Maya Rodale's Blog: Maya Rodale's Blog, page 42

Scandal! Gossip! Romance! My favorite romance ingredients…

I confess: I love gossip. I adore a ton-talking, tongue-wagging scandal. Like most ladies of my acquaintance, I own a fondness for rakes. Hard-headed heroines are endlessly entertaining to me. Last but not least, I love a sizzling romance. Being a writer of romance, it was supremely logical that I create a novel with all of my favorite ingredients. And thus…

The story carries on at the blog of Ashley March…there are prizes to be won!

Penelope: City Dog!

My name is Penelope. I am a city dog.

I live in New York City, which everyone knows is the greatest city. Ever.

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Because I am a city dog, I do things like…

Take the elevator. I must, if I wish to get out of doors for Lord's Sake! [image error]

Don't ask why I need to go outdoors–it's not ladylike for me to answer.

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I go through revolving doors: It's how you get into the shops.

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Naturally, Milady and I should like to enter the shops.

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Sometimes we need something on the second or third or fourth floor so if there is an escalator, we take it.

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Upon occasion, Milady avails herself to the fitting rooms. I go with her and keep watch.

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We walk everywhere. Occasionally I will take a taxi.

But I prefer my daily constitutional walks, unless it's raining, in which case I am vehemently opposed.

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When we return to our apartment, I am zonked from all the hustle and bustle of this fabulous city and need to have a lie down on the couch and recover until my next adventure.

Stay tuned, kittens…

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The marriage mart is alive and well!

When I see a headline like "Bride Market" I have to click on it. That's how I found this story: Roma 'bride market' comes to town in rural Bulgaria. Yes, it's exactly what you think it is: "The "bride market" — held four times a year on religious holidays during the spring and summer — is a chance for the nomadic tinkers to meet, catch up on gossip and notably play matchmaker for adolescent sons and daughters."

The Regency is alive and well in Bulgaria!

My first thought, as a modern American woman, is that this is somehow bad. But then I realize it sounds an awful lot like Almack's, the famed marriage mart of Regency London. As a modern day romance writer, my enlightened and sophisticated characters make cracks about the marriage mart being akin to buying a horse, and you know, just like a meat market. Would they have actually felt that way at the time? Who knows? These Bulgarian women seem to enjoy it.

The article describes the young women dressing up with make up, satin dresses and impractical footwear. Is that really any different than all of us millions of western women that get all dressed up, with our hair, nails and make up done to go out on a Friday night, prowling for a spouse? In New York City, many of us actually go to the Meatpacking District to do this, making "meat market" jokes just too easy.

The part where it gets uncomfortable is when money changes hands. Dowries and anything remotely resembling buying a wife seems antiquated, cruel and diminishing to women. And yet, one expert is quoted in the article saying, "You, too, would want to know if your husband-to-be has an apartment, a car, and a stable job before you marry." Fair point…

…just as long as a woman has a choice and a chance at true love.

The Insanely busy club

Once upon a time, I was out of school, unemployed, and seriously depressed. I vividly recall sitting on my couch, wondering how the heck I was going to fill the hours of yet another day.

In effort to get myself going, I wrote a book, I applied to school, and I became "a volunteer whore." There was no project or committee that I wasn't on. Before I knew it, I was balancing a masters degree, a job, writing a book, and working on other group projects and committees.

Good move on my part—all that activity and social engagement put an end to my depression and answered that vexing question of how to fill hours in a day. The pendulum swung hard in the other direction. Now I wake up and wonder 1) how I am going to get everything done and 2) where on earth I will find the strength to do so.

Honestly, sometimes I like to feel all smug and self-important because I am so busy. But more and more, I'm thinking about the things I'm missing: reading a book for fun, waking up without an alarm clock, playing games with my sisters, taking extra long walks with the dog…and all without feeling like I ought to be working.

I do love my work and genuinely enjoy putting in the time, I love my feelings of accomplishment, and I do not miss those depressed days on the couch. I'm starting to crave the middle ground. But how to balance those work hours with play hours? Anyone else in the insanely busy club?

How to cut the crap from your writing

Sometimes great writing is less writing. Avoid inordinate verbosity with these ten easy ways to cut the crap from your writing:

Write a lot of crap. For novelists, plan to write to 100,000 words and revise down to 90,000.
Make a new home for your "darlings." Maybe it's a special document or folder—just as long as it's not your manuscript!
Give every scene the really!? REALLY!? Test. Is it really that great? Is it really that funny? Does it really move the story forward?  If you can't justify it, proceed to step #4.
Kill your darlings. Bury them in your darlings document. Resurrect them as needed (but you probably won't have to).
This, that, and the other thing: find tiny clutter words and delete them.
Why use 3 words when one will suffice? Exactly. Use one word.
We read it the first time. Watch out for repetition.
Items 9 and 10 but they were crap, so I cut them.

FAQ: Is that a fox!?

When I'm out and about with my sidekick, Penelope, people often ask if she's a fox. By often, I mean at least once a day. Yes, I am that fabulously eccentric gal who keeps a tame fox in her Manhattan apartment. How did that come to be? Read on…

[image error]After one very, very late night at a fabulous party with Princes and celebrities that raged into the wee hours of the dawn, I found myself walking through central park a la Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffanies (You know, gown, heels, massive sunglasses at sunrise). I risked all sorts of rogues and scoundrels and such.

I heard a little mewling sort cry and looked down to see a sweet little injured baby fox limping about in the grass, which glistened with fresh dew. I wrapped the poor, fuzzy little poppet in my cashmere shawl, hailed a cab, and took her back to my sprawling apartment with stunning central park views.  As little the darling little fox regained her strength and health she was tamed in the process.

In order to get past the coop board's absurd "no wild animals in the building" rule, I tell everyone that she is a dog. A Shiba Inu, in fact.

Real heroes protect women

Romance heroes are famous for many things: great abs, grinning rakishly, the ability to lift one eyebrow. That's the charming stuff, but the real reasons we fall in love with them are beyond that: kindness, honor, dignity, respect.

When I see the news stories  like this one by Nancy Gibbs in Time Magazine about our government cutting funding to women's health services, I can't help but think no real hero would ever vote against a woman like that, not when he considered the health and happiness of his mom, or sister or wife.  When I saw this clip by Jack Speier, I thought, "Now there's a heroine!" because she wasn't afraid to speak up.

It's true in books, and real life too: You can always tell a hero by how he treats a woman.

Gorgeous organic flowers

[image error]Oooh, I just love springtime, and flowers are big reason why. No one knows flowers like my dear friend Mark, who does the most gorgeous, inventive and generally marvelous arrangements…including the ones at my wedding! He and his work are featured in this USA today article: Remember the power of flowers in your garden. As Mark points out, flowers are good for the soul and center of romantic gestures. And just plain pretty!

In this month's issue of Organic Gardening Magazine, Mark's floral arrangements for my wedding are highlighted. We grew most of our own flowers on my grandma's farm and Mark did all the bouquets–including mine (at right). We used zinneas and hydrangeas because they grow well in Pennsylvania and bloom in September. The roses were imported and those guinea feathers in my bouquet are from squawking birds in the backyard! The OG article features his step-by-step guide to creating the boutonnieres the gentlemen wore. And there are pictures of the bride, the groom, and that little red dog, Penelope.

Extreme Makeover, website edition

Darlings, I confess: I've had some work done. My home on the internet, aka this very website, has been remodeled. Please do feel free to snoop around. You may wish to read the blurb for my newest book A Tale Of Two Lovers. Really, you ought to. If you are so inclined, check out the details of my double life. Best of all: my new EXTRAS! page with lots of stories and other goodies.

So long, plastic-free February!

Dear Plastic-Free February,

You are hard. Much, much harder than I thought. I have tried, and have only found how pervasive plastic is. It seems the option is to never buy anything ever and to carry a complete set of cutlery and dishes at all times. And live in the 19th century.

I tried to avoid plastic lids on coffee to-go, but my ceramic travel mug has a plastic lid. Which is worse? Frankly, plastic seems great compared the Styrofoam cup Delta just served me. (Shame! Shame!)

I had the best intentions at the grocery store. A dear friend gave me glorious mesh and cloth bags for produce, in addition to my big canvas shopping bags. So I started out feeling warm and fuzzy and plastic-free. But then I was thwarted by strawberries in a plastic box. I rationalized that it could be recycled. And then bacon. Then the lining of the butcher paper seemed suspiciously water repellent (but at least it wasn't styrofoam and plastic wrap). And then bread. I even went to get the bakery bread area because it's displayed sans wrapping. And then it's handed to me in a plastic bag. D'oh!

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Emily Main's article on plastic not being too totally horrible has soothed me. But I don't think a day went by that I didn't use plastic. I even bought new plastic. I even bought something plastic wrapped in plastic. It was a cassette tape thingy so I could listen to my ipod (plastic) while driving. Yes, I know, my head is hanging in shame.

I just met someone who uses an empty Grolsh beer bottle for water. The lid pops up nicely with one hand. Pretty green glass. "The hard part," he says, "is having to drink the beer first." That's the kind of challenge I could enjoy.