Tuesday, July 2, 2019

Let's Talk About... New Book Anxiety

Scene

It begins with a search for a home theater projector. Yesterday was full of productive home-cleaning activity, and the venom of the Improvement Bug bite is a powerful stimulant. My ninth wedding anniversary is next month. My husband has been eyeing a projector for our bedroom ever since we tried one in our Rome Airbnb back in May. A great gift idea, wouldn't you say?

Not so when you have severe buyer's anxiety. After an hour, I was feeling the burnout from searching for a quality product at a price that didn't make my stomach churn. So I checked in with Writing Twitter to see the latest buzz and distract myself from my failure.

I came across a tweet from an author I'd never heard of, an excited announcement about the acquisition and publication of her latest fantasy duology. Magic, a historical setting, and apparently similar to something she had already written with those same characteristics. Curious, I went back to Amazon and looked up the first book in the author's current series. A great description, a fascinating premise, and even a glowing recommendation from Brandon Sanderson, an author I love and respect. The cherry on the sundae? The Kindle edition was on a huge sale.

Then my stomach began churning again. "What's the big deal? This is nowhere near as expensive as buying a projector! Get it together!" I told myself. But of course, I knew what was really going on. This wasn't buyer's anxiety... this was something else, something much worse when you are an author and supposedly someone who loves to read. This was...

NEW BOOK ANXIETY

I don't know why I struggle so much with reading new books. I should love the idea of jumping into a fresh world and meeting new characters. Honestly, I do love it... but it still makes me nervous. It's like when you're watching a movie and something really terrible is happening to the main character, and you're on edge because you don't know how the story is going to come right again. Books give me that too, only stronger and before I even read the first page. Is it fear of what I'll find within the pages? Fear the quality will be poor? Fear of falling in love with the characters only to see them suffer an unsatisfactory resolution? Whatever it is, it makes investing in a new book and a new author terribly difficult.

My typical solution for this is to go to the library. Perhaps my buyer's anxiety plays a little into my new book anxiety, because borrowing a book from the library makes me feel less nervous about the situation. I wouldn't say I am a person who lacks commitment, but somehow expending the resource of time (by reading) feels more doable than expending the resource of money. Thing is, if I love the book, it will absolutely be purchased and added to my collection. I believe in supporting writers who inspire me. It's the initial step off the cliff that holds me back.

Today's story ends happily. Instead of reaching for my library's website, I decided to take that step off the cliff. Reader, I bought the book. And you know what? I feel pretty good about it.

Friday, June 14, 2019

Let's Talk About... Writer's Block

Scene.

It's Friday afternoon. My kids are happily playing without needing my input. The house doesn't look too much like it was hit by a tornado. Now is the moment! I go to the computer, settle into my chair, and open the Google Doc with my current writing project. This second draft is getting close to being done. I've been excited about the direction the edit is taking, and if this session goes well, I'll be ready to move on to another story and hand this one over to some beta readers. My hands hover over the keyboard and...

I hit it. The wall. The one scrawled with two stark words.


WRITER'S BLOCK


Is it ironic that I'm writing a blog post about not being able to write? Yes. I'm doing it anyway, because writing something new is one of my proven methods for beating writer's block when it shoves its way into my brain. If you're a writer, you've probably found yourself struggling with similar feelings. Maybe you were really excited about the concept of your MS, but have since run into a plot snag that won't come unraveled. Maybe this is your fourth revision and you're struggling to find things to improve. Or maybe you're feeling the pressure of using your "free moment" to full effect.

Whatever the cause of your writer's block, you can and will write again.


The first trick is learning to accept that you may not always feel ready or able to write when a "moment" presents itself. That's okay! Most of us aren't even on a deadline (other than the one we've put on ourselves). We don't need to beat ourselves up for taking time away from writing to manage other parts of our lives, or even to just have a break.

Letting projects simmer on the back burner is a time-tested method that I find improves the overall quality of my work. (Archimedes, anyone?) I can stir and add and worry and fret, but my story pot will never bubble with new ideas--or fresh takes on current ones--unless I leave it alone, covered and on medium, until all the pieces are soft enough to mix together.

But shouldn't I be writing all the time if I want to improve my craft? Who says I'm not? I'm a dreamer by nature, and my story ideas are definitely things I daydream about. They keep me company while I fold laundry and wash dishes and build train tracks for my toddler. Eventually they take me by the hand and show me where they need to go, and then I write.

Make no mistake, however. A cluttered mind is not the same as letting stories simmer on the back burner of your subconscious. How can I immerse myself in creating a new world when the current world is shouting for attention? The answer--for me, anyway--is that I can't.


I want to write, but those bathrooms need to be cleaned. I want to write, but what about making dinner? Writing! But also cleaning the garage!


Does this sound like you? Does this happen a lot when you sit down to write? If it does, here's my second trick: make progress on other parts of your life before starting a writing session.

Admittedly, I'm still working on this one. I like to put off doing tasks I don't enjoy, and telling myself I'm developing my author career sounds a lot nicer than admitting my time is going to Twitter or Pinterest. Ultimately, though, every time I've done something to improve a different part of my life, my ability to focus on writing has also improved. That "I've earned this" feeling is a powerful one for me. I deserve to take time for my writing because I worked and didn't procrastinate something else.

Decluttering my mind also happens when I write something down that I hadn't "planned" to write. With the plot and distraction bunnies snacking on their own page, my brain is free to find new insights and make new connections. My MS may be simmering on the back burner, but I do need to keep an eye on it so it doesn't spoil, and putting other ideas in their own pot keeps everything cooking along nicely. This is my third trick.

I've actually hit writer's block with the blog post, if you can believe it. Since that's the case, I'm going to wrap it up here. Maybe I'll clean a bathroom or fold some laundry. Whatever I do, I know I won't be putting myself down for not writing.



Ta-da!

I walked away from this blog post and remembered something I wanted to add! Another trick I like for beating writer's block also applies to finding more time to write.

Writing takes focus, and I find my best writing happens under two conditions: when I'm wide awake and uninterrupted. There's really no point in trying to write during the afternoon. Sure, my toddler may be napping, but my brain is fuzzy with afternoon fog. I won't make anything like meaningful progress when I'm wishing I could be napping too.

Figure out which conditions allow you to produce your best writing, both in terms of quality and quantity, and write when you can meet those conditions. They'll be different for everyone, so I won't tell you that good writing only happens when the moon is three-quarters full and you've eaten your way through half a package of Twizzlers. I will say that my best writing happens in the early morning, when I'm fresh and laser-focused and the house around me is quiet. Writing like this shifts the focus from "finding more time" to writing more in less time.

That's it for now! Time to actually clean that bathroom...

Monday, June 10, 2019

Two Short Stories on Amazon

Did you know I have two short stories out on Amazon alongside my full-length novel? Well, I do! Check them both out at the links below!





Originally a finalist in the user-run 2018 "Under the Sea" competition on Wattpad, "Dangerous Waters" tells the tale of Sarah, a survivor of Pearl Harbor, as she faces her deepest fears to protect her new home... and her new and mysterious love, Vand. This short story takes place in 1942 on the coast of Massachusetts, at the height of the WWII German U-boat campaign.







Simon has met the girl of his dreams. Beautiful, kind, and incredibly wise, Odette is the kind of girl Simon no longer believed existed. There are just two problems: Odette is under a curse, and the man who cursed her is the most influential political financier in all of Boston.

Set in the heart of modern-day Boston, this short story is a retelling of the ending to Tchaikovsky's classic ballet, "Swan Lake," and was originally featured in the "Thirty Tales of Spring" Anthology on Wattpad.


Apple Blossoms: A Regency Fairytale -- Exclusive Sneak Peek!

Hello There!

After a long hiatus, I'm back in the writer's chair and working hard on edits to "Apple Blossoms," the second novel in my historical fairytale genre series. The first draft has been temporarily removed from my Wattpad account to prevent confusion between new and old.

The story is getting a serious overhaul in a lot of areas. My villains are changing places, I'm cutting a good deal of fluff, and aiming to bring the whole project in at under 90k words! "Glass Roses," my first story in this particular style, is around 110k words. At the time I thought this was a decent word count--50k words for each heroine, the length of a short novel devoted to each main character. This time, however, I decided to set myself a challenge. Could I tell an equally engaging story in a shorter amount of space? Could I rein in the sprawl, tighten my focus, and deliver a better piece of work than before?

So far, I think it's working. For your enjoyment, I present the new version of Margaret Kingston's coming out ball at Almack's.

** Big thank you to my friend and critique partner Rebecca Mildren for her brave tackling of the original draft in all its messy, confused glory, and for giving me loads of incredible feedback. Follow her here to stay up to date with her latest work! **


26 March, 1818
14 Weston Place, London

Dear Bianca,

We attended the ball at Almack’s last night, and it was not at all the experience I anticipated. Do forgive me if my letter is over-long; my mind is so full that my relation of events might become a little confused if I do not take care to be detailed. You requested details, did you not?
My gown was the first surprise of the evening. Instead of the usual crepe or tulle, Mother ordered the gown to be made up in white silk. Oh Bianca, it is the most exquisite thing I have ever seen! Every inch of it is embroidered with fine gold thread, and golden lace lines the neck and sleeves. When Ruth laid it upon the bed, I could hardly take my eyes from it.

“I want you to look your best, my love,” Mother said, resting a hand on my shoulder as I fingered the smooth fabric. “Your father had these made for you as well.” She gestured for Ruth to bring forward a small box. I opened the lid to see a glittering ornament of gold and diamonds laid upon deep blue velvet, surrounded by a necklace of gold set round with more diamonds. “Everyone who sees you tonight will be unable to forget the high place you hold in society, and all of the distinction it entails.”

“I fear I shall not do justice to such beautiful gifts, Mother,” I said quietly, handing her the box again. “This is a gown for a princess, not a girl in her first Season. Will I not appear to be overstating my importance?”

Mother smiled gently at me. “Perhaps I have been a little extravagant in our preparations, but you are descended from royalty, and I intend for the Ton to remember it.” She touched my cheek in a comforting manner, then went to dress herself.

Mother’s gown was a deep amethyst, also in silk, with cream lace edging and golden embroidery on the bodice and hem. Father wore dark breeches and a matching coat, an amethyst waistcoat with gold buttons, and a gold-colored cravat (accompanied by some grumbling about being required to leave off his military uniform for what he called “frippery”). Against their darker tones, my gown appeared to glow slightly as we descended from the carriage and entered the building.

The whole Ton must have turned out for the ball; it was crowded to the point of being stifling. Father led the way, Mother on his arm, and bowed his head to their various acquaintance as we proceeded into the ballroom. The press of people seemed to part before us with remarkable ease, and I felt as though a thousand eyes were watching my every movement. I did my best to smile and imitate Mother’s graceful easiness of manner, though I must admit to having clutched my reticule rather harder than necessary to keep from appearing anxious.

Within moments of entering the ballroom, Caroline Graham approached me in a swirl of pale blue satin. (You remember my mentioning Miss Graham, do you not? Her mother was at school with mine, and we are quite close friends. She came out last Season.)

“Oh Margaret! How utterly divine you look!” she said enthusiastically the moment she was within earshot. Her mother, Lady Graham, smiled at me as she glided elegantly past us toward my parents. I dipped a curtsey to her before turning my attention back to her daughter.

“How good it is to see you, Caroline! Are you just arrived from Kent? How does everyone there do?”
“Well enough, thank you. The only exciting news is that Mr. Copley and his brother have left their scientific experiments long enough to actually come to town this spring. Mama thinks Mr. Copley has at last decided to find a wife. But I do not want to discuss Mr. Copley,” Caroline added, slipping her arm through mine and drawing me further down the room as she spoke. “I would much rather be guessing how many men will be dying of love for you by the end of the evening.”

“Caroline, I beg you would not say such things,” I said, blushing at her words. “You know perfectly well I have no desire to make anyone do any such thing.”

“You shall not have a choice in the matter,” she replied happily, glancing around the room. “Look, the Duke of Wiltshire has already noticed you. And Lord Quincy too. The Duke is a little old, I grant you, but Lord Quincy is handsome, is he not? Which do you think will ask you to dance first?”

“I am entirely indifferent to the matter,” I said, somewhat surprised. “Caroline, you are quite altered since last year. You have certainly always enjoyed balls, but I do not recall you being so eager to make matches.”

“Oh, I am altered indeed, Margaret, as are you,” she replied with a look of amusement. “We are both of an age to marry now. Do you not find the entire concept of the Season diverting now that the possibility of actually making a match is open? Before it was all proper manners and placid conversation; now we are free to speculate and flirt and be as interesting as we choose!”

“You do not seriously intend to… flirt, do you?” I asked, a little aghast.

Caroline shook her head energetically. “Good heavens, no! But I do intend to take great enjoyment from watching others do so.” She smiled broadly as the musicians at the other end of the hall began to tune their instruments. “Shall we see which gentleman Lady Cowper chooses to present to you first? I predict it will be Lord Quincy, but the Duke will have convinced her to allow him to claim you for the dance before supper, so he may remain longer in your company.”

“You are talking nonsense, Caroline.” I sighed, though I could not help smiling a little at her infectious enthusiasm. She has always been high-spirited, and although her chosen topic was not much to my liking, I was at least grateful she was playfully speculating rather than actively matchmaking.

 We paused about halfway down the room so Caroline could better watch the company. “I wonder if the Marquis of Halford is attending this evening. They say he is even more handsome than Lord Quincy, and vastly wealthy. He has been on the Continent for some two or three years, and the rumors about his conduct there were wild to the point of absurdity last Season.”

“Are you speaking of the Marquis of Halford?” a voice said close to us. The speaker was our mutual friend Marianne Barton, a diminutive girl with a round face, brown hair, and brown eyes. She too was dressed in white, with a quantity of large white ostrich plumes waving above her head.

“Marianne, how delightful to see you!” Caroline said, releasing my arm to greet her. “Tonight is your coming out as well, is it not?”

Marianne nodded, her cheeks flushing pink with excitement. “It is indeed, and I feared we should be late, Mama was in such fidgets over me. Of course, once she has seen Margaret’s gown she will fuss worse than ever! How lovely it is!”

“You are too kind,” I said, looking down at the golden embroidery on my skirts.

“And diamonds as well! Papa refused to get me anything more than pearls. Mama was quite beside herself.” Marianne pointed her fan back the way she had come to where her mother and father were standing. Lady Barton appeared to have seen us, and was gesticulating with restrained energy and whispering to her husband. Already I could see others near her turning to look in our direction as well. I felt my cheeks grow warm; I did not wish to attract attention over my attire, but Mother had practically ensured it.

“Oh, do not mind them, Margaret,” Caroline said quickly. “There is always one young lady who causes more of a stir than others. They will be distracted again once the dancing begins. Now, Marianne, do you know if the Marquis is present? I have a great curiosity to see him.”

“Mama pointed him out to me when we first arrived,” Marianne said. Her fan flicked forward this time to a place on the opposite side of the room. “He is standing just there with Maria Roberts. She is a cousin on his mother’s side, and he is supposedly sponsoring her for the Season. He is the gentleman in the blue coat.”

I looked in the direction Marianne had indicated and soon caught sight of Miss Roberts. She stood with two gentlemen, both in knee breeches and well-cut coats, though the second gentleman’s coat was an unfortunate dull brown color. The Marquis himself wore a coat of deep crimson. His dark hair was elegantly cut, and the white cravat he wore had been tied with care. His features were strong, and he held himself with an air of decided nobility.

The gentleman beside him was as different in appearance and bearing as if it had been intentionally planned. His pale brown hair was slightly unkempt, and his cravat looked as though it had been hastily tied. He was carrying on a rather one-sided conversation with Miss Roberts, and his posture was slumped in a careless manner. Observing him, I received my second surprise of the evening, for I recognized him as none other than your stepbrother, Walter!

Marianne had continued talking whilst I made these observations. “Mama does not believe half the rumors about the Marquis are true. Anyone might make up anything about one who has been on the Continent for so long, she says.”

“Of course, his fortune and unmarried status have no bearing on her opinions whatsoever,” Caroline said with a smile, rising onto her toes to get a better look over the heads of the gathered company. “What in Heaven’s name is Walter Boland doing here?” she added with a look at me.

 “I am as surprised as you are. Bianca wrote to say he was in town, but I did not think he was well-connected enough to obtain vouchers for Almack’s.”

“The subscription ladies would never condescend to give Mr. Boland a voucher,” Marianne said with a sniff. “He would not even pass the inspection for a Strangers Ticket.”

“I would wager my new bonnet it was Lady Jersey who let him in, to revenge herself on Countess Lieven’s slight of her own behavior last month. She would not think twice about it,” Caroline replied, rising to look at them again. “He appears to be in company with Miss Rogers, if one can judge by his behavior, though her expression suggests otherwise.”

Caroline’s observance was correct; Miss Roberts had turned her back to Walter and was glancing about the ballroom with a distinct air of annoyance. “Perhaps he came with the Marquis?” I suggested, seeing Walter direct a brief remark to the gentleman beside him.

“Impossible! Why should a nobleman pay any regard to one as unimportant as Mr. Boland? Of course, I mean no disrespect to your friend Miss Huntsman, Margaret,” Marianne added quickly.

“I doubt Bianca would quarrel with you over the matter,” I said.

Across the room, Miss Roberts appeared to have reached the limits of her patience. Speaking a word to her cousin the Marquis, she left the gentlemen without acknowledging Walter at all and moved in the direction of a large-proportioned woman who was sitting in conversation further up the room. Walter watched her go with a confused expression, then glanced to our side of the hall. His gaze fell on me, and I felt a slight nervousness flutter through my middle as Walter caught the attention of the Marquis, gesturing with eagerness. After a moment of silent observation, the Marquis nodded his head, and the two gentlemen moved to cross the room.

“Heavens, are they truly coming to speak with us?” Marianne said in surprise. She opened her fan and began fluttering it vigorously before her. “I do not wish to be seen as friendly with Mr. Boland, but if he brings the Marquis with him, I shall not be the one to send them away.”

Before either Caroline or I could reply, the gentlemen reached us. The Marquis remained a little behind Walter and bowed slightly when our eyes met. Walter did not bow, but began at once to talk in an over-loud tone.

“Well, this is a chance, is it not? I hadn’t thought to see you here this evening, Meg. How do ye do? I am just back from a jaunt abroad, as you must know. Rum time to return to England, but it couldn’t be helped. Still, I daresay we shall make something of it, shan’t we, Halford?” he added, looking back at his friend.

“Mr. Boland,” I replied, too stunned by his familiar use of my Christian name to say anything else. Marianne’s jaw was hanging slightly open, and Caroline stifled a noise that I could not be certain was not an amused laugh. Walter appeared not to have noticed anything was amiss.

Behind him, the Marquis cleared his throat very slightly, and Walter blinked once. “I say, I’d nearly forgotten. Allow me to introduce my friend to you. William Thomas Roberts Cunningham, the Marquis of Halford. This is Margaret Kingston, a friend of my sister’s and niece to the Duke of Waterford,” he said with a knowing look and a wave of his hand.

The Marquis made an elegant bow. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Kingston,” he said. His voice was as refined as his manners. I returned the courtesy and introduced Caroline and Marianne, the latter of whom continued to flirt her fan and smile rather more than necessary every time the Marquis turned in her direction.

The sound of the company dropped slightly as the musicians began to prepare their instruments for the start of the ball. Walter turned to me, looking eager again. “What say we stand up together for this first set, eh Meg?”

“I thank you for the attention, Mr. Boland,” I began, glancing at Caroline and feeling a little flustered at the unexpected request. “I would accept, but—,”

“Ah, there you are Miss Kingston!” Lady Cowper sailed toward us, the long fringe of her shawl swinging wildly as she moved. “I have come to collect you for the dancing, my dear. I must introduce you to Lord Quincy, a most desirable connection indeed.” Her eyes fell on the gentlemen, and she frowned deeply at the sight of Walter’s crooked cravat.

Walter looked to me again. “D--- it all, Meg, you can dance with him any old time. I haven’t seen you this age at least.” Lady Cowper’s disapproving look darkened further at this speech, but Walter failed to observe it.

“Mr. Boland, perhaps we should retire and allow the ladies to keep their engagements,” the Marquis said with another formal bow toward Lady Cowper. She nodded in approval, but continued to frown until both the Marquis and Walter had moved away toward the other end of the ballroom.

“I shall have a word with Lady Jersey about that young man,” she murmured to herself as she seized my elbow and led me away. “These schemes of hers have gone entirely too far.” I caught Caroline’s eye as I followed Lady Cowper; she smiled broadly and gave me a little nod of encouragement before moving along the room with Marianne.

Caroline’s predictions for the evening were surprisingly accurate. I began the evening partnering Lord Quincy (a polite, reserved man with somewhat sad-looking eyes), then was introduced to a veritable crowd of other gentlemen by Lady Cowper: Sir William Temple, Lord Hargrave, Lord Marlborough, Sir Henry Davenport, and finally the Duke of Wiltshire for the two dances leading into the supper break. I found myself grateful for Lady Cowper’s management, as it kept Walter from doing more than hovering nearby between dances. (I am certain he would have approached and demanded a dance if an opportunity presented itself, but he now seemed aware that angering Lady Cowper was a foolish thing to do.)

The Duke of Wiltshire was by far my least enjoyable partner. From the moment we stood up together, he seemed determined to be as forward as Walter. His eyes were overly bright, and he smelled strongly of port. During our dance, he leered most dreadfully and made uncouth remarks on my figure. My cheeks were soon hot with embarrassment at his behavior. I was beginning to despair at Caroline’s accuracy as we waited for the second of our two dances (for we were certainly to be partners during the supper break) when the rich tones of a gentleman’s voice sounded behind me.

“Wiltshire, Lord Marlborough has asked me to tell you he wishes for a word in the card room,” the Marquis of Halford said, stepping up beside the Duke.

“What can that curmudgeonly old fool want now?” the Duke grumbled. “Can he not see I am busy?” He smirked, gripping my hand and pulling me closer to him. I caught another whiff of his sour breath and opened my fan discreetly. I did my best to look as though I was merely too warm as I fluttered it before my face to clear the air.

“He did not say, but I think it wise not to keep him waiting. I shall keep Miss Kingston company whilst you are away, if you wish.” The Duke grumbled again, but relinquished his tight grip on me and moved toward the card room door. The music began again as he passed out of sight.

“If you will allow me, Miss Kingston, I will replace the partner I have so ungraciously taken from you,” the Marquis said, extending his hand.

“I am most grateful to you, my lord,” I replied, and we stepped into the dance together.

“Wiltshire may be one of the most influential men here, but I could not watch you blushing at his ill-mannered flattery without wishing to rescue you from him,” he continued. I glanced up and found him looking at me with an intensity I had never seen in a man’s eyes before. It was not bold staring such as Walter did, nor the hungry look I had seen in the Duke. This was something different, more intimate, and I found myself blushing again for utterly different reasons.

“If it were polite to speak the truth of one’s opinion, I might venture to agree,” I said quietly, looking down at his cravat. “But I do not wish to speak ill of anyone with whom I am so newly acquainted.”

“A charming reply. I honor you for it. Other young ladies are not so guarded on entering society.”

We danced in silence for a few minutes then, and I admired the grace with which the Marquis moved through the figures. Perhaps it was only because I had so recently been dancing with the odious Duke, but I thought it by far the most pleasant experience of the evening.

“Have you had an opportunity to attend the opera this Season, Miss Kingston?” he asked as we made our way down the set.

“Not yet, sir, but I hope we shall do so before long. Are they not featuring one of the famous works by Herr Mozart?”

“I believe so, though I confess I have yet to attend myself. When you have been, you must tell me what you think of it. I saw several of his works performed during my time on the Continent, and they were by far the most enjoyable.”

“I too am partial to his music. Do you know which opera is being performed?”

The Marquis smiled slightly, his eyes glinting in the bright lights of the ballroom. “I believe it is a story about the illicit misadventures of a roguish nobleman. Highly dramatic material for the stage, is it not?” My eyes widened briefly in surprise, and he chuckled. “Oh, come, Miss Kingston, do not look so startled. It is all in good fun.”

“I cannot agree with you there,” I said, shaking my head. “Such subjects are hardly appropriate for refined company…,” I trailed away, unwilling to finish my remark. (I was thinking of the rumors about his behavior Caroline had hinted at, but I did not wish to appear indelicate or gossiping.)

“Very prudent words,” the Marquis said, then turned the subject. “My friend Mr. Boland is on close terms with your family, I believe.”

“I fear it would be an exaggeration to put it so, my lord,” I replied. “His mother married a close acquaintance of my father, and it was that gentleman who first brought Mr. Boland into connection with my family. We were on more intimate terms with General Huntsman and his first wife, and his daughter is still a dear friend.” After a moment’s consideration, I continued, “Might I inquire as to how you are acquainted with Mr. Boland? I know little of his connections outside of those we share.”

“I was introduced to Mr. Boland during his first year at Oxford. I was completing my own education, and we met several times at our local gentlemen's club. We renewed our acquaintance during our individual travels on the Continent, and returned at the same time.”

I nodded, but did not reply to this. I still found it odd that someone as well-bred as the Marquis could find the company of Walter worth keeping.

When the dance ended, the Marquis offered me his arm. “If we move quickly, we shall reach the supper room before Wiltshire can come and claim you again,” he said with a nod. I glanced to where he had indicated; the Duke stood there in conversation with Lady Cowper, looking disgruntled. “Come, he is not looking. Now is our moment.” The Marquis tucked my hand through his arm in a deft movement and swept us both away just as a large party passed between us and the Duke.

“My Lord, is this not highly improper?” I asked as we walked. “I should not like to offend Lady Cowper.”

“On the contrary. Her expression clearly sanctions us to make an opportune escape,” the Marquis said. He led me into the supper room and found us seats at a table near the corner. “And now, I shall endeavor to distract you from your scruples about abandoning the Duke of Wiltshire by enjoying your company far more than he could do himself.”

Despite my fears, I did enjoy our conversation during supper, and I parted from the Marquis reluctantly afterwards.  Caroline and Marianne were both still engaged with their partners, and Lady Cowper appeared to be in a rather heated conversation with Lady Jersey. It was in this moment of inattention that Walter found me.

“A fine chance, meeting like this, Meg,” he said, recalling his remarks from our earlier conversation. “I have been hoping to see you for an age.”

“Mr. Boland, I would thank you to remember that familiarity is hardly appropriate in such a public place,” I said quietly, placing a rather heavy emphasis on his name. I felt suddenly fatigued and did not feel equal to conversing with him.

Walter smiled again, an amused look coming into his eyes that I did not like at all. “I hardly think we need worry about that, you being such close friends with Bee and all. It is a wonder we do not see more of one another, really.”

“It is not surprising to me in the slightest,” I said. My throat felt rather tight, but I continued. “I cannot in good conscience associate with any man who treats young ladies in the way you have been doing. Unless you can speak with civility, I shall bid you good evening.” I turned away from him, looking for some sign of my family.

“Come, there’s no call for that,” Walter said, moving to stand in front of me again. “I suppose you have been listening to the d--- gossips of the Ton. I would not credit half of what they say. They blast Halford with infamy, after all, and yet see how many mamas are snatching for him.” He glanced toward a large group of women, all of whom had gathered around the Marquis.

I watched for a moment, and a little flare of nervous excitement fluttered inside me when our eyes met again. The corner of his mouth lifted in a satisfied smile, and then he was looking away, attending to something one of the young ladies surrounding him was saying. The little flare burnt out, and I felt somewhat deflated.

Beside me, Walter was frowning. “I must say, I didn’t expect to receive a lecture from you, Meg. You who have always been such a quiet little thing. I see I shall have to amend my opinion.” He looked me up and down in a manner I did not like at all. My weariness, momentarily dispelled by the connection with the Marquis, now returned in full force. The lights of the ballroom seemed to glare; the music was harsh and loud. Suddenly I wished very much to be quiet and alone.

“Mr. Boland, you must excuse me now. I imagine Mother is concerned about my absence,” I said. Before he could respond, I pushed my way between two gentlemen who were conversing nearby and moved quickly through the crowd. Though I did my best to appear confident, I fear I scurried rather than sailed away from him. I could not know for certain, but it felt as though his gaze was on me the entire time.

I could not immediately find either of my parents, so I made my way to the ladies’ sitting room instead. It was blessedly empty when I entered, and I collapsed in exhaustion onto a settee. My hands were trembling slightly; the encounter with Walter had left me feeling weak and nervous.

I missed three dances before Mother came to fetch me. When she inquired about my reason for hiding, I claimed the lateness of the hour had merely fatigued me. There was still quite a large crowd when we returned to the ballroom. I did my best not to appear discomfited, but with each dance I felt myself growing wearier, both with the exertion and with keeping a watch for Walter. The Marquis did not approach me again, but each time we saw one another, he smiled in a knowing fashion.

Father finally noticed my fatigue when I returned quite out of breath from a quadrille with Mr. Sutton. He spoke to Mother quietly, then ordered the carriage. As we moved to the hall, Caroline Graham hurried over to bid us farewell.

“You are leaving so soon? It is barely two hours since supper!” Her expression changed to concern as she saw my face. “You look pale, Margaret. Are you quite well? There is no need to answer; I can see you are not. You must rest. I shall call on you tomorrow, if you are well enough, and we may save all our discussion until then.”

I nodded and murmured a word or two in farewell, distracted by a sudden glimpse of Walter moving in our direction. Thankfully, Caroline squeezed my hand and returned to her mother without further delay, and I was able to lean on Father’s arm until we climbed into the carriage.

“Margaret dear, I understand you are fatigued, but you must learn to build up a little endurance to these late evenings,” Mother said, only mildly reproving.

“Helen, perhaps it is best to let her be,” Father said gently, laying a hand on her knee. “I would be winded if I had danced with as many people as Margaret did tonight.” He winked at me, and I smiled back, leaning my head against the side of the carriage.

Mother’s countenance glowed with pride. “Yes, you were certainly the most admired young lady of the evening. Lord Quincy was most attentive, asking you for two dances. Lord Marlborough and the Duke of Wiltshire seemed much struck,  and in general they are considered most particular judges of beauty.”

“Crusty old bores,” Father muttered with a glance at me.

“Crusty or not, they are influential.  It is all as I planned it to be.” Mother sighed contentedly and settled back in her seat. “I will be very much surprised if Margaret’s hand is not solicited before the month is out.”

“I still do not see the necessity of all this fuss,” Father said. “She is barely eighteen.”

“I was eighteen when we met, if you recall. And it was no simple matter for a Welsh country girl to catch the attention of General Kingston, distinguished military man and brother to the Duke of Waterford.” She shook her head. “No, I am determined that Margaret shall not suffer the spiteful behavior I did. She will begin at the head of society, and remain above the petty squabbles of the Ton.” Neither Father nor I were inclined to argue the point, so we rode the rest of the way in near silence.

And now I shall conclude my letter and go down to breakfast. I dread teatime in the afternoon; some, if not all of my partners from the ball are likely to call on us, and I shall have to entertain every one of them. It would be much more pleasant to remain in bed for the entire day and never leave.

Love,
Margaret



Wednesday, July 18, 2018

The Chronicles of Emberstone: Now Available on Medium

Yup, just like the title says, I've decided to share "The Chronicles of Emberstone" first draft on Medium as well as Wattpad. Check it out here!


While you there, don't forget to read, submit, and vote in time for the next chapter of "Assassin in the Tower" to go live this Saturday. Find it here on the CrunchySerial page!




Thursday, July 12, 2018

Real Big News! "Assassin in the Tower" Serialized Fiction with CrunchySerial



Hello Everyone!!
I am VERY excited to share my next big endeavor with you today. It's been several weeks in the making, and now I can finally tell you all about it!
My next official story is "Assassin in the Tower," a retelling of the Rapunzel fairy tale in a fantasy setting. This story will be published in conjunction with a brand-new serialized fiction platform called CrunchySerial.
CrunchySerial is a platform that will feature a hand-picked slate of authors writing stories with you, the readers! Think of it like a live-action "choose your own adventure" novelette. Once a week, a new chapter will go live with a question for readers to answer. Readers (that's you!) will submit answers and vote on the direction they want the story to take. Then the author (that's me!) will write the winning choice into the next chapter.
The platform is in beta testing right now, so join us over on the official website and on Medium to check out my first chapter and get in on the voting from the beginning! Make your voice heard and help me give CrunchySerial a great opening weekend!
Check out Chapter One of "Assassin in the Tower" on CrunchySerial's official site and on Medium.
Happy Reading and Voting!
Britain

Friday, April 6, 2018

Announcing the "Glass Roses" Audiobook!

It's here! It's here!

After many long months of waiting, I am very excited to announce that "Glass Roses: A Victorian Fairytale" is now available as an audiobook from Saga Egmont, the digital imprint of Danish publishing house Lindhardt and Ringhof.

Because my publisher is based in Europe, there are several places where you can listen and obtain copies of the audiobook. Here are all of the links in a nice little list:




"Glass Roses" is now available in print, ebook, and audio formats. When I began writing the book in late 2014/early 2015, I was not thinking far enough ahead to imagine this day. Now that I'm here, I almost can't believe it. Thank you for being part of this journey with me. I'm eager to see where the road takes us next.

Happy Listening!