Spring break came and went at my house. There were always our five kids, along with their friends or numerous cousins over here hanging out. Needless to say, I got NOTHING done!
My husband decided that he would take a week of vacation the following week. Needless to say, I got NOTHING done!
I long for the day when I have my house to myself again. No kids, no husband, NO ONE!
Lisa asked me the other day if I didn't go insane staying at home all the time. It was an easy answer for me. NO! Emphatically so. I am such a home-body. I like to be able to do my thing, whether it's sitting at the PC, talking on the phone, or just some project around the house. I think I got all of that going going going out of my system when I was younger.
Well, my self imposed deadline to finish my revisions came and went, and I haven't even touched them in over two weeks. I should feel guilty, but alas, I just don't. I know that as soon as I regain my house, I will continue to trudge through them, I'll just have to give myself a kick in the rear end when the time comes. Till then, I have been reading, reading, reading.
I read the BEST book (out of the half a dozen I've read in the last week)! It is by C.L. Wilson. It was book 2 of her Tairen Soul Series (didn't know this till I was finished, I HATE that), Lady of Light and Shadows. I have now ordered the first, Lord of the Fading Lands and can't wait to read it. It's a very "Lord of the Rings" type book, but better. She has now been put on my favorite authors list and look forward to the two more books coming out in the fall.
Well, enough rambling for now!
Terri
Saturday, March 29, 2008
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Revisions Revisions Revisions!
I originally started this blog to track my writing progress, however, since I am so ADD, I can't seem to stay on topic even HERE!
Now I feel that I must at least post every once in a while about The Crichton Heir, and the progress, or often lack thereof, during the daunting task of revising the finished manuscript.
I think I may have written before about how bad the first dozen or so chapters were. They were REALLY bad. I have now completely rewritten the first nine chapters, and am almost ready to tie them into the original.
The other night, I sat down, and read all of it out loud to my MIL (a big thanks to Lisa, who was here and decided to read the conversations taking place between the characters, using what started as a pretty good Scottish brogue, although it did take a turn toward an English/Irish combo accent before it was done).
When you read something over and over from a computer screen, you tend to miss so much! I had printed it out, and grabbed up my handy red pencil, and made corrections as I went. They were all minor, but boy did they add up.
I still need to make the corrections on the PC, but I feel much better about the so far finished product.
I also wanted to point out the GREAT post on Mary Duncan's site (http://eyesofgarnet.blogspot.com/). She has a FANTASTIC picture of a man in a kilt, well, half way in a kilt, he he he :)...LOVE IT!
Spring break started on Friday for my kids, so not sure how much work I will get done. At least I don't have to get up early, so hopefully I can work at night more often this week. I had the goal to finish revisions by March 24, not sure if I'll make it, but I haven't thrown in the towel yet!
Terri
Now I feel that I must at least post every once in a while about The Crichton Heir, and the progress, or often lack thereof, during the daunting task of revising the finished manuscript.
I think I may have written before about how bad the first dozen or so chapters were. They were REALLY bad. I have now completely rewritten the first nine chapters, and am almost ready to tie them into the original.
The other night, I sat down, and read all of it out loud to my MIL (a big thanks to Lisa, who was here and decided to read the conversations taking place between the characters, using what started as a pretty good Scottish brogue, although it did take a turn toward an English/Irish combo accent before it was done).
When you read something over and over from a computer screen, you tend to miss so much! I had printed it out, and grabbed up my handy red pencil, and made corrections as I went. They were all minor, but boy did they add up.
I still need to make the corrections on the PC, but I feel much better about the so far finished product.
I also wanted to point out the GREAT post on Mary Duncan's site (http://eyesofgarnet.blogspot.com/). She has a FANTASTIC picture of a man in a kilt, well, half way in a kilt, he he he :)...LOVE IT!
Spring break started on Friday for my kids, so not sure how much work I will get done. At least I don't have to get up early, so hopefully I can work at night more often this week. I had the goal to finish revisions by March 24, not sure if I'll make it, but I haven't thrown in the towel yet!
Terri
Thursday, March 13, 2008
It's Official...Girnigoe is a PERV!
Took Girnigoe to the vet (if you are confused, read previous post) today. She is fine, though it seems she may have suffered through a false pregnancy during her last heat. I have the go ahead to breed her, on the condition it is with a smaller male (God knows she needs to get some). There were no issues, physiologically anyway, and she got a clean bill of health.
The young vet said it was normal for dogs to have "special friends" (i.e. the beanie babies). I did, however, get the raised eyebrows from her when I described the self-delivered cunnilingus that Girnigoe seems overly fond of lately. It seems she has never heard of a dog taking that much satisfaction in a tongue bath.
I do have a friend who suggested making a short video clip of it, titling it "Dog Masturbating", and posting it on YouTube. She claims it would be the most watched video in NO time. She is under the false assumption that it would look good in a query letter or resume that I had the most viewed video on YouTube.
Kid's are out for spring break (JOY), so I am not looking forward to my house being over-run by them and their friends. If they get wind of my dog and her talents, God only knows my son will charge his friends admission.
On a writing note, I haven't started Chapter 10 revisions yet. I'll get there, but life so seems to always get in the way.
:)
The young vet said it was normal for dogs to have "special friends" (i.e. the beanie babies). I did, however, get the raised eyebrows from her when I described the self-delivered cunnilingus that Girnigoe seems overly fond of lately. It seems she has never heard of a dog taking that much satisfaction in a tongue bath.
I do have a friend who suggested making a short video clip of it, titling it "Dog Masturbating", and posting it on YouTube. She claims it would be the most watched video in NO time. She is under the false assumption that it would look good in a query letter or resume that I had the most viewed video on YouTube.
Kid's are out for spring break (JOY), so I am not looking forward to my house being over-run by them and their friends. If they get wind of my dog and her talents, God only knows my son will charge his friends admission.
On a writing note, I haven't started Chapter 10 revisions yet. I'll get there, but life so seems to always get in the way.
:)
Monday, March 10, 2008
Doggie Porn...Possibility for a New Genre?
This is Girnigoe, isn't she soooo adorable (don't answer till you read the entire post). She weighs a whopping 2.5 pounds. She is my baby, always in my lap, follows me everywhere, and frankly, I like her more than my kids most of the time (Okay, I LOVE my kids, but if you have them yourself, you know what I mean).Being as small as she is, I have gone back and forth about breeding her. I would have to find a male that is smaller than her, not an easy feat in itself. That being said, I have not had her spayed and she has now had two heat cycles.
I have made an interesting observation with this precious wonderful little baby:
SHE SO HORNY!
OMG...this dog has many "special friends", most of which are beany babies. I have never seen a female dog hump so many things! I will say that her activity has let up substantially, but with that has come a new problem.
As she lay on my lap one evening, she did that inherent dog-thing, by rolling into a ball, to be able to lick herself...just like a boy dog would (hell, just like MOST men would if they could). Then the weird convulsions started. Her leg that was behind her ear was floppin, she even made a few grunting noises, and was rocking back and forth.
Ok, at first I thought, hmmm, must call vet...urinary tract infection or some such thing. But as this behavior has continued, I have realized (gasp) that my dog is getting into the whole licking thing, and I mean REALLY getting into it.
I know that those of you who know me, must be thinking it's all a figment of my gutter-brain, but if you could see this dog go to freakin town, you'd most certainly be appalled, but also would whole-heartedly agree that either she needs a lil boy doggie, or maybe some "boom chicka wow wow" music.
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
Title of Nobility and The Peerage
Research...gotta love it...NOT!
Why is it that almost all historical romances have Lord this and Countess that? Is it because here in the states, we don't have a royal family, or nobles? I'll admit it, I am guilty of fantasizing about being descended from some royal line (I'm NOT, of course).
That being said, I spent hours upon hours yesterday doing research. The whole peerage thing gives me a headache. So many rules, so many titles.
I miss the days of 8th grade Creative Writing class. Back then, You could simply write things about Duke Whatshisname and Duchess Youknowwho. Not now...oh noooooooo, it must be His Grace, So and So, the Duke of Whatever, or The Honorable Whoever, Earl of Somewhere.
Now, I do realize that you can take a certain creative license, if you will, while writing. But who wants to write a book that a reader takes one look at and says, "Now that is historically inaccurate, Duke Whatever was a flamer who never had kids". UGH. So I did take certain facts, and did take some creative license, and voila, four Advils later, I have characters that I think have believable, if not a bit vague, lineage's.
I'm sure that if an editor gets hold of this one day, I may have serious issues, but I have spent enough time away from revising and I WILL start plugging away again today.
Chapter 9, here I come, armed with a cool lineage, and the arrival of one Thorina Beauclerk , Duchess of St. Albans...poor woman was widowed in 1787 when her 28 year old husband took ill, George Beauclerk, 4th Duke of St Albans.
Sound believable? The only part I made up was Thorina...that particular Duke did actually die at 28, in 1787, unmarried with no children, and the title became extinct (who knew titles were endangered?).
COOL, huh?
Why is it that almost all historical romances have Lord this and Countess that? Is it because here in the states, we don't have a royal family, or nobles? I'll admit it, I am guilty of fantasizing about being descended from some royal line (I'm NOT, of course).
That being said, I spent hours upon hours yesterday doing research. The whole peerage thing gives me a headache. So many rules, so many titles.
I miss the days of 8th grade Creative Writing class. Back then, You could simply write things about Duke Whatshisname and Duchess Youknowwho. Not now...oh noooooooo, it must be His Grace, So and So, the Duke of Whatever, or The Honorable Whoever, Earl of Somewhere.
Now, I do realize that you can take a certain creative license, if you will, while writing. But who wants to write a book that a reader takes one look at and says, "Now that is historically inaccurate, Duke Whatever was a flamer who never had kids". UGH. So I did take certain facts, and did take some creative license, and voila, four Advils later, I have characters that I think have believable, if not a bit vague, lineage's.
I'm sure that if an editor gets hold of this one day, I may have serious issues, but I have spent enough time away from revising and I WILL start plugging away again today.
Chapter 9, here I come, armed with a cool lineage, and the arrival of one Thorina Beauclerk , Duchess of St. Albans...poor woman was widowed in 1787 when her 28 year old husband took ill, George Beauclerk, 4th Duke of St Albans.
Sound believable? The only part I made up was Thorina...that particular Duke did actually die at 28, in 1787, unmarried with no children, and the title became extinct (who knew titles were endangered?).
COOL, huh?
Sunday, March 2, 2008
Their first meeting
Okay, I decided that I would post the first part of Chapter 1. This would be when Margaret and Patrick meet.
I am still busy with revisions. Working on chapter 7 now. UGH!
Chapter 1
Scotland, 1789
“How was I to know the bloody sheep were going to trample Irma’s wee plants?” Margaret mumbled to herself as she crawled through the rich dark mud. The smell of fresh dung clung to her so that she wrinkled her nose as she tried to scratch an itch, leaving yet another dark smear.
A smile slowly spread across Margaret’s face as she recalled the look on Frederick’s face when he realized that part of his flock had disappeared.
“Damn wooly beasties landed me in the middle of this muck.”
“Do you often talk to yourself in this manner, Mistress?”
At the sound of the unfamiliar deep voice, Margaret froze. She closed her eyes, hoping to be swallowed up by the nearest steaming dung heap. On second thought, it might not be such a grand idea, she had enough of the mixture covering her as it was.
Still on all fours, Margaret lifted her eyes enough to see a pair of large riding boots about a yard in front of her. Margaret let out an exasperated breath, blowing a few of the unruly tendrils of her strawberry blond curls off her sweaty forehead.
She forced her eyes to continue their journey up the brown form fitted riding breeches he wore. His fine linen shirt was tapered at the waist, and hung open, exposing a tanned chest with dark hair curling at the opening. Margaret noticed the stranger wore no waistcoat.
Feeling as though her cheeks were on fire, Margaret knew that a blush was creeping slowly across her face. Dropping her chin down, she hoped that whoever this man was, he hadn’t noticed. Heaven help her if he thought she was blushing at the mere sight of a semi-exposed chest. In her seventeen years, she had seen far more than that while the men on the estate labored.
A deep rumble that turned into laughter came from the stranger. Margaret jerked her head up, fully intent on setting this stranger in his place. She inhaled sharply at the strange tingle that shot through her when she stared back into his laughing pale green eyes.
His teeth were a white contrast to his sun tanned face. The humor softened him, but she thought he must certainly look fierce when not being amused by young girls up to their teeth in filth.
The young girl talking to herself was what had drawn Patrick’s attention. He found her amusing, and couldn’t contain his mirth. He thought she must surely be a shy child, seeming to become flustered at having been caught mumbling to herself covered with what he hoped was just mud. Then she had jerked her head up to meet his gaze. He was stunned by the sight.
The emerald eyes that locked onto his widened in surprise and he couldn’t help but notice her lips part as if to speak, but no sound came out. He would definitely have to remember to avoid this one.
That’s all he needed, Laird Angus Sinclair getting angry if he dallied with one of his servants, or worse, a servants daughter.
“I’ll leave you to your work mistress. Good day to you.” Patrick said, bending at the waist in a curt bow and turning his back to leave.
“English? It would make sense that an Englishman wouldn’t offer a lady his assistance to regain her footing.” Margaret quipped, coming to her senses after the unintentional insult by the stranger. How could he possibly know who I am? Margaret wondered. Even still, she hated smug Englishmen. She had seen enough in London a few months back to last her through this year and the next.
“My humble apologies my lady.” Patrick said with more than a touch of sarcasm. He raised an eyebrow and watched as the girl struggled to balance on her knees, raising herself up and stiffening her back. He chuckled softly as she lifted her chin in a haughty manner. Reaching out to help steady her, he was taken unaware when her filthy hand shot out and not only clutched his in a death grip, but jerked with amazingly accurate timing to pull him toward the muck.
Margaret’s temper was getting the better of her. She knew this, but once again, she was unable to stop her impulses. He won’t look so smug once he finds himself knee deep in this mire. She thought, as she put all her weight, slight though it was, into the unexpected tug that sent the man plummeting towards her!
“Oh my!” Was all Margaret managed to gasp, as she saw the error in her rash actions.
The force of her pull not only sent the man forwards, but she fell backwards into the rancid wet dirt. Before she could try and roll out of the way, he came crashing down on top of her, swearing in what certainly didn’t sound like an English accent.
“Och lass, if it was a roll that ye be lookin for, ye should have just said so. I would have been more than happy to accommodate such a fine bonny lass.”
Margaret tensed, her eyes growing wide with the knowledge that this man thought she wanted him on top of her. She could feel his breath on her chin, and froze in place. They had locked eyes and her stomach did that funny flip that it had a few minutes earlier when she had first looked into his eyes. This time it was more than one little twinge. She realized that if anyone saw them, there would be hell to pay, but she couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to have him kiss her. Her eyes lowered to his lips that were parted in a lop-sided half smile, which made the flips start even faster. She could feel her heart trying to keep pace with whatever contortions that her mid-section was making. Her breathing became faster, and she felt as though she had been running a foot race.
All thoughts had momentarily left Patrick’s head. He was fairly certain that the girl didn’t intend for him to land on her. He wasn’t so sure now, as her eyes darted toward his mouth and he watched as her small pink tongue darted out to moisten her lips. He almost let out a groan at the sight. He was becoming horribly aware of the situation that she had put them in, but he couldn’t get his body to play along with his mind. He knew he should move, and quickly, but suddenly he had no control of himself, not something that happened often to him. He prided himself in his restraint, not that you could tell at that particular moment that he even possessed any.
Lowering his mouth to taste all that the girl had to offer, Patrick closed his eyes and just as he felt the first shock as their lips touched, he was violently pulled away from the awaiting paradise and thrown backwards a few feet, landing on his arse.
Margaret had closed her eyes when she realized that the man was going to kiss her. She held her breath as the first delightful touch of his surprisingly gentle mouth caressed her lips. As quickly as her heart started to race, the weight of him was gone, as were his lips from hers.
Margaret’s eyes flew open and she saw Frederick standing over her. She let out a sigh of relief that it hadn’t been anyone else. That is, until she saw the look of rage on his face.
Through gritted teeth, Frederick, standing over Patrick, growled, “Ye better have one helluva good reason to be molestin wee Maggie, or ye will be minus yer bullocks when I finish with ye.”
Copyright 2008 Terri Rainer
I am still busy with revisions. Working on chapter 7 now. UGH!
Chapter 1
Scotland, 1789
“How was I to know the bloody sheep were going to trample Irma’s wee plants?” Margaret mumbled to herself as she crawled through the rich dark mud. The smell of fresh dung clung to her so that she wrinkled her nose as she tried to scratch an itch, leaving yet another dark smear.
A smile slowly spread across Margaret’s face as she recalled the look on Frederick’s face when he realized that part of his flock had disappeared.
“Damn wooly beasties landed me in the middle of this muck.”
“Do you often talk to yourself in this manner, Mistress?”
At the sound of the unfamiliar deep voice, Margaret froze. She closed her eyes, hoping to be swallowed up by the nearest steaming dung heap. On second thought, it might not be such a grand idea, she had enough of the mixture covering her as it was.
Still on all fours, Margaret lifted her eyes enough to see a pair of large riding boots about a yard in front of her. Margaret let out an exasperated breath, blowing a few of the unruly tendrils of her strawberry blond curls off her sweaty forehead.
She forced her eyes to continue their journey up the brown form fitted riding breeches he wore. His fine linen shirt was tapered at the waist, and hung open, exposing a tanned chest with dark hair curling at the opening. Margaret noticed the stranger wore no waistcoat.
Feeling as though her cheeks were on fire, Margaret knew that a blush was creeping slowly across her face. Dropping her chin down, she hoped that whoever this man was, he hadn’t noticed. Heaven help her if he thought she was blushing at the mere sight of a semi-exposed chest. In her seventeen years, she had seen far more than that while the men on the estate labored.
A deep rumble that turned into laughter came from the stranger. Margaret jerked her head up, fully intent on setting this stranger in his place. She inhaled sharply at the strange tingle that shot through her when she stared back into his laughing pale green eyes.
His teeth were a white contrast to his sun tanned face. The humor softened him, but she thought he must certainly look fierce when not being amused by young girls up to their teeth in filth.
The young girl talking to herself was what had drawn Patrick’s attention. He found her amusing, and couldn’t contain his mirth. He thought she must surely be a shy child, seeming to become flustered at having been caught mumbling to herself covered with what he hoped was just mud. Then she had jerked her head up to meet his gaze. He was stunned by the sight.
The emerald eyes that locked onto his widened in surprise and he couldn’t help but notice her lips part as if to speak, but no sound came out. He would definitely have to remember to avoid this one.
That’s all he needed, Laird Angus Sinclair getting angry if he dallied with one of his servants, or worse, a servants daughter.
“I’ll leave you to your work mistress. Good day to you.” Patrick said, bending at the waist in a curt bow and turning his back to leave.
“English? It would make sense that an Englishman wouldn’t offer a lady his assistance to regain her footing.” Margaret quipped, coming to her senses after the unintentional insult by the stranger. How could he possibly know who I am? Margaret wondered. Even still, she hated smug Englishmen. She had seen enough in London a few months back to last her through this year and the next.
“My humble apologies my lady.” Patrick said with more than a touch of sarcasm. He raised an eyebrow and watched as the girl struggled to balance on her knees, raising herself up and stiffening her back. He chuckled softly as she lifted her chin in a haughty manner. Reaching out to help steady her, he was taken unaware when her filthy hand shot out and not only clutched his in a death grip, but jerked with amazingly accurate timing to pull him toward the muck.
Margaret’s temper was getting the better of her. She knew this, but once again, she was unable to stop her impulses. He won’t look so smug once he finds himself knee deep in this mire. She thought, as she put all her weight, slight though it was, into the unexpected tug that sent the man plummeting towards her!
“Oh my!” Was all Margaret managed to gasp, as she saw the error in her rash actions.
The force of her pull not only sent the man forwards, but she fell backwards into the rancid wet dirt. Before she could try and roll out of the way, he came crashing down on top of her, swearing in what certainly didn’t sound like an English accent.
“Och lass, if it was a roll that ye be lookin for, ye should have just said so. I would have been more than happy to accommodate such a fine bonny lass.”
Margaret tensed, her eyes growing wide with the knowledge that this man thought she wanted him on top of her. She could feel his breath on her chin, and froze in place. They had locked eyes and her stomach did that funny flip that it had a few minutes earlier when she had first looked into his eyes. This time it was more than one little twinge. She realized that if anyone saw them, there would be hell to pay, but she couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to have him kiss her. Her eyes lowered to his lips that were parted in a lop-sided half smile, which made the flips start even faster. She could feel her heart trying to keep pace with whatever contortions that her mid-section was making. Her breathing became faster, and she felt as though she had been running a foot race.
All thoughts had momentarily left Patrick’s head. He was fairly certain that the girl didn’t intend for him to land on her. He wasn’t so sure now, as her eyes darted toward his mouth and he watched as her small pink tongue darted out to moisten her lips. He almost let out a groan at the sight. He was becoming horribly aware of the situation that she had put them in, but he couldn’t get his body to play along with his mind. He knew he should move, and quickly, but suddenly he had no control of himself, not something that happened often to him. He prided himself in his restraint, not that you could tell at that particular moment that he even possessed any.
Lowering his mouth to taste all that the girl had to offer, Patrick closed his eyes and just as he felt the first shock as their lips touched, he was violently pulled away from the awaiting paradise and thrown backwards a few feet, landing on his arse.
Margaret had closed her eyes when she realized that the man was going to kiss her. She held her breath as the first delightful touch of his surprisingly gentle mouth caressed her lips. As quickly as her heart started to race, the weight of him was gone, as were his lips from hers.
Margaret’s eyes flew open and she saw Frederick standing over her. She let out a sigh of relief that it hadn’t been anyone else. That is, until she saw the look of rage on his face.
Through gritted teeth, Frederick, standing over Patrick, growled, “Ye better have one helluva good reason to be molestin wee Maggie, or ye will be minus yer bullocks when I finish with ye.”
Copyright 2008 Terri Rainer
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