Extra

Today I went to the grocery store to pick up a few things. As I pushed my cart past the deli, another shopper drew my eye. She had a long, blonde ponytail. I recognized her from my yoga studio. A couple months ago, she came to the Sunday morning class I normally attend. Her brother came with her that day. He complained about tight hips. She borrowed a studio mat, while her brother used hers. I've only seen her in class the once, but she chatted familiarly with our instructor, so I think she's a regular at the studio, just not at that particular session.

Carol! I'd recognize that smile anywhere. How are you, dear?

I circled through the produce department, collecting my carrots and tomatoes and green leaf lettuce, while this woman strolled through the fruits. I wondered if she recognized me, too. The Pringles and Coke in her cart surprised me. In yoga class, she was the student everyone envied, even though There Is No Competition In Yoga. If I'd spent any time picturing her life at home, it would have included a super clean diet, possibly vegan, certainly gluten-free. Shows how unimaginative I am. Now I knew two things about her, that she can do beautiful flying splits, and she eats Pringles. Also that she has a brother with tight hips.

All these thoughts tumbled through my head in the produce department, and still, she never looked my way. I spent some time at the bagged salads, pulling them out of the refrigerated case and scrutinizing them for the slimy brown beginnings of rot. At the same time, the woman from yoga class studiously considered the nearby fruit salad offerings.

I sort of wanted to walk over and talk to her. But what would I say? "Hi. I don't know your name, but I recognize you from yoga. We once shared space in the studio, and your brother was kind of terrible at pigeon pose. Not that I judge him for it; I know he has tight hips."

How strange would that sound? In the end, I didn't feel I had the right to speak to her. I realized I was just an extra in her life. If her credits had rolled that morning in the yoga studio, I would have been Yoga Student #3. Today I was Woman Agonizing Over Spring Mix.

Did you ever stop to think about the trio huddled in blankets in the back?
What's their story? I bet it's good. And the oarsman in red? Most
interesting guy in the boat.

I thought about that. Here I am, a fully realized human being, reduced to filler in another person's episode. Just an unremarkable face in the background. I considered the fact that I recognized her, but she didn't recognize me back. Rather than take offense, I wondered how often I'm guilty of failing to see the people around me, the bodies who serve as my own extras. Do they sometimes recognize me? Do any of them know I have a weakness for Nutella and children who incessantly tattle on each other?

And all of them, from Man Arguing On The Phone to Elderly Woman Ordering Tea to Yoga Student #5, they aren't really extras, any more than I am. We're all part of a glorious, ensemble cast. I have 7 billion co-stars. I know this, but sometimes it's good to be reminded. Next time I'm out, I'm going to try to pay more attention to people than I do to my produce.

I Get Questions!

Sometimes I get notes from readers, telling me they enjoyed my books (yay!). Often, there are questions in there, too. So often, in fact, I have seen a trend of frequency. One might be so bold as to call them Frequently Asked Questions. While I'm always happy to respond to notes from readers (yay!), I thought I might start compiling an actual FAQ. Or a running FAQ, with new posts written as I accumulate more questions. Or something. Whatever. We'll figure it out as we go, shall we?

No, Dick, this will not be on the quiz.

QUESTION: Will there be any more books in the Once A... series, following some of the other secondary characters?

ANSWER: This is, by far, the question I receive most frequently. First of all, it warms the cockles of my authorial heart to know readers feel a connection to my little Regency world and its inhabitants. So, a super huge thank you to everyone who has asked me this question. Thank you for reading. Thank you for caring. I *heart* you forever and always.

The Once A... series was originally conceived as a trilogy. I wanted to follow three friends: Isabelle, Lily, and Naomi. Their stories became Once a Duchess, Once an Heiress, and Once an Innocent. Mission accomplished!

Except...

As I told my ladies' stories, I met some gentlemen along the way, guys who are now giving me the Meaningful Look a character gives an author when he wants to impress upon her his feelings of neglect and impatience. Grant Lockwood, the middle sibling of the Lockwood clan, and Alexander Fairfax, Isabelle's older brother, are definitely on the list. Those two have been riding around in the back of my head for a while now. There's another man who's captured my imagination, too, one a little darker, a little more dangerous. If you've read all three of the Once A... novels, you might guess his identity.

At this point, I have nothing in the works for these fine fellows, but I'd like to get to them eventually. I cannot commit to anything regarding a timeline as to when you might see their books, because I don't have so much as an outline for these stories. I don't know if they will continue the Once A... series, or if they'll get a trilogy of their own, or if they might be stand-alones or mixed up with other series... No commitments! Just know that I've heard you, and I want to know their stories, too.

QUESTION: What's next? More Once A...?

ANSWER: Dang it, people, we just talked about that! 

OK, "What's next?" is fair. Here's What's Next, including a rambling story, because that's how I do.

You see, when an author is just starting out and doesn't have a contract anywhere and doesn't know if her stories will ever see the light of day, she spends a lot of time second guessing herself and wondering if she's Doing It Right. Say, for instance, this author was working on a trilogy. Say she'd finished two manuscripts and had the third underway, but hadn't managed to place the first one yet. Say she was starting to question whether she was wasting her time on that trilogy. All the advice says to keep going, to write the next thing, and the next, and the next. But maybe she was spinning her wheels on that next thing and needed to do a whole other, different thing.

I know there's no fooling you, my keen reader. That hypothetical author was, in fact, moi. When I'd gotten about halfway through the manuscript that became Once an Innocent, I set it aside and started something new that wasn't attached to my trilogy, so I'd having something else to shop around in case Once a Duchess didn't sell.

That manuscript is called Anatomy of a Deception (working title). It's a Regency-set romance about a genteel young lady turned body snatcher, an ambitious London surgeon, and the anatomical specimen they both have to obtain... But the body is still alive.

It's got a gothic atmosphere, a little darker in tone than the Once A... novels. It took second place in last year's Fire and Ice competition (historical romance category).

Wouldn't you know it, though, when I was about halfway through that novel, my Once A... trilogy was picked up by Crimson Romance. So, I put Anatomy on the back burner and got to work on my edits for Duchess and Heiress, as well as finished writing Innocent. And edited it. And learned about marketing and publicity and being a published author.

I finally got back to work on Anatomy of a Deception. In addition to that one, I penned a little novella called The Ruination of Miss Claudia Baxter, about a plucky young woman and the desperate lengths she goes to to avoid her arranged marriage. Those are both being spruced up in preparation for finding homes. I hope to have some news for you on that front soon!

I've got ideas for several series, each consisting of at least three novels, as well as a couple other stand-alone novels. The work I've laid out for myself should keep me busy for at least the next decade (and the ideas don't stop coming!), so I hope you're wearing your comfy pants. We're going to be here a while.

That's enough Q&A for today. If there's a question burning a hole in your heart, leave it in the comments below, or feel free to write. I love hearing from you!

RWA 2013 Roundup

Last week, Romance Writers of America (RWA) got together for the annual national conference, held in Atlanta, Georgia. This was my first year in attendance. It was uh-mazing.

I had my very first fan sighting--meaning I was sighted by a fan. Right after signing in at the conference registration desk, I hit the ladies room. While I was washing my hands, a woman at the sink next to me eyed my badge and did a double take. "Are you one of my authors?" she asked. I thought she must have been with my publisher, or perhaps one of the industry professionals I had scheduled meetings with. It didn't even occur to me she might have been a reader. "I don't know," I said. "What's your name?" "Sophie," she replied. No bells rang. "Who are you with?" I asked, still trying to place her in a professional context. "Facebook!" she replied. Then she gushed about how excited she was to meet me, and how she hoped to meet many more of her favorite authors. What a great start to my conference! Sophie, wherever you are, you totally made my day.

Wednesday evening, we hosted a Literacy Book Signing. Over 400 romance authors (not me--maybe next year!) signed books for avid readers. All proceeds went to several literacy charities. I met romance readers who had traveled hours to meet their favorite authors. Being published in the genre doesn't squash the fangirl in me... it just gives me more frequent access to my own idols.

l-r: Tessa Dare; Fangirl Grinning her Fool Face Off

Mary Jo Putney, who wisely advised we take two pictures.

In addition to the marvelous Tessa and Mary Jo, over the course of the conference I met huge names in romance like: Eloisa James, Jo Beverley, Eileen Dreyer (who I gushed over, and who was very laid back about it), Cathy Maxwell (who I cried on, and who was very kind about it), Kristan Higgins (who I accosted with a hug, and who hugged me back).

Besides the New York Times bestsellers you all know and love, I got to hang out with lots of writing buddies, new and old: Synithia Williams, Kwana Jackson, Micah Persell, and so many more.

There were cocktail parties and luncheons with uplifting and powerful speakers.

And--oh, yes!--the workshops. Approximately five zillion workshops jam-packed with information on craft, marketing, research, and career paths. Spotlights on individual publishing houses. More book signings (I came home with over 40 novels. I might have a little problem.). Parties, open houses, awards dinners... and I didn't even make it to the RITAs, our industry's version of the Oscars, recognizing the best romance novels of the year. One of the Boycelings was bound for summer camp, so I scooted out of conference a few hours early to get in some snuggle time before he left.

Y'ALL. No wonder I'm still worn out. What a great conference it was. If you enjoy reading romance novels, keep your eyes peeled for a conference near you (in 2014, RT will be in New Orleans and RWA will be in San Antonio). Those are your chances to rub elbows with your favorite authors and take home the best new releases. And if you're a romance writer, I really can't emphasize enough how worthwhile it is to attend these events. I came home re-energized and brimming with inspiration for my work.

Hanging Out with The Book Tart

To celebrate the release of Once an Innocent, The Book Tart invited me to a Google Hangout! She is so much fun! I wish I could have a slumber party with her in Maine. Or Colorado. Or on the moon. We had a great time chatting about the Once A... series, bathtub mishaps, and the virtues of East Coast humidity. Don't miss out on the giveaway goodness! Watch the video for a trivia question (email the answer to me), and be sure to leave a comment at The Book Tart to enter the second giveaway.

Lemons

Sometimes life hands you a lemon.

Sometimes life force-marches you out to the lemon grove and fells a fruit-bearing tree on your head.

This June has been a pretty rough on the Boyce household. I'd like to be able to feel relief that it's almost over, but if I've learned anything this month, it's that life can change drastically from one instant to the next. 48 hours is a lot of time for June to find another way to mess with me, so I'm not celebrating just yet.

Don't let the sunny color lull you into a false sense of security.

One of the Not Great things that happened was the hospitalization of one of my children (Child is ok now; please don't fret.). My day was going along like any other. I was struggling with my Work in Progress and policing petty sibling squabbles. And then, suddenly, I was making phone calls to arrange care for two of the kids and taking the third to the emergency room for immediate medical attention.

It was stunning, how fast it happened. All at once, the bottom fell out from under me. I was forced from my normal daily routines into something new and frightening. Later, sitting in the hospital and holding the hand of a child tucked into an institutional bed, my writer brain kicked in. Feel this, it ordered. Take it all in. Make note. You might need this later.

So I let myself tune in to what was happening. I turned my attention from staring at my child (as though the weight of my constant gaze was the only thing ensuring his continued survival) to myself. I felt the ebbing adrenaline and the headache building in its wake, the bewilderment, the desperate fear, and strangely, the beginnings of betrayal. Life had pulled a nasty one on us. Tears occasionally spilled from my eyes, stopped for a while, then spilled again.

Around me, I watched the harried nurse click through a computer screen listing her various charges. I felt the coarse weave of sheets manufactured to survive bleaching after bleaching. I noted the dust accumulated on top of the various wall-mounted apparatuses. I wondered why our room didn't have a box of tissues. On the television in the upper corner of the room, a Food Network personality made a cookie-crumb pie crust. "What more could you want from life?" she chirped.

I tuned back out.

Now, with the distance of a couple weeks behind me (and a couple more craptastic incidents thrown into the mix), I can't help but recall the adage about taking life's lemons and making lemonade, and I find myself wholly unwilling to do so.

These are my lemons, dammit. I earned them, and I will make or not make with them whatever I choose. When Mr. B and I had to leave the hospital without our child (who is, as a reminder, now totally fine), I didn't have the luxury of enjoying metaphorical lemonade. It was lemon juice, straight up, and a lot of it. I was sick with it churning in my stomach.

Although, for the lobster, the lemon is
just a final splash of indignity.

And I have to think that sometimes it's ok to just let a lemon be a lemon. What happened to our family sucked. I don't have to try to make something more palatable out of it. Life is a messy business. We all go through rough times on occasion, and there's nothing wrong with letting them be. Of course, I have learned from this experience, and I hope I will be able to use the emotions I lived through to add authenticity to my work at some point in the future, but I'm not calling that lemonade. A well-stocked produce bin, maybe, but not lemonade. I'll keep the lemons as they are and use them as needed.

After all, having lemons to hand is a good thing. When life eventually hands me a lobster, I'll enjoy it that much more.

Once a Duchess Goodreads Giveaway

I'm running a giveaway on Goodreads to help celebrate the upcoming release of Once an Innocent. Through July 8 (Innocent's release day!), you can enter for a chance to win one of two autographed copies of Once a Duchess. This giveaway is open to readers worldwide, so click below to enter!

Goodreads Book Giveaway

Once a Duchess

by Elizabeth Boyce

Giveaway ends July 08, 2013.
See the giveaway details at Goodreads.

Enter to win

Doing it for the First Time

Choo Choo!

Regular readers of my blog will recognize what I'm about to do here. The rest of you, get ready to take a ride on Elizabeth's Nostalgia Train!

I'll never forget the first time. The nerves, the sweaty palms, the racing heart... Is this really happening? I thought. Am I really about to do this? I second guessed myself the whole time, wondering if I was doing the right thing... or if I was doing it right. I worried what others would think of me when they found out what I'd done. Eventually, though, I succumbed to the need, thew caution to the wind, and embraced the experience. It was exhilarating. It was powerful. It changed me forever.

I am, of course, talking about the first time I wrote.

For this, you waste my time?

... About sex.

*Ding!* There it is.

It was my senior year in high school, my AP English class. The course marked a major milestone in my writing life, for while I was not yet writing my own novels, I was learning to analyze the hell out of others' works.

On this particular day--April 14, according to my file (You do hang onto your academic papers, don't you?)--we were given a poem entitled "The Centaur," by May Swenson (Downloadable text here). Our essay prompt was this: "Read the following poem carefully. Then write an essay in which you discuss how such elements as language, imagery, structure, and point of view convey meaning in the poem."

There was also some mention of spanking
and rump slapping.

So I read it. I read lines like: "I'd straddle and canter him fast"; "The willow knob with the strap / jouncing between my thighs"; "I shied and skittered and reared, / stopped and raised my knees, / pawed at the ground and quivered. / My teeth bared as we wheeled"; "Dismounting, I smoothed my skirt."

I read. I blinked. My 17-year old mind went straight to the gutter, as adolescent brains are wont to do.

Desperately, I tried to think my way around my degenerate ideas. There was no way Ms. Swenson's poem, told through the narrative voice of a young girl, was really saying what I thought it was saying. I mean... it was just a little girl playing in the woods, right? It was just my lurid imagination seeing titillation in the imagery, finding a phallus where a stick had been "peeled [...] slick and clean."

But no matter how I attempted to bully my brain into reading something more innocent in the text, I couldn't escape the notion of something deliberately erotic about this poem. I can't remember exactly what clicked, but I finally decided that "The Centaur" really was about sex, gosh darnit, and I was going to put on my big girl writing britches and say so.

It's like centaurs literally have NOTHING else to do.

I wrote how the language lent the poem an erotic flavor. In another paragraph, I stated: "In conjunction with the diction of 'The Centaur,' imagery and structure work hand-in-hand to bring about the sexualization of the speaker's imagined horse ride as a ten-year-old. The entirety of 'The Centaur' parallels a sexual experience. It opens with the expectation of a rendezvous 'by the old canal,' hidden away 'in a willow grove.'" I went on to map out the arc from foreplay to intercourse to climax to post-coital disarray. The paper I turned in ends with: "The poem transforms a seemingly harmless childhood game into a sexual romp in the woods."

I've never sweated so much upon turning in an essay. I held my teacher in great esteem. What if I was wrong? What would she think of me when she read my work? She would know I had all these thoughts about Ess Ee Ex in my head, that I knew about orgasms and women being on top. I was terrified.

I got an A-.

After "The Centaur," I was never afraid to call out what it was I read in a text. If I saw sex, or misogyny, or nuanced commentary on race relations, or a pink elephant in the sky, then I said so. I learned to trust my instincts, both as a reader and as a writer. As an author, this is a lesson I have to keep teaching myself. It's ok to go there. It's ok to write what's on my mind. I cannot be constrained by what someone else might think, whether I'll offend a reader's sensibilities. I have to be true to the vision I have for my work, and trust that it will find its way into the hands of readers who enjoy it.