March 21, 2017
January 29, 2017
I was in the midst of working on copy edits for Gilded Deceit this weekend when the news about the ban on refugees and travel from some predominantly Muslim countries hit. As readers of the series know, revelations about Suzanne’s past have sent Malcolm and Suzanne into exile. Exile in many ways is the theme of Gilded Deceit, with the Rannochs and their friends encountering other expatriates, including Lord Byron and Percy and Mary Shelley. I looked up from fine tuning their longing for home and conflicted thoughts about a home they’ve been forced to leave to read, appalled, about what is happening today. To worry about friends like a young Canadian, Iranian-born singer who now can’t visit her family in Canada for fear she can’t return to the U.S. Or another friend whose father-in-law now can’t come here to visit his toddler grandchildren. Other friends, artists, students, academics with young children, who now may not be able to travel to and from the country I call home. The plight of those one knows personally brings home the concrete reality, but far worse is the plight of refugees whose very lives are at stake. Many of those refugees have children my daughter’s age or younger. Yes, I tend to focus on the plight of children. Having a young child sends my thoughts in that direction.
Compared to these people, Malcolm and Suzanne and the other characters in Gilded Deceit are comparatively fortunate. They have a secure fortune, and Malcolm was careful in advance to move funds out of Britain. Malcolm even has a house (a very beautiful house) in Italy where they can seek refuge. They may have to look over their shoulder for Lord Carfax and the Elsinore League, but they have financial resources and their own skills as agents to fall back upon. That somehow drives home to me how bad the current situation is. We tend to think of progress. Of the world being a safer, saner, more just place now than it was two hundred years ago. As writers, we devise hair raising situations for our characters. Usually their plight is much worse than what one looks round and sees in the present day. Instead, I look at the news and at people I know personally and find myself thinking ‘“Malcolm and Suzanne are the lucky ones.”
Malcolm struggles a lot in Gilded Deceit with what it means to be British and what he’s done in Britain’s name. At one point he says, “Being loyal to a country doesn’t mean taking on the burdens of the men who run it.”
This weekend, I am having a similar struggle.
January 25, 2017
I’ve blogged before about the joys and challenges of being a writer and a mother and the “art of juggling.” I thought back to that blog yesterday. I had to give a presentation at meeting for my Merola Opera Program job, meet up with my daughter’s nanny to drop her off, and later that night finish going through copy edits for Gilded Deceit. It was raining. We were running late. I wasn’t sure I’d told the nanny the right place to meet. Finally, on the way into the meeting, I apologized to a colleague for running late, and she said not to worry and then added, “It must be hard being a mother.”
Later, sitting in the meeting (after I turned around the heel of my Wolford tights so a run wouldn’t show and fished out a blue crayon from my Longchamp tote to make notes because I couldn’t find a pen) I thought about that comment. Being a mother is exhausting at times. It’s rewarding. It can be challenging, especially when one tries to juggle the various parts of one’s life or simply get out the door with a sleepy five-year-old and all the things you need or both your days. But I don’t really think of it as hard. And more than anything else, I think I would call it fun.
Before I was a mother I didn’t play hide and seek tag, set up doll tea parties, or tell stories in the car. I didn’t get to share the wonder of seeing my daughter discover the world.
When I got to the copy edits, I thought about Suzanne and the way she juggles her life, which makes mine look simple. I think Suzanne would say the secret (along with “not minding if you fail”) is finding happiness in the moment. Which I’d agree with.
December 21, 2016
Hope everyone is having a wonderful midwinter, however you celebrate! It’s been a very busy couple of months for me, with the release of Mission for a Queen and working madly away at Gilded Deceit so it can go the copy editor in the New Year. As always seems to happen with a book, there are moments I despair and moments I think it’s working rather well. On my current draft I’m quite excited about how the Rannochs’ adventures on Lake Como are shaping up.
In the flurry of preparing for the holidays, I thought it might be fun to speculate on what Malcolm and Suzanne and their friends might give each other, either in 1818 or if they lived today. We don’t know where Christmas of 1818 will find them, but we could speculate as though they are still in Italy – or wherever you prefer.
I think Malcolm would give Suzanne a garnet pendant surrounded by diamonds (I know he gave her another garnet pendant but she’s fond of the stone and this is a very different design). It could work in 1818 or 2016.
In 1818, Suzanne might give Malcolm a first edition of Malory’s Le Morte d’Arthur (one of the books William Caxton printed) as a reminder of Britain and something he could read with the children. In 2016 she might give him the same thing (though probably not a first edition!) or perhaps a new iPad, since he might not get that for himself as it’s not as practical as a phone or a computer. And he might keep insisting he was fine with the old one with the cracked screen :-).
Raoul might give Laura a blue topaz necklace in 1818 or 2016, to go with the earrings he sent her before the ball in Incident in Berkeley Square. Laura might give Raoul framed pictures of her and Emily to take with him when he travels – miniatures in 1818, photos in folding travel case in 2016.
David might give Simon a ring in 1818 or 2016, though in 2016 the ring would go with a formal proposal.
What do you think these characters and others might give each other, in 1818 or today?
October 16, 2016
Happy Saturday from the delightfully gray and rainy Bay Area. I’ve been buried in the WIP (writing about sunny Italy), Mission for a Queen is up for pre-order on most platforms (I’ll post links early next week, but you should be able to search for it).
Meanwhile, for a quick break, a topic I’ve been wanting to explore. An interesting thread on the Google+ Group a couple of months ago got me to ponder the phrase “love of one’s life.” The term came up in regards to Raoul O’Roarke and Malcolm’s mother Arabella. i’m not sure it applies to them, but beyond that, I’m not sure what I think of the whole idea of a person having a single “love of their life.” Malcolm’s aunt Lady Frances says she’s never much cared for the phrase, and I’m inclined to agree with her. Or perhaps it’s that I think it’s less that a person meets the love of their life than that, ideally, two people grow into being the loves of each other’s lives, as they grow and change together over the course of a relationship. I think that has already happened to a degree with Suzanne and Malcolm – neither of them is quite the person they were when they married; each has influenced the other in ways that strengthen their bond. (I think that’s true of other couples in the series as well, but perhaps particularly of Malcolm and Suzanne).
I also think it’s hard to judge someone the love of someone’s life while that life is still unfolding. Right now in the series, Cordelia pretty clearly seems to be the love of Harry’s life – he fell hard for her when he first met her, wanted her under any circumstances, never got over her despite a painful betrayal, reconciled with her and is still desperately in love with her. She also seems to be the first and only woman he came close to loving (if he hadn’t met her, it seems he might have been a bachelor like his uncle Archie). But Harry is only 30. If Cordy died or ran off with another man, would Harry never love again to such a degree? Very possibly, but not I think inevitably. (Please note, I am only using Cordy dying or running off with another man as hypotheticals; they are not in any way intended to be spoilers).
In that sense, it’s probably somewhat easier to talk about Raoul’s place in Arabella’s life, since we can look back on her whole life, than Arabella’s place in Raoul’s life. We can look at what Arabella meant to him thus far, but even though he’s a couple of decades older than Malcolm or Harry, he could still have a longer relationship with Laura (or theoretically some other woman) than he had with Arabella.
What do you think of the phrase “love of one’s life”? And, turning my post on its head, given the limitations of the phrase do you think, up to this point in the series, the central couples (Malcolm and Suzanne, Harry and Cordy, David and Simon, Rupert and Bertrand, Raoul and Laura, any other couples you want to address) are the loves of each other’s lives? Why or why not?