest authors. It was all I could do not to fall on my knees and worship, but I was too backward to do even that much. 

Later, after meeting Edith through our NAL editor's dinners, I learned she was the funniest, warmest woman I've ever met, par none.  Even through the devastation of the loss of her husband, she was reassuring others that she was fine, and she was making jokes in his memory. She and her wonderfully talented children showed me the real NYC nightlife and created evenings I'll never forget.

My life would not be the same if Edith hadn't been in it.  I'm not certain my life would have been the same even if I'd never met her, because it was wonderfully witty books like hers that enticed me into writing.  Beautiful amber and sunshine to you, Edith--I know you're up there, shining down on us all and laughing right now.

From Wench Anne Gracie:

I've only known Edith cyberly, on Regency loops and author loops great and small, but even on line, out of thousands of voices, hers always rang true and clear and original.  And funny. As for her books, I have a pile of keepers here in which she will live on forever.

My deepest sympathy to her family and her many close friends. And to her dog.
Vale that Layton Woman.

From Edith's long time editor, Hilary Ross:

From the beginning I liked Edith's books very much and enjoyed being her editor.   Then she needed a title for the last book in the Love trilogy.  I suggested the title Surrender to Love.  Edith wrote me that it sounded cheap, like something out of a movie magazine.  I wrote her back that it was a quote from Virgil. 

I then received an hysterically funny letter from Edith full of pseudo Latin along with agreement to use the quote as a title.  From that moment on I knew I had to have Edith as a personal friend.  It did work out that way and I will always
remember our close friendship and all the wonderful times we had together.  I will miss her tremendously.

From Wench Loretta Chase:

So there I was, a million years ago, trying to decide if it made sense to write romances.  My sister gave me some traditional Regencies to read.  One of them was The Duke’s Wager.  At the time, I still had a bit of snobbishness about romance.  But Edith cured me.  “She can write!  She can actually write!” thought I, astonished.  Lots of writers can tell a story, but she had a style, distinctive, and a true love of language.  Oh, those wonderful sentences! 

I met her at a New Jersey Romance Writers conference, where she was responsible for my first fangirl episode.  There she deservedly won an award for that very book.  The speech she gave was exactly like her writing, absolutely, totally Edith.  I was exchanging emails with her only a short time ago.  I can’t believe That Layton Woman, so full of life, is gone.

For more information about Edith, go to her website, http://edithlayton.com/ Or click on her name on the bottom of this blog, and that will bring up a page of her wonderfully witty blogs.  Here's are links to two delicious posts written by her daughter, Susie Felber, and titled Daughter of Romance 1 and Daughter of Romance 2.  They have lots of great pictures of Edith at work and at play. 

Plus, in the column on the right under "Additional Pages," you'll find a file for a downloadable commemorative Layton bookmark.

Tell us what Edith and her books meant to you, so we can smile through our tears. (To leave a comment, click on "comments" at the bottom of this post.)

Mary Jo and all the other Wenches

PS:  Several people have expressed regret that they've read the last Edith Layton book.  In fact, she finished one two months ago, so there is one more by the grande dame still to look forward to--MJP

Total Litiots II

Edith is deep in Manuscript Madness and has invoked the Wench Classic Clause.  Below is a blog post from April of 2007, as pertinent today as it was then.  ~Sherrie 

Total Litiots

I know people, and I even like some of them, who don’t read books.

Yes. True. They just don’t read books. Now, these folks are literate. They read newspapers and advertisements, and the occasional magazine. But they don’t read books, fiction or non-fiction.

I can’t understand it. But so it is.

What’s worse though, in my opinion, are those who do read books – but only those they see in reviews in the NEW YORK TIMES, THE NEW YORKER and other influential magazines, or those books being touted on TV. These readers are in the same class as people who belong to book clubs and only read what’s assigned to them. Goes without saying that these misguided folk don’t read any genre fiction unless it’s being touted by their Literary Authorities - they are only reading so that they can talk about what they read and be considered intelligent.

For all they read, I don’t think any of these people are literate in the truest sense of the word. They’d never walk into a bookstore and just look around, browsing through all the aisles, glancing at covers, reading blurbs and bits, seeing what might interest them. That idea would just be alien to them. Read something they haven’t heard about? A book their friends, or the people they look to as notable, aren’t reading? Be seen with a book no one that they know reviewed? Or buy a paperback, especially an unknown one with a sexy or lurid cover? These readers will never do that. They sneer at such books.

I have to giggle when I see such former paperback romances reissued in hardcover when the author gets famous and on the bestseller list, and these same people reading books they wouldn’t have touched in the original. (As to that - while they say hot covers make it easier for romance readers to identify their faves that way, its still arguable whether or not those covers, while holding on to their fan base, ever bring in new readers, and will ever let romance readers and writers be taken seriously. Discuss among yourselves.)

Still, to only read the already read and approved? Bah, fah, and humbug. To me, the thrill of discovery is part of the literate experience. Finding an unknown author in any genre and then falling in love with the style and enjoyment of the writing is a delicious experience. Those folks will never know that thrill of discovery.

Of course I read romances and historical novels; I adore them. But I read everything that looks interesting, no matter the genre. I love fantasy, and mysteries: police and P.I., historical and modern, serious and funny ones. Science fiction, I teethed on those and love the good ones even now. I’ve even tried erotic, exotic, experimental and mainstream fiction too. (Although not horror. I’m too impressionable and always hear things that go bump in the night anyway.)

For example, I discovered Terry Pratchett’s first Discworld novel in paperback, and it in paperback - with a silly cover as well. But it intrigued me and I bought it, and was utterly enthralled, and became hooked on his books. A CIVIL CONTRACT got me fascinated with Miles Vorkosigan, and started my reading Louise McMasters Boujold (albeit backward, from CC, the last book written, to the first in the series.) I’ve found many other authors by browsing: some who became famous, some who didn’t; some who never lived up to the promise although they published again.

I must admit I have tossed some of these randomly selected books before finishing them. But when I hit a winner, I so enjoy the adventure of finding it on my own that I don’t mind the occasional disappointment.

Book browsing and gambling on new authors or those new to you is fun. It’s a thing, I fear, that many people I know will never ever know, no matter how much they read. Have you ever picked up a book you didn’t intend to buy, never thought to buy, and been seduced by something - anything about it? And then found yourself with a new writer you adore? Only then, are you, in my estimation, truly literate. Congratulations.

I know people, and I even like some of them, who don’t read books.

Yes. True. They just don’t read books. Now, these folks are literate. They read newspapers and advertisements, and the occasional magazine. But they don’t read books, fiction or non-fiction.

I can’t understand it. But so it is.

What’s worse though, in my opinion, are those who do read books – but only those they see in reviews in the NEW YORK TIMES, THE NEW YORKER and other influential magazines, or those books being touted on TV. These readers are in the same class as people who belong to book clubs and only read what’s assigned to them. Goes without saying that these misguided folk don’t read any genre fiction unless it’s being touted by their Literary Authorities - they are only reading so that they can talk about what they read and be considered intelligent.

For all they read, I don’t think any of these people are literate in the truest sense of the word. They’d never walk into a bookstore and just look around, browsing through all the aisles, glancing at covers, reading blurbs and bits, seeing what might interest them. That idea would just be alien to them. Read something they haven’t heard about? A book their friends, or the people they look to as notable, aren’t reading? Be seen with a book no one that they know reviewed? Or buy a paperback, especially an unknown one with a sexy or lurid cover? These readers will never do that. They sneer at such books.

I have to giggle when I see such former paperback romances reissued in hardcover when the author gets famous and on the bestseller list, and these same people reading books they wouldn’t have touched in the original. (As to that - while they say hot covers make it easier for romance readers to identify their faves that way, its still arguable whether or not those covers, while holding on to their fan base, ever bring in new readers, and will ever let romance readers and writers be taken seriously. Discuss among yourselves.)

Still, to only read the already read and approved? Bah, fah, and humbug. To me, the thrill of discovery is part of the literate experience. Finding an unknown author in any genre and then falling in love with the style and enjoyment of the writing is a delicious experience. Those folks will never know that thrill of discovery.

Of course I read romances and historical novels; I adore them. But I read everything that looks interesting, no matter the genre. I love fantasy, and mysteries: police and P.I., historical and modern, serious and funny ones. Science fiction, I teethed on those and love the good ones even now. I’ve even tried erotic, exotic, experimental and mainstream fiction too. (Although not horror. I’m too impressionable and always hear things that go bump in the night anyway.)

For example, I discovered Terry Pratchett’s first Discworld novel in paperback, and it in paperback - with a silly cover as well. But it intrigued me and I bought it, and was utterly enthralled, and became hooked on his books. A CIVIL CONTRACT got me fascinated with Miles Vorkosigan, and started my reading Louise McMasters Boujold (albeit backward, from CC, the last book written, to the first in the series.) I’ve found many other authors by browsing: some who became famous, some who didn’t; some who never lived up to the promise although they published again.

I must admit I have tossed some of these randomly selected books before finishing them. But when I hit a winner, I so enjoy the adventure of finding it on my own that I don’t mind the occasional disappointment.

Book browsing and gambling on new authors or those new to you is fun. It’s a thing, I fear, that many people I know will never ever know, no matter how much they read. Have you ever picked up a book you didn’t intend to buy, never thought to buy, and been seduced by something - anything about it? And then found yourself with a new writer you adore? Only then, are you, in my estimation, truly literate. Congratulations.

We Have Winners!

Congratulations to our newest winners!  Susan Holloway Scott's winners are as follows:  Barbara has won a copy of Royal Harlot, Anne won a copy of Duchess, and Peggy Q has won a large type Miranda Jarrett.

But wait, there's more!  Edith has a winner too.  Donna Brown, please choose an Edith Layton book from Edith's backlist.

Winners, please contact Sherrie with your full name and mailing address so that we can get those books out to you!

Edith on Valen-time

Felled by a particularly nasty bout of the stomach flu, Edith is lying on the chaise with a lavender-scented handkerchief on her face. She has asked me to invoke the Wench Classic Clause and resurrect one of her old posts to fill today's blog spot. Since Valentine's Day is just around the corner, I've chosen her Valentine's Day post from two years ago. The sentiment holds as true today as it did then. Edith, here's hoping you are back to your chipper self by the 14th! ~Sherrie

Happy Valentine's Day to all!

But this message is meant specially for those who may - momentarily - not have a specific Valentine this year. Hey, it happens. It happens to the rich, the beautiful, and the clever.

It also happens to the very very cute.

But Valentine's Day, like most major American holidays, has a way of making those who can't participate in it feel like losers: left out, unworthy and forgotten.

HOGWASH! And FOO!

You know you are loved, or were loved, or will be loved. And that if you had a Valentine right now, he'd out-hero any romantic hero.

Lonely hearts unite!

So, what to do until next year,when your true love will doubless be near?

Be your own best Valentine.

Treat yourself to something chocolate. Wallow in roses. Drink something that bubbles - other than seltzer. Think of those people you do love, have loved, and will love. Love yourself, you're worth it.

If you're still feeling low, remember that life is not a Norman Rockwell illustration. Think of all the people you know who also don't have a Valentine.

And realize that no one special day, not even dear Saint Valentine's, means that much. Love is a lifetime affair, and can happen any day, anywhere.

And does.

Hearts unleashed!

Much love to you all!

What's Love Got To Do With It?

Edith here!

Such a momentous week!  A new president!  Inaugural balls and parades and heart lifting speeches.  The operative word is HOPE - and dedication.

We are urged to do something for our country.

When I think of helping my country, some immediate pictures spring to mind.  Photos I've seen in old newsreels:  Factory workers assembling things on assembly lines.  Farmers plowing, harvesting, sowing in  fields. 

 Miners with sooty faces.  Steel workers amidst blazing furnaces.  

Teachers in their classrooms.  Houses being built.  Rosie the Riveter riveting.  

I can't do any of those things.  What I do is write.  And mostly I write about Romance.  For the first time in a long time, that made me feel inadequate.  Usually that can only be done by impossibly rude pseudo intellectuals at cocktail parties.  (Raised eyebrow: "Oh.  You write Romance?"  Cue snickering)

And then I got to thinking about it.  

What the world needs now is love.  And what I write about is love.  Oh, sure there's sex in it, because love leads to many things, including sex.  But I don't write  just about sex.  For me, that would be like writing about exercise.   It would be boring,or clinical, and that's not Romance.

I may throw in mystery, or suspense, politics and history, but my books are about love.  

I write happy endings and about love that conquers all.  But there wasn't a speech that mentioned those things.  I suddenly felt useless, wondering what I was doing for my country.

I hoped I was encouraging readers to dream, to seek, to hope itself.

That's when I realized what love's got to do with it.  Love is what we need now to see us through tough times ahead.

And although no one said it, I think that's what all those heart-lifting speeches were about.  

What the world needs now is love.  All kinds of love: from carnal to white weddings.  From high romance to the love for a neighbor or a coworker.  And, of course, to love of country.

And Love opens your heart and mind.  Love leads to more love.

What do you think?

We Have Winners!

More Winners!  Sarahes, for your haiku you have won a Loretta Chase book of your choice.  And Anne, for your limerick, you have won a copy of Edith Layton's A Bride for His Convenience.

Please send me [ Sherrie ] an e-mail with your mailing address.  (And for Sarahes, your book choice).  Congratulations, winners!

 

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!

Oh, my Sweeties,

Oh, my dears,

Look out, my loves,

Here comes New Years'.

We're going to party

under a shiny new sign

Eat, drink and be merry

in 2009!

We won't spoil this one.

Or mess it up.

We'll tootle and clang and get drunk as skunks

Come fill the cup!

...but don't we say that every year?

Aren't we always glad to sweep out the old and welcome the new?

It isn't always our fault when a year goes sour.  Some stuff simply isn't in our power.

I mean, it isn't as though we're responsible for tornadoes, hurricanes, earthquakes and tsunamis, blizzards and such privation.

We don't start landslides and floods, forest fires and oil spills, smog and inflation ...

never mind.

Instead, let's concentrate on the NEW.

As for me:

In 2009, I resolve to:

Hmm.  I have  lists and lists of all the neat things I vowed to do last year, the year before and onward backwards for years.  I am not always true to those vows.

So this year I will simplify.  In 2009, I will:

Be nicer

I think that about covers it.

( and I'll bet I fail by about.... January 10th, at the outside. I know me.)

How about you?

What are your New Year's resolutions?

Best reply gets an autographed copy of my brand new book: A BRIDE FOR HIS CONVENIENCE

And for all: A HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Holiday Schedule

Sherrie, here.  For the holidays, the Word Wenches have come up with a fun posting schedule that loosely incorporates the Twelve Days of Christmas.  In rotation the Wenches will make short daily posts on a variety of subjects, beginning December 25 and ending January 6.

Then, on January 7, Susan Holloway Scott will interview Sarah Gabriel (Susan/Sarah) regarding the release of Sarah Gabriel's The Highland Groom.

We invite you to drop by each day, with the promise of fun posts, audience participation, a chance to visit with your favorite Wench, and, as always, book give-aways.  Here's the schedule:

12/25 - Jo Beverley

12/26  Anne Gracie
 
12/27  M.J. Putney
 
12/28  Susan Holloway Scott
 
12/29  Sara Gabriel
 
12/30  Edith Layton
 
12/31  Anne Gracie 
 
1/1  Pat Rice
 
1/2  Miranda Jarrett
 
1/3  Sherrie Holmes
 
1/4  Susan King
 
1/5  Loretta Chase
 
1/6  Jo Beverley

Here's wishing you all Happy Holidays and happy blogging!

P.S.  Be sure to check out the Announcements sidebar on the right. Romantic Times has announced their annual nominations, and the Wenches made an impressive sweep. Way to go, Wenches! 

Hark, What Light!

It's the darkest time of year and so time for the festivals of light.

As the days grew shorter our ancestors must have wondered if the sun was going away forever this time.  And so, by flint and candle and by torch, by oil lamps and blazing stars, they scratched some light from out of the dark and found a way to thank their creator for the light and earnestly pray for its return.

Nowhere in this historic equation was there ever the need for shopping.  Until now.

How did observing a religious holiday become so entwined with patriotism?  How did bankrupting ourselves on religious holidays to keep the ship of state sailing on through dark waters become mandatory?

We're trying to stave off a Depression, I do get that.  But the Holidays have to do with preventing depression of the spirit, not the pocket book.

I knew we were in for it this year when they started to play Christmas carols on our  local radio station -- before Halloween! this year.  Increasingly, the headlines on TV and in print implored folks to get out there and get themselves trampled trying to get bargains because it was the holidays!  And our economy, our very safety as a nation - depended on it.

Bah and humbug.

Love and faith, kindness and charity, a sense of wonder and gratitude - those are the components of everyone's Holidays at this darkest time of year.

So I wish you all a happy Holiday, and a blessed one, and a joyous time.  Put your wallets away. 

Bring laughter and charity, forgiveness and joy to the  table instead.  And tomorrow, the sun will stay a second longer.  And the next day, longer still.  You'll see.  Money has nothing to do with it.  This wealth, this warmth, this light lies in every heart.

I wish you all light and joy for all the year.  And tuck that money away or find someone who really needs it.  

The days will grow longer, the evenings will grow brighter, and so must we.  

Daughter of Romance Pt. 2

Hi there!  It's Edith Layton's daughter Susie here again.  In my last post, I shared photos and memories about what is was like growing up as my mommy morphed into some lady named Layton.

Wow, it was such a great post.  Really really amazing.  You should all read it again and again.

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!

So although my mother thinks she's had the last laugh, just wait. I have no doubt I will enthusiastically drag our boy around more stately homes than you can shake a stick at.

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! 

xoxo,

Susie

PS If you are looking for more blogtainment, please visit www.dumbasablog.com which is just one of my online endeavors!

More importantly, me mum's latest book, A BRIDE FOR HIS CONVENIENCE is out now! Buy buy buy it, then read, then, it stores easily on most any bookshelf.  Easy peasy!

Daughter of Romance

Hi Word Wenches and Wenchlings! 

I'm Susie Felber, Edith Layton's daughter.  I'm a comedian and I write a buncha stuff, including this Dumb Blog for truTV.  CNN links to it and I hope you'll read our newsy dumb entertainment early and often.  Speaking of reading, my mom has a new historical novel coming out 11/25 entitled A BRIDE FOR HIS CONVENIENCE.  You should order it now, one for each eye.   Yes, I got my writing talent from my mother.  But that "one for each eye" jazz?  I totally stole that from her outright.

Shameless promo out of the way, I'm thrilled to be here.  I wasn't pressed into service -- I wanted to get share-y about what it has been like being a romance author's daughter and display some rare Layton photos plucked from the Felber archives -- like this one back from when she still smoked and I was a natural blond -- but you'll need to click on the links to see all the vintage snaps. And so I don't risk boring you, I'm going to make this a "to be continued" post. 

I'm immensely proud of my mother and all she's accomplished.  I think she's a killer role model and a great writer.  But while she was always my mother, she wasn't always a romance author, a designation that comes with plenty of perks and bushels of baggage.

You may have heard how she intended to be a playwright.  How she freelanced for everything from the El Crappo Gazette to the New York Times and once even got a telegram from Barbara Cartland after writing an article about reluctantly discovering the delights of the Dame after a back injury.  How she wrote three different books in three different genres before one got published and received enough rejection letters to, in her words, paper a small bathroom.  But since this is about ME, let's skip ahead to her first published novel which came out in 1983.

The family was very excited.  So excited that we hightailed it to the local mall and each got ourselves T-shirts with felt iron-on letters spelling out THE DUKES WAGER.  Wearing our custom Woolworth getups with pride, we threw her a book party complete with balloons and a banner, produced on the home computer, back when computers had to be painstakingly programed with GOTO commands and the printer paper still had those annoying perforated side bits you had to carefully peel off.  (Private to Hollywood: I'm still 18)

But during the party (pic at left) something happened, which was a foreshadowing of things to come.

In our kitchen and milling about the living room, some were tittering about "hot" novels and finding the whole idea of her being a romance author uproarious.  They weren't industry or society types, they were just friends from suburban Long Island.  They were just having fun, and maybe a little too much wine.

Oh how my hackles went up!  I was pissed on her behalf.  She was triumphing after years of struggle, and they hadn't even read the book, or any like it.  That's when I realized it would take more than felt-lettered shirts to convince people how cool she was.

Soon after, I brought the book to show off to Mr. Bimberg, the elementary school librarian.  I came armed with the information that this was a Regency novel, and therefore very much above the fray.  He glanced at the cover, laughed and said, "Oh, your mother writes dirty books! HA HA HA!"

I told him it wasn't dirty and then I was rendered speechless. 

Not because I was shocked, mind you, but because I realized that my impulse to tell him the truth -- that if he wanted to see a really dirty book he'd have to check out the armfuls of fantastic free historical smut that I'd picked up at the Romantic Times conference and then had quickly hidden under my bed -- might get me sent to the school therapist, STAT.  As in, "So tell us Susie, how long have you been dabbling in throbbing manhoods and frothing caverns?"*

And although I was always her staunchest defender, and knew what she wrote, how good she was and how hard she worked, the embarrassment soon descended on me like a fog. 

In the early years, with every release, we'd make a bee line between B. Dalton and Walden Books to see if her books were there, and if so, how many.  Mortified by the Romance section with its pink and purple covers festooned with acres of man boobs, I'd hide out in the nearby Mystery or Fantasy sections. 

She'd say, "Oh look, they have five copies, come take a look!" And I'd be cringing an aisle or three away in front of the dragon books, thumbing a Niven and saying, "Yeah that's great.  I can see fine from here, really!"  Remember: This is long before there were in-your-face unabashedly girly intelligent feminists like "Smart Bitches" to champion the genre.

Anywho, she'd inevitably press me to really look, and hating myself for being such a lousy daughter and a wimp, I'd sulkily come by and take a peek before scampering as fast as possible to the safety of the magazines, hoping no boys had seen me lingering in the land of paperback longing and love.

Of course, once mom had left, I'd sneak back to do what she never had the promotional sense or guts to do  -- quickly rearrange the shelves, positioning the Layton line attractively in face-out position.

So, I was always an in-your-face girly feminist and champion of historical fiction.  It's just that until I grew up, I worked mostly as a covert agent.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Next time: The joy of Romantic Times conferences, one too many research trips to England and throwing mom her second-ever book party -- thirty novels later.

PS Feel free to leave a comment and say howdy!

* By the way, I can't make this stuff up -- "frothing cavern" was burned in my memory from a particularly bad Zebra I read in the 80's.  No, I wasn't traumatized, I thought it was hilarious even then.

  

Susie Felber 11/17 and Loretta Chase 11/24

Good morning!  We have a little fun planned for you on Monday.  Edith's   daughter, Susie Felber, will be blogging about what it was like growing up as the daughter of a famous romance writer.  Susie is a comedian, writer, mom, and veteran blogger.  She's also a frequent commenter here at the Word Wenches, so she'll feel right at home.  We're looking forward to Susie's visit when she Tells All.  Drop in tomorrow.  We guarantee you will be entertained!

Be sure to mark your calendars for 11/24 when Loretta returns to the Word Wenches to talk about the reissue of The Last Hellion, which came out earlier this month.  The book has a handsome new cover (see image on left) and a new back cover blurb.  Susan Holloway Scott will interview Loretta, and we encourage you to leave a comment, because Loretta will be giving away an autographed copy of The Last Hellion to a lucky commenter.

We Have Winners!

Once more, we trot out the happy lady on the left with her hands full of books.  Here is the latest batch of winners:

Nina Paules - wins an Edith Layton book

MJ Selle - wins an Anne Gracie book

Cheryl Castings - wins a Patricia Rice book

MJ Selle, you're the only one we haven't been able to reach.  Please send your mailing address to Sherrie so that we can get that book in the mail to you!

Congratulations to all the winners!

WE LOVE BOO!

Happy Halloween! Joyeaux All Hallow's Eve! 

However you parse it, it's the night for ghosts and ghoulies, and all manner of cryptic critters and critters from the crypt. We've taken a pagan holiday that was made decently Christian, and turned it into a pagan holiday again. Le plus change le plus meme, eh, mes amis? (trans: the more you know the worse you spell.) 

I love Halloween - or at least, I did until the grownups took it over. It used to be for kids. PIN THE TAIL ON THE THE DONKEY parties, apples and candy, dime store masks and homemade costumes. Now parents spend more time and money on their own cheesy costumes and party food than they do on their children's Halloween fun. I've had kids coming to the door in street clothes to beg for stale Tootsie Pops and Milk Duds, whilst their Superpower dads and sexy French maid moms stand posing and tittering on the sidewalk. 

Be that as it may - I have only one question on my so-called mind this All Hallow's Eve. What's with this Vampire Worship? I can understand getting a crush on some supernatural creatures. 

Who hasn't wanted to stroke a nice silky wolfman? 

And Elves, we know, are HOT. (check those gorgeous blond Elvin cuties in the cinematic LORD OF THE RINGS trilogy, if you doubt me. I even wrote a book about a human female enraptured by a magnifient elf: BRIDE ENCHANTED.) 

I can totally get a romance featuring a Frankensteinian fella loved in spite of his appearance and so reclaimed to humanity by his lady love (Beauty and the Beast retold again and again.) Witches have a certain something. They can bewitch, for one thing. That goes for Warlocks too. What's not to love?

Ghosts have always been Hot. Ecotomorphic love affairs ring the graveyard bell, and have ever produced touching love stories. Ghouls, so far, have failed as cinematic and literary lovers. There is a thing as too icky.  Like mummies.  Mummies are just too vengeful, and who wants to go around with a first aid kit, patching up a lover who sheds shredding bandages all the time? Ditto, banshees and headless horsemen. A perpetually screaming lady isn't an attractive concept, and how do you share passionate kisses when your guy is holding his head under his arm? Phoo. 

As for Satan, demons and lesser devils? Irresistible, of course. Always fun. That is to say, if you are retending to be one of them or pretending to be attracted to one of them. Less so, of course, if you happen to meet up with the real things. 

But my problem is understanding the millions of otherwise sane romance lovers are suddenly mad for Vampires. Vampires? Whassup? Vampires have always been sort of popuar, from Dracula to Anne RIce's heroes and anti-heros, to Buffy and her pals, to the best seller lists today. Why? I can certainly understand the lure of Dracula, the prototype of all Vampire hotties. He was created by Bram Stoker in 1897, the height (or depth) of the repressive Victorian era. A time when a glimpse of a female ankle was enough to cause a riot. So who could blame a lady who was blamelessly sleeping when a bat flew into her open bedroom window, transformed into a tall dark man with a heavy accent, bent over her lush recumbent form, put his lips to her neck and sucked her blood! Turned her into a love crazed Vampire, he did! And the best part for those who read it when it was first written? All the ecstacy of it was NOT HER FAULT! A midnight rape comitted by a tall dark stranger, complete with spilled blood, and pain that turns into rapture. Are we being too symbolic here? Uhmm... nope. The innocent Victorian Female was seduced by yummy dark forces.

 Now, that worked in context of the time and place. In 1931, it was made into a movie. That was a time when women's roles were still changing from conservative mamas to red hot ones. The film killed! That's understandable, again. But today? When lovers can practically do it in the road? What's the lure of the Vampire now? I don't get it. (Well, beautiful blond Spike, on THE VAMPIRE SLAYER, was hot, I agree.) 

But what's a lover without a heartbeart? Where's the fun of cuddling with a long cold human mosquito? Hearing your neck being crunched by some fanged fella is sexy? Brrr. Not to me. To millions, though, it is. What, dear friends and readers, am I missing here? Please tell me. A Layton book of his/her choice goes to a random one who does. In the meanwhile, HAPPY HALLOWEEN, whomever you choose to love at the turning of the great gibbous Halloween moon, I hope they turn to you, and bitelessly, love you too.

My Autumn or yours

Here we are in the Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness....
Ah, uhm, no.
That's a romantic poet's English autumn.
That's not autumn in New York.

Autumn in New York City is exactly like the song: vibrant and new, action is speeded up, there's a smell of hot chestnuts in the air, and all of Central Park seems to be consumed in brilliant blowing flaming trees. The magic of First Nighting is a bit 'spensive these days, but the rest is true. The lights seem brighter, the City is waking up again. There's a new exciting spirit in the city. Anything can happen on a New York City October day or night.

But even though I love NYC - there is nothing, I repeat nothing, like a suburban or countryside East Coast autumn. The kind of autumn that between one breath and another, is coming down the road to my house.

Suddenly, overnight, the mimosas are showing bright yellow fronds, the wild grapes are twining scarlet ribbons up the trunks of maples whose leaves are growing gold and flame, purple and orange and red. Sumac, birch, willow and catalpa, linden and chestnut, weeds and reeds - all of them all aglow.
It is blinding in its beauty.
By this weekend, you'll likely be able to drive through the dusk with the trees lining each side of the street standing like glowing tapers to light your way.

And yet - one year we went to Colorado and I saw their High autumn. The aspens were a brilliant yellow and their white trunks stood out against that cerulean sky, so crisply blue that it was startling. Mountain streams tumbled down mountains like crystal falls. Blue and yellow and crystal. If you closed your eyes you could still see the scene embedded on your retinas. Then, as we traveled south, we saw the tan and gold of mountain foliage, and the roadside stands with pumpkins and long strings of scarlet peppers.

Not bad.

And then we came home just in time to see a doozy of a New England High autumn, mad with color and the insane variety of hues. Pumpkin orange and pomegranate red, every shade of gold and violet, plum and rose, copper and blush. The Berkshire Mountains looked like someone had thrown dozens of hand knit crazy quilt afghans over them.

I love to write about England, but I must admit, autumn is subtle there.
Here, it comes on like a brass band. And it's difficult for me to write my Work In Progress just teeming with English subtle when October is blaring right outside my window.

I once wrote a novella about an English autumn in a collection called: A LOVE FOR ALL SEASONS. My autumn story was filled with witchcraft and magic, and crispy scuttling leaves of brown and dark gold. "The leaves fled, like from an enchanter fleeing....".
That's a New York November.

Now I'm blinded by October. I'm in a New York State of mind.

How is the autumn where you are now?

Tell me about it. Make me want to see it.
Or, if you wish, tell me about a romance novel that has such an autumn in it.
One reader who does that will get a Layton Book, signed, and bookmarked with a bright autumn leaf.

Happy New Year!

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

No. I haven't gotten to the white wine yet.
That's because †he sun isn't over the yard-arm yet. I don't have a boat, but that's when they say drinking usually starts. But what direction must the boat be facing? It is, I think, a silly designation. One drinks when the occasion is right.
And the moon won't be up until tonight.
It happens to be New Year's' Eve for folks of my persuasion - 5769! It commemorates the day that Mankind was created. This year, it falls on ... tonight! It ends October 1st.

It's interesting to have a New Year in September - or October. It's an olde calendar, so it's based on lunar cycles. That's half the fun - never knowing just when the new year will appear.

I also have a New Year to celebrate at midnight, December 31st. This year it will welcome the arrival of 2009. It arrives on the same day every year because it's based on a solar calendar.

So I celebrate both.
One New Year is for assessing your past year, admitting your mistakes and thanking the Creator for letting you make it so far, even so.
It's also for asking for forgiveness, remembering old friends, repenting your sins and mistakes, praying a lot for mercy and courage, and vowing to do better in the new year.
And it's a time for blowing horns, and dancing and drinking.

The same thing happens at the Jewish New Year too, except it goes on for days, and you repent and fast for a day, and then eat a lot the rest of the time.
And blow horns and dance and drink.

But one New Year comes when the world here on the East Coast of the U. S. of A. is usually barren and frozen. And the other comes at harvest time.
Both make sense in their timing.

Lots of things start in the autumn. The seeds and fruit that ripen and fall in the autumn go into the ground to wait for spring. Even as things seem to be dying, there will be a rebirth. And many things are brewing under the snow in the winter around here, sleeping until spring. Even as the world seems forsaken by life, it will be reborn. So both holidays celebrate Hope. And both new years' observances are for celebrating life, being grateful for it, and noting the passage of Time.

So what's the link betwixt a new year and Fiction?

The world of Fiction defies Time. The world of Historical Fiction lets a reader and writer travel through Time. And the world of Historical Romance allows both reader and writer to revise truth, ignore Time, and create a happier world that exists outside of Time. That's the lure of it, the core of it, and the joy of it. At least it is for me.

And so just as I celebrate two new years, I realize that I can't predict what will happen to me or thee in either one, and am forced to contemplate the fact that we are all at the mercy of cosmic forces we can't fully understand. That's why I write fiction. And I 'll bet that's why you read it too.

Is it?

So I wish you a gladsome, joyous new year, filled with promise and hope, and the joys of health, wealth, joy and Fiction, whichever one or two or three new years you celebrate.

.....

L'Shana Tovah!
Happy New Year!

We Have Winners!

We have four winners, this time!  Edith has awarded books to three winners for leaving comments on her post titled "Who is She Wearing?" In her own words, here are her choices:

For illuminating: Laura Vivanco
For Gretchen: for amusing and eerily on the nose
And for naughty Louis, for downright ridiculous.

Winners, please send your mailing address and your book choice to Sherrie.

Susan King has chosen Janae as the winner of the autographed Dougie MacLean CD.  Janae, please send us your mailing address.

Thanks to everyone for participating!

My Lazy Daisy Summer

When I went to school in the days of old, first thing we had to do when we came back to class in September was to write about what we did on our summer vacation.  Old habits are hard to break.

And so, confession.  I was a lazy lump this summer.  Turnips were more active than I was.

I didn't go anywhere thrilling, except, of course to visit nearby family and friends.  I went to movies, now and then, and restaurants, of course.  But no exotic isles or foreign lands for me this year.

Instead, I worked on the finishing touches for my next book, out in December, from AVON: A BRIDE FOR HIS CONVENIENCE.  That was good.

And I started a trilogy for AVON, one that sent me back to my history books, because it  is set against the rise and fall of Napoleon.  I am newly fascinated by a period of history I have always loved.

And the rest of the time?
After a springtime of planning and planting my garden, and setting my itty bitty fishpond in order, when August blew its hot breath on me I lounged in the shade and read books, and lazed.

I stayed indoors a lot too, because I am suddenly photosensitive.

I entertained old friends and dear family.

I read lots of fantasy novels, some mysteries, historicals, and of course, some fictional l'amour.

I watched re-runs on TV.

I saw over-rated flix at the movies.

It was delicious.  I felt no need to diet to fit into a new swimsuit.  I didn't have to wait on the tarmac for hours while my pilot went out to take some brush-up courses in how to land a plane.   I didn't have to whip off my shoes, walk through metal detectors, and gaze nervously at fellow passengers, playing
my favorite airport game: "which one is the terrorist?"

Nor did I have to buy tourist guides or learn to say "Where is the toilet
please?" in several languages.

I loafed so much that I made all the pumpernickels and ryes in the area
ashamed of themselves.

I daydreamed.  I watched clouds form new designs.  Never have I been so utterly idle when out of doors.

Wonderful.

But I am an American, and so of course I feel guilty about how I wasted away the days in Vacationville.
So how to show you that I had a really good time, without being able to send you all picture postcards that you'll receive in November?

Margaret Evans Porter, an old friend, fine writer and ace NH Rep, has a fantastic blog about her house and garden on the lake, and her lake cottage too.

I have a mere quarter acre and a fishy pond in front of a thicket of bamboo. That's where I made  most of my summer memories this year. 

The one good thing I did in the midst of all my lassitude was to take photos of such stellar activities as Miss Daisy burying bones, sunning herself and playing with my grandson, Hugo the Magnificent, and his little dog Stan.   

I did my best to record the slow, shuffling hours.

My water lillies bloomed!   One day pink, and the next, white.  My fishies were thrilled.

I fed birdies and grew flowers, and read and wrote and scratched a lot because we have been infested with teensy mosquitoes so troublesome that even the good gray New York Times wrote about them.

This autumn I plan to do  more!  This winter I will be a cyclone of activity.  I will travel and write and read and whip myself into something hopefully resembling an active human being.

But this was my lazy daisy summer.

Go ahead, unmake my day.   Tell me what you did this summer.

The Season for Loving?

Hi, Edith herownself here!

Speaking of covers, (she said, cleverly referring to her last blog on covers featuring heroic male blondies) as well as talking about books) what do you think is the best season for loving?
How can you tell if the book you're reading is set in that season?
Most are non-specific.

I just got a look at my new cover for A BRIDE FOR HIS CONVENIENCE, coming out from Avon in December. There's lots of snow on the cover, as well as some between the pages. (Sorry, no picture of it, I have no access to a scanner today.) But I think my hero and heroine had better put on some more garments. Babies, it looks cold out there.

Snow on a cover is apt for a December book, at least here in the Northeast.

But I've come to think on, I've never before seen snow featured in a non-Christmas book. Thinking about it led me to some odd conclusions:

1) Snow is most always part of Christmas Historical Romances. This includes prime plot points such as snowstorms stranding heroes and heroines at house parties and inns. Orphans and lost children are frequently found freezing in the streets of London town too. Heroes enter a house stomping the snow from their high glossy boots. Covers feature coach and horses struggling through the snow. Or lovers gazing out of a frosty window.
The interesting thing is that when it does snow in a book, it's always part of the plot.

2) Yet when it's spring, summer or autumn in a book, that often has nothing to do with the cover or the plot.

And - 3) There's never rain on the cover, at least that I can remember.
(And you may remember from a previous blog that I purely love to write about rain.)

Yet most Regency set Historical Romances-and Medieval and Victorian and Georgian ones for that matter-take place in England. England, where they are certainly not strangers to precipitation. True, rain isn't easy to paint on a cover. And maybe all that sloshing about discourages readers. But still. No rain in GB?

Hmmm.

Aside from Christmas themed books, I can recall only one snowy book apart from my own "LORD OF DISHONOR": a Regency from Joy Freeman called "THE FROST FAIR."
The dynamic duo of Tom and Sharon Curtis, writing as Laura London, had a sweltering hot day in London in one of their books. "THE BAD BARON'S DAUGHTER."
Mary Balogh had a "LADY WITH AN UMBRELLA."
I do believe I have included rain, heat and blizzards in my time. But then, I am a huge fan of weather. In fact, I had a collection of five linked novellas: "A LOVE FOR All SEASONS," from Signet, and believe me, I had me some Weather in them!

But is that all there is?
I know I've forgotten some good ones.

Springtime is wedding ring time. Brides and flowers, we got plenty of. Summer is for al fresco lovers in the meadow; that's a classic Romance cover theme. And autumn leaves make making out by a fireplace something wonderful to see. Daytime and nighttime are illustrated. But rarely, the time or year.

So Gentle Readers, I ask you: what books and/or covers have you encountered that feature weather? And what season do you prefer your love stories set in, if any?

Give me some storms! Or heat waves. Wind and floods or cyclones or waterspouts - anything that makes weather more than a mere background in a Historical Romance. Cover or story.

And no fair mentioning "Winnie the Pooh and the Bustery Day" or "Gone With the Wind."

One randomly selected reader will receive her/his choice from my backlist. (Name two in case I've only one.)

So, go ahead. Make my day's weather.

We Have a Winner!

Sherrie, here.  We actually have THREE winners!  If you are Talpianna, Lyn, or Janice Jacobson, please contact Sherrie and let her know your mailing address.  Each of you won a book from Edith!  Please pick an Edith Layton book of your choosing from her backlist (and a backup in case your first choice isn't available) Congratulations, winners! 

Visitors, be sure to check the Winners sidebar on the right whenever you visit us.  You never know--your name might be listed as the next winner!

Blond Attrition

Edith here!

Okay, Gentle Readers - a test.

What do the following actors and musicians, here and gone, have in common??

Brad Pitt
Orlando Bloom
Viggo Mortenson
Van Johnson
Laurence Olivier

Owen Wilson
Robert Redford
Richard Widmark
Heath Ledger
Robert Mitchum
Burt Lancaster
Kirk Douglas
Jon Voigt
James Cagney
Roger Moore
Daniel Craig
Jude Law
Peter O'Toole
William Holden
Woody Harrelson
Sting
Alan Jackson
Rod Stewart

Ready?
They all are - or at least, were for a movie or album or two: Blond!

And what's wrong with that?
I love the look of blond men.
My father was blond before he lost his hair. My dh had silvery wings at his temples when I met him, and turned entirely silver haired soon after (and no, it wasn't because he married me, as he claimed). My new boy baby grandchildren are respectively, blonde and red.

And yet whenever I write a blond, dark gold, or silver haired hero - he turns up dark haired on the bookcover.
And whenever I ask why (this has been at different publishers) I am told that the art department doesn't like blond men. And that the Sales Department says they don't sell a book!

They didn't sell books about famously hot and fair haired literary heroes?

The fantastic albino, Prince Elric, and his series, by Michael Moorcock
The immortal beloved Francis Lymond of the Lymond Chronicles, by Dorothey Dunnett.

Huh?

Fabio didn't sell books?
That gorgeous trio of pig-farmer cover models didn't sell books?

Well, yes, that was then and this is now.

But I'm tired of writing emails assuring readers that it wasn't my fault.
And I wonder if I should give up blond heroes?
I fought like a tiger but had blond heroes on five of my bookcovers! And a redhead (boy, was that a fight)! on another.

But these days? No.
They say that naturally blond people will become extinct in a few hundred years. They are already in the minority in America, and fading fast.

Is it that blond is considered feminine? The list of blonde heroines is too long to put here. Not to mention the many movie actresses and pop singers. In fact, a dark haired female beauty is in trouble these days. (Interesting fact: Brunettes were all the rage in Regency England! I guess they thought the classic fair English Beauty was too commonplace?)

And now, a unique contest here for you:

Tell me please, your opinion.
What hair color do you prefer in a hero? Does it matter?

And most importantly, does a blond man on the cover of a romance make you reach for another book? If so, why? Or why not?

And since I'm speaking of the here and gone, the winner will receive any one book from my backlist (if I still have it, so it would be a choice of two, please).

And my eternal thanks.

Ready to go for it? Then, tell me do. Blondes may have more fun, but what is it about blond heroes that you may shun?

Eyeing the Beholder

Edith here!

I recently ran a contest on my website, asking readers: “If I had the good fortune to have my latest book, "HIS DARK AND DANGEROUS WAYS,” made into a movie,who would you cast as the hero?”

The winner was to be chosen at random and I said so upfront so no one had to be inspired in their choices. Nonetheless, I was staggered at some of them.

Many were actors who had done Historical drama on TV or in the flix. I expected Colin Firth and Hugh Jackman, of course. But some readers also named actors I’d never heard of; had heard of but had never seen, and some that I had seen and vowed I never would again. And this after all the work I do on defining my characters, describing them down to their big toes and shading in all other salient parts. I know there’s no accounting for taste. But still: an elegant Regency era English nobleman played by:

“The Rock”?

Clint Eastwood?

Jack Black????

And lots of surprising others. Why did so many see my hero so differently?

We all know people who are paired in real life with partners we can’t ‘see.’
Loved him, hated her. Loved her – ohmygosh! Why did she marry him?
Sexual attraction and the business of picking a mate has little to do with what the eye sees. It’s chemistry. I can tell a reader what a fella looks like, acts like, even smells like, but I don’t know what her biochemistry is like and what she’ll react to.
Haven’t we all met people who weren’t the bittiest bit attractive, and yet the more we talked with them, the more attracted we became?

It’s chemicals. Pherenomes. The sound of a voice, the sense of a touch. That ineffable something. A million years ago when I was young and single, I met a seemingly perfect man. But up close, he always smelled like shoe polish! Goodbye, man of my dreams.

Money always smells great. In fact, it is the only aphrodesiac I know of that actually works for a huge number of people, male and female.
But our True Romantic Hero smells, tastes, sounds and looks like the man of our dreams.
How can we put that into a book? Writers try. But there's no one dream for everyone. Physical attracton is due to individual sensory perceptions. Love for a movie or TV star or a character in a book is a love of the mind. Imagination fills in the gaps.
Actual attraction for a living breathing human is for living, breathing humans.
All I can do as a writer is to get a character’s mind and soul so well that I feel I know him and hope a reader will too. And if she wants to see him as I never did, that's fine. As long as she loves him too.

Dream on then, dear readers. I don’t fault any of your choices. I’ll do my best to make you see my hero as I do, but one woman’s hero is not another’s.
There is no’ one size fits all’ in Heroland.
Except for Johnny Depp, of course. And Viggo Mortensen. And Alan Rickman and Hugh Laurie and…..Ahem.

Have you ever met a dream man in person and found there was some teensy thing about him that turned you utterly off?
Do tell, she said, with a wicked grin.

The cluttered mind!

Hi, Edith here, there and everywhere.

Recently some of our Wenches have been talking about clutter on their desks and in their homes.

I am here to talk about clutter in my mind.
I never realized that not only is my desk quite literally covered with useless and forgotten items, as is my entire house, but my mind is overflowing with useless information.

I realized this when a kind reader, Charliene Turner, recently emailed me to ask: "Is there any chance that you will write a novel about Leland Grant's younger brother Martin?"

Martin? Grant?
I sat frozen.

The name was sorta familiar.
The brother was not.
Was it something I had written?
I couldn't recall which book or who she was talking about.
I was, I promise you, stricken.

It came to me in the shower one morning. The great Terry Pratchett wrote that ideas come sleeting down through the Multiverse. Mine come pelting down in the shower.

Two books! I had written two books with Leland Grant!

I realized after days of rifling through my cluttered memory, that they both were in the C series I wrote for AVON. Leland Grant, Viscount Haye, was introduced in GYPSY LOVER as the half brother of the hero, Daffyd Reynard. Martin was introduced in HOW TO SEDUCE A BRIDE - Leland Grants story.

How could I have forgotten, even for a moment?
Even if I'd no plans for Martin's story - I ought to have remembered instantly!

Now, understand, I've written lots of novels. I remember most of them, but it appears, not all.

Because, I now see, my poor brain is filled with useless clutter. It is overstuffed with shards of old commercial jingles. I know them all, just start humming and I'll join in. I know the old Chiquita banana jingle - except for one line I always fudged. I have also stored old toothpaste songs; detergent melodies, cereal ditties - the fun commercials down through the ages, in fact. I also harbor popular songs, Broadway scores, themes from favorite TV shows and the actors that appeared in them: every Star Trek episode, old and new generation, for example.

Also, there's a box near my cerebellum stuffed with great lines from every movie I ever enjoyed. Baseball stats. Facts about things I had to know in eighth grade. Friends' obsolete phone numbers, scraps of historical oddities, dates of great wars and peaces, titles of books and names of authors I loved - even back in fifth grade. Who else could immediately name the author of Bambi? (hint: its not Walt Disney.) The compleat works of Louise May Alcott? John MacDonalds Travis McGee series?

My mind is cluttered to the max. So it's not surprising that I forgot. But yes - it is disappointing.

So I dare to ask is it because minds are like computers, and we are assimilating so much we need new memory cards from time to time? After all, we see tragedies and comedies from lands we never knew existed on TV every nightly news. We learn new media every week. We are garnering information daily.

So please, tell me any of you suffer from mind clutter too? Or, if you don't, have you any idea of how to throw out old and now useless data to make room for the new? All contributions gratefully accepted and one random one rewarded with a shiny new copy of my latest book HIS DARK AND DANGEROUS WAYS!

I remember that!

(Although I confess I owe some past winners their books. I know it. Its not due to mind stuffing. I've just had a super busy May and June. Four family birthdays! Proposals to write and proofs to correct. But never doubt. I will send them onward!)

And the Wieners are. . .

. . . Linda Blanche and Rebecca! 

Linda, you have won a pristine copy of His Dark and Dangerous Ways from Edith.  Rebecca, you have won a crisp new copy of Your Scandalous Ways from Loretta.  In order to claim your prizes you'll need to send your mailing address to me, Sherrie.  (Just click on my name)  Congratulations, Linda and Rebecca!

And the Wieners Are ...

Good morning from Sherrie!  Before we announce the winners of the caption contest, please take a moment to mark 6/6 and 6/9 on  your calendars.  Those are the dates of Edith's two-part interview hosted by Mary Jo, in conjunction with the release of Edith's His Dark and Dangerous Ways.

It's time to list the wieners of the caption contest.  The Wenches had a hard time deciding, because all the captions were so great.  But they finally made their choices, after much deliberation.  (Some of the Wenches included their own comments with their choices) Each winner gets an autographed book.  Thanks to everyone who participated!  This was so much fun that the Wenches are talking about doing it again at a future date. 

Winners, please send your mailing addresses to me, Sherrie, and I'll pass them on to the respective Wenches.  And now, here are the Wenches' choices:

Wench #1 - Loretta

Winner:  Cheryl C.  Caption:  This is my father's land, and you Lord Scoundrel are not welcome here.

Loretta's comment:  I had an awful time choosing a winner because they were all good and several captions in particular had me laughing helplessly, tears streaming down my face.  But at last I chose my winner.  Loretta, still laughing

Wench #2 - Susan/Sarah

Winner: Cheryl C.  Caption: I  have no wish to be a "lady." I can manage and work this estate as well as any man

Susan/Sarah's comment: I laughed out loud at Cheryl C's great caption for the photo of me at two years old after a busy day of blueberry picking in upstate New York.

Wench #3 - Jo

Winner:  Theo.  Caption:  *sigh* Isn't he just the dreamiest seven-year-old you've ever seen?

Jo's comment:  How could I resist such a romantic caption, and indeed, I do look very eager to please!  This session  had about 50 thumbnails -- whatever they called them back then -- and in some I was scowling or even crying.  I wonder what happened to them?

Ah, I found a scan of another.  I probably should have put this one in the contest, despite its poor condition.  I'm sure some of you would have had fun with those fingers!

Wench #4 - Susan/Miranda

Winner:  Sue.  Caption:   Despite her mother's admonition not to, Lady Jane insisted on hanging around with the village children.

Wench #5 - Pat

Winner: RfP.  Caption:  The acolyte mounted the stone dais to secure the captive's wrists to the ancient iron hooks.  It was a strangely familiar moment.  Despite her city clothes and new responsibilities, it wasn't that different from staking a goat on a new patch of grass.  Stifling a giggle, she nodded to the crowd to begin the chant.

Pat's Comment:  I couldn't resist this one since I'm toying with a way out story involving pre-Mayans and time travel.

Wench #6 - Mary Jo 

Winner:  Suzy Stutz.  Caption:  Well, darlin' I could tell it was you by your lovely smile ... and the way that you were looking the opposite direction from the photographer.

Wench #7 - Edith

Winner:  Cheryl C.  Caption:  Yes, yes, I know that I am the prettiest girl of the Season, but can we please just get on with this?

So there you have it.  Seven winners, seven great captions.  And don't forget Edith's interview 6/6 and 6/9.   By the way, if this post looks funky or the spacing is weird, it's because Typepad is being very strange today.  Case in point:  I cannot remove the mysteriously stray sentence, below.  Perhpaps Suzy Stutz will enjoy seeing her name in print not once, but twice! 

Winner:  Suzy Stutz.      

 

Anniversary Book Give-Away

We should probably call this the Anniversary Contest instead of Book Give-Away, but the fact is, we're going to be giving away a lot of books.  A minimum of 14, to be exact. 

Below are seven childhood pictures of the Wenches. Your job is to guess who's who.  Here's how it works:

1.  Study the pictures and send your best guesses to me, Sherrie (click on my name) with the subject line, "Wench Contest."  DO NOT SEND YOUR GUESSES TO THE BLOG OR YOU'LL BE DISQUALIFIED. 

2. The person guessing all 7 pictures correctly will win an autographed book from each of the Wenches.  In case of ties, the names of those who guessed correctly will be thrown into a hat and I'll draw one name as the winner. 

3. As an added bonus, we encourage you to suggest captions to the pictures for a chance to win even more books.  You can do that via the comments feature, but DO NOT include your guesses on the Wench identities--those go to me!  Each Wench will give one book to the person who, in her opinion, supplies the best caption to her picture.

The contest will end this coming Friday at midnight, Eastern Daylight Time, so you'll have the rest of this week to enter.  Winners will be announced on Sunday, our usual announcement day.  Be sure to check back in case you won!

So, before we start:  Wench identity guesses go to Sherrie.  Suggestions for captions can be done via the comment feature.  Got it?  Great!  Let's get started! (Click on any of the pictures to view a larger version.)

Wench #1:

She stood happily alone, making up a story in her head.

Wench #2

While picking blueberries at the age of two, this Wench shows an early tendency to get deep into her work.

Wench #3

Wench sporting a tartan bow?

Wench #4

Already determined to stand out from the crowd, this dark-haired Wench sits in the middle of her California cousins & demonstrates how (not) to eat a popsicle.

Wench #5

Despite being blinded by the light, I've always been an Indiana Jones explorer.

Wench #6

(Littlest one in picture) I liked romantic subplots in other books, but I didn't read genre romances for years because the first few I read were frankly dreadful. Who knew what I'd be doing today???

Wench #7

See? I always did have red hair!!! At least, then I did.

Happy Second Anniversary to Us!

Have we got a contest for you!

Our official anniversary was 5/22, but the Wenches decided it would work better if we celebrated our anniversary on Memorial Day with a big fanfare.

We're going to celebrate in style, with a fun contest, a flurry of free books, and some downright adorable photographs of the Wenches as children.  Later today, I'll be posting individual pictures of the Wenches, and your job will be to identify who's who.  You'll be sending your guesses to Sherrie (that would be me!).  Anyone accidentally sending their guesses to the blog will, unfortunately, be disqualified.

Here's the way it works:  I'll post a childhood picture of each of the Wenches.  You'll study the pictures and send your best guesses to me.  The person guessing all 7 pictures correctly will win an autographed book from each of the Wenches.  In case of ties, the names of those who guessed correctly will be thrown into a hat and I'll draw one name as the winner. 

If you think this will be an easy contest, think again.  Several of the Wench kiddie photos will stump you!

As an added bonus, we're going to make the contest even more fun by encouraging you to add captions to the pictures.  You can do that via the comments feature, but DO NOT include your guesses on the photographs or you'll get disqualified!  Each Wench will give one book to the person who, in her opinion, supplies the best caption to her picture. 

So get ready.  Put on your thinking caps.  And to prime the pump, here's a kiddie picture of me when I was about six-years-old. And no, I don't have a high forehead. My bangs started out just above my eyebrows, but Mom kept trying to even them up with scissors.  The result:  an uneven fringe that stuck straight out, high on the forehead.   ~Sherrie

The Big Secret

Hi - It's Edith!

I have a birthday this week, and for the first time since I turned one and twenty, I don't mind.  It occurs to me that if you can add a year to your span in this uncertain world, you're being rude and ungrateful to regret it.  I don't care what all the "humorous" birthday cards say.  I'm getting older and I like it.

But speaking of years, something just happened to dilute my joy.  This past week, someone in the Family unearthed a Deep Dark Secret that had been sitting there for over seventy-five years. 

A Big Bad One.*

Those who lived through it, knew about it. Most of them are gone now. 

Learning it, even after all these years, absolutely floored me.

Although I was horrified, I wasn't surprised.

All children know their family has a secret.  Why else would wandering into a room with adults in it often cause sudden silences, and "shhh, the child," significant looks? 

And many children also know that they were stolen from a royal family and are being raised among peasants.  Children have monstrous egos.  Every secret has to be about them, even if the adults were only telling a dirty joke.

This time, the joke's on me. 
I always knew there was a big, bad Secret, and damned if there wasn't!
I can't divulge it yet because of some other family members.

My Susie says that in the future such secrets won't exist because of the Internet.

Words that used to be writ on water are now writ on the ethers, and yet there, they are able to be discovered.  All is recorded.  All is searchable.

The Internet knows all things and keeps them out in the open.

This secret lay in hiding since early in the last century.  And were it not for the Internet, it would've stayed buried.

It really doesn't matter anymore.  Except to me.  It explains a lot, and makes me me feel both betrayed and yet protected.  It also bolstered my feelings of paranoia.  I wonder if there's another Secret out there. 

I've had some real screamers of nightmares lately.

Then I remembered what I once read about people who collect antiques, as I do.  A researcher said antique lovers are always searching for something they think they lost in their childhood. That would also make most archaeologists and historians -- from Indy Jones to your friendly neighborhood professor of History -- people who know that there is a Big Secret. 

Yet all my research through the years has shown me that no one can really know History.  History is a thousand stories that have been allowed to be passed down.  The truth is often lost or purposely hidden in the retelling.

And then I got to thinking about why I love to read and write Historical Romances.  Ithink those of us who do, do so because we too are looking for secrets, only we want to find a Happy Ending every time.

So maybe if my family hadn't so closely guarded that Secret, I wouldn't have read what I did, and written as I do. 

What do you think?

** Oh, and promotional me just remembered that my newest book: HIS DARK AND DANGEROUS WAYS is coming out on May 27th. 

It's a good one!  Some nice reviews here on Romantic Times, here on Genre Go Round, here on Coffee Time Romance, here on Romance Junkies and here on Fresh Fiction!  Wow!

Uh oh.  I just realized that it's also about love amidst secrets and distrust. 
Oh my. :)

*Re: The Secret, in case you are wondering of the nature of it, my daughter forces me to divulge that no one was injured -- no murder, no rippers, no rapists involved.

...uhmm. That is to say, none we know of yet.....

What's Not In A Name?

Edith here.

I just finished revisions on a new book! Yes! It's out next December: HIS CONVENIENT BRIDE, Avon books.

It's a good un'!!

And my very next book  - out this very May 27th - is: HIS DARK AND DANGEROUS WAYS!

I has such fun with that.

But I'm now working on a new proposal. 
That means I have to come up with a whole batch of new names. 
Naming characters in a book is just as hard as naming babies, and just as chancy.

I've recently been gifted with two new grandsons.
Hugo on the east coast, and Sebastian on the west coast.
Their parents agonized over what names to give them, and did not consult me.  Or if they did, then they ignored whatever I said, which I forget now anyway. 
Hugo and Sebastian.
But you'd  think they'd listen to a person who has written over 30 books, wouldn't you?
So some of the names I proposed were way too historical.  So what?
Wouldn't you want a son named Attila?  You could nick-name him "Hun." 
sigh. 
Nobody listens to mothers anymore.

But the point is that I am mother to all my characters, from dashing dukes to evil villains, though villains can be named most anything... except perhaps for Snidely McWhiplash, or something give-away like that.

The hero of my new book: HIS DARK AND DANGEROUS WAYS is Simon Atwood, Lord Granger.  And our heroine is Jane Chatham.  The villain is.... you'll have to see for yourself!

Now I have to name all new characters.  Add to that the fact that I hate to re-use names, and what you have is a problem. 

I have six "Name your Baby" books sitting on my desk even as I write this.  I firmly believe that a name helps shape the character, in fiction and in life.

For example, if I'd been named "Elizabeth" as my mother told me I might have been, I'm convinced I'd have had more fun.  I could have been "Liz" or Lizzie" or "Liza."   Then I would have been able to sing torch songs while sitting on pianos, or have been a madcap, dancing in the Plaza fountain at Midnight with a slew of adoring, handsome playboys cheering me on.  What a life I would have led!

Edith writes books.  She doesn't even dance in the shower.  Even her dog doesn't cheer her on.

So I name my characters carefully.

A hero named "Oscar"?  Or "Lester"?  Or "Bruce"???  Not to mention "Alan" or "Barry"?

Perfectly nice names in real life, but not names to dream about in a literary heart breaker.  Especially a Historical one.

"Hugo" or "Sebastian"?  Too creepy to write love scenes with the hero bearing your grandson's name!  Besides, I already used them, long before the babies arrived.

Charles Dickens was the king of names.  He kept a notebook in which he jotted down names which struck him as odd or unusual.  He was a master.  Think "Ebenezer Scrooge."  The very name for a miser.  It leaves the lips in a sneer when you say it.  Brilliant! 

Contemporary writers have an easier time, I think.  And though I'm not comparing myself to him, Dickens was, after all, a contemporary writer.

Historical heroes and heroines have to sound like they fit in their era.  I was shocked - I tell you shocked!  when I discovered that the Great Georgette Heyer had a character named "Tiffany"!  Who'd a thunk it?  My editor would have me committed if I tried to slip a "Tiffany" into a novel set in the Regency era.  But Georgette done it!

Rhett and Scarlett were perfect names.  And who was the weakling?  "Ashley."  Works.  But only for that one book because the characters are so indelible.  And I don't take names from other books.

Take inspiration from the movies? 
Our current heroes have good names, but not thrilling ones.  There's Johnny (as in Depp) and Robert (as in Downey, Jr.) and Jude (as in Law).... Wait  That's a great name!  But "Sir Jude"?  uh uh.
It would be hard to write about lord Viggo too, wouldn't it?

Old movies?  I can't have Historical heroes with the same names of once adored hunky movie heroes such as: Rudolf (as in Valentino) and Tyrone (as in Power) and Farley (as in Granger - though "Lord Granger" is neat for a hero's title, as in HIS DARK AND DANGEROUS WAYS.  Too bad that Lord Farley and Sir Tyrone wouldn't work.)   

Names in Historical novels come in trends, just as names do in real life.  Recently, masculine names in Historical Romances and films and TV were all: "Rock" and "Wolf" and "Spike"...  hard names to show this guy is one tough testosterone filled character. 

But the trend is slowing.  I guess all the best name got used up, leaving nothing but "Sledge" and "Hammer" and "Philip's Screwdriver" yet to be used.
(Oops!  Forgot "Mike Hammer!"  There goes another one.) 
Some hard guy names are still thriving in real life.  I note with interest that there's an adorable toddler in my grandson's nursery school named "Stone."   

Still, times they are a'changing.

It's different for females, even in this era of "spirited women" and "feisty" heroines.  They don't have to have names to show they're not pushovers anymore.   Sweet "Mary" and shy "Violet" can kick butt with the best of them. That's the whole point of feminism.

So now, here I sit, looking for plausible heroes with great macho, but not stupido, names.

Got any suggestions?

****THE WINNER OF THE AUTOGRAPHED Edith Layton book is: liz !

That's what the impartial judge picked. That name really must have something gonig for it!

Please contact me at elaytonfel [at] aol.com with a good snail mail addy and it will be posted ASAP. :)