Author Archives: Janet Mullany

Think of the grownups

Updated on May 30, 2013 by Janet Mullany

Time to let the inner curmudgeon out for some exercise.

So first of all we had Young Adult. Okay.

Inner curmudgeon: Couldn’t they read Wuthering Heights?

Then New Adult. Okay. I think.

Inner curmudgeon: Couldn’t they just get over themselves already and read Pride & Prejudice?

What’s next? Disaffected Late 20s? Early 30s seeking for affirmation? 40s going through marital angst (oh wait, we already have that–it’s Women’s Fiction).

Because this begs the curmudgeonly questions, What About the Grownups? What the heck are we supposed to read? Who’s writing for us? And why does the industry–and oh yes, writers, too–insist on niching us all into oblivion?

Which brings me to the subject of the week from a few weeks ago, Dear Author’s post We Should Let the Historical Genre Die and Diane’s elegant rebuttal here. It seems like historicals are filling a major niche in that editors (and some of us but so obviously not me) can have all the hot dukes they need to get through the day. But for those of us who like a bit of historical accuracy what a terrific opportunity to show young people taking on life experiences and responsibilities and all that stuff. You were either a child or an adult then, despite what your hormones thought. (Although I should add that fiction as an excuse to teach a moral lesson is just a wee bit out of date by a couple of centuries. The comment “Yes, but what does your heroine learn?” makes me growl.)

(And I should also add that we can get into squicky territory with medieval heroines in their early teens marrying aristos old enough to be their father/grandfather, but let’s not go there.)

But back to our regularly scheduled program and I think I’ve used up the parantheses quota for the day anyway. So while I’d like to say that historicals will provide some grownup reading experiences, it may not happen. I guess we’d all rather read about hot young things bumping boots, although I’m rather fond of characters who know what they’re doing after years of practice.

Thoughts, anyone?

Posted in Rant | 8 Replies

Bring out the leeches

Updated on May 23, 2013 by Janet Mullany

Sad to say I have caught a cold from my nearest and dearest. I am so glad that I do not live in the Austen household in Chawton where dear Martha Lloyd would have dosed me with this concoction, courtesy of a certain Dr. Twiton:

Take volitile salt of ammonia 32 gms– salt of Petre 40 gms. Put them in a marble mortar to a fine powder, then add one oz of Syrup of Balsam and on oz of oyl of sweet almonds, add 6 ozs of pump water. The whole of the above will make four draughts, one of which should be taken three times in 24 hours and to the night one add one dram of paragoria.

I don’t even know what most of this stuff is, but then I look at the ingredients of my over the counter cold med and am equally mystified.

Hannah Glasse (The Art of Cookery, 1747) has this recipe for making lozenges which sounds a little more palatable although I’m not sure whether they’re meant to be eaten or burned to make the air more healthy:

Take two pounds of common white loaf-sugar, beat it well in a mortar, dissolve six ounces of Spanish liquorice in a little water; one ounce of gum-arabic dissolved likewise; add thereto a little oil of anise-seed; mix them well to a proper consistence, and cut them into small lozenges; let them lie in a band-box on the top of an oven a considerable time to dry, shaking the box sometimes.

More strange recipes at Travels and Travails in 18th-century England and The Cookbook of Unknown Ladies.

And some good writing news: Hidden Paradise has finaled in both the Golden Quill and Booksellers’ Best Awards!

What are you up to?

Posted in Jane Austen, Research | 5 Replies

Guest post from the cat

Updated on May 16, 2013 by Janet Mullany

La dame avec son chat, Marguerite Gérard

Lunch? Did someone say lunch? Maybe this ugly woman will feed me. Otherwise I’ll crush her.

Janet is so incredibly lazy that she asked me to write today’s blog. She also took far too long to feed me today and has invited strangers into the front yard to take down her tree, thwarting any desire I might have to eat grass followed by recreational vomiting.

Nathaniel_Hone,_Catherine_Maria_''Kitty''_Fisher

I’m HELPING the fish. What do you think I’m doing?

So, the Regency. Not a good time for cats. No reproductive rights, persecuted for our beautiful coats and tuneful intestines. Portrayed, as you can see, as grotesque gluttons or sneaky criminals.

Guess what I just did down here.

Excuse me, I must go eat.

Where was I? Oh yes, the Regency. A time of persecution and–

OMG what is that on the ceiling?

Never mind. Hey, I bet you can’t get your leg up by your ear and do this.

Dream on, dog.

Any other cats out there who wish to comment?

Posted in Frivolity | 4 Replies

Room with a view

Updated on May 2, 2013 by Janet Mullany

Here’s the view from my office window, showing the white oak that has always been a source of pleasure to me. (And yes, I’m afraid that window does need cleaning rather badly.)

But its days are numbered. It’s a big tree, probably between 80 and 100 years old, but it is dying. Most of the greenery in the picture is produced from the trees on the other side of the street and the majority of it, including branches near the roof, have no leaves. We think it became infected with oak bores, which do what they sound like (poor conversationalists who drill into trees). So I’ve spent the last couple of days talking to tree companies about removing it and bracing myself to move the hostas growing around it which are getting bigger every day. I moved some peonies today. Very scary roots.

Here’s the tree in the last real snowstorm we had, several years ago.

And here’s a really old tree, a 1,000-year old yew tree growing outside the church in Steventon, where Jane Austen’s father, and then her brother, held the living:

So today I’m mostly filthy and bits of compost are falling off me as I walk around the house. In addition to the peony, I have planted about 18 black-eyed susans and a volunteer columbine that appeared in a plant pot (well, hello!), and have so much more to do.

What do you think I should plant in the oak’s place? I’m in Maryland, so a natural choice might be a dogwood (at risk because of a virus–I’ve already lost one) or a redbud. Or I could plant a flowering cherry, which isn’t a native but is an honored adoptee.

If you’re a gardener, or would like to be, tell me what you’re planting this year or admiring in other’s yards.

Posted in Anything but writing | 4 Replies

Time passes

Updated on April 27, 2013 by Janet Mullany

A year ago today the Risky Regency blog started! I decided, after Elena’s preemptive birthday strike yesterday, to talk about what’s changed in the past year–for me (well, it is my day to blog) and, as far as I’m able, to talk about changes in the industry. Because one thing that hasn’t really changed for me is that I still feel totally bewildered by the strange Alice-in-Wonderland world of publishing.

One major change, of course, is that the Signet Regency is no more. A lot of us were taken by surprise and not too happy about it. I’m the exception, because I was clueless what I was going to write for my option manuscript. When I did start one, the hero/heroine had sex on page seven and by chapter three she’d become an old man’s darling; not the usual fodder of the trads. (Go on. I challenge you. Give me the name of the trad where this happens and I’ll send you a copy of Dedication–Riskies, particularly Cara and her encyclopaedic knowledge of the subgenre, are prohibited from entering.) Meanwhile trads are popping up as e-books–even Cerridwen Press, the well-behaved, polite sister of Ellora’s Cave, is starting the Cotillion Line. The first title, A Certain Want of Reason, which will be out this fall, is by my buddy and critique partner Kate Dolan.
I’d like to share with you what this past year has been like. A year ago I was about-to-be-published, and thinking philosophically that if I hadn’t done it by now, it was too late (website, check. Galleys sent out for review, check. Bookmarks made, check. And so on). I’d attracted the attention of a very sharp agent (with whom I have since signed). The future was both terrifying and exciting. I discovered I could spend hours fretting about things like reviews and therefore avoid any actual writing. I plummeted into first book syndrome, something I recently wrote an article on, and which you can read at the Wet Noodle Posse e-zine.

It’s pretty mind-boggling that exactly a year later I can now call myself a multi-pubbed, award-winning author. (Well, almost. I guess I’m multi-contracted, -dealed, or -gestated right now.) There’s a part of me that shrieks, amidst hysterical giggles, What, me? Me? Nice-cup-of-tea Janet? And another part of me that struts around saying things like, Well, why the heck not? I can write and I work hard. So there! Meanwhile, my muse, a rather severe woman of a certain age who sports tweed skirts, refined cameo brooches, and sensible shoes, raises her eyebrows in the way that makes me cringe and murmurs caustic comments about doing what writers should do–write.

I’m not sure exactly where I’ll be this time next year, other than still bemused by the industry, and, I hope, writing better and more, and enjoying the company of my Risky friends.

Janet

Posted in Reading, Risky Book Talk, Writing | 3 Replies