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My son (who’s 10) wrote this in school on Wednesday, and I thought I would share it with you all. Hope everyone who celebrates had a lovely day yesterday, filled with turkey, and pie, and family.

I’m Thankful For Life

I’m thankful for the rivers,

And all the snakes that slither

Through the trees that I’m thankful for also.

I’m thankful for the bugs,

The wasps, and the slugs,

And I don’t care if they’re gross or slimy.

I’ll make friends with a frog,

Or a serpent in the bog,

And it doesn’t matter if it’s grimy.

I’m thankful for the monkeys

And the lions that are funky

That live in the shiny Savannah,

And when the gibbons swing inters

The look at the chimpanzees,

Eating their yellow bananas.

I’m thankful for the skunks,

And the grey and black punks,

Who are usually known as raccoons.

And the mice who eat rice, and the rats who have lice,

And the capybaras who eat lemon-flavored macaroons.

I’m thankful for fish,

That flip and swish,

In the water and squirt and swim,

And the squids and sharks,

And the seals that bark,

And the swordfish that’s surprisingly thin.

I’m thankful for chickens and ducks,

And pigs, who flop in the much,

And the cows, who always say moo.

I like the horses and mules,

Who make all the rules,

I appreciate the brown turkeys, too.

I’m thankful for mountains,

And volcanoes that spew,

And I even like cells,

And viruses, too.

Parasites are coo,

And crabs ain’t no fool,

And I love all the salmon

In their little school.

I adore kittycats,

And tortoises that are fat,

And I’m thankful for anything that’s living.

Especially my family, and I hope

That everything

In this planet has

A marvelous Thanksgiving.

Me, too.

Megan

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No, not an early post for Thanksgiving according to the Mayan calendar.

I finished, sort of, my book called … well, it doesn’t actually have a name yet but it’s about Jane Austen in Bath, vampires and a French invasion, with guest appearances by the Prince of Wales (later the Prince Regent), Beau Brummell, and Colonel Wellesley (later the Duke of Wellington). Guess which one is a vampire. Coming from HarperCollins in fall (?) 2010.

So on Monday night I left work early and went home with my head stuffed full of the last three thousand words or so and started to write.

First phone call: from a worthy organization I told to take my name off their call list.

Phone call #2: daughter wanted to borrow my pretty pie dish (she is the official Thanksgiving pie maker) and I told her it was cracked, probably not a good idea.

Phone call #3: the person who had kindly invited me to attend the local Jane Austen Society birthday event as her guest. This necessitated me making a call to find out what day a possibly conflicting event was on–I am such a social butterfly–and finding out that I could attend neither the Austen event or event #3 that I really wanted to go to.

Phone call #4: from a worthy organization who hung up before I answered.

Phone call #5: my daughter again, asking if it was ok to ask our hosts if she could bring the office Thanksgiving orphan (there’s always one) and I said yes, good idea.

Somehow, fielding more phone calls than I usually get in a week, I got to the point where I typed THE END. Yeehah.

Frantic editing and fact checking will follow and then straight into the next book. But I celebrated the end the next day by going to see the Pennsylvania Ballet’s Nutcracker at the Kennedy Center, a last minute invite from my daughter the pie baker. Lots of fun!

Happy Thanksgiving, Risky friends (US) and happy Thursday to Risky friends elsewhere!

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Sorry, you’ve been tricked. I am not the glorious and industrious Amanda McCabe, all ready with this totally awesome post about interesting historical figures. Nope.

By the time this posts, it will be the eve of the American holiday, Thanksgiving. Setting aside some of the painful ironies of the historical event, I’ve always thought Thanksgiving is one of the better holidays out there. It’s not a holiday based on a religious or pagan event. Instead, we Americans get to eat great food, cheer for the Cowboys to lose (Sorry, Niner fan here) and spend time with family.

What’s always fascinated me about Thanksgiving is how many of us take the Thanks seriously. I’ve always thought Samuel Pepys habit of taking account of his finances at the New Year was a great tradition. But I never do that. Because I don’t want to be depressed.

Figuring out things I am thankful for is way more fun.

Here’s my list. In no particular order. I swear.

  • My writing friends. Thank goodness there are people out there who understand.
  • My son. He’s the best thing that ever happened to me.
  • My iPhone. come here, little iPhone. Let me pet you….
  • European Sipping Chocolate at Viva Cocolat. It’s a wicked addiction. If you click through, you can see the black couch and chair where I often sit with my fellow writing-chocoholics and talk about books.
  • Susan Boyle. I’ve watched her Britain’s Got Talent First Round performance a bazillion times and I’m ALWAYS blown away and thrilled. I have her CD now, and now I can listen all day. Which I did today. Thanks, Susan!
  • My agent. Seriously.
  • Alexander Skarsgard. I am profoundly grateful for the distraction.
  • Creative people in general. You folks blow me away, from favorite writers, musicians, actors, directors, artists and on and on. You put beauty into my life, and for that am truly grateful.
  • The men and women who came before me and ensured that I live in a world that is better for me than it was for them. Here’s a few:
    • Martin Luther King, Jr.
    • John Stuart Mill
    • Mahatma Gandhi
    • Nelson Mandela
    • Betty Freidan
    • Gloria Steinam
    • Rachel Carson
    • Hannah Arendt
    • Ellie Weisel
    • Louis Pasteur
    • Alexander Fleming
    • Elizabeth Blackwell

  • The men and women of our Armed Forces. I may not agree with how we got there, but thank you for serving our country.
  • Pumpkin pie.
  • Readers. Even if you don’t read my books. (Really? You don’t? sniff)
  • Joe Montana. I was a San Francisco 49ers season ticket holder while Montana was the quarterback, and let me tell you, I have never ever seen anyone transform an event by just stepping on the field. Amazing. Thank you, Joe!
  • Laura Kinsale

How about you?

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Happy Tuesday, everyone! Hope you’re all ready for Thanksgiving (I’m going shopping for the ingredients for a chocolate-cherry cake later! Wish me luck, I haven’t tried this one before). I’ve been unpacking from my trip last week (the book signing was a big success!), and diving into a new book. I love them at this point, when they’re all shiny and new and the characters haven’t started acting all stubborn yet.

I also have a holiday contest! Visit my Laurel McKee website before December 16 and enter for a chance to win an ARC of Countess of Scandal (out in February 2010!!)

Speaking of stubborn characters, I found out today is the birthday of one of my favorite childhood authors, Frances Hodgson Burnett! I first encountered her work when I found a battered old copy of The Secret Garden at my grandmother’s house, and I love, love, loved that book. I wanted to go live at a crumbling, dark old manor house on the moors and work in the garden. I even loved cranky little Mary, who, unlike those horrible Elsie Dinsmore stories my grandmother tried to push on me, got to be unhappy and contrary (until nature saved her!). I also loved A Little Princess, with solemn, smart Sara and the gorgeous descriptions of her luscious wardrobe (until she was banished to the garret!). These stories created a world I adored and wanted to learn more about. I guess they were my first intro to the British historical.

Frances Hodgson was born in Manchester on November 24, 1849. When she was 4, her father died, leaving her mother with 5 children to raise on her own. Her mother tried to carry on with the family business, running a wholesale company that supplied art materials to manufacturers, but the company soon failed. Through these trials, little Frances was growing up precocious and observant. She wrote her first poem at age 7. In 1864, her family moved to Knoxville, Tennessee to join her mother’s brother, but their finances did not improve.

Following the death of her mother in 1867, 18-year-old Frances was left responsible for her 2 younger siblings, and she turned to writing to support them all. Her first story was published in Godey’s Lady’s Book (Hearts and Diamonds), and she was soon printed regularly in that magazine along with Scribner’s, Peterson’s Ladies’ Magazine, and Harper’s Bazaar. She became known for her ability to combine details of real, working-class life with romantic plots and sensibilities. She usually earned $10 apiece for these tales.

In 1873 she married Dr. Swan Burnett, a man she had known since she was 15, and had her first child, Lionel, the following year. Her second son, Vivian, was born soon after on an extended trip to Paris. Her first book, That Lass o’Lowrie’s, about a pit girl working in a coal mine, was published in 1877 to great praise. On their return to the US that year the family settled in Washington DC where she began moving in literary circles and entertained lavishly. She was also prolific–she wrote in quick succession Haworth’s (1879), Louisiana (1880), A Fair Barbarian (1881), and Through One Administration (1883), as well as a play Esmeralda (1881). But she often struggled with illness and depression despite her success.

In 1885 she published her “breakout book,” Little Lord Fauntleroy, said to be inspired by her son Vivian. This book earned her more than $100,000, with a hugely popular theatrical adaptation following. Velvet suits became worldwide craze, much to the lasting horror of little boys everywhere.

In 1887 she traveled to Europe with her sons, visiting London for the Queen’s Golden Jubilee and then on to France and Italy. A Little Princess (originally published under the title Sara Crewe) was published at this time. But in 1890 her eldest son died, and she was consumed with grief. She became interested in spiritualism and Theosophy (she wrote about these beliefs in The White People). Her marriage ended in divorce in 1898 and she married her business manager, but this second marriage also ended in divorce less than 2 years later. Her best-known work, The Secret Garden was published in 1911, after she had been living at Great Maytham Hall in England for many years and actually found a hidden garden there.

She lived practically as a hermit, hounded by the gossip press, for the last 17 years of her life in Plandome, New York, and is buried next to her son Vivian in Roslyn Cemetery there.

Aside from the novels themselves, I have an excellent biography of Burnett, Frances Hodgson Burnett: Beyond the Secret Garden by Angelica Shirley Carpenter and Jean Shirley. And just as an example of the fashion porn in A Little Princess: Her dresses were silk and velvet and India cashmere, her hats and bonnets were covered with bows and plumes, her small undergarments were adorned with real lace, and she returned in the cab to Miss Minchin’s with a doll almost as large as herself, dressed quite as grandly as herself, too.

Did you love these books when you were a kid, too? What were some of your childhood favorites? And what are you cooking for the holiday???

Our Risky Regencies blog is not really the place to discuss Harlequin’s recent announcement that they were adding a vanity press component targetted specifically to writers who aspire to write for Harlequin. If any of you are not aware of the issue, Keira amassed a great list of sites discussing it on her blog Cognitations and Meditation.

I’ve been consumed by this issue since its announcement, so there’s no way I could blog today without mentioning it. As a Harlequin Historical author, I was particularly upset about this venture’s name (Harlequin Horizons–now withdrawn by Harlequin) and its double H logo, because it was distressingly similar to Harlequin Historicals logo. This article was posted by the New Yorker, using a Harlequin Historical cover to illustrate, rather proving the point. If you follow the comments, mine is the one asking the writer to remove the cover. She did and she apologized.

I’m in total support of Romance Writers of America’s immediate and tough stance, even though the consequences of the position will affect Harlequin authors like me.

So…. Since we’re talking about elephants, let me mention that you might be able to find my December Harlequin book, Gallant Officer, Forbidden Lady, in bookstores this week. If you can’t find it, ask for it, especially in a Barnes & Noble, where it may be shelved after the Zs in the single title romances. Check out my website and its new content, including Gallant Officer, Forbidden Lady’s Behind the Book which should be posted today.

How do elephants relate to my December book and the Risky Regencies blog?

Well, the hero and heroine of Gallant Officer, Forbidden Lady visit The Egyptian Hall, Bullock’s Museum in Piccadilly. Opened in 1812, it contained William Bullock’s collection of artifacts, including display after display of “stuffed” animals. You can see in this engraving that there is a “stuffed” elephant on display. Napoleon’s carriage, captured at Waterloo, was also exhibited and was very much a success.

Georgette Heyer’s Cotillion and Arabella include visits to the Egyptian Hall. Do you remember this scene from Cotillion?

Enlightenment dawned on Miss Charing. She gave an irrepressible gurgle of mirth. “Oh, Freddy, is that what brings you here?”

“Yes, it is, and it ain’t anything to laugh at!” said Freddy. “Good God, you don’t suppose I’d come to a place like this for no reason, do you? I’d as lief visit Westminster Abbey again!” He levelled his glass, and swept a condemnatory glance round the room. “In fact, liefer!” he added. “I don’t say those effigies weren’t pretty devilish, but they weren’t as devilish as this freak you was staring at when I came in. You know what? – you’ll start having nightmares if you don’t take care! Lord, if it ain’t just like Dolph to choose a place like this for his dashed flirtations! Shows you he’s queer in his attic.”

“He did not bring me here to flirt with me!”

“Now, don’t you tell me he wanted to look at curiosities from the South Seas!” said Freddy warningly. “I ain’t a big enough bleater to swallow that one! Just a trifle too loud, Kit!”

“No, of course he did not. Oh, dear, how awkward this is! I wonder what I should do?”

“Well, I can tell you that!” said Freddy. “You can stop making a cake of me. What’s more, if you let Dolph go on hanging round you for ever I’ll tell everyone that our betrothal is a hum!”

Ah, there’s nothing like Georgette Heyer’s voice!

What’s your favorite Heyer? You know, the one you reread when you need a soothing escape?

(I think I’ll go reread Venetia)

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