First off, thanks to all who suggested titles–facetious and not–for my Secret Scot Baby story last week. I compiled a list of them and sent them off to my agent for her review.

Second, I have done no writing this week. None. Nada. Zilch. I have barely even thought about writing either. This is because,

Third, I have taken on a part-time job that has me trekking into an office three days a week. It is working with something I love (books and romance), but it is a big change. I expect I will adjust in the next couple of weeks, but for right now, it’s been all I can handle to dress like an adult and show up somewhere on time.

Fourth, those pesky holidays. Yes, I love them and all, but they take a lot of work, especially since The Particular Spouse is . . . particular. I have failed at finding the perfect black sweater vest, a wooden iPhone case and a particular NY Knicks jacket (no, he never visits over here, so no spoilage). I have succeeded in getting some cooking gadgets and books, and I plan on buying a particular type of super-peaty Scotch, but I am not sure that will suffice.

And Fifth–wait, is there a fifth? Oh, yes, a fifth: My agent is out with two manuscripts, both of which are in various stages of consideration, and I am hopeful of some positive outcome with one or both of them. I’m not holding my breath, and I know that my writing won’t sell at all unless I actually write, so I am planning on doing some writing this weekend with my friend Liz Maverick, while the Frampton Boys are out of town.

Sixth, who’s the hardest person to shop for on your list? What are you getting them?

Megan

Help me!

I finished the novella I titled “Secret Scot Baby” a few weeks ago, and sent it to my agent for her review. I now have to think of a title that doesn’t suck, or make me laugh, both of which this title does. When I first began it, all I knew was that I wanted the heroine to be an English widow living in Scotland and the hero is a Scot who served in the war, and has unexpectedly inherited a viscountcy (The people I based the characters’ looks on are here, just for some nice visual interest). A good friend–Myretta Robens–came up with a compelling reason for them to meet, and that reason is the baby the widow’s late husband fathered while away from home.

Here’s the brief blurb (it’s a Regency-set historical, which isn’t clear from this. D’oh!):

A weary soldier returns to Scotland from the battlefront bringing a fallen comrade’s baby—to the house of the comrade’s widow.

Katherine doesn’t know what to make of the man who arrives on her doorstep, and knows even less what to make of the baby Mac says was fathered by her late husband—and now has no home but hers to go to.

I have to write the synopsis, too, but I won’t ask for help with that (although I do not promise not to whine about it!). Any suggestions for a title are welcome!

Megan

Earlier this week, I went to NYU’s Fales Library, which holds a fiction collection that is particularly strong from mid-18th century to today. The 2011 Conference for the International Association For The Study of Popular Romance will be held there, just prior to RWA’s 2011 New York Conference in late June.

So worth coming in early if you’re academically minded and also attending RWA 2011.

But I digress.

The Library’s Head Librarian took me and IASPR’s President, Sarah Frantz, into the stacks to see some of the collection. And, OMG, we got to touch a first edition of Jane Austen‘s Mansfield Park. The book was a lot smaller than books today, and was packaged in a few volumes. Running your hand over the type, you could feel the raised type. Very cool.

And I’m not one to geek out over such things, but looking at the book, at is size, and print and all, I could definitely picture one of our bluestocking heroines reading it, her head bent over to peer at the pages. It’d be small enough to hold in one hand and turn the pages with the other, and discreetly titled enough to hide what she was reading if it was necessary.

So duringthis busy holiday season, let’s all take a moment and sneak away to re-enact our favorite heroines’ favorite pastimes, and open a book and lose yourself for just a bit. It’s research, you see!

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