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I am still running toward that June 1 finish line for a couple of projects, and I am also at the dentist today getting a root canal. Happy Tuesday to me! But May 19 marks the anniversary of the death of Anne Boleyn, one of my great heroines in history. So I am reposting a blog I originally published here in 2009….

“To us she appears inconsistent–religious yet aggressive, calculating yet emotional, with the light touch of the courtier yet the strong grip of a politician–but is this what she was, or merely what we strain to see through the opacity of the evidence? What does come to us across the centuries is the impression of a person who is strangely appealing to the early 21st century. A woman in her own right–taken on her own terms in a man’s world; a woman who mobilized her education, her style and her presence to outweigh the disadvantages of her sex; of only moderate good looks, but taking a court and a king by storm. Perhaps in the end it is Thomas Cromwell’s assessment that comes nearest: intelligence, spirit, and courage.” –Eric Ives, The Life and Death of Anne Boleyn

Today, May 19, marks the grim anniversary of the death of Anne Boleyn (1501 or ’07–1536). History geeks like me tend to have a list of “historical heroes and heroines,” people we would like to invite to our dream dinner parties, sit them down, serve them some drinks, and ask “So–what were you thinking there anyway?” Anne Boleyn is definitely one of mine. I’ve been fascinated by her since I was a kid and watched Anne of the Thousand Days on the TV at my grandmother’s house. I read everything I could find about her, and yet she still seems elusive. As Ives says, a woman of her own time but also so strangely modern, a woman of intelligence and ambition, pride and immense courage. Ives also calls her “the most influential and important queen consort England has ever had.”

I could write a post days long about her life and activities, but I’ll concentrate here on the end. After a crazed pursuit of 7 long years, Anne agreed to marry Henry on January 25, 1533–even though the Church and the Pope stubbornly persisted in insisting he was married to his wife of 20+ years Katherine of Aragon (who stubbornly insisted the same! For a man so set on his own way, Henry did marry so many proud and strong women…). On May 23, Thomas Cranmer, the new Archbishop of Canterbury (who was once the Boleyn family chaplain, the Boleyns being staunch Protestants) declared the marriage of Henry and Katherine void and the marriage of Henry and Anne valid. They were all thereafter excommunicated. But Anne was crowned queen in a lavish ceremony at Westminster Abbey on June 1, and gave birth to a princess, Elizabeth, on September 7. Elizabeth, of course, was destined to be her mother’s daughter in every way, even though she never knew her.

But the good times weren’t to last long. After many miscarriages, Henry got tired of her outspoken stubbornness, and in April and May of 1536 brought her to trial for high treason, via adultery and incest (and rumors of witchcraft). It was an utter travesty of a trial on charges everyone knew were trumped up, but Anne and her accused lovers (including her brother George) were declared guilty and sentenced to death. George was executed on Tower Green on May 17, as Anne waited for her fate in the confines of the Tower, where only 3 years before she had come in glory to wait for her coronation.

Anthony Kingston, the Constable of the Tower, wrote “This morning she sent for me…and at my coming she said ‘Mr. Kingston, I hear I shall not die afore noon, and I am very sorry therefore, for I thought to be dead by this time and past my pain.’ I told her it should be no pain, it was so little. And then she said, ‘I heard say the executioner was very good, and I have a little neck,’ and then she put her hands about it laughing. I have seen many men and also women executed, and they have been in great sorrow, and to my knowledge this lady has much joy in death.”

Around noon on May 19, 1536, Anne Boleyn died on a scaffold erected on the north side of the White Tower, in front of what is now called Waterloo Barracks. She wore a red petticoat under a black damask gown trimmed in fur and a mantle of ermine. With her ladies-in-waiting, she walked from the Queen’s House (which is still there), climbed the steps, and made a short speech to the gathered crowd as the French headsman waited.

“Good Christian people, I am come hither to die, for according to the law, and by the law I am judged to die, and therefore I will speak nothing against it. I am come hither to accuse no man, nor to speak anything of that, whereof I am accused and condemned to die, but I pray God save the king and send him long to reign over you. And if any person will meddle in my cause, I require them to judge the best. And thus I take my leave of the world and of you all, and I heartily desire you all to pray for me. O Lord Have mercy on me, to God I commend my soul.”

She then knelt upright in the French style of executions, said once more, “To Jesus Christ I commend my soul; Lord Jesus receive my soul.” Her ladies took away her headdress and jewelry, tied a blindfold over her eyes–and it was over in one sword-stroke. Cranmer said “She who has been the Queen of England on earth will today become a Queen in heaven.” Anne was buried under the floor of the Chapel of St. Peter ad Vincula behind the scaffold site, near her brother, where her grave can be seen today, and a few days later Henry married Jane Seymour. Following the ascension of her daughter as Queen Elizabeth, Anne was venerated as a martyr and heroine of the Protestant Reformation, and she’s an object of fascination (and movies and novels!) to this day.

There are lots of great sources on Anne Boleyn and her tumultuous times, but a few I like are: Antonia Fraser’s The Wives of Henry VIII; Eric Ives’s The Life and Death of Anne Boleyn; Joanna Denny’s Anne Boleyn: A New Life of England’s Tragic Queen; Retha Warnicke’s The Rise and Fall of Anne Boleyn–Family Politics at the Court of Henry VIII; and Karen Lindsey’s Divorced Beheaded Survived–A Feminist Reinterpretation of the Wives of Henry VIII.

See, I told you I could write about Anne Boleyn for days!!! When I visited the Tower last year, I actually started crying while standing at the scaffold site and reading the words engraved on the new memorial fountain there (at least it was early and not crowded yet! No one to see the crazy lady crying over stuff that happened 473 years ago). Who are some of your heroes? Have you visited sites that had significance for them? What did you think? Who are your “fantasy dinner party” guests??


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I have been waiting so long to show you the fabulous cover for Jane and the Damned (October, 2010) and here it is! I hope you love it as much as I do.

Last week I announced a contest on Twitter for a giveaway of the ARC (Advanced Reading Copies) of the book. It was a massive failure. Twitter would not play nice with my hashtag and I know it was retweeted–my thanks to all who did so–so I’m inviting you to enter again. But this time I am not using Twitter. Twitter, you let me down. You are my Wickham, my Willoughby, my ruination. If you were my footman I’d fire you without a reference. If you were my relative I’d cut you off without a penny.

So go to the contact page on my website, fill out the form, put ARC in the subject line, and away we go. I’ll take entries until Sunday May 23 at midnight, EST, and I’m giving away three copies. Good luck!

Here’s an excerpt from the book:

“I am come here to take the cure,” she said, her resistance ebbing away.

“A cadaver can not take any sort of cure, my dear Miss Austen, and that is what you’ll be soon enough. It’s a delicate matter, the cure; you must be strong enough to withstand the poison of the waters—for such it is to us—yet the stronger you are the more difficult and painful the cure will become.”

“What is it to you? Why will you not leave me alone?” She hated herself for the whimper in her voice.

He pushed her into a chair. He stood over her, hands moving to the buttons of his coat. “My honor, as one of my kind, demands it, Miss Austen. This Mr. Smith abandoned you, a most dishonorable act, and it is my duty, honor, and privilege to do what he should have.” He shrugged the coat from his shoulders and let it fall.

“But what about me? My family fear me and rush me to take the cure. Your honor, frankly, is no business of mine. No one asks me what I want … I ….” Her voice faded away as Luke unbuttoned his shirt cuff. He raised his wrist to his mouth and breathed upon it, then showed her the blue veins against his pale skin.

“I cannot,” she said faintly. “Please, sir, do not…”

“My name is Luke.” He bent and held his wrist to her lips. “Your canines extend. We call it en sanglant. You cannot help yourself. You feel pain but that’s only because it is a new sensation. With time you’ll recognize the condition of en sanglant as a sign of desire, of need, of the pleasure you’ll anticipate—oh, I beg your pardon, you are the daughter of a clergyman; I doubt you’ll appreciate the—”

“Hold your tongue!” She grabbed his wrist and bit, hard.

“Ouch! A little more finesse, Jane, but no matter, you’ll learn.”

Through a mouthful of blood she growled—yes, Jane Austen, the cultured and respectable daughter of the Austen family growled, and then laughed messily.

And the taste—like lightning, like the way she felt once, in another life, when the words flowed and she laughed aloud at her own cleverness and the delicious interplay of her characters.

As for the confession… I wrote down to the wire last week on a book that I’d been telling myself was “almost finished” and which suddenly assumed a life of its own. It became fifteen thousand words longer than I anticipated (I write short usually) and I wrote that, and more, in the last week. It was terrifying, exhilarating, and exhausting and I shall never do it again.

When was the last time you played fast and loose with a deadline or other commitment? Do you have any confessions to make? Make them here!

There’s a new blog in town featuring HarperCollins paranormal authors, Supernatural Underground and a Facebook page. Check us out! We’re having our official launch June 1 with giveaways and fun stuff.

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Check the date. Yeah. Today is Wednesday, November 4. Uh huh. Perhaps you don’t recall, but my book was due November 1. I may have mentioned that a couple of times.

About now you’ve clicked away or else are glued to your screen wondering what happened.

Did she do it? Was she like Awesome Amanda (who actually turned her book in early? Or was she Merely Mortal Carolyn, turning her book in on time?

Or did something terrible happen involving tearful crying over the phone to her agent?

By the way, The awesome Nalini Singh answers Important Questions over at my blog where you could win one of her books. Please check it out.

Oh, and did you-all remember the time change? Because most of the U.S. had to Fall Back at 2:00 a.m. on Sunday November 1, the day my book was due. To be honest, I didn’t stay up for the big event. No, at 2:00 a.m., I was fast asleep in a sugary dream fueled by a great deal of Halloween candy.

Because, as you must know, the day before November 1 (the day my book was due) is October 31, which is Halloween. Any parent knows that this is one of the Three Big Non-Birthday Occasions no parent dares mess up. Two of the days involve bunnies and reindeer, respectively. Which means, in case you still need coffee, that the day before my book was due, my evening was previously engaged.

Yes, the tension is certainly mounting.

What happened?

We go to my brother’s house for Halloween because we live in the boonies and he lives in an area known for its holiday extravagance. My brother does this awesome haunted house that at key portions of the evening has a line out to the sidewalk.

Anyway, some fool put me in charge of handing out candy. It’s a complicated job involving taste testing, admiring costumes, directing haunted house traffic, advising young kids and teen boys (to mess with their minds) that there is a No Scare version of the Haunted House. There’s a lot of standing involved since we set up a table and a cauldron in front of the house, which means, I’m sure you’ve guessed, that the person handing out the candy (me!) has to keep her strength up by searching out the Whoppers, Baby Ruths and Junior Mints to make sure they taste good.

They did. With every batch. There is also a great deal of skill involved in making it look like you’re giving out gobs of bad-for-your-teeth-sweetie candy while not actually dropping the whole handful into the waiting bag. This is necessary because the kids often come by in batches of 20 or more. And the Haunted House draws them to us like flies. Over 500 kids served!

Here is an actual conversation that took place the night before my book was due.

Me: No, the Haunted House line is over there (pointing boy in correct direction)

Boy dressed as um, something: (He is 8 or 9) Is this where you come out?

Me: No. Nobody comes out of the Haunted House.

BDAUS: Why not?

Me: It’s haunted. A few make it out. Most don’t. (Pointing to large glass jar next to cauldren, which contains floating fingers, eyeballs and shrunken heads) We put the left over bits in here.

BDAUS: Really?

Me: Well, yeah. Were do you think we got all this?

BDAUS: (Eyes get really big)

Me: No. Not really. The line’s over there (pointing). Have some candy and ask for the No Scare version if you’re worried.

As you can see, I am completely perfect for this job.

And I was very relaxed because my book was done.

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To distract you from the fact that I have no post (some of you may know that I have a book due November 1st) —

Note to Self: Arrange to post here on a day when Amanda doesn’t post the day before. She has an 11/1 deadline, too, and she has this factual, interesting totally awesome post. I have this. But I bet my deadline is much deader than hers. Or maybe it’s me that’s dead.

Here are some pretty pictures:

Picture of Honey Dijon Rose with Rain drops

Blogger making this smaller doesn’t do justice to the photo, I’m afraid. But this rose is called Honey Dijon.

OK, to make this go faster, I am now choosing random photos. Oh my God, this is so fun! What will show up?

Mystery Photo #1

Mystery Photo #2

Mystery Photo #3

Mystery Photo #4

Mystery Photo #5

Yeah. So guess what I like to take pictures of?

ETA: I think everyone should just guess what the pictures are of. Wackiness wins points. Hint: Plants.

P.S. I took all these pictures at my house.

P.P.S. The deadline is still killing me.

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Deadline mania is in full force. Ack!!!!

So, here’s an assignment for you to address in the comments.

It’s 1814 and you (a tolerable young Miss of 23) and your family are in London for the first time ever. Your father, in a moment of unfortunate inattention, agreed to loan his third cousin all his money on a sure bet to win the Derby. The horse came in last. Papa has now mortgaged the carriage and horses to fund this Season for his beloved daughters.

The family fortune depends entirely upon someone related to you (perhaps even you yourself!) marrying extremely well. Mama and Papa are out of the question as they are already married to each other. You do not have a brother or step-brother and no one is currently speaking to your father’s (fat and ugly) third cousin.

Your younger sister (who you love beyond reason) is the beauty of the family, but she is a bit madcap, cannot carry a tune, and requires close supervision at all times. Well, nearly all times. Your mother walks with a limp.

On your second day in London, you espy the PERFECT man for your sister. Lord Gentlebrook. Gentlebook has pots of money and is conveniently single. He is blond. The only potential downside to this union is that Gentlebrook is a snob about singing (by the way, you sing like an angel) and his Best Friend Forever is the notorious rake the duke of Badhoneur.

Badhoneur has black hair and piercing blue eyes. He, too, has pots of money. Pots and pots and pots of it. He is known to consort with married women. In fact, you believe you saw him wink at your mother (who despite her limp is quite attractive). Badhoneur may well have designs on your sister and you despise him the moment he stares down the front of your evening gown. (You’ve always been a bit shy about your bounteous charms.)

1. Who is the hero?

2. Can you identify the sequel bait?

3. What color is Badhoneur’s horse?

Go.

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