During my last signing at Barnes and Noble, I spent more than half my time explaining to customers that no, there aren’t any vampires in the book, the main character is male, and the only tattoos present on any character are prison tattoos. As much progress as has been made in SciFi and Fantasy circles* and in American society in general, we’ve still got a long way to go. So, let me get something off my chest here and now. As much as I’m okay with Romance’s interest in all things Fantasy, it can be, let’s just say, extremely frustrating for someone like me.

Because I don’t like Romance as a literary genre, and I never have.

And then from a blogger called Mfred there’s this rebuttal:

Which leads me to the part where I do start to feel a little bit of a gender betrayal— Leicht, wanting to both write a good novel and to be perceived as a good writer, changed her character to male and makes sure to emphasize how it’s not a romance?

Now I don’t know Mfred, but I would probably like talking about books with her. I do think that she took Leicht’s blog post too personally, and knowing Leicht, I bet that if the two of them sat down to talk they’d probably find plenty of common ground. Also, Mfred, if you are reading this, go buy Stina’s book. It’s really good  — you’ll like it. So she pissed you off — all the more reason to buy the book and find out what the hullabaloo is about.

The thing is, I agree with both of them.  I know what Leicht is talking about. I write fantasy, yet my books have romance covers (we’re setting Miss Bennet aside for the moment).  My books are not conventional romances, ie, they do not have happy endings.

As a result, I caused unhappiness in many romance readers, who were led to expect by the covers that my books would have happy and fulfilling romances. (Seriously, there were Team Joe and Team Crae. I should have sold t shirts.) For one reader at least, the fact that at the end of Gordath Wood, no one got the person they wanted ruined the book for her.  It seriously bugged her.

• So here’s the thing — I have no control over the covers.
• I thought I was writing fantasy, not romance.
• My books also confound people because they don’t have very much magic in them.

I love romance — but my ideal romance is the sad romance. You know, a Mal and Inara type romance. I love serious romances, like Adam and Jenny in A Civil Contract (I always want to tell Jenny that she got the better deal, Adam really loves her, etc. I have this terrible need to comfort fictional people.)  I love romances where love isn’t fantastic sex in impossible positions but people who are damaged yet strong, who have demons (metaphorical) but overcome them.

HEA (happy ever after) endings are great too, but I love them the way I love Kitkats and Reeses peanut butter cups — too much of a good thing leads to extra pounds and a queasy feeling.

And that is where Mfred and I part company. The insistence, partly marketing and partly the readership, that Romances should have great sex and an HEA, is what makes the genre so frustrating.

One of the things  that Romance does is pigeonhole women writers. A male reader of mine wondered why Gordath Wood wasn’t considered science fiction, because it was very similar to Eric Flint’s 1632. Seriously — modern people go back in time, etc etc. Flint’s were a group of United Mine Workers from West Virginia — mine were horsewomen from New York.  His had overt alien presence, mine a portal that is an alien presence (although that doesn’t come out til Red Gold Bridge and won’t be fleshed out more til the final book in the series).

My books got pigeonholed, y’all. They got pigeonholed as fantasy because I’m a woman, and the covers further identified them as Romance. And while yes, Romance is an enormous genre, and it is the most lucrative (during the recession, the only books that sold well were Romance novels), the emphasis on certain tropes is actually confining.

It’s a big tent, but it turns out, there’s not a lot of wiggle room there.

Anyway, both blogs are thought-provoking and exciting, and there’s room for discussion and commentary. Go for it — enjoy!

Beautiful, isn’t it. We walked just past halfway over the bridge, and it was epic and awesome.

And don’t get me wrong — those ladies who launch enemies are great fun. But I wanted a realistic heroine, and Lynn came riding out of my subconscious on a great white horse and did her best to save the world.

If you like your heroines strong, sexy, realistic, and unstoppable, Lynn’s your woman.  She may not be the strongest, and she doesn’t have a magical power, but she has heart, faith, and endurance. She might get scared, but she doesn’t let that stop her.

And when it comes time to rescue the boyfriend she thought she left behind, well, back she goes to save him.

If you know someone who likes heroes and horses, what better gift for Christmas than Gordath Wood and Red Gold Bridge?

Dear Mom and Dad,

Well, I’m here. It’s not so bad, and I don’t want you to worry, even though I guess you will. The Terricks are taking good care of me. Mrs. Terrick is nice. I like her. She showed me how to spin on a spindle the other day. I know, mom, but it’s important here. I think it’s called housewifery? I remember that from one of my social studies classes. It’s not physics, but running a big house like this one takes a lot of work.

Kate paused to rub her fingers. They were smudged with ink. She dipped the quill pen and began again.

Mr. Terrick is just like I remember him. Gruff and kind of forbidding. He reminds me of that judge that you introduced me to at the Christmas party last year? But he means well, and he’s kind of nice. He even –

She stopped. Would her parents understand when she wrote “He even smiled at me this morning”? She couldn’t cross anything out. She knew they would worry over the crossouts and what she didn’t tell them. Look, she told herself, it’s not like they’re really going to read this. In a week or two, she wouldn’t even be able to read it, once her brain reset from crossing the gordath.

Just tell them the truth.

He even smiled at me this morning.

Colar has two brothers, Aevin and Yare, and a little sister, Erinye. He had another sister, but she died, he said of a fever. He said it was probably something we could have cured back home. That’s so sad, isn’t it? That’s why I plan to become a doctor in Aeritan. Aren’t you proud of me? Haha. I know, you always wanted me to be a doctor.

She put in a smiley face and continued.

Aevin is okay, except he is constantly trying to prove himself and it gets tiring. Yare’s a little pain in the butt, and Eri’s a sweetie. We share a room and I look after her.

Kate paused again, thinking about that. It seemed to help Lady Terrick that she was there to make sure Eri was dressed and clean and had someone to keep her company at her chores. She didn’t mind doing it, and had stepped up without being asked, but now that it was expected, she wasn’t sure how she felt about it. She didn’t know how to put any of that in the letter, so she carried on.

I want you to know how much I love you and miss you. I’m in good hands, okay? I’ll write as often as I can, and maybe someday, you can read these letters.

Love,

Kate

Her vision blurred and she sat back so that she wouldn’t let a teardrop fall on the paper. She strewed sand across the paper and blew on it, then set the paper aside so the ink would dry. Kate blinked back tears as the door opened behind her and Eri came in.

“Kett, mama said it’s time for dinner.”

“Okay, I’ll be right there.”

She got up, sniffed and wiped her face with her sleeve. Eri watched her seriously.

“I’m sorry you’re sad, Kett.”

“Thanks, sweetie. I know.”

Eri came over and took her by the hand. She looked at the letter on the thick, coarse paper, cocking her head sideways the way she did when she was absorbed in something. The lamplight cast her delicate face in shadow so the child looked like a Renaissance subject in her kerchief and simple dress.

“Is that writing?”

“It is.”

“How can you read it?”

“I’ve only been here for a half-month,” Kate said. “Soon, I won’t be able to read it. It fades away after a while, and then I can read and write in Aeritan.”

Which made the whole exercise moot, she thought, because at the point that she couldn’t read and write in English, her parents wouldn’t be able to read what she wrote next.

She squeezed Eri’s hand.

“Let’s go. I’m hungry and I don’t want to keep your mom and dad waiting.”

Eri giggled. “You’re funny, Kate.”

“I’m funny! You’re the funny one, you silly kid you.”

Eri laughed louder and they teased each other on the way down the stairs.

#

Kate thought the great stone house looked like a dragon. It was draped across the landscape, its jagged walls and towers like the backbone and winged joints of the mythical beast. The main part of the house was a rough square, its narrow windows facing the road that led away toward the rest of Aeritan.

She and Colar had ridden up that avenue when she brought him back to Terrick two weeks before.

The stables and outbuildings were scattered to the rear of the dragon, its tail as it were. Allegra and Hotshot were stabled there, and Kate made a point of visiting her horses daily and making sure they were well taken care of. She knew enough not to fret; To a Terrick, it was a point of honor to care well for horses and hounds.

She thought she knew about a Terrick’s honor before but now, living under their roof and by their code, she knew she didn’t understand it at all.

Kate and Erinye slipped into the dining room. The family stood by their chairs at the shining table. Lord Terrick would arrive last, per custom. There were Aevin and Yare on the left, Colar at his father’s right hand. Lady Terrick sat at the foot, and there were two empty chairs for Eri and Kate. Even that stinker Yare sits higher than I do, Kate thought.

It shouldn’t have mattered. She knew who she was and her own value, and all the ingrained sexism of her strange world couldn’t change that. It grated though. Maybe that was in her expression, because Colar caught her eye and shook his head slightly. She gave him a half smile, half-grimace, and stood next to Lady Terrick, Eri on the opposite side. As it happened, she stood next to Yare.

“You’re late,” he told her. “And Eri’s face is smudged. Mama!”

You rotten little brat, Kate thought. She flushed. She had forgotten, again, to make sure Eri was kept clean and presentable. The little girl looked as beautiful as always, but to be sure there was a smudge on her cheek and her simple smock was awry.

“Sorry –” Kate began, but Lady Terrick made a gesture.

“Goodness, child, it’s not the end of the world. Eri is old enough to make herself presentable. Are you not, Eri? Try not to disappoint your father, as he loves you very much.”

“I’m sorry, Mama,” Eri said in a small voice.

Kate’s stomach clenched. No wonder I’ve lost weight; every dinner is like this. The terror of obligation to one’s parents, their honor, and above all their love permeated all things Terrick, even a simple dinner.

Lord Terrick entered the room, bringing the smell of outdoors with him. His eyes flicked down the table and back. Kate’s back stiffened, and she thought even Lady Terrick’s did. To her relief he didn’t cast a particular grim eye over Eri. Saved by the lack of electricity, she thought. The dining room was illuminated with plenty of oil lamps but was still dim.

“By the grace of the high god who holds us all in his hand, we are blessed with food and shelter,” Lord Terrick said. He sat, and they followed suit.

The meal was simple yet hearty; spiced lamb, flatbreads, stewed greens and tubers, like potatoes. Every bite tasted like sawdust. Kate chewed diligently and without savor. She had learned to eat with just a spoon and a knife. Her first dinner at Terrick, she had made a joke to Colar about inventing forks. She thought he would laugh. She thought he would accept her offering of their shared history. It was, she thought, meant as an us against them moment. Instead, he looked at her seriously and said that she would get used to a knife and spoon, just like he had gotten used to forks.

Not us against them at all, she thought. She hadn’t gotten it at the time, but she came to understand that it was him with them. Him with his family. Me against them.

It will be different when we marry, she thought. She washed down an impossibly tiny bite with an even smaller sip of Terrick brandy, which tasted like mouthwash and she loathed. As always it made her break out into a sweat, even the polite taste she had taken. She concentrated fiercely on her dinner, not even trying to catch Colar’s eye. She had tried that on their second dinner, hoping to get a smile from him, only to have Yare shout, “Mama! She’s making eyes at Colar!”

Her face flamed at the memory, or maybe that was the brandy.

Lord Terrick was going around the table, asking everyone their business. When he got to Eri, his eyes narrowed and Kate held her breath, but he said only, “Erinye, have you practiced your letters today?”

“No, lord father,” Eri said in a small, frightened voice.

“I see,” Lord Terrick said. “Perhaps you had better things to do than improve your mind?”

Yare made a derisive noise, then jumped in his seat, by which Kate thought that Aevin had kicked him under the table. Good, she thought at the boy.

“I–I” Eri started.

Lord Terrick waited politely, and when it was clear that he had silenced his daughter into frightened immobility, he turned to Kate.

“Perhaps our foster daughter can help you, Erinye. Kate’s knowledge and understanding impressed us all last year. You learned to read and write with Talios, among your lessons as his apprentice, did you not?”

“Ye – yes, sir, I did.” Kate winced inwardly at her own stumble. “I would be happy to help Eri with reading and writing, and math too.”

“Math! Learned indeed. Erinye, how would you like to be Kett’s pupil?”

Eri beamed with relief and Kate smiled back at her.

“So it’s decided then.” He turned toward his wife, but Kate interrupted.

“Lord Terrick, it’s just that I can’t just yet.”

He turned back to her. The entire table fell silent. Kate took a deep breath. “I can’t read yet in Aeritan. Yet. I’ll be able to in a few weeks, but it takes a while.”

Lord Terrick’s expression was unfathomable. Kate hurried on. “Same thing happened for Colar, actually. Right?”

She turned to Colar. Help me, she beseeched him silently.

“It’s true,” he said, and she sighed with relief. “But,” he frowned. “It didn’t take me that long – a half-month?”

“Yes,” and now she was babbling. “Longer even, because you were in the hospital, and it wasn’t until you were out and at home that we even began to try to read and write, remember? We started with Catcher in the Rye, because you were going to need it for freshman English…”

Her voice faded. Lord and Lady Terrick were looking at the both of them, as if they couldn’t understand what was happening. Yare had an expression of evil glee, and Aevin just looked shocked.

“Catcher in the Rye,” Colar repeated, as if the memory wasn’t a pleasant one. She had to admit, he had a point.

“When you can, then,” Lord Terrick said finally. “Math,” he added in a considering voice. “Perhaps you should also teach Yare.”

Kate and Yare looked at each other in equal disgust.

“Of course,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Yes, lord father,” Yare said, but she could tell by the gleam in his eye that he had no intention of obeying. Great, she thought. And it’ll be my fault if he doesn’t learn a thing.

A lot of it is already a blur that first night, what with meeting friends, enjoying a first swing through the dealer and art rooms, and dinner in the bar. My first panel was on “What they didn’t know then we know now,” or what predictions science fiction writers failed to make. Interesting discussion, and I discovered there were two people in the audience who had read the same obscure Ann McCaffrey anthology as I had (Get Off The Unicorn, if you are interested). The panel went into Heinlein a lot. We could have gone all night; well, other people could have gone all night. I was in bed by midnight.

Up early the next morning for the writers workshop. Everyone gave and received excellent feedback on their stories. I think the workshoppers got a lot out of it.

From left, Elze Hamilton, Raymon Daniel, Kyle White, Laurie May, Amy Thorp, Lee Lackey

The other writing panel I was on, Writers Boot Camp, or No Excuses! Panel, was also a blast. We talked about how to make room for writing in your life by making it a priority, not an afterthought. A lot of it is time management as well as managing the expectations of the people around you, who may not understand how important your work is. Good stuff for everyone to think about.

Rosemary Clement Moore, Katherine Eliska Kimbriel, Michael Bracken, Patrice Sarath, Rhonda Eudaly

I was on the Civil Rights panel as well, but these never get as in-depth as they should and I can’t help but feel we’re asking (and answering) the wrong questions.

Plenty of fun at the masquerade, lots of excellent parties as well. I got to catch up with Kimberly Frost, my partner in Robert Earl Keen appreciation (and an all around fun person and talented writer), and it was over all too quickly.

By the way, driving home there was a massive traffic jam on 290, but I managed to make a U-turn and go out 21 through Bastrop and thence home. Wow, that was a pretty drive. Even though it takes me out of my way, I may go that way all the time. It’s a lovely drive, through tree-lined streets that hardly feel like Texas at all.

Page Readers Show

I will add a link to the podcast when it’s complete.

Thanks and hope to hear from you!

Following that, I will be co-teaching at the writer’s workshop with a very fine bunch of writers from the London T Party, and on Sunday, diving into deep questions of heroism, feminism, and other isms. I am sure it will get emotional, possibly even heated. What’s the fun otherwise?

The full program is here.

After-con events will likely include Bath (I think Miss Mary Bennet would be wistfully pleased and yes, it will be research) and that sort of scenery I’ve seen only from Sunday nights watching Masterpiece Theater on PBS.

Also, museums.

I’ll try to blog as I go and upload photos, so check back often for reports.

The weather report calls for cold, but it’s been absolutely gorgeous here in Austin.  I will try not to whine about the cold but I can’t promise absolutely good behavior.

Harder was saying good-bye to the family. She had bowed to Lord and Lady Terrick, giving thanks for their hospitality as coldly as she knew how. She thought at first that they would ask her to stay, would apologize to her, would beg to let them make it up to her. Instead, they merely nodded as if she was a stranger they had given mere traveler’s aid to.

To Aevin she held out her hand and he clasped it, as if they were comrades, and flushed earnestly.

“Be good, Aevin,” she told him. “You are a good soldier – I would want you on my side in any battle.”

He tried to scoff – what girl would he ever be in battle with?– but she could tell he was pleased.

Yare she high-fived, which he loved, and then she caught him for a hug. While he howled and struggled, she tickled him, and when she let him go, he was laughing.

“Stay out of trouble, okay, scamp?”

He stuck his tongue out at her, and as if he couldn’t stand it anymore, he darted off. Well, if he went to ride Allegra, that was Mitain’s problem now.

She faced Erinya last. The little girl hung back by her mother, tears welling. Kate went to her knees and held out her arms, and Eri flung herself at her.

“Don’t go, Kett, please don’t go!” she sobbed. Kate hugged her and shushed her.

“Eri, you are learning how to read, right?” Eri nodded, rubbing snot and tears into Kate’s cloak. “When I get settled, I’ll write to you and tell you everything that is happening to me. It’ll be as if you’re right there. I’ll send my letter so that it comes to Erinya Terrick, at Terrick House, Terrick, Aeritan. It won’t even need a ZIP code, it will fly right to you. And you can write to me, because by then I’ll have my own address too.”

Eri sniffled and looked up at her. “But Kett. You don’t have a House.”

Kate smiled. “Not yet, Eri, but I will.”

The five brothers had prepared for their own journey, their horses more expertly packed. She carried little compared to them, but she squared her shoulders. She had plenty of money to pay her way, not that she was going to tell them that. Not if they were crows. And anyway, you idiot, there’s nothing from stopping them from knocking you on the head the first night. Or…doing other things.

But she didn’t think they would, not even Balafray, strange, frightening Balafray. Not Adhar.

The morning was overcast and the air was wet, threatening a late season snow. The road was thick with mud, and it was already well over Hotshot’s fetlocks. She hoped Eldar’s shoeing would hold.

When she was in the war camp, her very first day, she had asserted her right to exist by walking up to the ostlers and demanding her place at their campfire, sharing their food. With the same bravado, she walked up to the brothers. They turned to look at Adhar and then at her, then Adhar again. He looked her and Hotshot over.

“Good. You packed light.” He threw her two sacks tied in the middle. She caught them with an oof–they were heavy, filled with grain for the horses. She draped them over Hotshot’s withers, securing them to the D rings at the front of the saddle.

That was all that was said. Without a word, they all mounted up and headed down the road, its tall elms slightly dusted with green, away from Terrick and the life she had thought was hers.

#

Winter came early to Trieve and spring came late. The highland House was deep in the grip of the cold, and drowsed under the darkness and the stars. On clear nights the aurora danced, a flaming crown for the grass god, the god of death and rebirth. Crae never tired of watching it. He saw the aurora rarely in his homeland of Wessen, for it was too far south, and never when he was captain in the forest holding of Red Gold Bridge. Damned forest, he remembered now, wrapped in his cloak and heavy furs, staring up at the sky. Everything so close together, so that a man couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of him for the underbrush.

The Trieve sky was big, the way a sky should be. Here, at the top of the hill that rose up over the house like a protective spirit, Crae could see the headlands of the great river that was still iced over. It threaded its way along to the south, and led to Brythern and to the sea.

The wind blew incessantly, sharp and biting despite his wool and fur, and he knew he’d have to go soon. He liked to walk up here when the weather was clear, because the hill gave him the best view of the land. It made it even better when he went back home, back to the warmth of his hearth and to his family.

The cold finally drove him back down the hill, past the cairn of the crow, crusted over with snow and hardly recognizable as anything more than one of the many weathered rocks on the top of the hill. His eyes watered as he made his way down the slick trail, made more difficult by his lame leg. Crae managed with his stick and was sweating by the time he got inside, closing the door to the house behind him with a heave of relief.

Jessamy was sitting at her desk in the great hall, a small fire merrily blazing away, and a pot of vesh steaming at her side. She looked up from her papers as he came in, and he could tell at once something was wrong.

“What is it?” he said sharply, stumping his way over to her.

She threw the papers at him and he caught them one handed against his chest, crumpling them in his haste.

“Favor,” she said sharply. “I’m such a fool, Crae. I should have seen it at once. Terrick is after Favor.”

But only if I were 12. And an orphan.

This is SXSW week, and I’m not doing nothing that involves going downtown and mingling. I did go to Austin Homebrew‘s Grand Opening and got free beer and made friends and met friends and heard my friends’ band The Happy Campers play and that was pretty much it.

I pretend and say, yeah, I’ll go downtown one of these years, but the thought of actually doing it makes me anxious.

I’d rather take pictures of Persephone Mirabilus.

The weather is unbelievable. This is why we suffer through 100-degree days in the summer. Spring in Texas is like autumn in New England.

Tomorrow I get to ride! I need to take more pictures of the horses.

The book signing at Hastings was lovely, by the way. If you are in Central Texas, you should visit that store. Great people, and although it was slow, I sold a few copies of Red Gold Bridge and Gordath Wood and I hope made a few fans. And they want me back, so that’s cool.

Where: Hastings Round Rock

Time: 6 pm

I will also be speaking with the paranormal romance readers group later that evening. Please stop by and say hi!