So I have a son. A 12 year-old son. And he is currently in seventh grade at a gifted and talented school (the Proud Mom says) studying creative writing (New York City has middle school kids do ‘major’s, and that’s his).

For the past two weeks, I’ve been waiting, fairly patiently, for some good news to come my way. I believe it is on its way, it is good writing news, and I am anxious for it to occur.

Someone pointed out that in the age of instant gratification, where you can find the weather, an old friend, or the perfect pair of shoes in an instant, waiting for close to two weeks can seem like an eternity (it does!).

But in our period, waiting was a part of everyday life; you waited to come out as a debutante, you waited for the appropriate gentleman to make his addresses, you waited for dinner, and events, and a long-awaited treat, like a picnic to some old ruins with convenient hiding spots for smooching. So how did our heroines wait? Let’s ponder:

Traditional Regency Heroine:
–Exchanged witty banter with her best friend or the hero. Perhaps visited with her horse, to whom she told her troubles, and explained how hard it was to wait.
–Took tea with her old nurse/governess. Ditto on the telling troubles to.
–Sat in the corner with the purple-plumed dowagers as she observed the more popular girls already dancing.

Regency-Historical Heroine:
–Took a turn on the veranda because the rooms inside were too warm. Stumbled across the hero or the villain, both of whom took advantage of her, with a heroic rescue in the latter case.
–Went to fix her gown, where she overheard some scandalous/scurrilous gossip that would then impact her future happiness with the hero.
–Disguised herself and went to a gentleman’s club because she’s tired of waiting to have fun.

Racy Historical Heroine:
–Decided not to wait for marriage.
–Disguised herself and went to a gentleman’s club where she meets many gentlemen, both together and in succession.
–Waits for no man. Takes what she wants, oftentimes not waiting to get dressed.

What’s your best waiting strategy?

We’re all about taking risks here. Normally ones found in books, but heck, we like a good risk-taker no matter what the genre.

So this week the nominations for the Academy Awards were announced, and Michael Fassbender was not a nominee for Shame, which (by all accounts–I haven’t seen it) is a daring, riveting film, and MF (great initials!) is fantastic in it.

And he showed it all on-screen. Not the first time he’s done so, but it drew mass attention because of George Clooney at the Golden Globes, suggesting MF doesn’t need a golf club to play golf. Personally, I think that’s a weak joke, but then I don’t have a faux golf club myself–maybe it’s a man thing?

Hooray for the Risk-takers! What risks have you taken recently?

To be honest, I am not the best researcher out there (I know! Color you all surprised).

What I am is a good mimic. I cut my teeth on Regency-era romance, and spent a lot of my formative years alone, so a lot of my language and vernacular was formed by what I read. For example, I use “disguised” to mean drunk, as Heyer did. I always say a lady is “mutton-y” (as in mutton dressed like lamb) when she is wearing clothing too young for her age, think (in my head, at least) that they’re mushrooms if they’re aspiring above their station in an aspirational way, and also use phrases like ‘cut my teeth’ (see above).

I also love language, and vernacular, and how idioms come about. We all know what we mean when we say something has “jumped the shark,” but the first time someone used it, they were likely met with puzzled stares (as I recall, it is the example of Happy Days when Fonzie was out waterskiing and literally jumped a shark, which was the precipitous downfall of the show’s quality). I think my love of language has made it possible for me to write in the Regency period, even though I might not know what exactly happened during certain years (not to mention the whole title thing–oy! I stink at that!)

Do you have any favorite phrases? What Regency-era terms delight you?

Megan

There are a few things in romantic fiction I don’t care for; they include spies, people eating steak and salad in contemporaries (why is it always steak and salad?!?), children who do not act like children, and telling a story using time period shifts.

But forget the kids and the food; I am currently reading Joanna Bourne’s The Black Hawk, and damned if I’m not liking it, despite it being about spies and using time period shifts to reveal the story.

Bourne’s use of language and description is incomparable–it’s as close to Kinsale and Ivory as it can get without being anything like either of those. Plus I like that her hero isn’t hugely tall or overly buff without reason:

The muscles of his belly, his shoulders, his arms, were stark as rocks jutting from a hill, smooth as peeled wood. He was a fierce and violent simplicity, like a force of nature. There was not the least softness upon him anywhere.

I have had to tell myself to be patient as the story unfolds. But it’s worth it. And shows me that all rules–even my own!–are meant to be broken, if the circumstance is extenuating enough (I have to say, though, that the cover guy looks very little like how I picture Hawker. But I’m reading on my e-reader, so I don’t see the cover a lot).

What are your reading idiosyncracies?

Megan