WIP meme - a goat following the flock

[elingregory]

This is all over the place today, posted mostly by proper writers with followings. But I'm posting this as a cautionary tale to anyone who thinks "oh hey, I have a shiny idea, I'll write a book about it!"

Shiny ideas can be evil. Shiny ideas can take over you life and your hard drive. Shiny ideas are truculent and aggressive ratbags who interfere with each other. And the worst thing about them - they travel in herds!

Solitary shiny ideas that can be properly attended to are lovely things but when does that ever happen.

Meme:

Post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous.



Alike As Two Bees
Anatolios
Applejack
Blighs Ferry
Eleventh Hour
Emrys
A Fierce Reaping
A Gleam of Splendour
Henry Vance
The Imperial Ideal
Keladra
The Language of Flowers
Moonlight Shadow
Norton Wood
Old Stories
On a Lee Shore
Regency Rubbish
Short in the Saddle
Spices to Belhaven
Tears of Heaven
Town Mouse
The Wanderer

Name one of them and I'll give you a snippet from it and/or tell you something about it.

In other news, I find I am required to write a guide book for work, during my normal working hours in addition to my normal tasks, and it needs to be print run ready by the end of January. OMG so much fact checking!!!!

Comments

[elin-gregory.livejournal.com]

You've been a very busy lady! And with good reason. Getting a new book out there and talked about looks like incredibly hard work.

I started writing my Regency story over 25 years ago. Someone had given me the guidelines for Mills and Boon and I was convulsed by them - they were so regimented - meeting by page w, a kiss by page x, break up by page y. I started to write my own Barbara Cartland parody and it almost immediately turned into Georgette Heyer on crack. So stupid, such fun.

Snippet:

Lord Patrick FitzRoy levered himself up into a sitting position. Far from being the handsome devil that Aubrey had described, he looked exactly as a man would who has been dragged home, dead drunk, by a crossing sweeper. He was still dressed in the tattered and stained remnants of evening dress, but his shirt had been partially torn from his body and a raw graze on one shoulder had bled freely. He looked down at himself in bewilderment.
“Disgusting, aren’t you?” Phelim commented. “Yacoub Khan is shocked to the core. You know how Mohammedans feel about drunkenness.”
“I’ve seen him high as a kite,” Pat muttered defensively.
“But that wasn’t alcohol, as you well know, shame to you.”
Pat growled then, as his eyes began to focus, he peered at the wreckage around him.
“Why is my room such a mess?”
“Because you, my lord and master, woke up and took a little walk earlier. We could hear you banging about but we could also hear what you were saying and what you were doing so we decided not to interfere.” Phelim winced as his master hiccupped. “Don’t start that again. Why don’t you go down to the stable yard and stand under the pump? Almost anyone would be pleased to work the handle for you. Honest to God, it’s more than a body can bear. It’ll all have to stop when you’re married!”
“What are you wittering on about, Phelim?”
“Ha! It doesn’t surprise me that you’ve forgotten. Read this. It’s the reason for all your celebrations.”
Lord Patrick picked up the newssheet that Phelim tossed onto his lap and his eyes opened fully for the first time. A moment later he was cursing and scrabbling through his pockets. He found Aubrey’s note of hand and cursed even louder.
“I’ll kill Poulson,” he raged. “He must have crawled out from under the table and straight round to his office. The Post is going to need a new editor. They’ll never hold me to it, you know. I’ll be damned before I marry some jumped up baronets sister.”
“And there was me thinking you’d done rather well for yourself,” said Phelim, shaking his head. Pat stopped in mid-snarl and glared at him.
“Why?” he demanded.
“Because she’s a beauty, that’s why, and an heiress. The Stanton-Riverses have no need of your ill-gotten cash. The only reason she hasn’t been snapped up long before is because she’s a bit of a blue-stocking but at least she’ll be able to occupy herself while you’re out throwing up in a gutter somewhere. Her father died the best part of two years ago and every fortune hunter in Town has been licking his chops and prowling around her. One almost won her a month or so back but she was too sharp for him.” Phelim considered his master for a moment then sighed. “You know, I always thought it would take someone special to tempt Lady Cicely down from her shelf and instead you’ve taken a broomstick and knocked her down. Look, before you do anything stupid, see the girl. I promise you, you’ll be pleasantly surprised, though what she will think is anybody’s guess.”
Pat re-read the announcement in the paper then gingerly rose from his bed. He was very tall with the build of a prizefighter, an impression accentuated by his slightly crooked nose and the scar tissue on his knuckles. He swayed as he walked towards the door.
“I’ll look her over,” he promised. “Pump in the stable yard, you said?”
Phelim watched him go with a grin. “I was only joking,” he said quietly to the closing door.