Just for the record, as someone who still reads the things from time to time, most Regency-set Historicals (as opposed to Regency romances proper, which have been a dying breed for almost a decade) are about as historically accurate as PotC. Even writers who I know damn well have done their research, and started off in true Regency romances, don't give more than a passing nod to historical accuracy these days.
It's not what the market is looking for, and not what's selling. Susan and Connie are absolutely correct on that score, and what it sounds like Susan's attempting is a delicate balance between what the general 21st century general reader expects/wants/desires and what the traditional Regency lover has been missing since the bottom fell out of the traditional Regency market in the mid-90s.
I've got shoes older than him.(Not really, I think we were hearing from my detective persona, but it's a great caustic sentence, you know...maybe a last thought from "Uncle Lennie".
Which reminds me of how my father shaved his face entirely for the first time in a really, really long time last month. My first thought (after, "Dah!") was, "That man's beard was older than me." Last time he was clean-shaven, he was in high school.
Plei, agreed, but between the writer and the audience - no matter what either party wants - are two big old giant mountains: the agent who thinks s/he can sell it, and the editor with the chequebook.
There are a lot of people writing out there. And it comes down to a whole other delicate balance: the agent/editor's take on whether they love it, whether they think your voice is distinctive enough to overweight any problems they may see with, whether they think it will sell. And when you submit the manuscript, you've got a lot of company.
I knew it! I knew if I left the house to go visit the sewing machines at Walmart, y'all would start the new thread without me.
Dag nab it.
They still don't have the model I want.
Which reminds me of how my father shaved his face entirely for the first time in a really, really long time last month. My first thought (after, "Dah!") was, "That man's beard was older than me." Last time he was clean-shaven, he was in high school.
My father hasn't been clean shaven in 32 years. Last time he did it, my twin and I cried because we didn't recognize him. We were two.
Also loving the subscribe button.
DH is upstairs flinging Christmas presents into boxes for shipping. Since I packed most of my stuff and Annabel's last night, I get to put on virtuous airs and come down and play with the computer. Actual conversation following from my smug superiority about my already-packed state:
DH: You just don't love the husband anymore. You want to leave me for Sean Bean.
Me: No, I don't. I want to leave you for someone who looks like Sean Bean, but is unfailingly punctual, well-organized, completely loyal to one lover for life, loves to clean the house....
DH: So you're saying you want to have sex with yourself, then?
Me: (beat) Yes. But in Sean Bean's body.
And connie, while we may not be the average reader, anything that Susan or anyone else tries to sell has presumably got to get past an agent, and then an editor.
Deb, believe me when I say I'm already ahead of at least 50% of what's currently being published in historical romance when it comes to accuracy, both in my characters' mindsets and in details of fact. So clearly there are editors and agents out there who aren't too picky about these things. Which all feeds into my rant about the current state of historical romance, but that's probably not the right topic for me to go off on when I'm in a hurry. Suffice it to say there's a lot of stuff out there calling itself historical that's really set in a sort of badly imagined Disney Regency, Victorian, or medieval era.
Shoot. I meant to try out the subscribe button but forget and went to Set Profile. Dagnabbit.
ION, I seem to have developed a talent for buying clothes that clash with the clothes I already own. Today I am wearing my new pink jeans from Target, and they are a much oranger pink than the pink pumps and pink stripey shirt that I am wearing with them. About a month ago it was my new grey heather sweatpants and my old grey heather sweatshirt that I discovered (after I'd been wearing them all day thinking I was co-ordinated) were different grays. Sigh.
Well, at least my diamond shoes fit okay. They just clash with my diamond belt.
No doubt. Cause you know, those people couldn't take *showers*.
Well, Susan, all best luck, and spare me a thought when you're all done and I'm wading through my crime scene.
Where is this subscribe button?
