Now that I've got a total of four completed manuscripts under my belt (three published or contracted, one under the bed), not to mention a fair number of false starts and abandoned ideas, I'm starting to notice certain subconscious habits and pet words. Personal cliches, if you will.
One of my most consistent cliches--and I swear it was entirely unconsciously done--is the Dead Tall Blond First Husband. In The Sergeant's Lady, Anna's abusive first husband, Sebastian, is blond, blue-eyed, handsome, and over six feet tall. After his death, she finds happiness with Will, who's brown-haired and a few inches shorter.
The heroine of my upcoming An Infamous Marriage is also a widow. Her first husband, Giles, is entirely the opposite of Sebastian in character. He's kind, gentle, smart, sensitive--he really would've made a lovely beta hero had I been inclined to make him the star of a book. But he looks almost exactly like Sebastian, being a tall, blond, golden god type. Again the hero, Jack, is dark and just a smidge shorter.
And that book under the bed? Well, it doesn't actually have a Dead Tall Blond First Husband, but only because it was Book One of a projected fantasy series rather than romance, and my hero hadn't yet met his one true love. The hero in question? Think James from my A Marriage of Inconvenience, albeit 3-4 inches taller. Dark curly hair, bright blue eyes, athletic in a slim, lithe way rather than burly and muscular. In Book Two he was going to meet and fall in love with his eventual wife, with the <i>slight</i> initial objection that she's happily married to someone else. The hero, being heroic, keeps his feelings bottled up until Husband #1 dies--in the hero's arms in the aftermath of a battle, no less--but after that I'd planned to have things get messy, angsty, and passionate in a hurry. Naturally Husband #1 needed to present some kind of physical contrast with Our Hero, so I immediately pictured him as...you guessed it, tall and blond.
I swear I don't have a death wish for blond men. I can even name several I think are very hot. I mean, Sean Bean, ammirite?
And Matthew on Downton Abbey (Dan Stevens) is really quite pretty:
But in real life, my husband has black hair, and my ex-boyfriends and serious crushes from middle school on up? Brown or black hair. The last time I wanted to go out with a blond was, oh, fourth grade. So my default hero coloring is dark, and when I want to give the heroine a past with someone handsome, but not really my type, I go blond. And I like writing widows, since it allows me to write heroines slightly older and sexually experienced without needing any complex or historically unrealistic backstory. Therefore, by definition, the men in my heroines' pasts tend to be dead.
Still, I'm due for a blond hero soon. At the very least, I promise to find a way other than hair color to draw a contrast between my heroes and their heroines' first husbands.
What about you? Writers, do you have Personal Cliches? Readers, have you noticed such patterns in authors you follow?
Showing posts with label A Marriage of Inconvenience. Show all posts
Showing posts with label A Marriage of Inconvenience. Show all posts
Sunday, May 06, 2012
Dead Blonds
Labels:
A Marriage of Inconvenience,
An Infamous Marriage,
heroes,
Susanna Fraser,
The Sergeant's Lady
Saturday, April 09, 2011
Introducing A Marriage of Inconvenience
My new Regency historical romance, A Marriage of Inconvenience, releases this coming Monday, April 11. It's something of a Cinderella story--Lucy Jones, an orphaned poor relation of a baronet's family, meets the wealthy, powerful James Wright-Gordon, Viscount Selsley, and they're drawn together despite their differences in rank and fortune, and despite the fact each one firmly believes they're in love with someone else.
Here's a brief excerpt I hope will whet your appetite. Comment for a chance to win the book--I'll give one copy to a randomly selected commenter. Deadline: midnight, Sunday night, Pacific Time.

***
She shook her head, then reached up to brush back one of the loose ringlets of hair that had fallen across her face. “My aunt’s abigail wanted to cut my hair before I came here, because short hair is so fashionable.”
“But you refused,” he said, rejoicing that she had.
“Yes. It’s ridiculous, absurd, but I cannot bear the thought of having it cut. It—it makes me think of when it was shaved.”
James knew it was very wrong of him, when Miss Jones had just confided in him, confessing the great secret of her childhood ordeal. But he could not stop his hand from reaching up, stroking lightly over the braided coronet, then twisting one of those loose ringlets around his fingers. “Don’t ever cut it,” he said, startled at how husky his voice sounded, shocked at how much he wanted to see her hair down, how vividly he imagined it spread across a pillow.
Though it was deep twilight, there was enough light that James could see her eyes widen, and he heard her sharp intake of breath. What was he doing? She was so innocent, barely out in society, and he had only met her that morning. He dropped his hand as though the lock of hair burned him.
“I must get back before anyone misses me,” she said, sounding confused.
Indeed she must. If anyone found them here alone in near darkness…
He stood and extended a hand to help her rise. “Come, I’ll show you a door into a different part of the castle,” he said. “If anyone notices how long you were gone, you can simply say you became lost trying to find your way back from the ladies’ retiring room.”
She laughed softly. “I almost couldn’t find my room after visiting the library earlier today. This castle is a perfect maze.”
“It’s often so in houses that have been added on to and improved upon over the centuries,” he said as he led her toward the door. “Orchard Park is very nearly as large, but since my father had it built all at once, it’s much more difficult to lose one’s way. Here.” He tested the door to make sure it was unlocked. “I believe this leads into the library. Can you find your way from here?”
“I can. Thank you, Lord Selsley. You’re—you are very kind.”
He shook his head. “If I may offer you a final piece of advice, Miss Jones?”
“Of course.”
He squeezed her hand lightly, then released it. “The next time a man you’ve known for less than a day touches your hair, you really ought to slap him for his troubles.”
She gave him a startled stare. “Oh! Well, I hardly expect it to be a common occurrence.”
“One never knows. You have lovely hair.”
Again she reached up and twisted a ringlet around her fingers. Without speaking again, she released it and fled into the library.
***
For more information, including a longer excerpt and buy links, please visit my website.
Here's a brief excerpt I hope will whet your appetite. Comment for a chance to win the book--I'll give one copy to a randomly selected commenter. Deadline: midnight, Sunday night, Pacific Time.

***
She shook her head, then reached up to brush back one of the loose ringlets of hair that had fallen across her face. “My aunt’s abigail wanted to cut my hair before I came here, because short hair is so fashionable.”
“But you refused,” he said, rejoicing that she had.
“Yes. It’s ridiculous, absurd, but I cannot bear the thought of having it cut. It—it makes me think of when it was shaved.”
James knew it was very wrong of him, when Miss Jones had just confided in him, confessing the great secret of her childhood ordeal. But he could not stop his hand from reaching up, stroking lightly over the braided coronet, then twisting one of those loose ringlets around his fingers. “Don’t ever cut it,” he said, startled at how husky his voice sounded, shocked at how much he wanted to see her hair down, how vividly he imagined it spread across a pillow.
Though it was deep twilight, there was enough light that James could see her eyes widen, and he heard her sharp intake of breath. What was he doing? She was so innocent, barely out in society, and he had only met her that morning. He dropped his hand as though the lock of hair burned him.
“I must get back before anyone misses me,” she said, sounding confused.
Indeed she must. If anyone found them here alone in near darkness…
He stood and extended a hand to help her rise. “Come, I’ll show you a door into a different part of the castle,” he said. “If anyone notices how long you were gone, you can simply say you became lost trying to find your way back from the ladies’ retiring room.”
She laughed softly. “I almost couldn’t find my room after visiting the library earlier today. This castle is a perfect maze.”
“It’s often so in houses that have been added on to and improved upon over the centuries,” he said as he led her toward the door. “Orchard Park is very nearly as large, but since my father had it built all at once, it’s much more difficult to lose one’s way. Here.” He tested the door to make sure it was unlocked. “I believe this leads into the library. Can you find your way from here?”
“I can. Thank you, Lord Selsley. You’re—you are very kind.”
He shook his head. “If I may offer you a final piece of advice, Miss Jones?”
“Of course.”
He squeezed her hand lightly, then released it. “The next time a man you’ve known for less than a day touches your hair, you really ought to slap him for his troubles.”
She gave him a startled stare. “Oh! Well, I hardly expect it to be a common occurrence.”
“One never knows. You have lovely hair.”
Again she reached up and twisted a ringlet around her fingers. Without speaking again, she released it and fled into the library.
***
For more information, including a longer excerpt and buy links, please visit my website.
Labels:
A Marriage of Inconvenience,
excerpt,
Regency,
Susanna Fraser
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