Tessa Dare

Okay, so a friend of mine who drops by this blog occasionally saw Chandler’s picture down there and accused me of being “an apostate from the church of Firth.”

No.

No, no.

I think Chandler is funny. I do not yearn for Chandler. I do not ardently admire and love Chandler.

Just to prove the point, let’s have a little Friday Firth-fest, shall we? In black-and-white no less. (I find it lends a bit of class to my rather adolescent obsession.)

Who is your most enduring celebrity crush?

Edit: Sorry, my linked pix kept disappearing … I think I’ve got it fixed now.

Okay, I am just stumbling out of bed and realizing I have no TMI Tuesday up. This post is incredibly off the cuff and short and lacking. I do apologize.

So I woke up this morning thinking about Chandler. I have to admit, I still love Friends. When I first got the idea for GOTH, my “high concept” was something like, “An episode (or perhaps a season) of Friends, set in the Regency.” The characters are all young, good-looking, witty, and at the time in their life where they’re pairing up and settling down. Plus, I wanted to write lots of fun, snappy dialogue. Of course, the idea evolved from there and became a bit more complex – but there are definitely Friends-inspired scenes in that book – big groups of characters, talking at cross-purposes and taking good-natured jabs at one another.

So I was thinking about Chandler this morning, and how he was picky. Do you guys remember this? Before he hooked up with Monica, there was a point where he believed he’d end up alone forever, because any little thing could be a deal-breaker for him. He’d eliminate a girl from the ‘possibilities’ list for the most ridiculous reasons – her head was too big, her voice was too high, she had too many goldfish, etc.

Chandler’s case was extreme, but don’t we all have those little lines we just can’t cross?

What, for you, is a deal-breaker? Any personal habits you just can’t or won’t abide? Professions? Physical characteristics? Come on, dish – what’s the pettiest reason you’ve ever had for crossing a guy off the list?

For some reason (perhaps a lack-of-caffeine reason) I have no RL example of my own at the ready. Something’s bound to come up in the comment trail, I’m sure. But I’m thinking, if there’s one physical attribute I’d have a hard time getting past, it’s a hairy back. Just … just no.

Oh, and while you’re at it, help me fill the coffer of TMI topics for future weeks… Anything you’re dying to discuss?

Over on Manuscript Mavens, Erica has a great blog today about creating sexual tension with effective use of details. And Lacey suggested I blog about this, too. Well, okay! Actually, I’ve been looking for an excuse to post a some kind of excerpt from Goddess of Beauty, so this works well.

Details are everything, aren’t they? I’m still learning how to incorporate them smoothly – historical details, physical details, backstory details – but I know this is something I’m doing much better in GOB than I did in GOTH. This is in large part because I did much more research before beginning this book. So I have more details at the ready. I’ve also given my characters qualities that make them keen observers – the heroine is an artist, so she has an eye for color, line, beauty. The hero is accustomed to sizing up the quality and worth of things – and people – in a glance. So one lesson I’ve learned is, give your characters a unique look on the world. That way, the details they notice can be different from what anyone around them notices, and therefore A) worthy of mention, and B) revealing, in terms of characterization.

Specifically regarding sexual tension – I just love it when the hero notices details about the heroine that no one else does, and vice versa. There’s a lot of that going on in GOB.

Another thought – when you want to describe a scene vividly for the reader, I’ve found it helps to write that scene through the POV of a character who is also viewing that locale for the first time. If you’re describing a piece of farmland from the POV of the farmer who has lived and worked there all his life, it’s much harder (for me at least) to work in setting description than if you use the POV of an orphaned heiress who’s never set foot outside London. If the scene is new to the character, you can justify a lot more detail.

In the comment trail, the Mavens were talking a lot about making sure the details are organic and tie into the POV character’s emotion and conflict. That’s an excellent point. A laundry-list of descriptive phrases, no matter how beautifully written, can’t further the story or heighten the conflict or increase the sexual tension unless it affects the character on a deeper level than casual observation.

So, I could say that my heroine reminds my hero of springtime, for instance – new shoots of grass unfurling in the sun, tender blossoms exuding their sweet fragrance, skin as soft as downy kittens, etc. All of those are lovely things. But unless there’s some reason for him to start down this train of thought, the details don’t add up to much. Contrast that with this bit from Goddess of Beauty, where the sensory details have a definite cause and a discernible effect:

(What’s happened here is that the ship is becalmed in tropical waters, they’re alone, and it’s hot. In more ways than one. Apologies to the Vanettes, who’ve already read it!)

It was beastly hot.

Feeling drowsy and sluggish, Gray hooked a finger under his sweat-dampened cravat and tugged. He stole a glance at Miss Turner over his book. Her pale muslin gown had wilted with the heat, clinging to her form in a most appealing manner. She rotated her neck slowly, stretching with a lithe, sensual grace.

“Is there any more water?” Gray asked, tilting his head toward the tin ewer.

“No.” She took up a handkerchief and pressed it to her brow, then her glistening, flushed décolletage.

Gray shifted uncomfortably, feeling a new source of heat pool in his groin. “I’ll get after Grub to bring more. In a minute.” He bent his head and closed his eyes and tried to think of anything cool. Those pretty flavored ices all the fashion in Mayfair, the ones he’d be certain take Bel to sample. The trout stream in Wiltshire where he’d spent that summer between years at Cambridge. Ale, fresh from the cellar in winter. Snow.

Gray had a sudden image of Miss Turner standing in an English winterscape, dressed in rich velvet and dusted with powdery white snowflakes. Tiny crystals of ice clinging to her fur-trimmed gloves, her mantle, her hair, her thick fringe of eyelashes. Her pale skin contrasting with plump, flushed lips. An angelic apparition.

Except that he couldn’t do to an angel what Gray saw himself doing with this snow goddess. He imagined himself licking a snowflake from her cheek, and his tongue curled around the sharp burst of cold. In his mind’s eye he tasted another, and another – and they were sweet. She was a rose-flavored ice, a delicacy beyond anything he’d ever tasted, and he was devouring her, taste by impossibly tiny taste. Snowflake by snowflake. Until he tumbled her back into the snow, bared the delicious curves of her body – and feasted.

The shout rang out twice before Gray jolted fully awake.

So there’s your first taste of Gray. Hungry for more? *wink*
Other thoughts about details?

I have come to a conclusion, in my continued quest for self-knowledge.

I don’t do quick transitions.

I’m not referring to the transitions in my prose. Actually, I’m pretty proud of those. I try to keep my chapter and scene transitions snappy and full of momentum. I just wish ’snappy’ and ‘full of momentum’ were words I could apply to myself.

I once had a roommate who was like a light switch. When she went to bed, she fell asleep. When her alarm went off in the morning, she was awake. End of story. Me? It takes me a half-hour of thinking/processing/obsessing about anything and nothing before I can ever drift off to sleep, and in the morning – oh man. Multiple swats at the snooze button and some serious caffeine intake are required before I can be called remotely ‘awake.’

I’m similarly sluggish when it comes to transitioning from “doing anything else” to “writing.” I have to sit in front of my computer for an hour sometimes, just puttering and waiting for my brain to shift into writing gear. Or maybe it’s more like I’m waiting to get out of my head and into the character’s. It takes forever. And once I’m in the zone … if you interrupt me when I’m writing, don’t expect a relevant or articulate response. I’m not home.

And now, I’ve aggravated the problem by alternating back and forth between writing new stuff (Goddess o’Beauty) and revising old stuff (Goddess o’da Hunt), and coaxing my brain to transition back and forth from one set of characters to the other is not a matter of hours, it’s becoming days.

I need advice. Has anyone out there ever taken method acting? Or played competitive sports? Or done Lamaze? What are those little tricks they give you for focusing quickly, and making that transition into ‘the zone?” How do you slip into Writer-World?

Sorry for yet another week of flaky blogging. That page-counter over there has been frozen for a while, which probably looks like I’ve been slacking off. But no, I’ve just gone back to concentrating on GOTH for a while. I’ve been working like a fiend to get some submissions in. Plus, I had a sick kid.

Okay, enough excuses. I’ll make rounds later today, promise.

In the meantime, I want to put together a master list of everyone who’s going to be at RWA in Dallas. (Can you believe it’s less than a month away? Yikes!) So please tag the comment trail here, or send me an email. I want to make sure I get to meet everyone in person! Those of you who frequent Fanlit Forever, are there any plans afoot for a get-together?

Those of you who are going, what event or workship are you most looking forward to attending?

Oh, and congrats to Lacey, Erica, Darcy, and Jacqueline for starting the fab Manuscript Mavens blog (which I have just now crawled out from under my rock to find)!

Here’s something I’m curious about.

What makes you cry?

Tears are important in both of my books thus far. I’m not sure how that happened – I didn’t exactly set out for it to be a theme. Lucy almost never cries and Sophia bursts into tears at the drop of a hat, so they’re quite different at least. Crying is cathartic, it’s raw, it’s intimate. It can be a sign of vulnerability or a sign of trust. It fascinates me, so I write about it.

Maybe it’s because the weirdest things make me cry. Although I was devastated, I barely shed a tear when I had to put my poor, very sick kitty to sleep (not recently – no condolences necessary). But then I’ll burst into tears at the doctor’s office for no apparent reason. Perhaps India can explain this to me. For some reason, talking about the inner workings of my body to a stranger – even the most benign, unemotional stuff – always makes me tear up.

The one time I tried to give blood in a college blood drive – after like, 50 personal questions about everything from my travel habits to my sex partners, then two student phlebotomists and finally their supervisor poking about in both of my arms to find a good vein, then lying there for twenty minutes squeezing the ball while I sobbed uncontrollably, only to be told my veins were ‘bad’ and they hadn’t collected enough blood and I’d failed – FAILED – in my mission to save a life, and they gave me a brownie and a sticker that said “I Tried to Give Blood.” Oh, God. That day I was a wreck. I cried more in those two hours than I’ve ever cried in my life – all in the middle of a crowded cafeteria, too.

So what turns on the waterworks for you? Books? Movies? Weddings? Sex? Something really quirky, like me?

Oh, and how do you feel when heroes cry? Good, Bad, Ambivalent?

Okay, I’ve been putting this off for a week or so now. I’m supposed to tell you eight interesting things about me. Huh. I feel like you all know my more interesting qualities – the stuff you don’t know is pretty boring, really. Or it’s something I’m just not gonna share.

But here goes:

1. I don’t collect anything. I am vehemently anti-collecting. Once you tell one person you collect things with owls or pansies or whatnot, that is all you will ever receive for Christmas gifts, EVER. And then you must find places for all your owl-shaped salt-and-pepper shakers and pansy-emblazoned tea trays. Which brings me to a corollary…
2. I abhor tchotchkes. Of all kinds. So far as I am concerned, their only function is to collect dust and look creepy.
3. That all said, let it be known that my bookshelf is crowned with a Jane Austen action figure, and my baby was wearing his “Future Mr. Darcy” onesie today. Both gifts, of course. But I will always make an exception to points 1 and 2 (and probably 7 or 8 of the 10 commandments) for Darcy.
4. But I like it when other people collect things, because I hate to shop and it makes my Christmas list quite easy – just gotta find those fuzzy aardvark slippers for Aunt Whatsit.
5. Oh, and that reminds me – I have a deep and abiding adoration of Madeleine L’Engle. And Giotto. Which means I absolutely looooove this book.
6. I rarely read books straight through from page 1 to page 384. If I pick up a book and read it all in order without any skipping around or skimming or cutting to the end, I know it’s a damn good book.
7. When I think about readers doing that with my books, I want to cry.
8. Uh… Uh… eight. Lemme see. Eight. When I was eight, it was 1984, and my best friend and I spent the whole summer imitating Mary Lou Retton, making homemade “Reagan-busters” campaign buttons, and avoiding my attic because it too closely resembled the one in Gremlins.
9. You probably shouldn’t feed me after midnight.

And almost everyone I know has done this already, except for Ms. Another Aspiring Author, who is a fab writer, a FanLit alumna, and woefully under-read blogger, so everyone check out her link. If you haven’t done this, and want to – consider yourself tagged.

This is not a titillating TMI Tuesday, sorry. I’m thinking about giving my hero a phobia. Phobia may be the wrong word, because it’s not exactly an irrational fear. But a strong fear of something in particular.

This can be hot when done well, right? I mean – I’m thinking Indiana Jones. “Snakes. Why did it have to be snakes.”

Or even the OCD extreme, like Jack Nicholson’s character in As Good As it Gets, or Tony Shaloub on Monk.

Why is it that we love strong heroes, but a phobia can be dead-on sexy?

And now for the TMI. What’s your biggest, most irrational fear?

Me? I’m horribly afraid of suffocation and drowning, which usually manifests as a fear of being more than a few feet underwater. Love swimming, love snorkeling. But I tried scuba once, and it was not pretty. I can’t tolerate watching movies that take place underwater, or in outer-space, or anywhere where the people have a limited air supply. Literally cannot watch.

Just a note to say I have nothing to say.

Seriously, I have to catch up on some stuff in my life outside of writing, so I’m going easy on the blogging this next week. I will make sure to post on Tuesday, though. No cause to worry, no cause to celebrate … I’m just trying to do some delayed spring cleaning, yardwork, etc.

I leave you with this link for your amusement:
The Dialectizer

Try translating a paragraph of your WIP to Cockney, Jive, or Redneck! Post the results in the comment trail if you’re so inclined.

Here’s a bit of GOTH, translated to Swedish Chef (If you don’t remember the Muppet Show, this won’t be funny).

The original:

The dogs reached her first, pressing their wet, sniffing noses to her face, hands, belly.

“Shoo, Farthing!” Lucy whispered. “Sixpence! Off!” Blasted hounds. How was a girl supposed to play dead with one dog nuzzling her neck and another gnawing her boot?

“Lucy!” Henry hauled her to her feet. He performed a quick survey of her head and limbs. Finding her unharmed, he grabbed her by the shoulders and gave her a shake that rattled her teeth. “What the devil do you think you’re doing?”

Lucy was tempted to conveniently swoon, but she and Henry both knew she wasn’t the swooning sort.

Henry shook her again. “Of all the damn fool things to do!You could have been killed!”

“Not likely. The lot of you haven’t hit a thing all day.”

And here is the dialectized version:

Zee dugs reeched her furst, presseeng zeeur vet, sneeffffing nuses tu her fece-a, hunds, belly. Bork bork bork!

“Shuu, Fertheeng!” Loocy vheespered. Bork bork bork! “Seexpence-a! Ooffff!” Blested huoonds. Um gesh dee bork, bork! Hoo ves a gurl sooppused tu pley deed veet oone-a dug noozzleeng her neck und unuzeer gneveeng her buut?

“Loocy!” Henry hooled her tu her feet. Um de hur de hur de hur. He-a perffurmed a qooeeck soorfey ooff her heed und leembs. Um gesh dee bork, bork! Feending her unhermed, he-a grebbed her by zee shuoolders und gefe-a her a sheke-a thet rettled her teet. “Vhet zee defeel du yuoo theenk yuoo’re-a dueeng?”

Loocy ves tempted tu cunfeneeently svuun, boot she-a und Henry but knoo she-a vesn’t zee svuuneeng surt. Um de hur de hur de hur.

Henry shuuk her egeeen. Bork bork bork! “Ooff ell zee demn fuul theengs tu du! Yuoo cuoold hefe-a beee keelled!”

“Nut leekely. Bork bork bork! Zee lut ooff yuoo hefee’t heet a theeng ell dey. Bork bork bork!”

Happy weekend, everyone!

One of the best books I’ve read in recent months is Laura Lee Gurhke’s And Then He Kissed Her. I was thinking about it again just the other day (and if I’m thinking about it two months after I read it, it must be a great book!) and it has at least two marvelous scenes that involve food. One is a seduction scene, where the hero eats a chocolate from his lady’s hand (and it is finger-lickin’ good, let me tell you!) and the other scene takes place after they’ve been lovers for a while, and they can’t decide between having dinner and making love, so they decide to multi-task.

All this got me thinking about food and sex and how deliciously well they go together. The wicked indulgence, the added senses of touch and smell and taste …. ever since Eve handed Adam that apple, it seems these two basic human appetites have been intertwined. I have more theories, but I’d rather hear yours first.

So, why do you think food and sex go so well together? Or maybe you don’t think so – perhaps you find it all just a bit too sticky?

Any favorite scenes from published novels? Have you written any tasty tidbits in your own books? And it wouldn’t be TMI Tuesday if I didn’t invite you to share your own favorite toppings. *evil grin*