Bodice Ripping and the Whiskey Rebellion
While I was down "at the beach" -- not ON it, you understand, AT it -- I ran out of trash to read on account of not having brought any, but luckily I found some books in a drawer in the dining room, and I borrowed one, and I read it.
I think it was called "Love's Tender Fury," though it might have been something else -- "Lust's Simple Insanity," maybe, or "Friendship's Sweet Hissy Fit." Anyway, it was of the bodice ripper genre, which I know on account of the cover, which featured a bodice, and also the plot, which had a bunch, too, mostly getting ripped.
It was great. And now I have a new project, which is that I am going to write one. Or maybe more, as I can see they might be real lucrative. Much more lucrative than the Giant Tome that I'm sending off to the editors this week. And doesn't this just make sense? I mean, really. What do you want to spend, $140 on a listing of payments to minstrels in Latin, or $15 on a bunch of ripped bodices?
And which, indeed, would you rather write? I mean, especially if you were at the beach and everybody else was running around all tan and wet and saying things like "oooh, you should have seen the shrimp boats, they were gorgeous," and "oooh, you should have seen the sand castle that the next door neighbor built, which looked just like the Taj Mahal," and "oooh, you should have seen the space shuttle lift off, it was really cool," and there you were listing payments to minstrels in Latin. Not that I'm bitter or anything. I'm just saying.
And I think I could do it, too, as, being highly trained in the analysis of literature, I was able to discern the rules of the genre pretty darn quickly, which are 1) you must write a LOT about textiles -- WAY lots -- something I obviously could do -- because the heroines are OBSESSED with them, 2) you must use WAY more adjectives and adverbs than you think you could possibly stick into a sentence, and 3) you must remember that all the guys, who are sorta violent there at the start (hence the "bodice ripper" nomen), are really sorry later, on account of being Tamed By Love, and then they settle down.
Except the psychopaths. Once I'd read one, I thought, what the hell, let's read more, so I found one at the hotel in Charleston, and it was great, too! And it was just like the other one, as far as the constant textiles and violent guys go, except that in this one the guy didn't actually stop being violent, cause it turned out he was INSANE, which was a shame, as the well-dressed heroine had been so faithful in her belief that if she just was submissive enough he'd come around (she'd obviously been reading too many bodice-rippers), but he never did, since he was, as I mentioned, nuts, so finally she had to kill him and then she died of a fever.
Yes.
I would enjoy writing crap like that.
"No, Abner," I said, looking modestly down at the simple violet-sprigged cotton frock I had chosen thoughtlessly when the fire bell rang, "that will never do. For do you not remember," I went on, clutching the Valenciennes lace fichu that encircled my slender throat, the throat that only recently had escaped from the vicious clutches of Ricardo, the ruthless blockade runner who had attempted my very virtue on his hellacious boat, "the...wait, where was I..."
Now, then, I'd have to turn in all my feminist credentials, true, and maybe hand back my Ph.D., but I figure if I pick out a really good nom de plume I'll be able to get away with it. Money, laughs, and keep my rep, too? Quite a plan.
So I came home with this plan, and I was at a wedding telling a couple of the beloved grad students about it, and also we were discussing the excellence of Bear's Retreat, and Sam's belief that Thomas Jefferson, who owned land around here, once slept at Bear's Retreat, and my belief that the Whiskey Rebellion, which got started around here, was probably discussed in our living room, and what with one thing and another we realized that
I NEED TO SELL BEAR'S RETREAT SOUVENIRS ON THE BLOG!
This is so obvious I'm embarrassed I didn't think of it before, though my excuse is if I hadn't been thinking up bodice ripping scenes I probably would have.
We're going to start with a ferocious bear -- no teddy bears for Bear's Retreat, believe me, only wicked mean ones -- and of course, the bear will be chasing after a lovely heroine dressed in lovely textiles only not too much on the top, and the scene will be set in front of Bear's Retreat.
"And then after that," one of the grad students said, "it will ONLY make sense that underneath it says, 'Thomas Jefferson slept here'!"
Yep, I said, during the Whiskey Rebellion.
So now I can't write my bodice ripper just yet, cause I have to go create the Bear's Retreat/Bodice Ripper/Thomas Jefferson/Whiskey Rebellion artwork for the mugs that you are all just DYING to buy.
Or, I could finish proofreading the Giant Tome and get it in the mail............
I think it was called "Love's Tender Fury," though it might have been something else -- "Lust's Simple Insanity," maybe, or "Friendship's Sweet Hissy Fit." Anyway, it was of the bodice ripper genre, which I know on account of the cover, which featured a bodice, and also the plot, which had a bunch, too, mostly getting ripped.
It was great. And now I have a new project, which is that I am going to write one. Or maybe more, as I can see they might be real lucrative. Much more lucrative than the Giant Tome that I'm sending off to the editors this week. And doesn't this just make sense? I mean, really. What do you want to spend, $140 on a listing of payments to minstrels in Latin, or $15 on a bunch of ripped bodices?
And which, indeed, would you rather write? I mean, especially if you were at the beach and everybody else was running around all tan and wet and saying things like "oooh, you should have seen the shrimp boats, they were gorgeous," and "oooh, you should have seen the sand castle that the next door neighbor built, which looked just like the Taj Mahal," and "oooh, you should have seen the space shuttle lift off, it was really cool," and there you were listing payments to minstrels in Latin. Not that I'm bitter or anything. I'm just saying.
And I think I could do it, too, as, being highly trained in the analysis of literature, I was able to discern the rules of the genre pretty darn quickly, which are 1) you must write a LOT about textiles -- WAY lots -- something I obviously could do -- because the heroines are OBSESSED with them, 2) you must use WAY more adjectives and adverbs than you think you could possibly stick into a sentence, and 3) you must remember that all the guys, who are sorta violent there at the start (hence the "bodice ripper" nomen), are really sorry later, on account of being Tamed By Love, and then they settle down.
Except the psychopaths. Once I'd read one, I thought, what the hell, let's read more, so I found one at the hotel in Charleston, and it was great, too! And it was just like the other one, as far as the constant textiles and violent guys go, except that in this one the guy didn't actually stop being violent, cause it turned out he was INSANE, which was a shame, as the well-dressed heroine had been so faithful in her belief that if she just was submissive enough he'd come around (she'd obviously been reading too many bodice-rippers), but he never did, since he was, as I mentioned, nuts, so finally she had to kill him and then she died of a fever.
Yes.
I would enjoy writing crap like that.
"No, Abner," I said, looking modestly down at the simple violet-sprigged cotton frock I had chosen thoughtlessly when the fire bell rang, "that will never do. For do you not remember," I went on, clutching the Valenciennes lace fichu that encircled my slender throat, the throat that only recently had escaped from the vicious clutches of Ricardo, the ruthless blockade runner who had attempted my very virtue on his hellacious boat, "the...wait, where was I..."
Now, then, I'd have to turn in all my feminist credentials, true, and maybe hand back my Ph.D., but I figure if I pick out a really good nom de plume I'll be able to get away with it. Money, laughs, and keep my rep, too? Quite a plan.
So I came home with this plan, and I was at a wedding telling a couple of the beloved grad students about it, and also we were discussing the excellence of Bear's Retreat, and Sam's belief that Thomas Jefferson, who owned land around here, once slept at Bear's Retreat, and my belief that the Whiskey Rebellion, which got started around here, was probably discussed in our living room, and what with one thing and another we realized that
I NEED TO SELL BEAR'S RETREAT SOUVENIRS ON THE BLOG!
This is so obvious I'm embarrassed I didn't think of it before, though my excuse is if I hadn't been thinking up bodice ripping scenes I probably would have.
We're going to start with a ferocious bear -- no teddy bears for Bear's Retreat, believe me, only wicked mean ones -- and of course, the bear will be chasing after a lovely heroine dressed in lovely textiles only not too much on the top, and the scene will be set in front of Bear's Retreat.
"And then after that," one of the grad students said, "it will ONLY make sense that underneath it says, 'Thomas Jefferson slept here'!"
Yep, I said, during the Whiskey Rebellion.
So now I can't write my bodice ripper just yet, cause I have to go create the Bear's Retreat/Bodice Ripper/Thomas Jefferson/Whiskey Rebellion artwork for the mugs that you are all just DYING to buy.
Or, I could finish proofreading the Giant Tome and get it in the mail............
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