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The Riskies love a great debut, and today we welcome Elyse Mady! Her book, appropriately titled The Debutante’s Dilemma, is out with Carina Press. For more information, visit her website here, and comment for a chance to win a copy on today’s blog!

Welcome to the blog, Elyse! Tell us about The Debutante’s Dilemma

I’m so happy to be here! The Debutante’s Dilemma is a Regency tale that tells about the romantic awakening of Miss Cecilia Hastings, the non-pareil of the London Season in 1814. She’s come up the winner in the sweepstakes known as the marriage mart and when the story opens she is on the cusp of receiving not one, but two, marriage proposals, from Jeremy, the Earl of Henley, and Richard, the Duke of Wexford.

They’re fabulously wealthy, handsome, titled, and brave. There’s just one little snag in this lovely scenario and that is that Cecilia wants passion in her marriage, not just tepid liking, and both her suitors have yet to convince her of their true feelings.

This dilemma compels her to issue the unorthodox challenge to her two suitors: a kiss before she will entertain their proposals. She knows herself well enough to know that she couldn’t bear to be stymied or constrained by a polite agreement like so many others of her acquaintance seem to endure. This is a story about people confronting the unspoken expectations that surround all of us every day and making a bold grasp for their happiness. I won’t give away the ending, but neither Cecilia nor Henley or Wexford expect anything like what comes of their encounter, I promise you that!

This is your debut, right? How did you get started writing?

Yes, indeedy. The Debutante’s Dilemma is my own debut and I’m totally excited to finally see my name in print. Possibly, the only person more jazzed about it is my mother , because that’s what mothers do! She manages to bring it up in conversation with everyone she encounters and at the rate she’s going, I may have to nail down some sort of referral fee in light of her efforts–maternal PR is frightening effective!

I got my start in writing (at least the paid kind!) about three years ago, publishing articles in magazines. It was really good training. I learned to promote myself, summarize and organize ideas, get familiar with contracts and negotiation, albeit on a much smaller scale than in book publishing, plus gain some real writing creds to tack on to the bottom of my slush pile letters. I also mastered writing to a deadline, writing in a variety of different voices and styles and working with editors, all skills that have stood me in very good stead since I’ve sold to Carina Press.

Did you come across any interesting research for this story?

Always! Research is one of my happy places. Give me a shelf full of obscure historical material and I’m as happy as a bi-valve mollusk. :))

A lot of the story’s climax takes place in a greenhouse and when I first sketched out the scene, I automatically pictured a big, white, glass walled conservatory type building–the epitome of the English gardening mania. I’d even played with the idea of reflections against the darkened glass as part of the seduction.

Then I discovered that all those all-glass buildings were a Victorian and Edwardian convention and that greenhouses in the 18th and early 19th century looked very different. They didn’t have the expensive glazings and iron frameworks. Instead they were often made of brick, with large, multi-paned windows, opaque roofs, and skylights for ventilation. Depending on what was being grown in them, the time of year they were being used and what kind of climate they were built in, they could have a lot of different floor surfaces too, from exposed earth to gravel to pavers to plants grown in individual tubs.

Luckily my characters were happy to oblige the about-face and none of them seemed put-off by the new details of their romantic space!

We always have to ask–what is “risky” about this book?

Oooh, lots of things! But it can all be summed up in one risky word–threesome…

I had a lot of fun playing with the tensions between my writing style, which definitely embraces a traditional Regency tone, right down to the phrasing and sentence structures, and the plot, which promptly veers from Georgette-ish-ness into territory that is challenging and erotic. I really liked exploring the dichotomy between the public and the private in the story because it’s the same problem that real people of the period had to navigate, balancing the expectations about their public behavior against the interests and activities they got up to behind closed doors.

What’s next for you?

I’m a busy bee. I’ve had 2 contemporary romances accepted by Carina and they should be hitting e-bookshelves at some point in 2011. I’ll have all the details on my blog as soon as they’re available.

I’m also working on on some more Regency stories that I’m really excited about! I’m currently shaping the outlines for one, possibly two, more novellas that link to the characters in The Debutante’s Dilemma. Cecilia’s cousin Georgiana will definitely be one of them, and if my plans for them hold up they’re definitely going to be interesting–in the naughtiest sense of the word!

Then I’m also working on a full-length historical novel which has no title at present because titles are not my forte. It’s another Regency, but it’s a significant departure for me–a fusion of sorts between historical fiction and romance that I’m really excited about. I’ve left behind the ballrooms and salons I explored in this current release and am moving into the less vaunted but still fascinating (to me at least!) spheres of everyday Londoners during the period. Many of the characters and events are matters of historical record and bringing them to life, filling in the many unknowns yet keeping true to the period and shaping a compelling story is a really interesting challenge for me as a writer. There are mass arrests and bribes, gaol fever and riots, and all sorts of legal skullduggery, leavened with a big heaping dose of romance!

And I’d love to say thanks for having me at the Riskies today by offering one poster the chance of winning a digital copy of The Debutante’s Dilemma in their choice of e-book format!

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A few weeks back, the Smart Bitches asked for reader opinions to help in writing a chapter for a book “Everything I Know About Love, I Learned from Romance Novels.” The specific question was what traits readers associate with the ideal romance hero and heroine. Life was too busy that week for me to even read all the responses, let alone partake in the discussion. But I thought it was an interesting question.

Now that I’ve read the comments, I see that there are lots of common themes: intelligence, humor, and the ability to make sacrifices for the other. Yet something in the discussion disturbed me until I figured it out.

My creative self isn’t comfortable with the concept of an ideal hero or heroine. I doubt the SBs meant it this way, but if readers were to reach consensus on the ideal, should all romance authors should aim for the same goal, book after book? If the alpha hero is the ideal (as some readers say) should we never write beta heroes?

IMHO all heroes and heroines should be innately good people. What I want in heroes and heroines is variety. Jessica and Dain from Loretta Chase’s LORD OF SCOUNDRELS are not much like Maddy and Christian from Laura Kinsale’s FLOWERS OF THE STORM. Both books are firmly on my keeper shelf.

What I can define a little more easily is my deal-breakers. I used to have more of them, but books like Laura Kinsale’s SHADOWHEART made me reconsider. Now it’s a short list. I can’t deal with heroes or heroines who are:

  • Small-minded or petty. No kicking dogs, please.
  • Distant and cold throughout the entire story. Some alpha heroes come off this way to me. I want to see even the toughest guy break down when he thinks he’s lost the love of his life.
  • Apathetic. No heroes or heroines who are just waiting for the other to heal them.
  • Racist, homophobic, or intolerant in any way, especially if the author seems to support the intolerance and doesn’t make them change.

Beyond those deal-breakers, I really just want to know why a hero is right for that heroine and not someone else, and vice versa. Like Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet, they should have opposing traits that drive them crazy but also make them grow.

What about you? Are there specific traits you expect in a hero or heroine? What are your deal-breakers?

Elena

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This week, as Carolyn mentioned on Wednesday, she and her ridiculously smart offspring are here in Brooklyn visiting; thus far, we’ve been to the Pop Tarts store (see Carolyn’s post), seen the musical Wicked (so fun!), had Vietnamese food, watched Mongol, written side-by-side at my breakfast bar, had a Random Facts contest (my son did well enough against Carolyn’s RSO, but the RSO still won).

Busy! Fun! Busy!

But earlier this week I did get to write, and this week I’ve been working on my Urban Fantasy, which is about a New York that is definitely a melting pot, in a melting pot of species ways. There are, however, evil plans afoot, and my heroine (a normal, if insecure, woman) and hero (a foxy demon who wears goofy t-shirts) have had to team up to suss out the evil plans. Here’s a bit:

He rose to a crouch, clutching the knife with one hand as he pushed the dark curtain of hair in front of his face onto his back.

If he were going to continue this, he should start braiding it or something. Maybe some barrettes?

The thought made me giggle.

“And here I thought you would perhaps be frightened by the prospect of some sort of explosion occurring,” he said, a dry tone to his voice.

He gripped the knife harder, his knuckles showing white.

He was really going to go out there and do something about this, wasn’t he? Suddenly I didn’t feel like laughing anymore.

“Be careful,” I whispered as he rose to his full height. My face was right next to his boots, and a part of my brain noticed how bad-ass they were. Which shouldn’t surprise me, everything but his t-shirt was bad-ass, and even that was bad-ass in an ironic hipster way.

Wait, did that mean ironic hipsters were demons, too?

No, that would be too much to hope for. They lived in Williamsburgh, not Hell. I bet Hell had fewer dive bars.

I squeezed my eyes shut as he began to move. I heard a hiss, and a knowing chuckle (one of these days, I was going to have to ask about arch villains’ maniacal laughter; what was it with those guys, anyway?).

And then I heard something far more frightening than maniacal laughter: The sound of death. Deeply unpleasant death, not that any death was pleasant. Unless it was Death By Chocolate.

I hoped to God–wait, no I didn’t–that my evil demon guy would win. Although I didn’t know if demons were automatically evil; this guy lacked much of a sense of humor, but that didn’t make him evil, did it? And he was doing his best to protect me, which in everyone’s eyes but my third-grade teacher and my next-door neighbor George Soulias would be a good thing.

I did finish the work I posted last week, and am tweaking a bit before sending to the Champion Agent. Yay! And the Champion Agent just submitted some more of my mss. out to the world, so double Yay! and Yikes, too!

What Random Fact do you know? (Not that I have a chance, but maybe I can at least hold my own).

Megan

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Since I’m fiendishly on deadline I thought I’d give you a sneak peak of Mr. Bishop and the Actress (March 2011) which is in the works and available for early order with free shipping worldwide at bookdepository.com.

The actress of the title, Sophie Wallace, auditions for lecherous Jake Sloven:

His lips descend to my face. He has had onions for dinner, it seems.

“Goodness!” I drop my reticule and duck, a major mistake as he assists me to an upright position. “Why, certainly I’ll read for you. What would you like to hear?”

By this time, in a ballet of gropes and evasion, we have reached the stage.

“In my office,” he says, breathing heavily.

“Oh, no. Here, surely. There will be more room for me to dance.” I swish my skirts and he breathes heavily at the sight of my ankles and licks his lips as I remove my bonnet.

Foolishly I let him choose the play and he thrusts a playbook of Othello at me.

“Fair Desdemona.” He removes the napkin from his waistcoat and dabs his thick lips. “And I shall play Othello.”

There is a sofa on the stage. Well, of course there would be. The noble Moor hitches at his breeches and gestures to me to recline.

“Should I not be praying?” I’m not sure I want to be on my knees in front of Jake Sloven—at least, I had not intended to assume the position so early—and it crosses my mind that I should run out screaming. But I am an actress! There is no reason why Sloven should not hire me (and doubtless he has dozens of prettier women in his employ).

I outwit him by standing with my palms together, eyes raised heavenward. Of course this way I cannot see what he is about—for a large man, he moves quietly (from long practice)—and I shriek as pudgy hands land on my hips and I drop my playbook.

“Down, strumpet!” he trumpets in my ear.

I fall to my knees and scrabble for the playbook, bringing myself on a level with the fall of his breeches, and it is not a pleasant sight, gravy stains and straining buttons. Having found my place again, I respond with throbbing pathos, “Kill me tomorrow: let me live tonight!”

“Nay if you strive—” Othello strives to get his hand into my bosom.

“But half an hour!” I must be the only Desdemona who wishes the scene to last but half a minute.

Sloven hauls me to my feet, a firm grip on bosom and thigh. “Being done, there is no pause.”

And there certainly is not. I scramble to my feet and run around the couch. “But while I say one prayer!”

Sloven lumbers after me, breathing heavily with the effort. I grab a pedestal, a good two-foot length of sturdy wood painted to look like marble, and thrust it in his direction.

“It is too late!” Sloven says with gusto, but not as Shakespeare intended, tossing his playbook aside and bearing me onto the couch, hoisting my skirts.

I swing the pedestal and it meets the side of his head with a loud thud.

He drops like a stone onto the couch that cracks beneath his weight and slowly subsides to the floor in a ruin of gilt wood and velvet. Blood spreads in a dark pool on the floorboards.

And don’t forget to enter the LOLRegencies 2010 contest! You can also visit My Jane Austen Book Club where I’m chatting today and giving away a copy each of Jane and the Damned and Bespelling Jane Austen.

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I am on vacation in New York, visiting Risky Megan. This means I am away from my library of paper inspiration. I have the internet at my fingertips but all I can think about is the awesomeness that is the Pop Tart Store. Genius. Sheer genius.

Now I’m wondering what life in the Regency would have been like if someone had invented Pop Tarts 200 years ago.

Mrs. Porter-Evans: Archibald, dear, Cook has made the most delicious biscuit for the little darlings!

Archibald: What’s that dear? Frederick? Frederick! Stop running around like that Freddie!

Mrs. PE: Biscuit, dear. DUCK!!! It’s jam between slices of puff pastry and covered in frosting! You toast it.

Blam. A rasher of bacon slides across the floor and hits the footman’s boots.

Mrs. PE: Freddie, dear, do stop and Darling Susan, poppet, if you keep spinning you’re going to be— Johnson!

Johnson: On it, Ma’am.

Mrs. PE: Do change your boots, Johnson

Freddie:
May I have another?

Susan: Mama, he’s already had three and I’ve only had two.

Archibald:
No more of those infernal things. And please dismiss the cook.

I don’t think the Regency was ready for Pop Tarts. Agree or disagree

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