God, nothing bothers me more than characters discussing things they already know just so the reader can know, too. Guh. There should be whole classes on doing exposition properly.

I have a running debate with my weekly critique group over this. I'm a firm believer that less is more, and that it's better for a reader to be a little confused than to have false-sounding dialogue or awkward exposition. I've never yet put down a compelling story because I wasn't 100% clear on the history--if anything, the story hooks me in and makes me want to go look up what really happened once I'm done with it.

I actually have a page about that, an author's note, at the beginning of FFoSM, and Ruth actually quoted a line of it on the inside front cover of the dust jacket. Basically, I do my homework, weave my fictional characters in with the real ones and my fictional events into the historical research, and do it seamlessly, so that the reader doesn't know which is which. Then I rub my hands, twirl the ends of my waxed mustacios, and cackle with spiteful glee.

All bets are off, though, if whoever's writing has a wonderful narrative voice.

Thanks to the whatevers that be, for an editor who feels that way about mine. Makes my life eminently more possible.

Brynn, will send to profile address. Didn't post it because if it's going to be published, you can't prepublish without messing up rights.

Be warned, though: if you're expecting an apocalypse, as in, big noisy bang and heavy scifi fantasy, you'll be disappointed (Polter was). This is a simple little story about a travelling circus and a girl and a choice.

edit: erika, trouble with bios? Really? I love writing them.

OK, too funny, in terms of timing and synchronicity for the above discussion about research, voice, and whatnot. A review from I Love A Mystery:

THE FAMOUS FLOWER OF SERVING MEN
DEBORAH GRABIEN
St. Martin’s Minotaur November, 2004

Theatrical producer Penelope Wintercroft-Hawkes is flabbergasted when she hears from a London solicitor that an aunt, whom she had seen only once in her life, has left her property in the City of London. The property, an abandoned Victorian era theatre, needs renovation and restoration -- and her aunt has taken care of that by including a large sum of money for her to use to accomplish this work. However, as Penny visits the site, she has some inexplicable experiences of apparently extra-sensory origin. Then Penny's lover, Ringan Laine, a folk-singer as well as a restorer of historic buildings, finds himself overwhelmed by a malevolent unseen intruder while he is checking the theatre's acoustics by playing a CD of one of his band’s recordings. Determined to learn the history of the area predating the building of the theater, Penny enlists a retired historian in her quest. The historian discovers a record of an actual historic figure, Agnes de Belleville, accused of murder, who was imprisoned on the site when it was the home of the King's chief Prison Wardour. Doggedly, Penny continues to work to uncover the truth that will enable her to exorcise this tortured spirit.

Before I start talking about this book, I must say that I do not like books with so called woo-woo (supernatural) happenings. I am also not very fond of historical mysteries, although I do enjoy non-fiction histories. That having been said, I found this book drew me into the story so that I could not stop reading it. The writing was incredibly beautiful, and the characters extremely well depicted. The historical aspect covered a little known era of British history, the late 14th century. And how could I not like a book where the protagonist loves Paris as much as I do? This book is meant for people who have some knowledge of history, Greek mythology and drama, and especially some familiarity with the French language. It is just these last expectations of reader background that makes THE FAMOUS FLOWER OF SERVING MEN a special book -- the reader is given an incredible feast that transcends the usual.

- Eden Embler

I am laughing my ass off, because:

The historian discovers a record of an actual historic figure, Agnes de Belleville, accused of murder, who was imprisoned on the site when it was the home of the King's chief Prison Wardour.

Actual historica figure? Um, nope. Invented the lady. The family I attached her to was real, but she didn't exist.

I'm grinning like a loon.

Well, sweetie, I didn't breastfeed with the Who...;) I don't think it'll be that difficult, though. I was just prepared to be spurned and rejected. My world view has been pleasantly disrupted.

I just skipped to the end of the thread (you guys have been busy! go you!) to let everyone know I'm a bit dark grey for awhile while I get some things in order in RL that I really really need to focus on.

Love to everyone and tremendous thanks for all the help recently. I promise to bbs and be more helpful.

Deb, insent with long overdue beta.

Btw, evidently I lied. I'm not so much dark grey as off white.

Heh. Kristin, received and backsent.

For those who read "Matty Groves" in beta, you will be pleased at the events referenced on page one of chapter one of "Cruel Sister".

A slightly different meaning of "first impression." Painful, to me, anyway.

Someone Else's Bed

In the darkness, moonrise tickling the edges of this room with pearl, I try to sort out my thoughts, feelings, senses.

You're sleeping, smiling into the night. We've just made love for the first time, my instigation, a demand really. The universe seems to be our sanctuary.

You aren't mine, you probably never will be; I know this. Yet I turn my head on the pillow and think, tonight this place is mine, this man, this bed.

All lies. This is Dolly's bed. That tonight I've left the impression of my body in it for the first time, gives me nothing.

The first thing I think is "annoying". Too perky. Her classroom is probably filled with apple paraphernalia. I resent the way she bubbles into my space and wins my mother’s heart immediately with her cheerful greeting and insistence on giving me her number, printed perfectly on “Teaching Touches Lives” notepaper.

“I’m really looking forward to working with you!” she chirps on her way back out into locker-filled hallways. I make a note to avoid her at faculty meetings.

How could I have known, seven years later, that the saddest day of my career would be learning she wasn’t coming back?

Deb, insent, but no rush at all.

Right now I'm working on the Lucy rewrite out of sheer stubborness and desire to have it done so I can get back to Anna with a clear conscience. I really don't care if it sucks, because I'm 99% certain the editor who has the partial won't request the full, and I'm OK with that. (For now. If she sends me a form or otherwise harsh rejection, I can't promise to remain OK.) I just want it done.

Will crosspost to Bitches.

OK, just back from the afternoon literary festival, and it basically turned into the Ayelet Waldman/Deborah Grabien Comedy Hour. DAMN, we had fun. I have been raffled off to something called the South Bay Writers Club, for an evening of conversation.

I am chuffed as all hell, because Ayelet - former federal public defender, not a shy bone in her body - asked if I was planning on making any of my ginger cake any time soon. Sure, I said, do you want some? Yes please - last year, we waited until the kids were asleep and opened the package and then Michael took a sniff and pushed me out of the way and locked himself in the bathroom with it. So, maybe two....?

Me. So, you're saying my ginger cake brings Michael Chabon to the yard?

Mrs. Chabon: Screw that, I'm saying it brings ME to the yard.

A very nice afternoon.