Big Bar of Soap

I needed some swag to give out to promote my soon-to-be-released first book, NOT QUITE DARCY.  I hit upon the idea of making little Victorian style soaps, in bright pink to match the cover.

Somehow, 25 pounds of soap is much bigger and heavier than it seemed to be on the website! Banana for scale.

Naturally, my son began to claim it as his project and found a saw...

Once it was in reasonably-sized chunks, I got to play Walter White and get all measurey.

Then I carefully parsed the color block dye with a very precise scientific instrument cheese grater.

After I had the right amount of soap and dye, I melted that stuff up.

Then added the raspberry scent

And poured it into the molds.

Authentic plastic!  Just like Victorians used to use!

Pop them out of the molds to see sweet, little Victorian style hearts.

All ready to give out for book release!  I only wish there'd been enough room to include jokes about naked Queen Victoria - dammit.

Bad Ass War Women

Elsie Knocker (and how great is that name) and her bff Mairie Chisholm.  Even before World War I, they were kind of badass. They got to know each other through their hobby, stripping down and racing motorcycles in a culture where women riding bicycles was seen as scandalous.

When England entered the war in 1914, Knocker wrote to Chisholm that there was "work to be done." Chisholm hopped on her bike in in Dorset and popped off to London with the intent of being dispatch riders for the Women's Emergency Corps. Although initially the women were frustrated at not being allowed the front lines. While Chisholm was riding as a courier, she was spotted making hairpin turns around a city by Dr. Hector Munro. He was setting up a Flying Ambulance Corps to help the Belgians who had been caught in the German invasion. Munro invited the women to join his team.

Chisholm said, "Munro was deeply impressed with my ability to ride throught traffic. He traced me to the Women's Emergency Corps and said, 'Would you like to go out to Flanders?' and I say 'Yes, I'd love to'."

The women were stationed well behind the lines and quickly grew frustrated by the loss of life due to delayed treatment at the front. In November they left the corps and set up their own aid station right on the front lines in a little town called Pervyse. It was 100 yards from the trenches. They spent the next three and a half years tending to the wounded. Since they weren't affiliated with the Red Cross, they had to raise all their own funds - for bandages, food, etc.

They ended up saving thousands of lives and only stopped when forced to due to injuries suffered in a gas attack.

Yo, WW2?  Elsie and Mairie called.  What’s all this rot about the “greatest’ generation?  (That’s right!  I just did a women in war sacrifice throw down.)

Torn Between Two Covers

Hi.

"Don't post this shit about book covers on your blog," they said.  "People don't DO that," they said. Or they would if I had voices that talked to me.  Luckily, I am sane, so I don't hear those voices and am posting this anyway.

Right now I'm torn between two choices for "Not Quite Darcy".  Do you have a preference?

My editor wants me to ... as she said on the art form she gave me ... "This story is BIG on humor, so something whimsical, light-hearted, with a play on time-travel. The setting is nineteenth century England, but it’s hardly your typical historical, so we’re better playing up the humor than the historical bent."

Without going pie in the face (and ignoring any pudding that might go in faces, ahem!) which of these two choices do you like?

Choice A (Or Silhouette):

Have two silhouettes, with their backs to one another, male and female.  The male would look traditionally Victorian.  Either in profile or full view.

The female would look more like this:

Or a full body version.  Carefully avoiding any copyright infringement and getting rid of the ipod, sadly. (Publisher has a legal department, right?)  If the image is profiles, Eliza could be blowing a bubble.  If it's full body, figures would still be back to back. She would be in modern dress - dancing with a feather duster or we could swap that for a broom if  you like. William could be holding out a book, ever so politely.  Key would be juxtaposing the ipod manic girl with the standard rigid Victorian silhouette and I think full body does that most effectively.

Background to be hot pink.

I feel this one captures the feel of the book the best and answers my editor's wish for it not to look like a typical historical.

CHOICE B (or Fuzzy Focus)

How about this?

Since the title would lend itself to such a cover.  But instead of a fugly guy with a disturbing collar, a handsome guy just out of focus.  Like this one.

Also, to lighten this one, it could be done as a blurry photo with a bright 'wash' of yellow or pink.  So it doesn't look like Deadly Serious Literature.

So?  You there?

Which one do you like better?  

If you like choice one, full body or profile?

WE WILL BE SENDING A THANK YOU GIFT! A VOUCHER FOR A DISNEY RESORT FOR 5 DAYS!  FREE PARKING!  PLUS A FRUIT BASKET!! WE'LL BE GETTING BACK TO YOU REAL SOON ON THAT.

But really, thank you.  I owe you pie.  Or a fruit basket.

My World War One Thing

I don't know when it began. 8th grade? Somewhere around then. Seeing the photos of the men quivering with shell shock. Listening to the poems of the lost generation. It might have simply been the staggering statistics. "How could a MILLION die in one single battle?" My preteen self was hooked.

 I don't want to say it's been the love that has lasted a lifetime, because 'love' is a strange word to use with war. Let's try obsession instead. :)

When I went to college, I majored in History and when I was to student teach, somehow I managed to get a position with the Department of Defense. In Belgium. Big surprise - right where the brave boys of Europe had bled out on the battlefields of "The Great War."

So my clueless, Junior Year of College self is riding on a train in Belgium, en route to her destination, and I settle myself down in a train compartment. Think Hogwarts Express but with fewer steam engines and way more bodily odors.

As soon as I'm seated an elderly gentleman joins me. Just he and I in the car. I give him a polite nod. He returns my insincere gesture and the train chugs out of the station. Except ... we begin to talk. He could sense my obvious excitement at being in the place that, up til now, I'd only read about in my textbooks.

 "Have you been to Belgium before?" he asks, politely.

"Never. But I've studied it. You know."

"I don't know. You've studied...Belgium?"

"I'm a History teacher. Well, on my way to becoming one. And Belgium. World War One. It's kind of exciting."

He didn't say anything for a while. Then, eventually, "I fought in World War One."

Me, "No way!" Ok, in retrospect, I could have been more refined. But it was better than "Get out!" Or "You're shitting me!"

As I remember, he nodded and smiled.

"Ypres? Ypres fascinates me."

His eyes took on a distant look. "I was there."

"For the first battle, or the second?"

"The first, thank God."

"No kidding!" I agree.

We continue speaking in a language meant for uber history geeks or veterans - from... well the coast of Belgium to Brussels. It must have been at least an hour. I had questions and he had insight. It was marvelous. No, it was life-changing.

When the train pulled into the Brussels station, it was with real regret that I told him I had to change trains, to Mons. We both knew the battle significance of Mons and exchanged a knowing glance.

 "I... may I...?" It was strange to see him stammer after he'd been so composed and full of details about his exciting battles.

I waited for him to continue. "It may seem abrupt, but it's been so long since I've kissed a young girl. Would you mind, terribly, if I gave you a kiss?"

"Are you kidding?" I asked. "A chance to kiss a soldier from the Great War? It's my lucky day!"

He brushed his lips against mine. They weren't creepy or clammy or old. His lips felt sweet. Genuine. Kind of heroic.

I thanked him for his time and lugged my suitcase off the overhead rack.

I never knew his name, but I've never forgotten him either. Thank you, sweet old man, for showing me there was more to you than your exterior. And for inspiring a few generations with your courage.

Nobody Likes the DMV

I had to go to the DMV recently to register all those requirements for the state I'd just moved to.  And it made me remember another time, another DMV trip, a few years back.  I managed to find myself in line wearing my husband's swim trunks, a white pump and a brown wedge shoe and holding a snake in a tupperware container.  Looking around, I had to recognize, "Most people probably wouldn't find themselves in this situation.  I should work on that."

How did I come to find myself there, wearing that, holding that?  Like anything, really.  A series of small not-so-bright decisions that added up until I found myself inadvertently scaring people at a government office.  The swim trunks?  Someone knocked on my door bright and early that morning.  I threw on the closest things around to answer the door.  Besides, I reasoned, men's swim trunks could pass for shorts, right?  (My husband assures me, wrong.)  The person at the door turned out to be my proper British friend, Jackie, who was dropping off her daughter, the equally proper Glynnis, for a play date with my daughter.  I got on with my day and pretty much forgot about the swim trunks.

Then a few surprises happened quickly.  My daughter, the nature lover, found a garter snake in our front garden.  Joy!  Glynnis was properly horrified, but it was my duty to teach her the joys of nature, so I kicked on the two handiest shoes around (pump and wedge, but hey, they were for the correct feet, so give me some credit) and armed with tupperware, went out to capture said snake, who we planned on releasing after an hour or two.

Right at that moment my husband phoned.  "You have twenty minutes to get to the DMV or we'll have to go through a huge process to reregister our cars in the state!  Please go now!"  Knowing the DMV was fifteen minutes away, there wasn't a second to spare - so I loaded up the kids and tore off.

My daughter was the one who lugged the snake into the DMV, not wanting to leave it in the car on a hot summer day.  Once she stepped into the room, she was greeted with a wall of uncomfortable stares.  (Snakes, as it turns out, do not sit quietly in tupperware, but tend to slither around in a very enthusiastic manner.)  As a six-year-old, the collective hatred of everyone in the DMV was a lot to handle so, in the grand tradition of children everywhere, she pawned the thing off on me.

And there I stood.  Two different shoes, swim trunks, and a snake who was doing his damnest to knock the lid off the tupperware.

The crowd just stared and the two men ahead of me in line, scooted as far away as they could get, casting nervous glances back at me.  "Ha, ha!"  I said.  "Lid's on tight!"  I said.  My fellow DMVers expressions subtly shifted from 'irritation' to 'we-may-have-a-looney-on-our-hands.'

Glynnis whispered loudly up to me.  "Aren't you afraid all these people are going to think you're crazy?"

"Yes, Glynnis.  Yes, I am."

When a first grader is giving you advice in how to act around others, it might be time to reconsider your decision making process.  Just perhaps.

On the plus side, that day Glynnis learned a valuable lesson: when it came to play dates, snakes might not necessarily be the biggest thing she needed to worry about!  Just passing out life-lessons to the next generation - that's me.