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Author Archives: Janet Mullany

My apologies for this late post. This is my first “writing day” or, if you like, my first goofing off day in my new schedule. And you’ll see why I’m posting late when I tell you what I did today–meeting with friends and going to an art museum

As you all know, it’s the anniversary of 9/11 and at first it almost seemed wrong to have such a hedonistic day. I find myself looking for omens on the anniversary: is the weather similar? No, today was warm and cloudy. 2001 was a perfect fall day, crisp and cool, with more orange and yellow in the trees, and the season more advanced. When I heard the first announcement on NPR at about 8:48 am I was just turning into the parking lot at work (and I can’t remember why I decided to drive into work that day, but I was glad I did, because I wouldn’t have been able to get home). I was driving at that time today, too. I was listening to the radio with some degree of anxiety.

But also with some degree of anticipation because I was about to meet up with my friend Christie Kelley, who gave me one of her brand new cover flats (we laughed about the chandelier with light bulbs and the hero’s huge phallic thumb). We talked about what we were writing or not writing and a whole lot of other things.

Then this afternoon I went into Washington DC to meet Celia May Hart and talked about–yes, what we were writing or not writing and a whole lot of other things. We met up at the National Portrait Gallery and looked at some pix of men with beards (e.g., Walt Whitman) as well as a special exhibit on Katherine Hepburn.

And then home to blog and to continue the slum clearance and renovation of what will eventually become my office.

Altogether, a good day, and a good day to celebrate friendship and community.

Do you see a theme here recently? I do. We’re returning to our homes after the excitement and excursions of the summer and normal life is picking up again.

Despite starting at a new job this week, this is pretty much how I feel. For the first time I’m about to get an office, and have been engaged in a slum clearance project on my daughter’s room. Yes, she moved out. Yes, a large amount of stuff was left behind. I plucked out books and useful stuff from the debris and started to spackle. And spackle some more. And sand. Looked at it in the morning light (it faces east and south) and discovered some more holes in the wall I missed, but unfortunately at that point I was putting on primer.

My husband peered through the doorway after I was done for the day and pointed out places I’d missed. He’s so helpful like that.

And the end result? Probably not like this. I just find this a wee bit pretentious, as much as I like Wedgwood, and my room is much, much smaller. I also doubt whether I’ll have the time or patience to become a master plasterer and this does look rather chilly and formal.

Rather, the room will be painted a luscious cream–the color is actually called creative thought, which I hope is what will happen when I’ve moved the computer, the desk, lots of books and other stuff currently cluttering up the house, and have no excuse but to write. The woodwork will be a glossy white. Eventually the carpet will be cleaned. Maybe by that time I’ll have learned how to use the digital camera–I did take a couple of pix of the room during the clean out–and show you the finished project.

I also wanted to boast about the creative work done by my inlaws at Mullany Art Studios. This is a mural they did for Argia’s Restaurant in Falls Church, VA. Isn’t it amazing? Yes, they accept commissions for murals and will include your pets if you like.

Do you have your own space in your house where you can read and/or write? Are you bitten by the decorating bug or engaged in any home renovation projects? And how messy do you get when you paint?

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Over at the Wet Noodle Posse this month we’re winding up a series on inspiration but I haven’t participated (sorry!). The reason is I don’t know what inspires me or gets the writing juices flowing, and I regard it as such a delicate process I don’t want to mess around with it.

Truly, for me it’s like walking a tightrope.

But occasionally I hear about something fascinating that sticks in my mind and I think about it and wonder how I could work it into a story. Even if I can’t, I believe that this sort of speculation breeds other stories, other ideas.

One story that sticks in my mind is from a 2004 episode of PBS’ History Detectives. Archaeologists working on the Lost Towns Project (Anne Arundel County, Maryland)–that is, the seventeenth century settlements before Annapolis became the capital–discovered a skeleton in the basement of the house. It wasn’t a burial, in fact the corpse seems to have been thrown in with the rubbish. At first they thought it might have been a casualty, or an executed prisoner from the only Civil War (English) battle fought on American soil, the Battle of Severn (1655).

But the skeleton didn’t have battle wounds. Examination of the bones revealed that he was a young male who had done hard physical labor all his life. His horrific dental decay alone would have made him very sick, and he also suffered from tuberculosis. He was regarded with such indifference that his body was thrown away like garbage when he died at around the age of sixteen.

The conclusion the History Detectives reached was that he was an indentured servant, one of the many who came to the New World hoping that after a specified number of years working for someone else they would be able to make a living. Some came as punishment, some because options at home were so few. By the Regency/federal period slavery was a more viable financial option for landowners.

The History Detectives found that abuse and neglect of indentured servants was very common. In addition, the Commonwealth of Virgina was obliged to pass legislation around this time requiring that indentured servants be given proper burial, which implies that throwing bodies into basements or ditches was all too common.

The story of this poor kid whose name we don’t even know has haunted me. After several years of dithering around I’ve started writing a story, not about him, but about the lost settlements of Maryland.

What stories have stuck with you?

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Three years…a lifetime in the blogosphere, and thanks to you–our lurkers and readers and commenters–for your great comments and for dropping by so often. And extra special thanks to your employers for so generously lending us your time.

I’ve learned so much from everyone here–it’s been a real education. And I’ve been humbled and amazed, too, by the smart, knowledgeable, funny people who have joined the Riskies family.

With little originality, I’m going to remind you of my favorite posts over the last year.

In my tireless campaign against gratuitous mantitty, I counterattacked with a post about Hot Old Men like the lovely and talented Alan Rickman: Women swooned at his imcomprehensible upperclass mumble and the slow crawl of his jowls seeking freedom from his high collar. And I promise, I will post about Hot Old Women sometime, too.

I love our interviews too, and this year I was fortunate enough to get an exclusive with Cupid on Valentine’s Day. The Regency wasn’t bad, all things considered. Not too much whalebone, and no steel–that was tough, dealing with Victorian corsets. You wouldn’t believe the number of arrows I ruined. …

You might think blogging on holidays is easy, but how on earth do you relate an American holiday, such as Thanksgiving, to the Regency? Fortunately, Thanksgiving 2007 was also George Eliot’s birthday and I pondered on why one of my favorite, flawed novels, Daniel Deronda, is like a turkey dinner.

I also enjoyed our week celebrating the birthday of Jane Austen, and chose Mansfield Park–mainly because I suspected none of the other Riskies wanted it. I wasn’t even sure I wanted it myself. What a revelation, to read this sexy, difficult, daring book, and what a great discussion. Did anyone read it as a result? Tell us what you thought.

I find there are topics we return to again and again, because they’re fascinating and influential, and we discover new facts we have to share. I blogged about the great astronomer William Herschel on March 13, the anniversary of the day he discovered the planet Uranus. I’m sure one of us will mention him again soon. I revisited another favorite topic, servants, in response to an email from a blog visitor who highly recommended Mrs. Woolf and the Servants by Alison Blight, and wondered how Woolf’s attitude to her servants was like or unlike that of Regency-era masters.

Please tell us if there’s a topic you’d like to talk about–we love to hear from you! And if you’re a lurker, come by and make your first comment. Don’t be shy!

Prizes? Oh yes, prizes.

If you’re a writer, I’ll offer a critique of your first chapter and synopsis.

If you’re a reader, you can win a signed copy of each of my books, Dedication, The Rules of Gentility, and Forbidden Shores (the last written as Jane Lockwood).

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If only…

Ideally this is how I’d like to spend my summer (add catering and it would be perfect). As it is, if we open windows mosquitoes come in (although they get in anyway; the opportunistic little critters zoom in as soon as a door is opened, knowing that I, ripe, juicy and desirable, will be their dinner). If I put flowers in a vase I’d have to clean off the table first. Heck, I’d have to clean off the sofa first.

I don’t know if I could live with that wallpaper, though.

So how am I spending my summer?

Job hunting. Yes, my job fell apart in July and I really, really need work–I just don’t function well without it. It’s not as though I have set myself up a rigid routine (exercise! write! read! do good works!) although I probably should. My routine generally goes like this: get up early because I’m used to it, fiddle around reading email, run errands if there are any to run, write a bit, apply for some jobs, avoid the siren call of the tv and the hundreds of cable channels that still don’t provide anything to watch.

I also do odd bits of housework but god knows I don’t want anyone (spouse) to take this sort of thing for granted or, worse, that I start to think this sort of thing is essential. It’s a fine line.

So what are you doing this summer?

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