Lie to Me

My dad recommended "Lie to Me" a few months ago when it premiered on Fox. Tim Roth! On TV! Happiness! Even better, he's using his "I'm sorta educated yet not too posh" British accent, which isn't his real voice. He's actually very proper, but he doesn't let that come across too often. Might spoil his rougher image.

Oh, look at him as Mr. Orange. So young! So cute! So soon-to-be-bloody!

Anyhoo, I hadn't seen it. Part of me was thinking, as I was with "Castle" starring Nathan Fillion, that the thing would be dusted off by the Cancellation Monster of Extreme Public Fickleness before it got interesting. Now "Lie to Me" is on episode 11 and "Castle" on episode 8. So now they're (vaguely) successful, I'm radically behind, and I haven't even finished off the end of "Life" yet!

But I just sat down to watch the pilot for "Lie to Me," and my friend Nancy was right. Not only is Tim Roth still deliciously incredible, the show is a masterclass in studying the emotions that people present. Say...emotions that writers might want to describe on the page. Useful, entertaining, and hot! Sign me up!

Dinosaur Pirates

I'm not the only storyteller in our household.

Keven just finished up reading an abridged version of Peter Pan to the girls. When they were home from school on Tuesday, they spent the afternoon combining elements of that story with their recently renewed fascination with dinosaurs. All out of paper, they made eye patches, hats, a treasure chest, a treasure map, an X (as in, marks the spot), and a hook for Juliette's hand. Apparently, her hand had been eaten off by a shark, and the hook was the key to the treasure chest.

Then they decided they wanted to be dinosaur pirates. Juliette was a triceratops. She made horns and scales to tape onto her animals, and even taped horns on her forehead and nose--just under the eye patch and pirate hat. Ilsa was a T-Rex, which included a snout she taped on her own face. Much growling was had. Later, they drew their dinosaur pirate dinners, which included blood sandwiches for Ilsa and salads for Juliette. I asked if they were space pirates, but they said no, that would be too much like Captain Raptor.

They're so cool.

Just Wanted to Share

I really like this passage from my current WIP. Some bits just strike me as particularly well executed, and this is one of them.

Vivienne sat alongside Mr. Kato, the huge, silent African, as he skillfully guided the wagon toward the train station. She would've liked to continue nursing her hurt and dislike for Miles, but Cape Town mesmerized her. Harsh, blue-shadowed mountains angled along the horizon, holding the entire settlement in a hand ready to squeeze shut. She'd half expected the barren branches of her winter garden, but of course, December meant spring--nearly summer. Every shade of green dotted the foothills and lined the limbs of unfamiliar trees. The fertile smell of loam and blooming flowers found her in warm, welcome bursts. She wondered what manner of vegetation she might nurture here.

But the city wore a mask. Ostentatious colonial homes, rich with color and layers of fresh paint, could only brag from behind the safety of high ornate fences. They loomed over decayed shanty towns, tumble-down tents, and countless, faceless squatters. Ugliness gathered in the shadows like a cache of weapons, waiting to do violence. While sparring with Miles, Viv had been able to retreat from old terrors; now they clamored for her attention, crawling over her skin and down her throat. She squeezed the wooden handle of the portmanteau in her lap, squeezed until her pinkie finger jerked.

The train station was a picture of barely-controlled bedlam. As on the docks, wealthy colonists strolled toward first class, their servants dragging luggage in their wake. Rougher folk flocked toward the over-burdened rear cars. A woman, great with child, followed a miner with a full blond beard whose back bowed under the weight of a massive trunk. She gripped the hands of two young boys, their little legs pumping to keep pace with her determined waddle. The crowd gobbled them up as the train whistle announced its impending departure. A baby wailed, and Viv knew its terror.

The Bourne Ultimatum (2007)

Matt Damon (Bourne), Julia Stiles (Nicky), David Strathairn (Vosa), Joan Allen (Landry)

Directed by Paul Greengrass (The Bourne Supremacy)

IMDB: Bourne dodges new, superior assassins as he searches for his unknown past while a government agent tries to track him down.

Let's see, I've talked about Matt Damon's hotness as Jason Bourne, and about the realism of the fight scenes and how they added to the dramatic tension. Cool. I'll move on to the much ballyhooed "Paul Greengrass style" of filmmaking.

After watching the nauseating trainwreck of cinematography that was Quantum of Solace, I had serious concerns about the handheld = compelling approach. Doug Liman's first Bourne movie was nice. No nausea. No feeling like the tension was being artificially amplified through the use of cheap camera tricks. This again added to my anxiety about watching Greengrass take the helm for films two and three.

Lesson learned: The artist who popularizes a style is generally the best at making it work. Subsequent attempts are substandard. (And can induce puking and/or headaches.)

Greengrass is really quite fantastic. Aside from the opening three minutes of Supremacy, when the handheld camera was very obvious in comparison to the first film, I got lost in the technique. This is no Quantum of Solace mishmash garbage, and the power of what Greengrass was able to accomplish was significant. I experienced a genuine sense of claustrophobia in the Waterloo scenes, reliving exactly how it feels to be in that place and among all those people, swimming upstream, the announcement echoing across the super-high ceilings, the cold air in winter because the exit doors are always open. Never once did I feel that the style trumped the storytelling, which is a serious credit to the filmmakers.

Speaking of storytelling, the screenwriters did an amazing job at keeping Bourne's relevance without it playing out like "just another movie." They made a compelling case that he had unfinished business. I really, really liked the subtext with Nicky, which explained a great deal about her involvement from the start. But they didn't take it too far. The "cut and dye your hair to go undercover" scene, mirrored from the first film, was particularly effective because they practiced a great deal of restraint. Not necessarily subtle, but very dramatic.

I also loved what I came to regard as my "what's he up to?" reaction. For example, when Bourne was running across the rooftops in Tangier, collecting laundry as he dodged badguys, I thought, "What's he up to?" Turns out he was using the laundry to pad his vault across glass-encrusted protective walls. They did this throughout the films, which demonstrated Bourne's cleverness and training rather than just his ability to delivery a serious bit o' kung-fu.

That said, Vosa's character made a consistent string of poor calls. "Bourne must be the informant." OK, but why? Why would he say it in such a declarative manner. Why not, Bourne could be the informant, but let's keep our options open? That would've seemed more credible, and his inconsistent logic showed up as the only flaws in an otherwise highly entertaining film.

Now that Lucas & Co have ruined their legacy, the Bourne films will have to take Indiana Jones' place as the most perfect trilogy.

Still Sick

Last night was hideous. I endured only because I know colds don't last forever. How do people with debilitating, terminal illnesses cope? How do their families? It's inconceivable to me, the idea of never getting better. So yeah, I feel crappy and the girls are still home, but I'm feeling oddly thankful. Oh, and I was right about Ilsa. Her ballistic, spastic behavior was the early stages of her cold. She's got a cough and a stuffy nose today. It's a good thing to know one's children. Makes them less surprising.

Bleh

Now I'm sick. Drat. The girls stayed up until past 10 last night. Juliette's sick too, she of the Massive Chest Cough, and Ilsa has slowly degenerated into a psycho drunk child. If she's not flailing, she's crying--which probably means she's getting sick too. So they're home with me today. Can you feel the Monday joy?

And Charlie lost SYTYCD AU. I know you're devastated.

I'm going to go get some tea and try to not be so pissy.

Trip to HIFA

Mostly good news today. First, my foot has stopped being quite so painful and swollen. Yay! I can walk and everything! Yay some more!

Second, tonight's the final of SYTYCD Australia. Well, technically it's already happened. I just need to avoid Aussie-based websites until I can find a download and watch it this evening.

And finally, aside from driving through a Chicago deluge on the way home, my outing to Iowa yesterday was a complete success. The gracious Heart of Iowa Fiction Authors (HIFA) chapter of RWA came out in force, along with some members of the Des Moines chapter, which is a good two hours away. That was very flattering. I don't know if I'd drive two hours to hear me speak!

I presented on one of my favorite topics. No, not unusual historicals! I am a firm believer that some women must be coached and encouraged to get past their fear of writing compelling, effective action. I think we're socialized to think that violence and conflict are negative, and thus the only conflict in some romance is of the emotional variety. But to write action is to liberate the id! It's really quite freeing, and I've come to love what I do--swashbuckling, explosive, high energy, and all that good stuff. It can heighten the emotional drama between the protagonists, which is what I was there to discuss.

So I chatted about that for a while, a repeat of the "Snakebite Scenes and Hollywood Plots" workshop I gave to Chicago North in December. The ladies were all very attentive and clever, asking quality questions throughout. I felt very engaged and appreciated, which was wonderful. Afterward, they all bought copies of WHAT A SCOUNDREL WANTS, even the nice women who don't normally read historicals, and we ate lunch at the conference center's buffet. Here's a picture of me nattering on.


Ugh! It's in-between hair! Soon it'll be grown out and looking not terrible again, but it's like wearing a floppy old mop.

I dragged back into Kenosha long about 7pm because of the darned, dratted rain. My brain was on overdrive for a while, coming up with good stuff for projects, but toward the end I kinda shut down and just listened to music. I haven't driven that much by myself in, well...ever.

The Bourne Supremacy (2004)

Matt Damon (Bourne), Brian Cox (Abbott), Joan Allen (Landry)

Directed by Paul Greengrass (Bloody Sunday)

IMDB: When Jason Bourne is framed for a botched CIA operation he is forced to take up his former life as a trained assassin to survive.

Second verse, same as the first!

OK, not really. Joan Allen was a lovely addition to the cast, one part newbie and one part savvy player. Julia Stiles' part was considerably smaller than I'd expected, thinking she's the natural love interest to replace poor, dead Franka.

What I dearly, truly loved about this film--which was, essentially, a straight-up who-done-it set across about 85 countries--was the realism. The fistfight with the French operative in his flat proved that Greengrass had no stomach for cartoon action. The windows didn't shatter as they flailed against them, and the table didn't flatten into lumber when they crashed down together. Instead, they bounced. Coz damn, wood is hard. And when Bourne jumped onto a barge, he hurt his leg. Damon limped through the rest of the film. It's like they were positing him as the anti-Bond or anti-Wolverine.

All of this accumulated realism helped ease me, as a viewer, into a very calm sense of suspended reality. So by the time the Holy! Crap! Awesome! car chase through Moscow rolled around, I was completely on board with everything they did. Rip through this alley! Jump into that line of traffic! Tires still working, axles not cracked! Of course not! It's like Greengrass saved his entire "suspend your disbelief" wad for the final ten minutes, with absolutely fantastic results.

I've no clue how they keep going onto the third movie. This one was quite tidy. I'm getting to see how it could become, as Damon said, "The Bourne Redundancy," in that every time they want to make a new film, they simply concoct a new way to draw him back. But whatever. Bring on Ultimatum!

Ow ow ow ow!

There's the Doctor, so this post must be about the television show or my own ongoing medical happenings. The latter!

Whereas last time was fairly protracted and dramatic, this time around with my foot was very different. I drove by myself, was checked in quickly, relaxed for 15 minutes on the procedural table, and drove home shortly thereafter. The other big difference is I didn't have happy drugs. Many pokes! Shit!

And now my foot really hurts.

I limped out of the hospital. Driving isn't bad because I don't have to put a great deal of weight on my heel, but walking is absolute hobbling torture. I got home, had lunch, mostly sat around, and then went to pick up the girls. The limp festival from the door to the car and back again was by far the worst. Then I napped on the couch while they watched Free Willy, which from all I heard is utter tripe.

Once I woke up, I half expected the pain to be less. Oh, very wrong. It's a stinging, fiery slice of pain up the outside of my foot and ankle, like my bone's been perforated. I'm supposed to keep off it and keep it wrapped up and dry for 48 hours, which is mostly do-able because I'm driving to Iowa for my speech before the Heart of Iowa Fiction Authors on Saturday. Yay for giving paid presentations!

I'm gonna go lie around and moan some more, although it's not really when I'm lying down that it hurts. To officially complain, I'd have to walk around for some reason, and that reason would have to be damn compelling.

In other news, Christy Morrell of To Love and to Cherish by Patricia Gaffney is quite possibly too wonderful to bear. I'm swooning here. Gaffney is a writing goddess, and I'm trying to keep my professional cool. It's humbling...yet utterly wonderful as a reader.

Mmmm... Shepherd Smith

Shepherd Smith may be one of the sexiest dudes on TV. He used to be a Fox foot soldier, but now he's practically a frothing lefty in their midst. It's like watching a Regency rake in the midst of his reform. Lovely.

Gotta Get Thru This

I've had Daniel Bedingfield's acoustic version of "Gotta Get Thru This" in my head nonstop for days. I credit (or blame) Charlie and Kat's tango from two weeks ago on SYTYCD Australia. The finale was Sunday and the results will air this coming Sunday. Yay for Charlie! And then I only have, what, six weeks to kill before the US version starts up. Yay for Cat Deeley!

The Bourne Identity (2002)

Matt Damon (Jason Bourne), Franka Potente (Marie), Chris Cooper (Conklin), Clive Owen (The Professor)

Directed by Doug Liman (Go)

IMDB: A man is picked up by a fishing boat, bullet-riddled and without memory, then races to elude assassins and recover from amnesia.

The name "Bourne" is one from my childhood, when my dad read the Ludlum books. I don't know why it took so long for Keven and I to see this one, but I grabbed it from the library and we weren't disappointed. Not even the seven years since its release can dim what remains a sharp, sexy, tense, and well-crafted action movie.

My only complaints had to do with some of the decisions Marie made, particularly to stay with Bourne at that critical stage just before the Paris car chase. Perhaps her background and what we know of her history--hanging onto a bad situation for too long--exempts her, and that may have been better explored in the book. I like that they stayed together and played the hot romance-under-pressure game, but I wanted more from that moment of decision.

Although Cooper, Owen, and Brian Cox give solid performances, the movie belonged to Franka Potente and Matt Damon. Potente has such a wonderfully angular and surprising face, capable of great beauty while never losing a hard-edged desperation. I enjoy her very much as an actress, which reminds me that I haven't seen Run, Lola, Run either.

And then there's Matt Damon. He's a sweet, smart, handsome, charming, nice guy, who would probably make a fantastic life partner. These are all good things, but I don't lay awake nights wondering how to rope him into becoming my next romance hero.

As unpredictable and supremely competent Jason Bourne, however, he skyrockets to UltraHotLand. Is that a place? He'd be there. I loved the little touches, like when he was escaping through the embassy and grabbed both a police radio and the wall map. Nice. He kept seeming surprised by his own abilities without it straying into extreme "I'm a mutant!" cheese. You get the feeling that without his super spy brilliance, Bourne would've been a lovable dork. Like Matt Damon.

Nicely played, casting!

I loved the unabashedly sappy ending. No hint that the CIA might still be tracking them. Which leads me to my dilemma: does my love for angsty heroes outweigh my desire to keep that happy ending firm in my mind? I know Marie doesn't make it to the closing credits of the sequel, but hmmmmm...he'd probably be seriously dark and brooding once she bites it.

A quality film. Pleased me in many ways.

Monday Morning

Yay, yay, yay, spring break is over! Kids go back to school today!

In other news, Matt Damon is still not sexy. However, Matt Damon as Jason Bourne?? *passes out*

Full review to follow.

The More Unusual, the Better

Today I'm posting on the blog of my agent, Caren Johnson, about unusual historicals. It's a condensed version of the article I wrote for the November issue of RWR, but it might be new to you.

Do I get bored discussing my topic of choice? Not at all. Case in point: Two of this year's Golden Heart finalists (that I know of) are set in unusual places, one in China and one in Russia. Among contest entries I've judged this year, I've traveled to Russia, ancient Greece, ancient Rome, France, more France, the Caribbean, Mexico, Argentina, Ireland, Romany, and all manner of Western US settings. Every time I open an entry set somewhere other than England, I want to crow, "Igor, it's alive!!"

(An aside: England's great. Some of my favorite people are English. *waves* But at this point in historical romance publishing, it's about as exotic to me as Indiana. Wait. Some of my favorite people live in Indiana. *waves*)

So I'll keep talking up unusual historicals until a straight-up, full-on, no-holds-barred, give-me-a-few-more-cliches romance, not just historical fiction, can be set anywhere and anywhen. This is my hope. Then I'll open up my brain full of ideas and let the once-verboten fly free. As if I need an excuse...

I did some edits on my proposal last night and realized its problem. Gah. But we have three more days of Spring Break, so I'm tackling the house today. Organizing and cleaning. When I drop off the girls on Monday morning, I want to come back to a house that doesn't niggle with distracting, taunting chores.

With those done, I'll be eager to hit my last round of edits. I'm posting this picture of RDJr as my naughty carrot. Then the Christies will go out into the world. Can you say pre-empt, hopeful little girl? Good. Keep saying it until it happens.

College Days Meme

I'm just doing undergrad at Bowling Green and UEA. Grad work at Ohio State was less college-ish and more life-ish.

1. Do you remember your college address?
325 Darrow and 325 Anderson. It was a room in the same location but in two different buildings, one for freshman year and one for sophomore year. I was in a ziggurat called Norfolk Terrace at UEA (below). Then he and I lived at 420 S. Summit when we returned to Bowling Green, but I don't remember the apartment number.


2. Ever lived off campus?
Senior year with Keven after we got married. D-House doesn't count.

3. Are you happy with the major you picked?
Lessee...history and literature. I think that worked out well.

4. Did you have one or more serious relationships?
Two. One was seriously awful, and one was seriously love.

5. Did you ever take a P.E. class?
Gah. Nope.

6. Ever have a run in with an RA?
No, but Melissa and I had a complicated relationship. I don't remember any other RAs. It's not like I was a pain.

7. What sporting events did you like to attend?
Does admiring the handiwork of SIC SIC count? Oh, I did go to an American football game at UEA. Keven and I stood on the sidelines, sharing a set of ear buds to my Walkman, while Andy and the Pirates got killed. Funny that I remember listening to "My Dark Star" by Suede.

8. Any wild parties?
At my only official college party, I didn't drink. I was with a guy who was a teetotaler, so I abstained. The parties in Britain weren't so Animal House. They were more like...gatherings of friends. And those were interesting...

9. What were your schools colors?
Brown and orange. The story is that the president of Bowling Green picked the colors in the 1920s when he saw them paired on a woman's hat. Makes sense for the 20s, but doesn't make sense in that we have "green" in the name. Dumb. But I own a SUPER ORANGE sweatshirt, the kind only misty-eyed alums buy. Karen has one too.

10. Did you ever graduate and if so in how many years?
Four years. Boom-cha! The honors adviser my sophomore year said I'd never graduate in four years if I spent one year abroad. I did...with two majors. Bite me, mustache boy!

11. Name one ritual with your friends?
Studying at Cosmo's, which is now closed. And sometimes not studying.


12. Any cool concerts held at your school?
At UEA, all the time. My favorite was My Life Story, of course. Not so much at Bowling Green.

13. If you could go back would you do it again
Why? Classes would be so dull!

14. Is your job now at all related to what you went to school for?
Amazing, but yes.

15. Can you recite the entire Greek Alphabet?
Hella no. I'm Phi Beta Kappa and Phi Alpha Theta (the history academic fraternity), but I cannot think of a single instance EVER where these mattered to my life. Padding a CV doesn't count.

16. Ever skip class to hang out with your friends?
Sure. Far too much, actually. I was a skipping fiend. I once skipped just to peruse an X-File website. Mind you, back in the Ancient Year of 1995, such a website was really rather rare.

17. Did you have a pet?
We had our cats Inca, who died of liver failure, and then Hopi during out last few months at the Summit apartment, even though pets weren't allowed.

18. Favorite party place?
Um...

19. Did you marry someone from college?
Heh. Yes.

20. Use your leftover money for laundry or to go out?
To pay bills? And go to Ziggy Zoomba's for $1 well drinks, pool, and new episodes of South Park.

21. Worst drink you ever consumed?
Vodka and (British) lemonade, but we were out of everything else, and I was too far gone to care.

22. Year you graduated?
1998

23. Still keep in touch with college friends?
Hellllooooo, Facebook. And Karen, of course.

25. Any regrets?
Don't think so.

26. Play a sport?
Nope.

27. Did you have a nickname?
Lindsey. Or is that a real name? Depends on who you ask.

28. Cafeteria have a nickname?
Which one?

29. Favorite late night snack?
Mozzarella cheese sticks at the Galley.

30. Favorite breakfast?
Don't remember eating much breakfast.

31. Favorite professor?
Dr. Klein! Such an influence on my life.

32. How far was your college from your hometown?
About 160 miles.

Take the Squire's Advice

I love, love, love this bit from "Wives and Daughters," one of my favorite re-watches. The father, Squire Hamley, is giving advice to his son, Roger. Roger believes that he's completely lost any chance to be with Molly, the young woman who's adored him for years. He's since proposed to her step-sister, gone to Africa on a two-year expedition, and been jilted. Now he knows he loves Molly, but because she's reluctant to be seen as setting her sights on a man of higher rank and prospects, she behaves with more reserve. Justine Waddell is just so vulnerable and heartbreaking.

Squire Hamley: I don't see why you don't put up for her still. Don't you think you could like her if you tried?

Roger: No need for trying to love her. That's already done. But it's too late. It's...it's too late. She's as good as told me so. It's my own fault. There's nothing to be done. Don't--let's not speak of it anymore.

Squire Hamley: That's nonsense, my lad. That's not the way to go about it. You made a mistake before. She won't hold it against you forever. Just tell her you love her, and if she won't have you now, then wait a while and ask her again. And don't give up trying until you've made her safe!

It's that last line about making her safe. What Squire Hamley is actually proposing is for Roger to abase himself of pride and offer his devotion without proof of return. That's seriously risky. But it's what a woman needs after she's been hurt too often. A little groveling. The old man got it right.

But of course the most fascinating character in "Wives and Daughters" is Lady Harriet, portrayed by the magnificent Rosamund Pike. She's exactingly proper where it counts, and yet she's mountains above her aristocratic cohorts when it comes to style, wit, brains, compassion, and practicality. The perfectly bland look on her face whenever her dingbat mother speaks is priceless. And what, exactly, was her relationship with dangerous Mr. Preston...?

Good stuff, all of it. *writes notes to self*

Spring Break Opener

For the next ten weeks, I'll be featured every Monday on "Ask an Author," hosted by author Ingela Hyatt. Here's the skinny. Here's her website. I don't know how she'll allocate prizes, but there's gazillions waiting for folks who comment or ask questions.

In other news, we may or may not be going to my parents' house for Spring Break. They're borderline ill and hip-deep in preparations to move. Who knows. Keven left for Milwaukee last night and took the car, so we're on foot patrol until he gets back on Tuesday, which will mean taking the train if we decide to head to Indiana. My life...so unpredictable. Today we're mostly hanging out. I'm fixing heaps of online things I've been avoiding, such as website updates and bills, while the girls steadily undo all of the good cleaning we managed in their room yesterday. I had ambitions to do a spring cleaning-like whoop ass adventure today, but alas. Not so much.

On Thursday, our first day of spring break, I babysat two of the girls' friends throughout the morning. Their mom is a friend of mine, so friendly times were had by all. Then we set off walking to the library and other shops. At the Downtown Toy Store--the best place in Kenosha for toys--we picked up a gift for the party they would attend on Saturday. The girls also spent their allowance/Easter gift money on some long-pined-for Calico Critters. These squirrels are what Ilsa picked.

Afterward, we visited Forever Christmas, which is a head-trip homage to all things Navidad. It's really psycho. Awesome, but a little creepy too. We also made it over to Sandy Popper for a free bag of popcorn. Ilsa said it was an awesome day, which was pretty much true.

Because the girls received a free frozen custard coupon from a library promotion, we went to Culver's for lunch on Friday. They were practically falling asleep at the table, so we headed home for a nap before visiting the Grosts for a playdate and dinner. The girls all dyed eggs, then proceeded to leave the grown-ups alone as we chatted. Many brownies were consumed. Good times.

We got a late start on Saturday because we'd stayed up so late. We ambled around the house until it was time for the girls to go to the birthday party at Scamps, a local gymnastics gym that hosts tumbling-themed parties. Keven drove and picked them up, so I had my most glorious golf nap in years, complete with leftover brownies and oddly-dyed egg salad sandwiches. Bliss.

After the girls returned, we all watched the mediocre Easter special episode of Doctor Who. I'm getting sick of these one-off companions. If the 2009 specials keep being this ho-hum, I'll welcome His High Emo-ness, Matt Smith, come next year. A change of pace, please! Ilsa and Juliette were super brave, watching the entire episode and then proceeding to mimic the benevolent-yet-hideous Tritovores. Much popcorn was consumed.

And finally, on Sunday, the Easter bunny dropped off a few bits and bobs to the girls. This is the first year they've been really aware of Easter as an event, and although we don't celebrate it religiously, there's nothing wrong with the distribution of springtime feelings and chocolate bunnies. After a major room clean, we settled in to do lots of nothing on a very sugar-charged yet relaxing day. I watched the Easter special of SYTYCD Australia (with Charlie looking utterly bored and corruptible), finished judging the last of my piled up contest entries, and even squeezed in another brief golf nap. All in all, a very good way to start off our Spring Break.

Sweet Bliss

I have half a pan of brownies. The girls will be at a birthday party for two hours. The sun is shining with a light, chilly breeze. The Masters is on the television. You know what that means...

Golf Nap! Oh, how I've missed you. Come to mama.

The Other Boleyn Girl (2008)

Natalie Portman (Anne), Scarlett Johansson (Mary), Eric Bana (Henry VIII)

Directed by Justin Chadwick ("Bleak House")

Plot: For the differing reasons, two highborn sisters vie for the attention of England's king.

This was on the library new release shelf on Thursday, so I grabbed it.

Here's something to keep in mind if you're female and you find yourself caught up in an historical costume drama. If the king makes love to you amidst golden candlelight and intimate soft focus camera shots, you're virtuous, good and likely to survive. If the king rapes you, fully clothed in broad daylight, then you're scheming, determined, clever, and likely to have your head hacked off. Sorry.

Gender politics aside--which seemed to have been amplified for this film even beyond a) history, and b) Philippa Gregory's source material--this film was just plain dull. Had I know the director did nine episodes of my beloved "Bleak House," I would've approached watching it with more enthusiasm, and my disappointment would've been more profound. Now I'm just confused.

Oh, wait. Tedious. That's another word for this film.

Natalie Portman has been able to bring me to tears since she was 11. Léon, aka The Professional, remains one of my all-time favorite films. Her turn in Cold Mountain...tears. Heat...tears. Beautiful Girls...I just wanted to be her. I'm not sure whether it's her or the director or my general malaise by the time the big head-rolling finale arrived, but I was entirely unmoved. Amazing. Eric Bana remains vastly unattractive, and Scarlett, well, I wasn't expecting much.

What I enjoyed about Gregory's book is the tension of the last third. A literal page-turner! I really felt for Mary and wanted her out of that claustrophobic hellhole of court. The character of William Stafford, which is barely even given a line in the film, is much more significant, as is his growing attachment to Mary. He's her lifeline out of a nightmare world where her children are continuously threatened. I read and read and read, just wanting them safe and happy. None of that excitement could be found in the film, Mary's safety a a complete given. It became all about the macabre spectacle of the execution with no expectation that Mary could've been one of them--which was certainly a possibility.

The only performance I mostly enjoyed was "The Next Doctor"'s David Morrissey as Mary and Anne's plotting uncle, Thomas Howard, 3rd Duke of Norfolk. He just seemed the perfect blend of brains and ambition bordering on over-ambition. The epilogue mentioned that he died in disgrace and his son, grandson, and great-grandson were all executed for treason. So of course I had to look it up. Henry VIII accused the son of conspiring to usurp the throne, the grandson (pictured here as portrayed by Christopher Eccleston in Elizabeth) was convicted of conspiring to marry Mary Queen of Scots and usurp the throne from Elizabeth, and the grandson just kinda pissed Elizabeth off by refusing to convert. A bad century for the stubborn, grasping dukes of Norfolk.

But my historical research was more fun than the film. Epic fail.

It's Good to Be a Gangsta

Surprise, surprise, but the New York Times ran a positive piece about romance! Nary a mention of bodice-ripping or trash in sight. Amazing. And the better news is that romance is thumbing its noses in the general direction of all other non-Rowland, non-Meyers based book sales. If I'm going to pick a difficult industry to work in, during a difficult financial time, at least I picked the right one! Woe be to the poor sods trying to publish debut poetry anthologies.

Anyway, I'm feeling pretty smug and gangsta about my poor maligned genre getting deserved props. Now if only they'd admit to romance having quality content, not just good sales.

Do your part for the economy and your own sanity. Buy a romance!

May I suggest for your reading pleasure the lovely Ann Aguirre's Blue Diablo? It's set in Mexico, for gosh sakes! Mexico! Like, the non margarita-on-a-beach parts! When has that ever happened? I've heard this is the sort of book that makes women want to maul other women for snatching the last copy off a store shelf, but that could just be a clever marketing ploy...

And now any mention of gangsta makes me think of Office Space. Beware: contains awesomeness, violence against machinery, and bad language.

Blog Hopping

This morning, I'm visiting with the lovely T.J. Bennett at her blog, In My Humble Opinion. I talk about scoundrels and lucky breaks and unusual historicals, which suits T.J. well because her books The Legacy and The Promise are set in Germany during the time of Martin Luther. High five!

Nice

Weekend Introspection

This is a rather navel-gazing post. Move on...or have a psychological field day. Either way, fair warning.

I was wondering why I haven't been fussed with the weekly dust-ups that seem to been the glue of the online romance community. Associate Member-gate? Not interested. RITA-fu? Of course I disgruntled privately to a few friends (a new verb!), mostly sour grapes stuff. But I didn't debate about inspy vs. erotica issues, nor did I weigh in about the ever-changing category definitions and entry requirements. And as much as it may mean to the future of my career and publishing in general, I don't even argue about piracy, DRM, Kindle speech capacities, or Google settlements.

Many if not all of these issues are very important. And I do participate when the opportunity arises to make a legitimate contribution. For example, Jane from Dear Author contacted me along with a number of book reviews sites before rolling out her new e-ARC policy. I was happy to be included in her mini survey and offer my opinion. With regard to the inspy vs. erotica debate, I added my experiences in judging the RITAs this year, which were alternately enlightening and depressing. I feel I'm at my most useful when I contribute data, but I'm not going to stick around for the shitfest that degenerates from the initial topic.

I used to. Two years ago, I was as vociferous as the next blog trawler, taking sides and talking smack. But I don't think it's a matter of being busier now, because there are plenty of published authors with deadlines galore who throw fuel on these kerfuffles. Perhaps because I was unpublished, I was busy promoting my opinions as a means of establishing an individual online personality. That worked. Good job me. But now I'm more interested in promoting my books.

More than that, however, I'm a genuinely conflict averse person. This isn't because I like to keep things on an even keel, as Keven does, but because I'm arrogant enough to think my opinion is, well, factual. Which is why I don't even tear into people who prefer Dancing with the Stars over So You Think You Can Dance. It's just obvious who's right. Other yammering is just noise. Disagreement? With me? How can this be??

Dude, it's pretty damn nice in my world. But then again, Patrick Bateman behaved the same way when extolling the merits of "Sussudio," and he chopped up hookers with chainsaws.

Underneath that bit of psychological fondant, I'm a big ole' fraidy-cat. Which is easier: to watch the news or to ignore it? Some people dwell on the "woe is me" and the "sky is falling" of every topic, from the state of romance publishing to the economy. But if I look too much of that in the face, I start to wonder why we bothered creating two little girls. "The world must be peopled" aside, it's a scary prospect to look ahead to their futures. Why would I want to add additional stress to an already stressful time?

So I don't.

Head down. Keep working. Stave the negativity. Vent to friends (which also prevents foot-in-mouth disease, to which authors are very susceptible). Create my lovely, sexy, joyous fantasies. Don't worry. Everything will be okay.

Hey, have I told you lately that one of my favoritest activities is breaking down characters? It's true. From reality show contestants to myself, it seems, my brain is on people analysis overdrive. My friend labeled it an obsession with the human dynamic, which is a very astute call. Writing romance is a way to play marriage counselor with a guaranteed happy ending. Talk about a God complex.

So there you have it. I'm not less opinionated than I was two years ago; in fact, I'm probably worse now than ever. Woe be to my children (and me) when they start having perspectives of their own.

More RT Love!

This is from the May '09 issue of Romantic Times BOOKreviews. You can read the entire article here. Yay for free publicity!

Mark Your Calendars

I know I have already. Saturday, April 11. I'll have a copy by bedtime, just perfect for our evening's entertainment. The verdict is out on whether or not the girls will be able to watch this one. Ilsa's game, as long as she gets to sit on my lap, but Juliette plans to be in another room. Keven might join her!

Carrie is a Mom Name

So I wound up talking to the Other Ilsa at swimming last week. Turns out she's really Elsa, but the pronunciation is the same for about 95% of people. She wound up asking me my name, which I told her. Her reply? "Zach and Cody from Suite Life--their mom is named Carey." Which means I'm old enough to have a Mom Name.


But it's predictable, really. "Carrie" and its variants are remarkably concentrated among mid-70s births. Check out the way it's plummeted in popularity, from a peak of #28 in my birth year, 1976, to its 2007 status of #988. Barely on the list! You have to go back to the 1880s, when Carrie was remarkably common--making the Top 30 of most popular female names during each year of that decade--to find equivalent numbers. We're centennially popular! And right now, we're all Mom Aged.

FYI, Elsa has been on the Top 1000 every year since 1880 (the farthest back the Social Security data goes), but Ilsa never has been. Just goes to prove there's no one like my Ilsa after all...

Congrats to Pam!

Congratulations to Pam P. of Connecticut! She won a $25 Amazon gift certificate by entering my Spring Contest. If you want news and updates about future contests, sign up for my Yahoo group newsletter combo thingie deluxe.