Just like Megan Fox, I am a cutter. Great initials, by the way, Megan.

[sidebar: I didn’t think anyone could possibly be as beautiful as Angelina Jolie, but Megan Fox is so stunning that it is almost hard to look at her. Yes, she is outrageous and dumb and outrageously dumb in interviews, but she must have had a seriously different life than any of us have had, since she’s been that gorgeous her whole life, and people treat you differently. Plus, she’s an actor; who cares what she says in interviews?]

But unlike Megan, I am proud of cutting. (My friend Kwana calls me The Queen of Cut). Earlier this week, my agent emailed to suggest revising my manuscript currently making the editorial rounds. I’d already returned from National with all kinds of ways to improve it, and much of the feedback from editors has been similar, so it makes sense to act on it, and improve the manuscript. Even if it ends up not selling, it will be useful to have undergone the editing exercise. Now that school is back in session, and life is almost back to normal, I have time to actually act.

So I’m yanking out at least two plot threads in the manuscript, which means I’ve got pages and pages with slashing red lines drawn through them. It feels good, to weed out what I knew, in my writer heart of hearts, was wrong.

What’s left? A love story. A love story between two people, one of whom is seriously damaged, and one of whom thinks she is unworthy. It will remain to be seen if I can cobble together a compelling book, but meanwhile, I have my little red pen in my hand and I’m going to town.

I don’t know if I have anything else to add today, since my head is all kinds of engrossed with this, plus the normal detritus that clogs my brain. Next week I’ll be pulling out most, if not all, of the stops with an Anniversary Post. How about commenting on anything you want, if you are so inclined?

Megan

*An Echo And The Bunnymen song. You’re welcome.

Are you obsessed by anything that is just totally bizarre?

Yeah, me too.

Last night, one of my best friends from forever was visiting, and after her girls and my boy went to bed, the Mixologist Spouse shook some margaritas together and we settled down in front of the TV to watch Scopitones. What are Scopitones, you might ask? They were film jukeboxes invented in France in the early 1960s and also refer to the films that were played on it.

Dear lord, they are hysterical. First of all, and here is a truth almost Universally Acknowledged, is that the French Cannot Rock. When they try? The results are snort-worthy (me and my friend were both snorting. The husband does not snort, thank you very much). Second, of course, is that the clothing and the dance styles are dated.

One of my favorite artists from the series is Vince Taylor Twenty Flight Rock, a British guy who translated Elvis Presley’s panache for the French. And who can forget Johnny Hallyday, the French Elvis Presley (although I think Taylor does a better job with the EP)? One group with whom I am fascinated is Les Surfs, six very short siblings from Madagascar, who had several Scopitones.

What does this have to do with the Regency? And writing? Hm. Not much. Except, if I might extrapolate, my early-on obsession with romances set me on this path I am on now. My obsession with music sent me on my previous career path, while for the future? Who could say? Meanwhile, I howl with laughter and drink margaritas. Not bad for a Thursday night.

What bizarre thing obsesses you?

Hi everyone!

As usual, I have very little on my mind besides coffee, Clive Owen/Richard Armitage and napping.

But this week, I have startled myself with my productivity, and have realized, yet again, that many of my books share one underlying theme: The Freedom Of Choice (not Devo, damn your earworm!).

My heroines always have to decide for themselves what they want, not be guided by anyone, even if it’s the super-hawt hero. And they usually decide to take a risk, to stretch beyond their own comfort zones, to get what they secretly desire (hint: It’s the super-hawt hero).

I wrote this earlier this week:

“What would you like me to do first, Christian?” she asked, leaning in to whisper in his ear. He held himself rigidly pressed against the back of the divan, hard and unyielding.

“This is your challenge, Violet,” he replied in a low voice. “You decide.”
She pondered for a minute. What did she wish him to do to her? That would work as a starting point, wouldn’t it?

It had to. Because sitting this way, without moving, was making her legs cramp, and leg cramping was not conducive to seduction, at least as far as she knew.

So–what issues push your buttons? If you’re a writer, have you identified your themes? If you’re a reader, what themes pique your interest the most?

Megan

PS: Yeah, random hawt-guy pix. What about it?

The past few weeks, I’ve been watching the Tour de France, marveling at the cyclists’ athletic ability and intensity. It’s a joke between me and my husband that we’ll be watching a sports event, and I’ll say something like, “Remind me never to be a linebacker,” or “a catcher,” or anything, honestly, that requires that kind of Herculean effort.

But there is one athletic job I wouldn’t mind, and I think it can relate to the books I like to read, too: That of a domestique, a “a road bicycle racer who works for the benefit of his and leader. The French domestique translates as ‘servant’.”

Yeah, a servant. Which is likely why the quiet governess who’s suddenly thrust into the romantic spotlight is so appealing to me as well; after all, I myself shun the spotlight, instead preferring to observe and comment–usually snarkily–on the sidelines. My other favorite heroines are the plainer sisters of Diamonds of the First Water, who attract the attention of the Luscious Rake.

A domestique doesn’t have the pressure of having to win, just having to work hard for someone else (see: Megan and her spotlighting husband). But a domestique can have their own story, such as my favorite cyclist George Hincapie, who’s finishing the Tour this year with an allegedly broken collarbone. Allegedly because he says he’s fine, and won’t let doctors look at him until after the Tour. Now THAT is a hero! (Plus he’s 6’4″. Swoon).

Are you following the Tour? Do you find your allegiances remain consistent, whether it’s in sports or in books? What kind of athlete would you like to be?