In which the Author does not get shot in Bourbon Street...New Orleans Mardi Gras Part 3

It is a standing joke in our family that my DH (darling husband) routinely tries to kill me on every holiday. In fact I am the only person I know who has to train for holidays - teach me to marry Action Man. 

So it is no surprise that on the night we went to Bourbon Street, there was a shooting. I am happy to say at the time we were half a block away from the shooting and heading away from the revelry when it happened but it still counts as one of my closer brushes with danger! More on that later...

Bourbon Street revellers

In my last post I wrote about the experience of riding a float in a Mardi Gras Parade. As you can imagine the next day was somewhat leisurely. We ate lunch at a restaurant on the levee and my friends showed us East New Orleans, where the damage from Katrina is still evident in destroyed houses and vacant blocks. I last visited New Orleans in 2001 and I have to say, in general, that from the ashes (or is that mud) of Katrina, there is a new vibrancy about New Orleans. My friends told us that the first Mardi Gras Parade after Katrina was an extraordinary experience, a tribute to a city that would not die and it is a city with a huge heart. But it has its dark side...for example residents of the beautiful Garden District, employ private firms of security guards to walk them from their cars to their front doors at night.

My friends had procured tickets for a balcony at the Royal Senestor Hotel in Bourbon Street for the Saturday night.  During Mardi Gras, hotels and other venues in Bourbon Street, rent out their balconies and suites (a bit like a corporate box at the football) so a couple of free tickets were not going to be wasted.

Ferry across the river

We caught the ferry from Algiers across the Mississippi to the French Quarter. When we arrived it was still fairly early and the crowd had just begun to build, but as we approached Bourbon Street, the energy level hefted up a notch. Bourbon Street at the best of times is not really a pleasant place populated as it is with  bars and cheap souvenir shops and an overarching smell of bad drains.

An already well lubricated crowd milled down the street clutching Hand Grenades (green plastic containers with a vile looking drink), laden with beads, some wearing masks and costumes. At each street corner, neatly dressed men  clutching bibles, placards and crosses handed out leaflets exorting the revellers to repent. Fat chance!

A balcony in Bourbon Street - Saturday night

Above us, more revellers lined the balconies, throwing beads into the crowd. Beneath our feet, broken strings of beads and muddy puddles made the going treacherous. But you find yourself drawn into the moment and there is a satisfaction in catching your first throws. Beside me, a woman peeled back her tee shirt exposing her breasts. So, the stories about the ritual flashing were true...a phenomenon first recorded in 1889 and definitely one for the tourists.

The view from the balcony

We found our suite at the Royal Senestor. The balcony was already crowded but playing the "I've come all the way from Australia" card, I managed to secure a small corner. We had a couple of bags of beads saved from the night before and I joined the others, dangling my wares over the balcony.The roof across from us was covered in badly thrown beads!

 Like the float, you needed to make eye contact and I caught the eye of a couple of young men who happily flashed their chests for me - oh well...when in Rome...

Beside me a young man waved a large, gaudy string of beads for which several women seemed keen to expose themselves. When 

Throwing beads from the balcony

DH took my place, the young man, now comfortable in the company of another male, explained that while he may offer the exotic beads,  he never threw them. Bastard!

Waving an Australian flag in an attempt to find that elusive token drunk Aussie...(oh wait, that may have been me?)... I garnered a bit of attention until the beads ran out.

By 9.30 we had enough. Our drink vouchers had run out and the suite was dangerously crowded. Below us the crowd had thickened and there seemed to be an electric element in the air that said it was not the place for the middle aged who needed their beds.

As we walked out of Royal Senestor, DH remarked that he heard fireworks. Police were running up the street towards us. It was only later on the ferry back to Algiers we heard that just half a block from the Royal Senestor there had been a shooting with 4 people badly injured. Holy, lucky escape, Batman! Of course it hit the news in New Orleans and at home. You can read about it HERE.

DH and I returned to the French Quarter on Monday, during the day. Crowds still thronged the streets but the electric atmosphere had been tempered and the feeling was just one of good will. We walked the streets, admiring the decorations and the Mask Market, listened to the music, watched the arrival of Rex on a Coast Guard boat,  ate beignets and coffee. drank a beer at Pat O'Briens  and had po boys for lunch. For all its undercurrent of violence, there is something innately loveable about New Orleans.

Mardi Gras decorations - French Quarters

Tuesday was Mardi Gras day. In the city the Krewes of Zulu and Rex were parading. We watched the parades on the television before joining our friends at a local parade for the Krewe of Grela in the Gretna Parish. Here the local fire department (yes fire trucks!), the sheriff and local councillors joined the parade, tossing throws, cups and doubloons. The King and Queen of Grela passed by and the local high school marching bands, entertained us. I stood on the side of the road, my own hand upreached... "Throw me something mister...". 

Despite the showers (and a howling cold), I drank bloody marys, ate King Cake and watched the parade sitting on the tail gate of a pick up truck. It was homespun, fun and a wonderful end to the Mardi Gras experience.

The King of Grela

High School Marching Band

And a firetruck - of course!

Mardi Gras Explained - New Orleans Part 1

Sometimes we have things on our bucket lists that we don't even know we have written there. When an invitation came to ride a float in the 2013 New Orleans Mardi Gras, DH (darling husband) turned pale, gulped and then smiled bravely. We were going to New Orleans.

To an Australian, the concept of "Mardi Gras" means only one thing...the Sydney Mardi Gras, an annual celebration of gay pride. Visions of gold spangly shorts and nipple tassels sprang into my friends' eyes when I  announced our impending visit to Louisiana. No, we were not coming out! The New Orleans Mardi Gras, like Rio's Carnival, has its origins deeply rooted in Christian tradition. That's right... Christian tradition.

So before I share my own experience of riding a float in the New Orleans Mardi Gras, I feel a little explanation about the New Orleans Mardi Gras is required!

"Mardi Gras" means literally "Fat Tuesday" and is the day we know as Shrove Tuesday, the day before Ash Wednesday and the start of Lent. It was the day of celebration and feasting before the privations of Lent - hence our own pancake day tradition. In New Orleans it is a season commencing with Epiphany (the day in the Christian calendar when the   baby Jesus is visited by the three wise men) and the appearance of the King cakes. King cakes are a highlight of the Mardi Gras. A sort of cinnamon roll (or doughnut pastry) iced with the traditional Mardi Gras colors of green (meaning faith), gold (power) and purple (justice) and containing a trinket - a small plastic baby symbolising the baby Jesus. My friend, M, a teacher tells me it is a tradition to bring King cakes to school and whoever finds the baby in their piece has to bring the next King Cake. 

A King Cake - baby in centre

 The New Orleans Mardi Gras, as we know it, began in the 1850s with the first parade by the Krewe of Comus and is these days, a highly efficient and regulated event. For example no advertising material is allowed and costume is to be worn at all times on the float. Costume consists of a hat, mask and tunic (no little spangly shorts involved!). As I discovered, being a float rider is both hot and dirty work so the costume serves a practical purpose apart from preserving the anonymity of the rider!

Mardi Gras is not just one parade on one day, a whole  parade season begins two weeks before Mardi Gras day with daily parades. No parades now go through the French Quarter itself - the main route is St. Charles Avenue and down Canal Street. Many parishes (local council areas) in New Orleans have their own local parades as well. 

A KREWE is a social grouping,  each responsible for the organisation of its own parade. There are at least 50 Krewes in New Orleans. Some are all women, many just all men (the more traditional Krewes), some are for African Americans (Krewe of Zulu - although I was astonished to see that some of the riders in Zulu were white people in black face!). Our own Krewe, the Krewe of Morpheus is a comparative newcomer, formed in 2002 and being a "co-ed" Krewe, meaning both men and women can be members. More on Morpheus later!

While each Krewe has its own King and Queen, there is one King for the whole Mardi Gras Season, called Rex. The Krewe of Rex and the Krewe of Zulu, the two oldest and (arguably) the most important of Krewes are the only Krewes to parade on Mardi Gras day. The Krewe of Morpheus parades on the Friday night before Mardi Gras day and is the last Krewe to parade, commencing officially at 7.00 pm,  following the Krewes of Hermes and d'Etat.

Morpheus Throws

"Throws". Originally these were glass beads, a rather expensive option leading to alternatives such as Coconuts (wouldn't want to be hit by one of them!) which still form part of the Zulu tradition. In addition to the coloured plastic beads of every shape, size and description, each Krewe has its own merchandise (soft toys, plastic cups etc.) and doubloons (aluminium coins). These items are thrown from the floats into the waiting (and expectant crowd). "Throw me something mister..." is a catch cry of the parade. A note...the items are purchased by the individual float riders. 

Bourbon Street crowd waiting for throws

Finally a word on Bourbon Street. As I said, the parades themselves no longer enter the old French Quarter, but Mardi Gras celebrations are firmly centred on Bourbon Street, where revellers, some masked and costumed and clutching a vile green drink called a Hand Grenade, celebrate into the night. Party goers line the balconies of the beautiful old buildings tossing throws into the crowd below. This is where things get interesting and the "tradition" of flashing for throws is to be seen. 

So now, dear readers, you have some of the background to Mardi Gras...watch this space for Part 2 (on Wednesday) and my own experience of riding a float in the 2013 New Orleans Mardi Gras!

Alison waiting to ride Float 16....

REUNITED WITH OLD FRIENDS

Thirteen years ago we moved to Singapore. Like most of our possessions our books were packed away and put into storage. When we returned we found our bookshelf space had become more restricted, so several boxes of paperbacks were consigned to the loft where they have remained.

It was only because I was looking for one particular book (True History of the Kelly Gang by Peter Carey) that I knew was in a box in the loft, that I pulled them all down this afternoon. Of course the book I sought was in the bottom of the last box and by the time I had unpacked all three boxes I knew I didn't have the heart to return them to the loft so here they are stacked willy nilly on to my recently re-ordered book shelves.

As I picked each one up, a thousand memories came flooding back...

• The complete set of Thomas Hardy that I read in a binge during my second year exams at university.
• The Mists of Avalon, read on my honeymoon
• The Angel of Darkness by Caleb Carr read on a particularly lovely beachside holiday with my children and their cousin.
•  The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver, read by torchlight on a trek in Nepal.
• Great Expectations, Charles Dickens, studied at school in Year 12
• My grandmother's much battered original Penguin Books edition of The Edwardians by Vita Sackville West (1937)
• A Passage to India, E.M. Forster, another Year 12 book
• John Irving's Hotel New Hampshire and A Prayer for Owen Meany which everybody was reading at the time (early 80s).



My grandmother's 1937 edition

• Elspeth Huxley's The Mottled Lizard, continuing her story of life in colonial Kenya

Of course there are my husband's early Tom Clancys, Chris Ryans and a large number of Leon Uris.

I love my Kindle and now buy nearly all my "ephemeral" books as ebooks, but as I turned the dusty pages of these old friends, books I have held on to through my lifetime, it made me realise how many memories are tied up in the yellowing, brittle pages of these old books. Just seeing them back on the shelf, albeit in a haphazard order, makes me smile. Like dear ones, they are home where they belong.

What books are your keepers?

Anita Seymour and her Royalist Rebel

It is my great pleasure this week to announce the release of fellow Hoyden, Anita Seymour's wonderful new book, ROYALIST REBEL

I can't quite remember how Anita and I "met" but our mutual passion for all things seventeenth century led to us co-founding Hoydens and Firebrands, a blog devoted just to the seventeenth century. 

Like me, Anita, has struggled to find a place for her seventeenth century stories (writing as Anita Davison - Duking Days and Duking Days Rebellion) so I was thrilled to learn that Pen and Sword had contracted her fictionalised story of the real life Elizabeth Murray. The English Civil War spawned amazing stories of resilient women, left alone to defend their homes against the "enemy", who quite possibly, had been until recently good friends and neighbours. 

..but I'll let the official blurb do the talking. 

Royalist Rebel by Anita Seymour

Intelligent, witty and beautiful, Elizabeth Murray wasn’t born noble; her family’s fortunes came from her Scottish father’s boyhood friendship with King Charles. As the heir to Ham House, their mansion on the Thames near Richmond, Elizabeth was always destined for greater things.

Royalist Rebel is the story of Elizabeth’s youth during the English Civil War, of a determined and passionate young woman dedicated to Ham House, the Royalist cause and the three men in her life; her father William Murray, son of a minister who rose to become King Charles’ friend and confidant, the rich baronet Lionel Tollemache, her husband of twenty years who adored her and John Maitland, Duke of Lauderdale, Charles II’s favourite.

With William Murray at King Charles’ exiled court in Oxford, the five Murray women have to cope alone. Crippled by fines for their Royalist sympathies, and besieged by the Surrey Sequestration Committee, Elizabeth must find a wealthy, non-political husband to save herself, her sisters, and their inheritance.

  

Royalist Rebel by Claymore Books, an imprint of Pen and Sword, is released on 31st January 2013. Visit the Pen and Sword Website or Amazon to purchase the book. It is available on pre-order.

For a little background on the novel, see:

• Anita’s Royalist Rebel Book Blog
• The NationalTrust Website of Elizabeth Murray’s former home, Ham House, at Petersham near Richmond, Surrey
• Anita’s "Disorganised Author" Blog

Here's cheers to a successful book, Anita :-)

Australian Romance Reader Awards

GATHER THE BONES has been nominated as a finalist in the Historical category of the Australian Romance Readers Awards.

“A writer only begins a book. A reader finishes it.” 

 - Samuel Johnson

The Australian Romance Readers Awards is a completely reader nominated contest. It's not a contest where I paid an entry fee and sent off my books with my fingers crossed. To be nominated as a finalist in this award means that readers went online and nominated my book to be considered as a finalist and the same readers will go online and vote. That's why it means so much!

Without readers I could not be a writer. Oh yes, I would probably still be scribbling away in notebooks (of the physical and digital variety) but without someone to read what I wrote, I could not possibly call myself a writer.

We put ourselves on the line when we release a book. How will it be received? Will anyone read it?...Will they like it? A writer is a writhing mixture of self doubt and fear.

What this nomination means for me as a writer is that I have touched readers and that is the greatest thrill a writer can have.

On Goodreads, GATHER THE BONES has 26 ratings and 14 reviews - some are from reviewers but most are from readers. Some of the comments that have touched me include: 

"The story... well that just blew me away."

"Oh, my goodness. What a wonderful read, I loved this. It had everything I want in a good book. An historical setting, a paranormal theme, attractive if slightly flawed characters."

"I was so sad to finish this book. This book took me 1 night to finish as I couldn't put it down. "

So, from me to you...Thank you, readers...! 

And if you would like to know more about GATHER THE BONES and read an excerpt, click HERE

“Readers, not critics, are the people who determine a book's eventual fate.” 

― Edward Abbey, Postcards from Ed: Dispatches and Salvos from an American Iconoclast

New Year Downunder

It hits the day after Christmas...a complete change of pace. Here in the great south land, we go from a frenetic December filled with Christmas preparations and end of year work commitments, culminating in the great day, to holiday mode.

It's as if everyone heaves a collective sigh of relief and just switches into relaxation with a summer of cricket, tennis and holidays looming. The world will not resume in earnest until February.

This year I have had the pleasure of DH's company (that's Darling Husband) for the two weeks of Christmas and New Year. We...or should I say, I...started with a long to do list but as the days have slipped past with lazy mornings and long evenings, the temptation to do very little has kicked in. We've lingered over the paper, done the summer quiz and pottered in the garden. I have knocked down the worst of the spider's webs in an instinctive hark back to my northern English heritage and the importance of a clean house for new year, scanned a few negatives, done a bit of editing but otherwise accomplished nothing on that long to do list!

Which brings me to the vexed question of New Year's Resolutions. 

Kimberley Turner wrote an excellent post on 13 Resolutions to Make you a More Productive Writer in 2013 which I highly recommend. The point she makes is that setting year long goals sets you up to fail, breaking the tasks down into manageable chunks may be far more productive.

And let's call them "Goals" not "Resolutions".

I also think we need to distinguish between personal and professional goals for the year. 

My perennial personal goal is "to lose weight" and "get fitter".  To make that achievable:

• My goal is to lose 500g per month.
• My goal is to exercise a minimum of 5 days per week and to add incentive I will enter  Run Melbourne in July (5kms)

My professional goals:

• Write a minimum of 10,000 words per week, acknowledging that writing every day is not achievable (sorry, but it's just not!).
• Cut down on my social media addiction. Balance and moderation in everything!
• My  specific writing goals will be shared regularly with my writing group, who keep me honest.

These are small, but, I think, achievable goals for the year and now I have set them down in a public forum, I better aim to achieve them. 

A very happy new year to everyone.

Alison

On the subject of food - Entertaining 80s style

It has been four days since Christmas Day and it seems like I am still cleaning up. Not that I grudge it. I adore Christmas and the opportunity to share the day with my family. This year was extra special because my eldest son announced his engagement on Christmas day...the best Christmas present we could have asked for.

With no extras living at home these days, it falls to DH and myself to work our way through the left overs. Turkey? Ham or...Turkey and Ham? There is cake, mince pies, shortbread biscuits. We could withstand a siege and none of this is doing my future "mother of the bridegroom" figure any good whatsoever.  


Christmas lunch is (generally) at our house. The baton was handed on from my mother many years ago. Everyone pitches in to help with the food...#2 son made the soup, my mother the trimmings for the pudding, #1 son contributed a side dish and my brother and family provide the "nibbles". The result is we all roll away from the table, which I love decorating. The silverware comes out and my best crockery and glasses.

The Christmas lunch table with Alison's nice things 

When it comes to  Christmas Day, I am reminded of a documentary on the Queen (of England). In preparation for the imminent visit of Someone Important, her Maj was throwing a little "Welcome to England" dinner. As she strolled the dining room where battalions of footmen in white gloves were painstakingly laying a table that resembled the landing deck of an aircraft carrier for a multi course dinner party, Her Maj remarked casually, "When one entertains, one does like to get one's nice things out." I feel like that about Christmas Day. It is the one day of the year when my "nice things" come out. Mercifully I do not have to contemplate a 10 course dinner for 50 people or I really would be still washing up.

The Queen's "nice things"

I inherited my dinner set off my grandmother. It came with 24 dinner plates. Obviously my grandmother used to entertain on a scale commensurate with Her Maj. Her many weddings contributed to my stock of "nice things".  A set of 12 fish knives and forks for example. Who uses fish knives and forks these days?

When I was a young bride (back in the 1980s), we entertained often and formally. Weddings in those days generally entailed a good haul of Cristal D'Arque glassware (none of it matching) and Strachan "silverware".  An obligatory fondue set was also de rigeur as a wedding present and I recall a couple of dinner parties which were entirely fondue...starting with the cheese entree, the meat main course and the chocolate dessert. The fondue set (mission brown pottery) still lives in a cupboard in the hope it will one day see a resurgence in fashion. And yes, the fish knives and forks would get the occasional airing.

The Women's Weekly produced two wonderful "Dinner Party" cook books (available on eBay for under $5). Not only were the dishes "doable" but they were set out in whole menus. As we all had the same set of books, our dinner parties had a certain sameness about them (Frozen Grapes featured at quite a few dinner parties).

We spent days in preparation for our dinner parties. Trips to the market were obligatory to  ensure we had just the right ingredients and cheeses (for afters). Dress was formal (in some cases with my former flat mates - black tie).  Guests were carefully selected for compatibility and interest. Seating plans were meticulously calculated and rigidly adhered to. No one seemed to be allergic to anything and the word "low fat" was not even considered ... gluten and butter and cream reigned supreme. A typical "menu" for 4 people from Dinner Party Cookbook #1:

• Smoked Trout Pate
• Steaks with Brandy Cream Sauce
• Vegetable Platter (with buttered lemon sauce)
• Minted Cucumber Salad
• Cherry Rum Cake (topped with cream)

No one seems to give "dinner parties" any more. Are we all too busy? I rather miss those elegant, interesting evenings, planning the perfect menu, the trips to the market, the days of preparation, laying the perfect table and the endless cleaning up afterwards (well maybe I don't miss that bit).

Entertaining these days is so much more casual. We still have friends "over for tea" but the menu tends to be more quick and easy - pastas, curries and roasts, eaten off my every day crockery. In fact I love nothing more than a crowd of people around my table... a lasagna and a huge salad in the middle of the table. Everyone eating, talking and happy.

But at least I have Christmas and an opportunity to "get my nice things out"...

Do you have any memories of entertaining in days gone by?

A brush with history - MR. EVELYN'S ROMAN CHRISTMAS

In honour of the season, one of Ms. Stuart's historical stories from the seventeenth century - Diarist John Evelyn and a Roman Christmas.

While Samuel Pepys is well known to you for his diaries, the diarist  John Evelyn may be less familiar.  

John Evelyn's Diaries

Evelyn was born in 1620 and died in 1707. His diaries cover the great events of the period, such as the death of Cromwell, the Restoration, the Great Fire, the Monmouth Rebellion. It is no surprise that he and Pepys were great friends and references to Pepys frequently occur in his diaries.

Like Pepys his career took off following the Restoration and he was a founder member of the Royal Society.  During the Second Anglo-Dutch War, beginning 28 October 1664, Evelyn served as one of four Commissioners for taking Care of Sick and Wounded Seamen and for the Care and Treatment of Prisoners of War. He had a great interest in horticulture and was a prolific writer on gardens and matters arboreal. His interest in urban design led him to submit plans for the rebuilding of London after the Great Fire and interestingly he wrote the first known treatise on urban pollution:  Fumifugium (or The Inconveniencie of the Aer and Smoak of London Dissipated).

John Evelyn as a young man

As a young man, John Evelyn found himself embroiled in the English Civil War (1642-1648). He served for a short time in the Royalist Army but finding warfare not to his taste, he went abroad to avoid any further involvement. In Italy he studied anatomy and in 1644 visited the English College in Rome where priests were trained for service in England.  

On Christmas Eve 1644 he writes: 

            “...I went not to bed, by reason I was desirous to see the many extraordinary ceremonyes performed then in their Churches, as midnight  Masses and Sermons; so I did nothing all this night except go for church to church with admiration at the multitude of sceanes; and pageantry which the Friers had with all the industry and craft set out to catch the devout women and superstitious sort of people with, who never part with them without droping some money in a vessell set on purpose: But especially observable was the pupetry in the Church of the Minerva, representing the nativity etc.: Thence I went and heard a sermon at the Appolinaire by which time it was morning.

            On Christmas Day, his holyness saying Masse, the Artillery at St. Angelo went off; and all this day was exposed the Cradle of our Lord...”

His diaries contain many references to Christmas over the years, but of them all this is an unusual insight into a celebration of Christmas unknown in England at the time.

  

In honour of Mr. Evelyn, a seventeenth century Christmas recipe...SUGARPLUMS

TO DRIE APRICOCKS, PEACHES, PIPPINS OR PEARPLUMS 

Take your apricocks or pearplums, & let them boile one walme in as much clarified sugar as will cover them, so let them lie infused in an earthen pan three days, then take out your fruits, & boile your syrupe againe, when you have thus used them three times then put half a pound of drie sugar into your syrupe, & so let it boile till it comes to a very thick syrup, wherein let your fruits boile leysurelie 3 or 4 walmes, then take them foorth of the syrup, then plant them on a lettice of rods or wyer, & so put them into yor stewe, & every second day turne them & when they be through dry you may box them & keep them all the year; before you set them to drying you must wash them in a litlle warme water, when they are half drie you must dust a little sugar upon them throw a fine Lawne.
-- Elinor Fettiplace's Receipt Book, 1604 (from Gode Cookery website)

A HAPPY AND SAFE CHRISTMAS AND HOLIDAY SEASON TO YOU ALL

COVER LOVE

Writers often refer to their books as "book babies". Throughout the long gestation from the germ of an idea to the book in the hand, we nurture and dream about our story. The characters come to life, we put them in danger, we rescue them and in our mind's eye we journey with them.

I have written before about "The Mind's Eye" and the challenge of finding just the right title and just the right cover (On TITLES AND COVERS)...the name and the face of your new book baby. It took SECRETS IN TIME a little while to find the right title and I have been waiting with baited breath for the cover. Would it be dashing cavaliers or hospital corridors...?

I am blessed with a publisher who likes to make sure her authors are happy with the covers and the discussion between us about what constitutes a good cover was fascinating.  I remember Stephanie Laurens saying that a great cover reaches out and grabs the reader from the other side of Walmart. In the digital age, a great cover has to stand out as nothing more than a thumbnail. This means the soft focus covers would just blur into insignificance and so I have a wonderful, romantic gold confection for what is, probably, my first 100% unashamedly romantic story.

SECRETS IN TIME will be out on April 1, 2013. For more information about how I came to write this story, see my recent Next Big Thing post which is available HERE.

And from 21-31 December, Lyrical Press has GATHER THE BONES on sale for 75% of the retail price.  Click HERE to go directly to the site.

WRITING IN THE SHADOW OF FIFTY SHADES

Thank  you, Ms. James. The success of your Fifty Shades series has set a new standard in publishing for we struggling writers to aspire to. Now it seems that every publisher wants “hot”, “hotter” or “hottest”. Fantastic news for those who are comfortable writing in that genre and I cheerfully wave and smile at my wonderful writer friends who write in that genre (and much better books than Fifty Shades!). Go for it girls…now is your time.

However not all of us are comfortable either writing or reading about endless ways to get the jiggly bits to connect. Page after page of complex choreography and new and exciting ways to describe the aforesaid jiggly bits.  The human body is a beautiful creation but personally, I find it much more alluring with clothes on, just as I find the slow build to a deserving coming together of two people so much more interesting than jumping each others’ bones the first minute they meet.  It’s what goes on with that big muscle between the ears that fascinates me as a writer (and a reader).

Let me just say I don’t write 'inspirational' stories. My characters do make it into the bedroom and I don’t close the door (or at least not all the way). As one reviewer said of my book,  BY THE SWORD “… is not the rip off your clothes and run through the sprinklers naked kind…” but for the characters it is a hard won and deserved consummation of a deep and abiding love for each other. As that same reviewer said “…It is slow and builds…All this adds to the reality…”

Have we forgotten how wonderful sexual tension can be? That gradual move from initial attraction, the increased heart rate as the object of desire enters the room, the brush of a finger... In the Keira Knightly film of “Pride and Prejudice”, Darcy assists Elizabeth into a carriage, as he turns and walks away the camera moves to his hand…the hand that has just touched hers and you see his fingers curl and flex. That’s all-- a simple gesture,  that would be missed by a casual onlooker, gives such an insight into his feelings. It gives me goosebumps just thinking about it!

The other day I introduced my 16 year old niece to one of my all time favourite films, WITNESS with Harrison Ford. This is a flawed film in some ways but when it comes to 'sexual tension', the following scene does it for me every time. You can cut the tension between them with a knife. Their clothes stay on at all times…they almost come together…

<SPOILER ALERT>

At the risk of spoilers.  Witness is not a romance, it’s primarily a thriller with a love story. There is no HEA for for them as a couple (but certainly the promise of a HEA for her). He says at one point “If we had made love last night either I would have to stay or you would have to leave” .  He can never belong to her world (of the Amish) just as she could never belong to his (tough Philadelphia street cop) but oh, for those few short days they are together, the air crackles and as the film builds to a crescendo they do come together in what has to be the most passionate kiss of all film making time as their yearning for each other reaches a climax...and how they yearn...

The director made a decision before the release of the film to delete the next  scene and we, the viewers, are left to our imaginations as to what follows the kiss… AND IT WORKS. It doesn’t matter that we don’t see the 'rumpy pumpy', what has carried us through the story is the growing attraction between these two characters and it is entirely satisfying.

So where are these stories in today's post Fifty Shades world?  

Surely not every reader wants hot and spicy?
Or am I wrong? Am I swimming against a tide or will the tide turn and the reading (and publishing) world will bore of the choreography of jiggly bits and return to stories that stir the imagination rather than any other part of the anatomy?

My personal feelings on the subject.... ;-)

Readers of the world...UNITE (without touching!)...and tell me what you think about the current trend to hot and spicy?

Maybe I will leave the final word to Ellen de Generes... "They do what with a spatula...?"