Category: Its-marriage-or-ruin

Taking Turns for Happiness

11/23/2019

In It's Marriage or Ruin, the character Emilie had no plans for marriage until she felt forced into it by her mother. I suspect, in real life, another Emily, Emily Bronte, felt pressured to marry when she did.

But, from one of the letters she'd written after the marriage, her husband treated her well, and she was thrilled that she'd made the decision.

Unfortunately, due to her health, the marriage wasn't a tremendously long one, but I'm pleased she found happiness.

EXCERPT:

‘It’s the two of us now, Emilie, for the rest of our lives.’ Marcus stood in front of her.

‘Us?’ She rubbed one side of her neck, then the other. Then her shoulders wavered. ‘Us? Just us?’ She turned away, but kept her gaze on him. ‘You make that sound like a rather seriously long period.’

He put both hands out to hold her steady. ‘I fear it will be. I hope it will be.’

‘Us and art.’

Marcus remained silent.

‘But you have no trouble with my painting?’

‘None whatsoever.’ He thrust away the unspoken concerns that flared inside him.

Her chest expanded as she inhaled. Tendrils of hair hung loose. ‘Marcus, you are the best husband I could ever aspire to. But, I wonder if you can be happy?’

He touched a kiss on her forehead. ‘I fear only one of us can be at a time.’

‘I’m not very good at taking turns,’ she said.

‘Neither am I.’

‘I’m not worried about it. You are the absolute most perfect husband for me, Marcus. I know that. So far, I have found marriage to be all I expected.’ Emilie wriggled as if trying to squirm out from her uncomfortable dress.

‘It would not take much for it to be all I expected.’

Emilie's "pool": Greenleaf and Tenkiller

10/19/2019

After the dust bowl swept Oklahoma, at some point it was decided that lakes would be a good thing for the area. Tenkiller dam was built. North of Tenkiller Lake is Greenleaf State Park. I lived in that area before the rest of the state truly discovered it.

When I was a child, on summer days, often the area would be almost deserted, except for my dad, my brother and me. Dad took fishing seriously, and I took playing in the water very seriously.

We didn't have air conditioning, but the water flowing from the bottom of Tenkiller lake remained cool, and even cooled the air directly around it about ten degrees.

I spent many summer days splashing in the water, looking for old fishing lures left by fishermen, and generally having the type of childhood that you look back on with fond memories.

Fresh fish...sure, you catch 'em, clean 'em and cook 'em over a fire on the riverbank. Once, without seasoning and stuck on the end of a forked stick.

It's better to take a picnic.
- - -
In It's Marriage or Ruin, Emilie gets to enjoy the natural pool at her new home.

It's Marriage or Ruin, and Portfolios

10/7/2019

   Mother smiled one of those grim-lipped smiles after grandmother suggested I read one of my poems aloud. Mother was used to my poetry, and that particular poem was grim.

Mother liked the ones that I had secreted away and she discovered when she picked up my notebook. It was a SCHOOL notebook. I never expected her to look into it.

   I don't remember which ones she found, but I'd already made plans that I would someday write a book.

   She told me I shouldn't write poems if I didn't want people to read them. Many times she said, "Don't write down anything that you wouldn't want the whole world to see." (I got that part, but she neglected to tell me how I was to get the entire world to read it.)

In It's Marriage or Ruin, Emilie has a Flower portfolio. What are the odds I would put a flower portfolio in a novel and have it contain flowers? Not nearly as high as the odds that I would have it contain illustrations of the hero.

Excerpt:

He felt her fingertips at his sides and a tiny pull as she tugged at his waist.

‘Marcus. I must draw subjects several times before I absorb them. And I thought to get a new portfolio for the flowers of summer.’

‘Is that all you think of, Emilie?’

‘Marcus, you cannot know how much I ache for my work.’

He took a finger and traced the outline of her lower lip, watching the contrast of his skin against hers. The fullness of her lips entranced him. ‘It must feel so lonely inside. Not to have what you need most.’

‘Incredibly.’ She turned. ‘My mother burned one portfolio and would not even let me purchase a new sketchbook. I’m sure you understand. It is like wanting the taste of a confection and you can see it, and it’s right in front of you, but you cannot taste it.’

He pushed the words out of his mouth. ‘I have no idea what that would be like.’

Publication Day in the USA!

10/1/2019

Seeing the publication of my latest book reminded me of the moments before I'd ever had a copy of my first novel, and the questions people sometimes ask me about being published.

When I'm asked how a new writer will become published, it's impossible for me to give a specific answer for that person.

The first step is probably checking out YouTube Videos, and looking at videos from all spectrums of the writing world. Check out online and/or local writing groups.

Publishing changes annually, and what might have worked for me once, might not work for me today.

Besides, each person is best suited to an individual path. Strengths and weaknesses are important. What can you do? What are you afraid of doing?

You can't let what you're afraid of doing stand in the way of what you can do. Fear and procrastination may be the two biggest hurdles to seeing a book in print. Or sometimes, it can be just the joy of holding a story close to you while you work on it.

I finished Emilie's story about six months ago, even though I'd started writing it many years ago. I truly enjoyed the process of creating the character, but now I'm happy to add the book to my bookshelf.

Carriages...What My Character Might Like

9/21/2019

I'd thought about carriage houses before, and often refer to them in novels. But I'd ever really thought about one with a carriage in it, and how much room the vehicle would need.

I was thrilled to see this one. And I was fascinated by the perch. The driver needed a place to brace his legs if he pulled on the reins to make a sudden stop, I suppose. I've also been told you wouldn't want to hurt a horse's mouth, so you do have to take care.

When I walked up to the carriage, the guide reminded me that carriages needed more maintenance than just a fresh coat of paint. The roads could be rugged, and hard on the wheels. They really could break.

So when the character in It's Marriage or Ruin is delayed by the carriage getting stuck in a puddle...well, it could have happened. Servants could have been that tricky...particularly if they were paid well.

Note: The carriage above is a photo I took at the Mount Vernon estate.

Marcus, Lord Grayson

9/14/2019

In my area, the peerage is as common as unicorns, hobbits, and Cujo. Except, on occasion it does seem an occasional Cujo might sneak in.

So, it would stand to reason that I would avoid writing about characters who are of the peerage. After all, there is that adage, write what you know.

But, I believe people are basically the same. As one of the female aristocratic types in one of my books said, "We put on our bejeweled slippers the same as anyone else."

The hero in It's Marriage or Ruin is Marcus, Lord Grayson.

Excerpt:

Lord Grayson remained perfectly still for several moments before he moved. He rearranged the hem of his sleeve and his eyes fell over Emilie, making the air she swallowed fill her with a fresh warmth. ‘We meet again.’

‘You knew I was out here,’ she said.

‘Whether I did or not, it doesn’t matter.’

Even in the darkness, Emilie could imagine him plainly. Nature had sculpted a visage which could have inspired Michelangelo to do better work.

Her hand wanted to caress, to run over the planes of his cheek so she could experience him with the feeling of touch as well as sight.

Inwardly, she berated her traitorous thoughts. She pulled herself from the momentary stupor, blaming it on her fascination with form.

How unfair that someone such as Lord Grayson, a man who said he liked frivolities, would have such a pleasing appearance. Her mother had been so wrong about which of Avondale’s sons had been graced with handsomeness.
The humour on his lips faded. ‘Miss Catesby, you are an accident waiting to happen.’

She tossed the words out. ‘Accidents do happen and I am not the cause of any of them.’

‘You cause things to happen on purpose.’

‘Occasionally.’

Miss Emilie Catesby

9/8/2019

When I saw my first book pop up on a website, I was thrilled. But it was so alone. Just one book. Now, my tenth one has been published.

When I'm writing, I can feel the characters' thoughts, but rarely imagine their faces. Then, when a cover arrives, I soon begin to see the characters as the exact image that is portrayed.

An excerpt from It's Marriage or Ruin that tells a bit about Emilie:

‘Miss Catesby. Stay away from my brother. He would ruin you.’

She touched the light wool of his waistcoat, letting her fingers flatten against him. Leaves rustled again as the wind touched them. The breeze strengthened, and the air tingled her cheeks. ‘I would say it’s not your concern.’

‘Miss Catesby. You’re an innocent.’ His fingers pressed into the fabric at her waist and he moved back a whisper.

She trailed her fingers up the waistcoat, touching the cravat, the edge of his jaw, the curve of his lips. She could have been touching a Michelangelo when she felt his face. This was something she’d never imagined before. Her heart pounded from the merest touch of his skin.

To feel a true masterpiece overwhelmed her. She dropped her hand and clenched it, keeping it at her side. She could hardly wait to capture in paint a masculine jawline. One with a hint of darkness in it. In shadows. Such a challenge. To put this image on canvas. A man in the shadows. Darkened features. She could never call it The Dark Angel. Her mother would destroy it. She would call it A Saint In Repose.

She could not calm her heartbeats, but inspiration came at the strangest moments, and one should relish them, hold them close, hug them to one’s heart.

But she could not touch him again. He was the forbidden fruit. The crevasse that could swallow the as-yet-unmade creations that were inside her and turn her into nothingness.

‘Art is my passion.’

His mouth parted. ‘You could have more than one passion, perhaps.’

‘I do. Oils, then watercolours.’