Viva la Wednesday!
It’s possible that I’m in a good mood this morning. *bounce bounce bounce*
It’s odd that I am, in fact, because I’m revising, and I might as well be cutting off my own arms and then trying to type by holding them by the bones sticking out of the end and slamming them down on the keyboard — it’s almost that painful. (Wow, that was an unusually gruesome image.) But so many other things have been exciting, it just doesn’t seem to matter.
To wit: last night, Natalie of Radish Reviews settled down for the evening to peruse How To Misbehave and sent me a tweet that said, and I quote, “OH MY GOD THIS BOOK.” Then this morning I saw that author buddy Tamara Morgan had reviewed it with the single word “Unf.” So both of those things make me happy.
Also, yesterday I was honored to see that Romance Novels for Feminists has written a blog post about my “wonky feminism” and About Last Night. Since I self-identify as both wonky and feminist, and since I am a geek, receiving a meta-analytical review of my romance writing is pretty much just . . . *DED*
And, and, I got invited to a local book club and I sent out a review pitch for Strangers on a Train and I saw several glowing reviews of How To Misbehave by smart, lovely people, and my friend Serena came back from being away and we talked about the wee little sad neurotic man who tries to keep us from writing, and my other friend Mary Ann sent me the loveliest thoughts on my work-in-progress that made me weepy, and also I facilitated something nice for her, and I had some cookies, and I was on a podcast with Renee Bernard and got Miranda Neville’s name wrong, I think.
I am surprised that I can even breathe, actually.
But since we’re on the topic of Miranda Neville (WE TOTALLY ARE), I will tell you that I met her at RWA and she’s (a) English, (b) lovely, (c) very nice, (d) has a great rack, and (e) I told her I liked her books but then couldn’t remember which one I’d read and then proceeded to confuse her by telling her how much I liked a book she hadn’t written. Then, back in my room, I looked her up, and I don’t really know what happened next. Possibly I confused her with Meredith Duran again. But the next time I saw her, I said more things about this book I liked that she hadn’t written. She was very polite about it. Then I stared at her boobs, turned red, and fled.*
*I am not someone who tells funny stories about myself to make myself seem relatable. In social situations, I am really normally just fine. Yet somehow all of this actually happened.
It’s kind of a wonder that she talks to me at all anymore, even on Twitter, but she does, and eventually I read her Confessions from an Arranged Marriage, which I liked exceedingly well. So there. Here’s the blurb—
In London after a two-year exile, Lord Blakeney plans to cut a swathe through the bedchambers of the demimonde. Marriage is not on his agenda, especially to an annoying chit like Minerva Montrose, with her superior attitude and a tendency to get into trouble. And certainly the last man Minerva wants is Blake, a careless wastrel without a thought in his handsome head.
The heat and noise of her debutante ball give Minerva a migraine. Surely a moment’s rest could do no harm . . . until Blake mistakes her for another lady, leaving Minerva’s guests to catch them in a very compromising position. To her horror, the scandal will force them to do the unthinkable: marry. Their mutual loathing blazes into unexpected passion but Blake remains distant, desperate to hide a shameful secret. Minerva’s never been a woman to take things lying down, and she’ll let nothing stop her from winning his trust . . . and his heart.
Cecilia Grant recommended this book to me because the heroine is political, and I did enjoy that aspect of the story. She takes politics seriously and comes to believe, after she’s forced to marry this very socially powerful hero for whom she has no esteem, that at least she can make use of her new heft to effect a positive political difference. There are a lot of interesting things happening thematically with power in this story — who has it, how they wield it, and to what extent it’s a gift and a burden.
The hero, who comes across at first as a sort of featherbrained good-time guy, is actually hiding a learning disability that makes it almost impossible for him to read. This is both deeply affecting and, in the context of the novel, a serious problem. He thinks he’s an idiot, and he’s terrified someone will find out. After he starts to fall for his very intelligent wife, he becomes even more terrified. But the threat is bigger, as well, because he could be disgraced, lose his seat in Parliament, and even have his title and estates taken from him if it were to be known that he can barely read and write.
Beautifully done, highly entertaining, highly recommended.
(Ooh! And the ebook edition is only $2.99. I can hear you clicking from here.)