Sunday, September 17, 2006

Harpies, Part Two




As an experiment I decided to try and write a chapter of a more "traditional" regency for the Avon Fanlit, since this appears to be what the people are crying out for. Thus there was research. I decided that my story would center on the painting The Grand Odelisque (seen above). There is great controversy over who the model exactly is and for what purpose it was painted given the the Romantic and leading into the Orientalism movements were in their infancy at the time. Also, Ingres was by natire a painter of court portraits. All very interesting. Other than the commission was ordered by the Queen Consort (and Napoleon's sister) of Naples at the time. Apparently to hang in complement with a painting he alegedlly did for her of a nude woman sleeping. No one seems to know the whereabouts of that painting. Here is Queen Caroline:

Personally, I think she looks a bit like the painting but is it possible that they used one body and her face? That's the premise of my ridiculous story. By the way Murat went on to paint The Roman Baths and Recling Odelisque with Slave among other famous works, most of which are housed in teh Louvre. Incidentally, poor Caroline never recieved her painting. She had conspired against her brother and fled to what was then a part of Austria with her children to avoid her husband's fate of beheading.


This story has been on the boards less than half an hour and has better scores then my last one has had in a week. I'm so disappointed in women.
Oh, and I thought you might enjoy viewing a ballgown from 1815 as I had no idea wht they looked like myself. Very boring compared to what I had thought. And while this snippet does not describe THIS dress (which resides in the Met) it is from a ladies' fashion peridoical from 1815.


EVENING DRESS.
Dress, of White Satin, tastefully trimmed with Sky Blue Velvet, a handsome Plaiting round the Neck, a Balloon Sleeve, looped up with narrow Blue Velvet; Band, fastened in the front with a Pearl Clasp. Pearl Necklace, Earrings, and Bracelets; long White Gloves; Silk Stockings; and White Satin Shoes, ornamented with silver. The Hair in braids in the front; full curls behind, fastened with a comb, worked with pearls. Admired as this publication has ever been for the taste displayed in the Dresses, yet we have no hesitation in saying that this one, for simplicity and elegance, far exceeds all others we have ever witnessed.

Well, here we go, prepare to be underwhelmed and possibly just ill. Remember that Regency is so not my thing.

Title: The Odalisque

Hook: (I had a very strict 150 character count here so forgive the triteness) His ideal woman exsisted only in an artist's sketch book. Until she stepped out of the pages and into his heart.

Summary of Chapter: His obsession had come to life. She was flesh and blood and beautiful. But could reality live up to fantasy?
When it appeared all intrigue and deception had left her life, a man claims he dreams of her, loves her….but only as The Odalisque. (Yes, I know. Shut up.)

Chapter One (incidentally, all names, locations and the general premise of lady takes Ton by storm, gentleman vows to undo her were all picked by NOT me)

London, Spring 1815

The Duchess of Alderman's Annual Ball

"Did I mention my step-mother was to attend?"
Demian looked at the Earl of Frasier with interest. It was the first interesting thing that had happened all evening at the Duchess of Alderman's ball. The Ton flocked each year because the elderly Duchess held the ear of Prinny and none wanted to run the risk of an insult. It was rumored the Prince Regent himself would appear.
"I'd heard her Ladyship was about and making quite a stir. Whatever did you say to lure her from Sussex? I thought she was rusticating quite happily."
"She was. I'm more than happy to leave her to her hobbies. I certainly have bigger concerns with this dashed Battle we fear approaching. She likes the sea, says the climate is as close to Italy as is available here in gloomy old England. She putters in the garden a great deal and reads."
"Sounds dreadfully boring," the Earl's interest had been momentarily piqued by the idea of a new face amongst The Ton but it waned quickly at the idea of a bookish dowager. His thoughts turned to a feminine figure, lush and ripe with promise, reclining on a bed, having fallen asleep awaiting her lover. Her dark hair-.
"I suppose you are dreaming about your fantasy girl again, seeing as I have been trying to tell you of Isabella for a good five minutes," observed Richard. "Shall you never get her out of your mind? First it was your obsession over the sketch book and now the damn painting. I hear you've emissary has been hounding poor Ingres mercilessly for the identity of the model. There is many a dark haired beauty here tonight, nay in all London who would be more than please to make your fantasies come true.
Damien simply sighed. His friend would truly never understand, he not understanding it himself, the obsession he had begun for the true identity of the model in the sketch book he owned. Last year his Mr. Franks, a most trustworthy and well-connected art dealer, had approached him with what he described as a one of a kind piece that he had been consigned. It's shocking asking price had meant nothing to Damien once he had examined it.
The sketch book was filled with page after page of a woman, in the nude in various reposes. The damnability was that in every sketch her face was blank. Normally not a fan of the new Romantic style, he was surprised when he spent more and more time with the book, studying each line, each curve, each mark.
"Ever so sorry. What about her," he inquired out of boredom. He poured his watery lemonade into a convenient plant and set the fragile cup on a passing server's tray.
"Oh, quite Italian. Intelligent, reads ad writes three languages, plays chess with great skill, wicked sense of humor. Her year of mourning for father has long past sense and I practically had bribe her hear with promises of botanical gardens, boxwood hedges and whatever other plants she cares to see."
"Why so interested?"
"Oh, I'm hoping to marry her off. I'd feel like I had preformed my duty as step-son. I hate to think her alone."
"Very altruistic of you. Well, the Duchess' wig is quite making my eyes water, didn't anyone tell her that fell out of fashion years up on years ago. If you decide to seek solace later in a glass and games, I shall be at Whites." He made for the stairs after bidding goodnight to his hostess and sneezing rather indiscreetly as the powder on her wig.
In truth, despite the early hour he was anxious to get home. Just as he was leaving his newest painting, the "The Valpincon Bather" had arrived. He looked forward to it joining Monsieur Ingres' "Girl after bathing". He was more than anxious to return and compare the subjects to ensure they were the same woman. He had heard of the marvel that was Monsieur's "La Grande Odalisque", unveiled last year at an exhibition at The Paris Salon. The damnable Little Dictator had made it quite impossible for him to personally view it thus he had Mr. Franks send a French painter to copy it brush stroke by brush stroke.
"Ah, there she is. Do wait a moment and be introduced to Isabelle, Damien," his friend asked.
A beauty of the first water had arrived at the top of the stairs. A hush rippled through the ballroom for a second before it begin to buzz in earnest telling who had already met and entertained the mysterious Countess.
She was not young, she was not old. Thirty, guessed Damien. Still considerably younger than her late husband had been and with her inheritance, she would still be considered a prime catch. She was dark, bespeaking her Mediterranean heritage. Olive skinned, black hair, dark eyes. Her figure a bit fuller than those of the English society maven as dictated by the fashion of Italy. Her looks were complemented by the gauzy ivory gown and pearls she wore.
She appeared uncertain at first, then her face breaking into a radiant smile when she saw Richard coming forth. "You told me this was to be a small gathering, Richard. Shame on you," she scolded fondly.
"Sorry, darling, or shall I introduce you as my dear Mother?" He kissed her lightly on the cheek.
"Don't you dare, you saucy pup or I shall thrash you like a
school boy."
"By the way," Richard tossed over his shoulder," Isabella, the Dowager Countess of Frasier, this is my oldest and dearest of intimates, Damien, Earl of Coulter. May I interest you in some perfectly horrid lemonade, Bella?" Richard made to take her arm to lead her to an introduction with the Duchess.
"Would your ladyship do me the honor of this dance," Damien blurted out. So uncharacteristic was his forwardness and clumsy delivery, Richard stopped in his tracks and simply blinked at him.
"I should greet the hostess, I believe. I shall be happy to add you to my dance card for…Oh my." And before she knew it, Isabella was whirling about the dance floor.

# # #

"I know you," the Earl informed her. Neither preamble nor polite chatter with this man. He was staring down at her intensely, as though his dark hair and gray eyes did not make him intense enough.
She smiled easily at him. A woman with nothing to hide. "Have you been to Italy recently, my Lord," she inquired breezily.
"No, not since my Grand Tour in ninety-eight. I do know you," he repeated. Not a question, just fact.
"I have lived in Italy my entire life, Sir. I am sure you've confused me with another. Do not let it trouble you." Perhaps he would let it go now. It would be impolite of him to press further.
"That is where you met Edward's father, is it not? Rome?" H was looking more puzzled by the moment.
"Yes, the English climate did not agree with him in his later years. He took up residence there."
"And we have never-."
"Have you been to Sussex recently," she cut him off. He was like an old dog with a bone. And she did not enjoy feeling the clamp of his muzzle about her.
"No," he replied slowly. He was barely listening now, studying her so relentlessly that she was afraid they were attracting attention.
"I have not left it during my mourning. The dance comes to a close. Perhaps you could return me to Edward?" She went to take his arm, in the process she was forced to shift the slight trail of fabric from her skirt, allowing the back of her neck be exposed to him. Straightening, she took his arm and made to move from the floor.
He stopped and turned to her, she saw him swallowing hard, a bead of perspiration forming on his brow,
"I did not recognize you clothed, your ladyship," he said
in wonder.
She made a hasty exit off the floor. He pursued.
"It is you? The Odalisque? I would never have truly known had I not seen the birth mark on the back of your neck." He reached to touch it and she slapped his hand away with her fan.
"Sir, this is most improper and if you do not desist immediately, I shall inform my son-in-law of your advances." She moved quickly toward the doors to the ladies retiring room. Again he pursued.
"I would not have known your face, but you body, your birthmark, the curve of your neck, they are as distinctive as a snowflake."
"I beg of you to leave me alone, sir. I've developed a headache and must ask Richard to escort me home. Good evening." She turned, almost in tears to hurry away.
"I dream of you every night."
She stopped in her tracks. "I must go," she said quietly, not even turning to face him.
The Odalisque.
Here. She must be his in life as she was in portraiture. Richard said he had hoped to make a suitable match during The Season. Damien was quite sure he would be suitable.

Crap, right? But these Regency Women are eating it up with a spoon. Anyway, run along to www.avonfanlit.com, register, scroll through and find me and give me a five please.. You already read the thing so you might as well help me out.

Friday, September 15, 2006

Harpies

Okay. so Monday night I did indeed write up a chapter and put it up on the Avon Fan-Lit board. I'm not a regency reader, I hate heaving bosoms. I hate the word heaving in general and dislike body parts that do so. The closeset I get is Julia Quinn which is not by a LONG shot Regency Regular. So I shot off this amusing and different , in my opinion, little chapter. It was actually an excellent exercise in editing. You had to be no more then 2500 chracters total with spaces for your chapter. A catch line could be no more that a 80. Your synopsis no more than 125 and your chapter teaser? About 250. It was editing hell but I'm glad I did it since it forced me to make some difficult choices. Not saying said choices were the correct ones, but choices were made and scenes were sliced none the less. If anyone would like to wander over with a kind word, it's called Pursued and you can slap a five on there and I will send you an autographed copy of my first book.

Turthfully, I read through a lot of the submission taglines looking for something not heaving and the ones I found and read that were unique and liked and gave good marks to? Are getting slaughtered by the Regency Natzis. If you don't like it, just ignore it. Don't be ugly to each other. These people are viscious.

So if you would like to boost my score or anyone else's, head over. If not, I don't blame you, it's hell over there.

Friday. Fun.





Sorry, not feeling fun.

Anyway, I wanted to give you all this because it's obsessive but you can only play an hour. You do have to download the demo so it's not ideal for work.

Virtual Villagers Trial

It's a SIM which I think are fun. You have to teach the little buggers everything but they continue to wrok while you are not actively runnign the game. So I started everyone on a task, fruit picking, clearing the rocks from the river, examining herbs, and working on building, oh and sent a few into the huts for nature to take it's course, than I checked back every once in awhile. That wasy I got to play longer and it was so interesting to see what they had done. Fish Tycoon is also like this but moces at a SNAILS PACE. I like dealing with the little people. Warning: it is addictive and you will be tempted to buy it. Sorry.


Monday, September 11, 2006

Sorry for the absence, mea culpa

My apologies, my dears, I have been away from you too long. My deviotion has not lessened, only my time.

I know you all probably kept checking for my big Croc Hunter essay. I tried to write one but...well, are we really surprised by his death? Ironically by one of the most inocuous creatures of the deep. And given that Steve's baliwick was land not sea...well, there you go. I know that Steve and his wife fancied themselves conservationist. And they did a lot of good in many areas. But I have always had a quibble with the WAY they did it. The way they chose to garner the attention (sticking heads in croc mouths, wrestling anacondas, tossing one's self in with tiger sharks) through cheap, dangerous stunts. I works at the zoo for awhile. Here's the truth, a wild animal IS a wild animal. It can/will turn on you. Crocodiles are not housepets, they do not care about you. Boas do not have emotional attachments. The best I can illustrate this was one day when chatting with an elephant keeper as she was wheelbarrowing out about two hundred pounds of elephant shit and had told me she was quitting. "Won't they miss you," I asked. "No," she said. "They will be attached as much as they are to me as to the next person who shows up and feeds them, cleans them, cleans the stalls and scrapes the crap out of their yard. We are not thier friends or family. We don't chat or have coffee together. They're great animals, they're smart, they're resourceful, but they won't notice I'm gone and it's someone new taking this wheelbarrow out." Wild animals are wild. God made them that way for a reason. And God gave us common sense for a reason (although not in equal doses). And hovering around a ray with a six foot wing span and eighteen inch barb who is trying to get away from you during the part of the year where rays are all freaked out about tiger shark attacks anyway? Well, again...it was going to happen sooner than later. My heart goes out to his children, and no, I don't know if it was a doll or his daughter he was dangling there so I make no judgments.

So, it's 9/11. And the news channels and the not news channels and the channels that think they're news but are not are all busy making us relive it. I stood in an office and watched the second plane fly into the tower. I watched people throwing themselves out of the windows because they were so scared to be burned to death. I watched the towers collapse. I used to live in New York. Did you know that? I worked right across the street from the Trade Center. As a matter of fact it was my subway stop and usually before I went to work I sat out in the plaza in the shade of building one and had my coffee. I saw the people who went in and out. I bought the occasional newspaper or cigarettes from the newstand guy next to the subway tunnel. I don't need a movie or a replay of the news coverage to see those people in my mind crushed under a million pounds of rubble without any idea of why or who or how.

Friday, September 01, 2006

The Basics

It seems there are a number of aspiring writers out there who haven't the least CLUE about RWA or anything else about actually being published. Fear not, I am here to help make sure your manuscript does not immediately meet the roundfile.

First the super basic: www.rwanational.org Home page for Romance Writer's Association. The mother of all romance/women's fic. Belonging is the one of the first steps to being taken seriously by agents/publishers.

Now: Format. This should be standard stuff but often people do not know. White paper, 1 inch margins all around. 12 pt. Courier New or Times font. Black ink. Your name and title of work should appear on each page in the left hand corner as a header, the right should have page numbers.
Example:

B. Smith/Generic Manuscript 1

Then jump down about a third and start off with a big ol' Chapter One. Now, some of you have prologues. You consider them more important thatn life and would rather sacrifice an arm then remove them. Get your saw out. Loose it. People want to be in this story RIGHT THEN not wandering around in the past/future.

Third: New Scene, Head hopping, Tense

If you have a new scene in a chapter use # as the divider, don;t try anything cutesy. Example:


Bob's horse stopped short throwing Bob off a cliff and to a bone shattering death. Poor Bob.

# # #

Meanwhile back at the ranch...

Got it?

Headhopping? Unless you're Nora Roberts then, no. Just no. It's bad formatting and just bad storytelling. Bob should have his own paragraph.

Tense, let's be consistent here. While mishmashing first and third person may seem edgy. It's not.

Now, exposition. The down fall of most writers, the damn exposition fairy comes and whacks the shit out of you with her wand. And suddenly you have characters staring out at landscapes and remembering childhood trauma or lost loves or the LONG LONG story of how they lost their car keys that hilarious time in Modesto. Stop that. It's boring. Here is THE RULE: SHOW DON'T TELL. Move those people around, interact them, tell me what's going on.

Don't have a cute email address when applying to an editor/agent. They have told me time and again that anyone with an email address like "BoBoFooDog1" or "KittySnuggles" doesn't get much respect. I set up an email address that is ONLY on my business cards for agents and editors.

Go to sites and join organizations and web boards that can help you. RWA has many special interest chapters. Go look. Romance Times has a great website. Publisher's Marketplace. Predators and Editors. Publishing houses and Agents blogs/websites. Other writer's websites. Don't be afriad to email your favorite author and just say hi, I love your work. Often they're looking for a reason to procrastinate and email is the answer. Mary Janice Davidson and I got in a multi email discussion once about TWOP. Read Miss Snark. Check out Jenny Crusie's Cherrys.

Contest: Meh. I recommend the Golden Heart if you are going to do one. You prepay and there is a very strict deadline. So you feel pressured to meet it. Just like real life. Keep in mind that contest results are often wildly skewed based on the reader. If you do enter other contest look for things that offer your category. And your weakest points. I write a great cover letter so I need not enter a coverletter contest. I don't need validation. But my synopsis are awful. So a synopsis contest might be useful. Also, keep in mind that these are just four or five random people's opinions.

Time to send out that manuscript? I'll just print out all four hundred pages and ship it right out. NONONO! Don't you dare. First, find your targets. Where does your book fit? Is it category? Is it mystery? Find who and what handles your sort of stuff. Now take a look at their "Submission" page. They all have one but you may have to look closely. Some will tell you they do not except unagented material. Fine, get back to them when you have an agent. Now, unless stated otherwise, send your query letter and ONLY your query letter in whatever form they wish. SOme will ask for partials right off tha bat. If that's true than by all means do it. Each publisher/agent will tell you EXACTLY how to package things. LISTEN TO THEM, otherwise? Round File.

Other questions? No. Get back to me if you have any. Hope this helps some of you.