I know, I know. The last blog post had me saying that I was going to return to fantasy. See me with my pants on fire. Can’t help it. Another story crowded its way into my head, hogged all the space, and now intends to rule until it has had its say. Another regency installment rules, not a cleansing of the creative palate with a YA fantasy, which are so much easier to construct. With fantasy, I can plug into whatever storyline weirdness comes into my bean. It’s the ultimate creative freebasing—the imagination on a bungee jump into a strangely familiar, alien world of our own making. (Insert a shiver here.)
With historical works, there are parameters and pesky restrictions, like actual historical sites and events. So why do I do it? Mostly because I’m addicted to history and can mentally immerse myself into any time period with an eighteen-hundred in it. Blame it on Aunt Marie, who had me working in her museum. She called it a “Step Into the Past” and being there was really like being there.
Yes, I’m an anglophile, but when it comes to GB, I’m a real nut about Scotland. Fell head over heels with the place the one time I visited for research. This is why the setting for the next regency is in an area bordering Rob Roy country and the Trossachs. Photographs can’t capture what the landscape is like, in my opinion. Haunted, wild and lovely all at once.
Add to the mix that I’m a horse freak. Loved riding and playing with my two mares, now happy in knee-deep grass in heaven. The Arabian proverb says that the horse is God’s gift to man. In the past, Englishmen felt the same. A gentleman was either riding, driving or betting on them. It wasn’t unusual to put a child in a saddle at the age of two. Many women were competent riders because it was the only respectable sport in which they could participate.
My WIP, The Dandy and the Flirt, won’t have horses as an integral aspect of the storyline, as in the last work. This work has two mischievous boys, a sloppy mutt, a forceful, enigmatic prig and a woman who is open about her enjoyment of sex. Remember, this book is set in the time period before Victoria ruined everybody’s fun because her Albert passed on without her. In other words, if she wasn’t getting any, the rest of the nation could do without. Not so forty years earlier when country parties were an excuse to bed-hop up and down the hallways, wife-swapping in comic overdrive. There must have been more door slamming than a French farce.
Let the games begin. I’ve got some feisty characters waiting to let loose.
M.L Rigdon (aka Julia Donner)
Follow on Twitter @RigdonML