Richebourg the Dwarf: Memoirs of a Spy and His Wetnurse

I love books... writing, reading, collecting. 
The library's used book shop, mixed lot boxes 
at the church rummage sale, dusty shelves in 
remote corners of antique emporiums.

These are a few of my favorite things.

Even as a child I cherished books, although I can't recall too many around the house other than an aging set of Encyclopedia Britannica, some Time Life series collections, and my mother's Harlequin romance novels. I don't know whatever happened to my dog-eared copies of Little Women and Charlotte's Web, may they rest in peace. I sure would love to have them back, but I suspect they are at the bottom of an unknown landfill with my rainbow suspenders, pet rocks, and bellbottom jeans.

I always wanted to be a writer, but I didn't share this dream with anyone, probably because I didn't perceive it as a realistic goal. I might also have feared ridicule. It would have been like saying, "I want to be the first woman president of these here United States."
Too big for my britches, dontcha know.

My mother had the firmly entrenched viewpoint that higher education was a waste of time for girls. My sisters and I would "just get married, have kids, and all that tuition would be wasted." In the event I was unable to snare a good provider, her aspirations for me were secretarial in nature. I staunchly resisted her recommendation that I take typing — now called keyboarding. I had Mad Men-esque visions of myself adrift in a subterranean steno pool, growing old in serviceable shoes and a boxy Chanel knock-off suit, my cat eye glasses fogging with age. I wanted to be a Gloria Steinem, Mom was more of an Anita Bryant. A classic generational schism.

My fledgling attempts to write consisted mainly of staring at a blank sheet of paper for hours on end, desperately trying to think of something to say. I attempted a contemporary romance about a decade ago and made the extremely ill-advised decision to let a couple of friends and acquaintances read it — including several men. Bad idea!

Endless ribbing and humiliating quotations, laser focused on anything hot and heavy. I used the word “moist” at some point and one guy in particular thought it the very height of hilarity. For months he grinningly inserted the word into casual conversation. "It's so hot today. Are you feeling... moist?" The joke got old for me after about five minutes, but he nursed it along for years. Later I wrote a kind of spooky, freaky, 1920s film noir short story about an abused wife going crazy and made the identical bad decision to pass it around. I thought it was very artsy, dark and interesting. (What can I say... I'm a slow learner.) They acted like I was going psycho, like I was a tetchy vagrant in a tinfoil hat, mumbling to myself on the sidewalk.  Now I only request critiques from people I respect and trust not to excoriate me if they find my work lacking. Honest opinion, yes, but hold the battery acid.

Writing has provided me with an excuse to indulge my book addiction. Over the past two years I have added to my modest collection of vintage reference material. My favorites are bound editions of old magazines. While some of the writing is ponderous and sappy — the Victorians liked their prose with extra cheese — the magazines are a wealth of historical ephemera. I came across this wonderful little ditty while researching information about women who followed the drum during the Crimean War. It was off subject, but fascinating.

EXCERPT from NOTES & QUERIES:

“Death of a Dwarf — A dwarf named Richebourg, who was only 60 centimetres (23 1/2 inches high), has just died in the Rue du Four St. Germain, aged 90. He was, when young, in the service of the Duchess d'Orleans, mother of King Louis Philippe, with title of 'butler,' but he performed none of the duties of the office.  After the first revolution broke out he was employed to convey despatches abroad, and, for that purpose, was dressed as a baby, the despatches being concealed in his cap, and a nurse being made to carry him.  For the last 25 years he lived in the Rue du Four, and during all that time never went out.  He had a great repugnance to strangers, and was alarmed when he heard the voice of one; but in his own family he was very lively and cheerful in his conversation. The Orleans family allowed him a pension of 3,000f. — Galignani's Messenger.”

Now come on! You couldn't make that up! I shared this with my husband Jeff and he made some extremely inappropriate comments about Richebourg, razor stubble, and his wetnurse. For reasons of propriety, I'll not share them here. Suffice it to say they were hilarious.

* * *

Visit Kate's website for the latest information on her books: http://www.kateworth.com/
You can find her on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/KateWorth.Romance
Send her a tweet @KateWorth2 or email her at KateWorthRomance@yahoo.com


The Promise is available at Amazon at the following links:
Kindle: http://www.amazon.com/The-Promise-ebook/dp/B008CALKQI/
Paperback: http://www.amazon.com/The-Promise-A-Love-Story/dp/147768512X/

* * *

Look for Juli D. Revezzo's book, The Artist's Inheritance, coming in August:

When Caitlin and Trevor settle into their new home, strange changes come over Trevor. He grows obsessed with a beautiful chair he's carving. 

Then nightmares deepen and ghostly manifestations call to Caitlin. She knows something’s not right, and not just her newfound precognitive abilities. It’s the damned chair, she’s sure. Is it merely a mundane piece of furniture? If so, why is it attracting dark forces—forces brought about by an ancestral curse? The same dark forces that drove Trevor’s siblings to insanity and suicide.

Before Trevor's obsession leads to something far more deadly, Caitlin must convince him to sell the chair. But armed with only a handful of allies, and little experience of the supernatural, she must proceed with caution against the gathering hellish forces. If she succeeds, she will break their family’s ancestral curse. If she fails, she may lose forever the one person she cares about most: her beloved Trevor. 

Image, top right: Clipping from an engraving of Jacob Ries in court attire, circa 1710.

Tossed From a Turret Onto a Field of Rusty Pikes

The Promise went up this week on Amazon.com!

A literary agent in California and I have been waltzing since winter. She cut me loose last week with the explanation that, while she liked my story concept and felt I was a talented writer, she was still teetering on the fence. The market with the big publishers is extremely tight, she said; a book has to have a stand-out hook, some fresh, unusual new twist to grab their attention.  Not as easily done in the historical category as it is in some other genres. (I flashed back to my blog about werewolf PMS. A missed opportunity, I wonder?) Throughout the process, she made numerous excellent suggestions about building romantic tension and suspense, and I gladly revised my MS accordingly.

I spent several anxiety-filled weeks after each resubmission waiting like a battle-weary gladiator on his knees in the Colosseum. Would I get a thumbs up, or a thumbs down? Stay cool, girl. Don't email her every five seconds like a child on the way to the beach. "Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet?"  After each round, she was always optimistic and supportive, but only offered more comments and never made a firm commitment to represent me.

And so it went until I received an email containing that most dreaded of phrases. After careful consideration, she wrote, "I regret that I am going to have to pass on this one."

Oh, blackest day!  Oh, bitter fate!  I was dashed on the rocks of despair, tossed from a turret onto a field of rusty pikes. I stumbled about in the wilderness of self-doubt and self-loathing in a daze, eviscerated, devastated, disappointed beyond measure. I hadn't realized until that moment how emotionally invested I was in the fantasy of walking into Barnes & Noble and finding The Promise in the romance section, complete with glamor-shot-that-makes-me-look-like-a-Manhattan-realtor inside the back cover. My mother would have been so proud! My children could brag that I was a published author! The countless hours I had spent in front of my computer over the past year and a half would finally pay off!

I succumbed to a fit of vapors and called my husband so he could console me in my darkest hour. Instead, he slapped some sense into me over the phone. An eternal optimist, he never allows me to wallow for long.  

"That's great!" he said with so much enthusiasm that I almost hopped into my car and drove into town just so I could punch him. I was upset (damnit!) and not at all in the mood for his chronic positivity.

"I've been reading a lot about indie publishing and frankly I find it really exciting to think about putting this one out ourselves. I'm almost glad they didn't take you on." This I recognized as a blatant falsehood, but he was keeping a stiff upper lip for my sake, so I let it pass.

"Really?"

"Really!  Think about it; the entire publishing industry is changing and you're fortunate to be launching your novel writing career at a very exciting time.  Never have authors had so much control over their own work.  I've been wanting to try self publishing for ages.  There are a lot of really good reasons to do it yourself."

"But you don't understand," I whined, hesitant to end my pity party before it was absolutely necessary.  "I am bummed.  Bummed, I tell you!  I've been sobbing all morning."  A shameless exaggeration.

"Did you enjoy it?" he asked unsympathetically.

"Well... yes," I thought about it for a moment.  "Yes, I did."

"Good.  Now it's time to move on."

And so I changed out of my tear-drenched pajamas and got dressed. To illustrate how serious I was, I even put on a bra and earrings. Then I began to explore my options in earnest.

This weekend I formatted and uploaded my book to Smashwords. If it hadn't been for a small glitch that took me hours to trouble shoot (a frustrating snafu related to a hidden font, grrrrrrrrr...) then it wouldn't have taken long at all. I had my cover design done already, but they have tools available to do it yourself. If you want to take a peek at mine, go to smashwords and click on the cover thumbnail to see a larger version. After it has been reviewed, the book will go up on Barnes & Noble, Apple's book store, and many other on-line retailers, libraries, etc... And all this cost me nothing but my time and debatable talent. Astonishing!

Next I went to CreateSpace and set up the print version of my book for Amazon. Then I went through the process to list the kindle version on Amazon. If all goes well, both print-on-demand and kindle versions should be up in the next week or so. I can't say this was entirely painless, but it was far easier than I expected.

Have I abandoned all hope of finding the perfect agent for me and going the traditional route? No, but I'm glad I went through the process of publishing my own work this time. If you're thinking about writing a romance, a how-to about beekeeping, or a political rant, whatever... my advice would be to go for it. It's never been easier to get your work out there.

I have to end with a plug for Kevan Lyon and Jill Marsal at the Marsal Lyon Literary Agency.  Even though I'm disappointed they didn't take on The Promise, they were endlessly encouraging and helpful.  They actually respond to emails (shocking!) and were ruthlessly upbeat and generous with their advice and gentle criticism. Their love of books and fondness for writers came through with every interaction.  They can be found at marsallyonliteraryagency.

* * *

Visit Kate's website for the latest information on her books: http://www.kateworth.com/

You can find her on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/KateWorth.Romance

Send her a tweet @KateWorth2 or email her at KateWorthRomance@yahoo.com

The Promise is available at Amazon at the following links:

Kindle: http://www.amazon.com/The-Promise-ebook/dp/B008CALKQI/

Paperback: http://www.amazon.com/The-Promise-A-Love-Story/dp/147768512X/

One last thing... I came across this wonderful, subversive, snarky, entertaining article by indie author Jessica Park entitled How Amazon Saved My Life. She wrote Relatively Famous, and her most recent work, indie published on Amazon.com, is entitled Flat-Out Love.  Go to: indiereader.com. She talks about Barry Eisler who famously turned down a six-figure deal with St. Martin's Press to go indie.  

Flying By The Seat of My Pants at 200 Miles Per Hour

Before I begin, I would like to make it perfectly clear that I am

completely unqualified to give advice to anybody at any time about anything.

I finished my first manuscript recently and entered the "marketing phase" of my endeavor. It has been exciting, depressing, discouraging, frustrating, and a whole lot of other -ings. But most of all revealing. In the course of trying to figure out what in the H-E-double-toothpicks I'm doing, I've made some errors and I've done a few things right (although that remains to be seen, I suppose).

In a nutshell, I'm out here flying by the seat of my pants at two-hundred miles per hour without a map.  So far I've skinned my knees a few times, but I've managed to avoid colliding with any large, immovable objects. I share the following nuggets o' wisdom gleaned from my journey thus far. 

First thing I did right: I read. A lot. 

I read blogs by my favorite authors, inhaled advice posted on literary agent sites, poured over articles in writing magazines, studied news about trends in romantic fiction, market share within genres, traditional vs. indie publishing. I bought books about the craft of writing romances, The First Five Pages, The Joy of Writing Sex (wow!) and tomes on character development, as well as the "Smart Bitches" very funny and illuminating book, Beyond Heaving Bosoms. 

Lesson Learned: Reading is good.

First thing I did wrong: I read. A lot. 

Statistics can really make you question the wisdom of writing word one. The sheer number of novels written each year is staggering. The comparatively tiny number that ever get published is depressing. Some agents receive thousands of queries each month. How in the world can they give each one a thorough reading? The answer: they can't. Not really. They have become adept at weeding out the obvious rubbish and marginal ideas quickly (since I didn't hear back from quite a few, I fear perhaps...) THEN they rely on instinct and finely honed merde detectors to sort through the rest. Apparently you have to grab 'em and grab 'em quick. Excellent concept + excellent query + excellent luck = "I might be interested, send me the first thirty pages."  And that's if you're talented and lucky! How do I know this?  See "First Thing I Did Right" above.  And, even if you win the lottery and catch the interest of das wunderkind agent who reels in a wildly enthusiastic publisher, there's still no guarantee you'll end up on the French Riviera quaffing champagne with Jacques, the stud-muffin who serves cocktails on the lido deck.  His washboard abs glistening with sweat under the hot Mediterranean sun, his firm...  Wait, what was I talking about...?

Lesson Learned: Break out your rose-colored glasses, think positive, and write for the love of it, 'cause there might not be any money waiting at the end of the rainbow.  

Second thing I did right: My own marketing

I'm pretty good with design, so I put together my own website using Dreamweaver. I love that program! There are quite a few good web authoring programs out there, and I'm not familiar with enough of them to say with any confidence that Dreamweaver is the best, but I personally love it and find it easy to use. My copy was included with the Adobe CS bundle which includes Illustrator, Photoshop, and Acrobat Pro. I also designed my own book covers, logo, and blog with blogspot's user-friendly authoring tools. If I can do it, you can do it. Trust me, anybody who knows me will enthusiastically tell you I'm no genius.

Lesson Learned: Not having to pay for services while there is no money coming in is good. If you can't do it, recruit a teenager.  Kids today begin learning this stuff in elementary school.

My garden after frost collapse.

Second thing I did wrong: My own marketing
(Do you see a pattern developing?)

I'm pretty good with design, so I put together my own website, book covers, logos, etc.  I hoped to dazzle prospective agents and/or publishers with my ability to assist them in marketing my work when the time comes. I have gotten some negative feedback on this, however, primarily that I am "misrepresenting" myself. I gather that an unpublished writer should avoid any misconception that they are a published writer.  So I ratcheted back the build-it-and-they-will-come optimism of my first site draft, and toned down the Oprah-Secret-Style approach of sending good thoughts into the Universe.  I'm still sending good thoughts into the Universe, just not as strongly from my site. Other advice I was given: don't highlight other author's books or have anything that directs traffic away from your site.  Another consensus: Write about gardening and what you did on the weekend so your fans will get to know you. I'm not sold completely on this one.  I'm reasonably confident I don't have any fans yet, and I didn't do anything this weekend. And truth be told, my garden was a disgrace this year. By the end of July I had to hose the kids down with Raid and send them in with flashlights, breadcrumbs, and antivenin to search for lingering legumes hidden among the horse nettle and burrs.

Lesson Learned: I haven't the foggiest.

Third thing I did right: Joined WRW, RWA, and VRW

There is marvelous esprit de corps among romance writers. WRW's yahoo chat group is great. It serves as a cheering section, industry news disseminator, social networking site, and more. Members congratulate and commiserate.  It's nice. I'm going to make a meeting in person one day soon.  All I have to do is find something to wear besides pajamas and flip flops.  I wonder... is it good ton to wear plaid flannel to the Christmas party?

Lesson Learned: It's motivating to hear from people on the same journey.

Next week, I'll go over a few interesting questions an agent asked me.  To my chagrin, I hemmed and hawed and was woefully unprepared to answer them.  I felt foolish.  Undoubtedly sounded foolish, too.  Ah, well... 'Tis the story of my life. I'm going to help you cheat by giving you the test ahead of time.

Feedback encouragement questions of the week:

1) Did you enjoy my blog?

2) Do you have anything to add?  If so, please do.

3) Is your garden a perennial disgrace like mine?

IMAGE CREDITS:

Beyond Heaving Bosoms book cover, Courtesy my bookshelf

Frostbitten Weeds Photo, Courtesy my yard

* * *

Visit Kate's website for the latest information on her books: http://www.kateworth.com/

You can find her on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/KateWorth.Romance

Send her a tweet @KateWorth2 or email her at KateWorthRomance@yahoo.com

The Promise is available at Amazon at the following links:

Kindle: http://www.amazon.com/The-Promise-ebook/dp/B008CALKQI/

Paperback: http://www.amazon.com/The-Promise-A-Love-Story/dp/147768512X/

Life's Little PMS Moments

Gave wrong answer to
"Does this make me look fat?"

Read the next two sentences in the voice of Andy Rooney. I don't know why, but it's just more fun.

I've read countless romance novels over the years, but I don't remember ever reading one that featured a PMS moment.  Why is that?

There are plenty of delicate mentions of women's "courses" in romantic fiction, but never any discussion of those dicey, emotionally fraught days leading up to her "monthlies".  Granted, there isn't much romantic about PMS, but the symptoms could provide some funny or suspenseful plot devices.

Jim Carrey's classic SNL skit about a PMS Hotline 

illustrates this.  It's one of my all-time favorites.

  

Here's a video link:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ho5UvzNZC2o 

Apparently PMS is also a fact of life for insects. I snapped this shot of a Praying Mantis casually dismembering her paramour on my back porch last summer.

The Mantis Method of ending affairs is highly efficient.  One brief postcoital picnic, and you're done.  No need to change the locks or decide who gets custody of mutual friends. No restraining orders. I had long ago learned that this was the Mantis Way, but it was nevertheless unsettling to witness the chow-down firsthand. I wonder when he first realized there would be no spooning... and was his last thought, "God, she was worth it!"  

(I hope so; that would be so romantic!)

           

 Suggested breast augmentation surgery.

Note: The hammer has not changed in 300 years.

For the sake of realism, I think it's high time PMS was introduced into scenes at Almack's.  

“Lord Pifflewaithe, I thought I made myself abundantly clear.  I do not prefer cloves in my ratafia!”  She mutters behind her fan, "Sodding nodcock!” Then she "accidentally" drenches his Hessians with the offending beverage...  

In Hyde Park our wild-eyed heroine launches herself from a galloping curricle, dives into the duke's landau, and bitch-slaps a saucy minx for giving her the cut direct at a ball...

Other possible scenes... A courtesan, vexed upon receiving her conge via footman (sans de rigueur separation baubles), slips her moorings and rampages through White's, tearing sconces off the walls...  

A premenstrual costermonger goes berserk and fatally brains our villain (a former Bow Street Runner addled by syphilis-induced dementia) 

with a Golden Delicious.  

Marsha on the day in question.  (Just kidding!)

Think about it.  That's all I'm saying.

The trick would be to adapt modern examples to the past.  I offer a true story from my actual life.  I arrived at work one morning to find my boss Marsha staring down at the commuter lot from our third floor office window.  Marsha looked for all the world as if she wished she had a high-powered rifle. As you can imagine, I was frightened.  I tried to slip quietly into my cubicle, but I was 18 months pregnant, and therefore quite ungainly. My outie bellybutton upended a rolodex. 

Her head snapped around and she pierced me with the eyes of a chupacabra.  “Did you ever wake up and wish you had a mouse to kill?” she asked without the slightest trace of humor.  I've never forgotten that question.  Those thirteen little words summed up her feelings in a way every woman on earth could relate to.

I think it would be easiest for writers of sci-fi and paranormal fantasy romance to work PMS into their plot lines. Buff, butt-kicking alpha heroines could use it to their advantage in obvious ways. I don't think goddesses or vampires would suffer from PMS.  Well, maybe Hera.  I'm on the fence with faeries, sprites, and mermaids.  Trolls, ogres, witches, are a no-brainer. Now, she-werewolves... oh my!  Werewolf PMS would be an awesome thing to behold!

Well, those are all my thoughts on the subject of historical PMS.  This is my very first blog ever, with the notable exception of one very long-winded, ill-considered, extremely rabid political rant about four years ago. My phone is probably still being tapped and I may be on a no-fly list.  (Come to think of it, I may have been PMSing at the time).

I have been reading other author blogs, and it seems to be the thing to do to ask questions to encourage feedback.  So here are my questions:

1) Did you enjoy my blog?

2) Do you fear for my sanity?

3) Would you like to share an amusing PMS story?  If so, please do.

4) My use of parenthetical observations annoys my best friend Kathy.  Does it annoy you?

DISCLAIMER:  I would just like to say at this point that I'm a card-carrying feminist. I'm not being disloyal, nor is it my intention to perpetuate negative sexist stereotypes; I just have a sense of humor.

IMAGE CREDITS:

Judith With Head of Holofernes, by Lucas Cranach the Elder, Circa 1500s

Jael & Sisera (Lady with Hammer), Gregoria Lazzarini, Circa 1700s, posted on wikipedia

Praying Mantis Photo, Courtesy My Hydrangea Bush, Circa Last Summer

Chupacabra Photo (Or Possibly Just an Ugly Dog), Date Unknown, Courtesy www.frogcitycheese.com

* * *

Visit Kate's website for the latest information on her books: http://www.kateworth.com/

You can find her on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/KateWorth.Romance

Send her a tweet @KateWorth2 or email her at KateWorthRomance@yahoo.com

The Promise is available at Amazon at the following links:

Kindle: http://www.amazon.com/The-Promise-ebook/dp/B008CALKQI/

Paperback: http://www.amazon.com/The-Promise-A-Love-Story/dp/147768512X/