Revisions and Second Chances
Happy New Year! How is yours so far? A new year is a time for second chances, for making changes in our lives, and for being, maybe, an improved version of ourselves.
I've had a good start so far, getting the tree down and decorations put away on New Years Day, gathering up several bags worth of stuff and bringing them to the Good Will, and…hurray!…at long last I finished the first draft of RECKLESS YOURS, book three in my Her Majesty's Secret Servant's seres. I often call myself a first draft writer, in that my first drafts tend to be very whole and readable. But one thing I would never do is turn in a manuscript without going over it again from start to finish with a very critical eyes. There's always room for improvment, and always those pesky mistakes you never noticed the first time around.
Take today, for instance. I found a glaring error in the opening pages of Recklessly Yours that no one caught previously – not me, not my editor, not my critique group, and the mistake actually appears in the teaser at the back of OUTRAGEOUSLY YOURS.
Actually, it's not so glaring, or it would have been noticed before now. But I can't help chuckling. The mistake is in a date I quoted in the narrative, or rather a year, which could only be possible if Simon de Burgh's generator, in Outrageously Yours, is capable of time travel. It's too late for the teaser in Outrageously Yours, I'm just glad for a second chance to get it right for the actual book!
So just for fun, I'm offering a free book of the winner's choice to the first person who finds the mistake and mentions it on my Facebook page. So read the excerpt and see how detail oriented you are – and I'm sometimes not! I've shortened it up a bit. Holly Sutherland has been traveling through the night, and has just arrived in Windsor, at the royal mews, for reasons still unbeknown to her. All she knows is that the queen has a special task for her to perform…
********************************************
Windsor, England
Spring 1839
Holly was surprised to step into a cozy room furnished with a faded but comfortable- looking settee, a small oaken table and chairs, and a brazier set beside an unassuming brick fireplace. The effect was one of a slightly shabby retreat, the furniture perhaps having been deemed too worn to remain any longer in a drawing room but good enough to host a party of aristocratic riders. Then again, such a room in Holly's childhood home of Thorn Grove, the modest country estate owned by her now-deceased uncle Edward, would have been considered perfectly adequate as an everyday ladies' parlor.
"Her majesty's private viewing salon, miss," Roger explained. He pointed to a curtained window across the way. "If you look out, you'll see the enclosure where the royal horses are put through their paces."
She moved to the window and glanced out the wavy panes at a paddock enclosed by high walls that sagged here and appeared to be crumbling there. A thick layer of sawdust had been strewn on the ground in a futile attempt to soak up the mud from the recent rains. Having recovered sufficiently from her bemusement, she experienced the beginnings of indignation on Victoria's behalf. Her queen – her friend – deserved better than this. She turned back into the room. "Forgive me for saying so, but these stables are in deplorable condition. Not at all befitting a queen."
"Indeed not, miss." Roger struck a lucifer and lit an oil lamp. "There are to be new stables built later in the year."
"Oh. Well, thank goodness for that."
"Do make yourself comfortable, if you please, miss."
A cheery fire, laid earlier by some unknown hand, flickered from the grate in the hearth. Roger set about lighting the brazier while Holly settled on the settee and glanced about the room with a mounting curiosity she knew better than to voice. As in the coach, she set her book firmly on her lap, the gold embossed lettering staring up at her to announce the title: A Chronicle of the Royal Ascot, from 1711 to 1847.
Puzzling. But even more puzzling had been the secret message tucked inside. Both the tome and the note had only hours ago been delivered by Roger himself to the Knightsbridge Readers' Emporium, the London book shop owned jointly by Holly and her sisters. She'd barely had time to comprehend the note's meaning – that, like her sisters Laurel and Ivy before her, she was being called to the service of her country – before she found had herself whisked without further explanation out of the city and across the moonlit countryside.
Within moments, Roger handed her a steaming mug of tea. He then opened a cupboard, and returned to place a covered platter on the sofa table in front of her.
"Scones, miss, fresh from the castle ovens. You shouldn't have long to wait now." With that, he bowed his way out of the room.
Wait for what? she yearned to call after him. But such a question would yield her little. Fellows such as Roger were trained to follow directions and follow them well, neither asking nor answering questions that were none of their concern. A smidgeon of perplexity forced a sigh to her lips, quickly followed by a yawn.
And no wonder; she had traveled through the night.
Holding her veil aside, she drank some tea and continued a half-hearted perusal of the room. She strained her ears, hearing only the hiss of the hearth fire punctuated by the muffled, far-off drone of the grooms and stable hands. She nibbled an almond-flecked scone and tapped her fingers on the cover of the book. Then, in a surge of impatience, she flipped open the cover to reread the urgent summons that had brought her so summarily to Windsor:
Dearest Holly,
I need you – and only you. You must come to me at Windsor at once! Tell no one, except your sisters, of course. But please, make no delay!"
Yours,
V
At the approaching clatter of footsteps, she flinched and snapped the book shut. In the same instant, the undoubtedly feminine stride struck her as entirely familiar. She set the book aside and came to her feet as a petite figure swathed in a forest green riding habit swept through the doorway.
"My dearest Holly, you are here! At long last you have arrived!"
Tagged: Contest, excerpt, Happy New Year, OUTRAGEOUSLY YOURS, Recklessly Yours
