Beyond Heaving Bosoms
Page 26
“You were always a(n) [adjective] liar,” he said, amusement showing in his face. “A magnificent [job or avocation], but a terrible liar. This, however, is a poor showing, even for you.”
She was close now. Almost close enough. She shrugged her shoulders. “You know me too well.” Closer. Almost. Almost. His [character trait] always was his biggest [noun]. “I may have thought about you every now and then, but let me assure you, the memories of you have inspired me to homicide no more than a dozen times. Well, not more than [number]. Okay, fine, [number] on the very outside.”
She could breathe in his scent, [spice] and [noun], and his face was right in front of hers. His mouth was quirked in a half-smile. He reached out to [verb] her.
She moved, quicker than the reflexes of a hunting [animal], faster than thought itself, aiming for his [organ].
The jar of her shattering [noun] indicated that he’d moved faster still. Well, shit, she thought, This is going to be more interesting than I’d bargained for.
WRITE YOUR OWN REGENCY ROMANCE
You know the drill: grab your pelisse and your wrap, fill in the blanks, and read aloud your lush Regency romance, now made 300 percent more awesome with your input and brilliance!
Name of British food, spaces omitted: ____________________
Adjective: ________________________________________
Noun: __________________________________________
Adjective: ________________________________________
Noun: __________________________________________
Plant: ___________________________________________
Noun, plural: _____________________________________
Noun: __________________________________________
Verb: ___________________________________________
Body part: _______________________________________
Emotion: ________________________________________
Adjective: ________________________________________
Adjective: ________________________________________
Sexy word: _______________________________________
Noun, plural: _____________________________________
Noun, plural: _____________________________________
Noun: __________________________________________
Body part: _______________________________________
Organ: __________________________________________
Adverb: _________________________________________
Adjective: ________________________________________
Body part: _______________________________________
Noun: __________________________________________
Noun: __________________________________________
Body part, plural: __________________________________
Name of oil or energy company: ________________________
Adjective: ________________________________________
Verb: ___________________________________________
Verb: ___________________________________________
Regency exclamation: ______________
Noun, plural: _____________________________________
Organ: __________________________________________
Body part: _______________________________________
Verb: ___________________________________________
Verb: ___________________________________________
Noun: __________________________________________
Animal: _________________________________________
Emotion: ________________________________________
Furry animal: _____________________________________
Another furry animal: _______________________________
Noun: __________________________________________
Verb: ___________________________________________
Body part: _______________________________________
Emotion: ________________________________________
Body part: _______________________________________
The ball had become a most dreadful crush, and Miss Chastity Merriweather-[name of British food, spaces omitted] slipped past the double doors left ajar in the ballroom, seeking respite from the near-[adjective] heat of candles and press of [noun]—and a dark, [adjective] gaze that had not left her all night. As she stood in the dark and took dainty sips of [noun], scented by the [plant] bushes that grew nearby, she heard slow, deliberate [noun, plural] behind her, and sensed a large imposing presence beside her.
The Devil had found her, it seemed, despite her best efforts at escaping him.
He’d certainly wasted no [noun].
She tried to turn around and [verb] past him, but too late. His arm wrapped around her [body part], and she gave a brief shriek of [emotion] when she felt herself being hauled unceremoniously against a very [adjective], very [adjective] body, but the cry was swallowed when a hard, sensual mouth sealed itself against hers.
She struggled briefly in his grasp, but the [sexy word] assault soon overcame her delicate senses. [Noun, plural] raced through her blood, and [noun, plural] ran up and down her [noun]. When his tongue traced the seam of her [body part], she gasped; he took advantage of her open mouth and slipped in. His tongue proceeded to flicker and caress her in a most provocative way, and before she quite knew what had come over her, her [organ] joined in the love-play, tangling with his [adverb].
His abrupt withdrawal was [adjective]. His mouth was damp and his [body part] tousled; Chastity realized with a mixture of [noun] and [noun] that she had been responsible. She hadn’t even remembered putting her hands on his head. With a sinking feeling, she suddenly realized she could feel exactly where his [body part, plural] were, and she was quite sure they were in a place no proper lady should allow a gentleman.
The problem, of course, was that Devil [name of oil or energy company] wasn’t a gentleman.
His [adjective] face looked down at hers with an unreadable expression, making it impossible for her to [verb]. She attempted to [verb] herself, and said: “[Regency exclamation], sir, I’m sure I shouldn’t be allowing you to take such [noun, plural].”
His arms instantly tightened around her. “Chastity, my [organ], surely you did not think I could view your furtive attempt to leave as anything other than an invitation,” he drawled. His gaze dropped to her [body part], and another expression flitted across his face. “And given the way you [verb], I hardly think you are a stranger to these sorts of assignations.”
Chastity gasped. How dare he [verb] her [noun]? “You…you [animal]!” she cried out in self-righteous [emotion]. “You insufferable [ furry animal]! You, you…[another furry animal]! I can assure, you, sir, that never has a person been so outrageously free with my [noun]!”
“You can [verb] me all you like,” he said. “Your [body part] may say something, but your lips and tongue say something else entirely.”
Chastity’s shriek, this time of [emotion], was once again cut off by the Devil clamping his [body part] over hers.
WRITE YOUR OWN VAMPIRE ROMANCE
It was a dark and angsty night. The wind raged, the trees whispered, a child counted to ten between flashes of lightning and claps of thunder. And the book you’re reading is scaring the pajama pants right off you. Fill in the blanks, and hold on to your elastic waistband, because it’s Vampire Romance Mad Lib Time.
Hot item: ________________________________________
Adjective: ________________________________________
Body part: _______________________________________
Natural disaster: ___________________________________
Noun: __________________________________________
Noun: __________________________________________
Noun: __________________________________________
Noun, with an extra “h” added: ________________________
Body part: _______________________________________
Body part: _______________________________________
Adject
ive: ________________________________________
Adjective: ________________________________________
Adjective: ________________________________________
Noun: __________________________________________
Noun: __________________________________________
Body part: _______________________________________
Word for emotion, but with two extra “h”s added to it: ________
Body part: _______________________________________
Adjective: ________________________________________
Flavor: __________________________________________
Favorite childhood food: _____________________________
Favorite adult food: _________________________________
Astronomical object: ________________________________
Organ: __________________________________________
Verb: ___________________________________________
Verb: ___________________________________________
Noun: __________________________________________
Verb: ___________________________________________
The dream was the same as it always was, yet different.
He was there in the room with her, like he had been for every night in the past several years. His gaze ran over her body, making her tremble, making her hot, hotter than [hot item]. He touched her shoulder, stroked it, pinned her to the bed. And smiled.
His teeth were beautiful and white and very, very [adjective].
A hard thrust of his [body part], and he was inside her, like he’d been in so many dreams. She screamed in pleasure and pain as the orgasm swept through her like a [natural disaster].
He laughed, hard and dark and cruel, her dream [noun], her [noun], her [noun]. He bent his head and scraped his teeth against her neck.
The dream was the same. But different.
This time, he raised himself and looked down at her. “Finally,” he said, “You’re ready for this, [noun, with an extra “h” added].” He smiled, baring his teeth again, and this time, when he lowered his [body part] to her neck, the [body part] pierced her, [adjective] and [adjective] and [adjective] at once.
[Noun] slammed through her body. She could feel her blood pulsing into his mouth, and while a part of her was horrified, her [noun] wanted nothing more than to push as much of herself into him as she could.
Something pressed against her mouth. His [body part], she realized through the fog of pleasure.
Bite, said a voice inside her head. Bite as hard as you can, my [word for emotion, with two extra “h”s added to it].
So she did. Her teeth were strangely sharp, almost as sharp as his, and the skin parted easily. A flood of warmth entered her [body part]. His blood was [adjective], [ flavor], and utterly delicious; it tasted like [ favorite childhood food] and [ favorite adult food].
Then the pain.
The pain caught her unawares. It came from nowhere and everywhere; it was agonizing, searing, impossible; it felt like a(n) [astronomical object] was burning her [organ] from the inside out.
The pain woke her up. That was when she realized it wasn’t a dream. Her body was racked with convulsions of pain and pleasure while the man of her dreams pinned her to the bed, drawing her blood with great gulps from her even as his filled her mouth so fast she had to [verb] or [verb].
Before the blackness of [noun] claimed her, she felt him [verb] himself from her, and the last thing she saw was his face, wreathed in a red feral smile.
Spot the Bullshit Regency Term—It Goes All the Way Up to Eleven
One of the best parts of reading Regency romance is when an author has done her homework. When the research is tight, the reading is right. Let that be your guiding motto as we challenge you—as we have also done our homework, with the assistance of Google-Fu.
There are eleven bullshit Regency words that we totally made up hidden within this mass of what-the-fuck. Find them. All eleven.
alkithole
calf-clingers
mizzlefust
amuse-mouffe
faradiddle
Paphian
antidote
fleeker
parantesson
aristide
fribble
peep-of-day boy
attern goggler
gobble-cock
penny-pated
autem
grigs
piffletosh
axwaddle
ha-ha
scare-babe
Bartholomew baby
herring-top
sham Abram
blashy
hummel-pummel
tap-hackled
bloss
jarrenbill
twiddlefoot
buck fitch
loose fish
wear the willow
bumbleboots
make micefeet of things
Chapter Heaving Bosom
THE FUTURE OF THE GENRE
THE END, THE BEGINNING, AND THE FUTURE
In our attempts to examine the genre, we’ve looked at the distant past, the not-so-way-back past, the Days of Yore, the present, and the possibility. But now, it’s time for us to toss on that sparkly velvet cape and the glittery shoes, grab our crystal ball and our nearest Swanne Chapeau, and gaze…into…the future.
Really, soothsaying on the subject of romance is an incredibly irresponsible thing for us to do because we are not of the publishing industry. We’re readers. Really loud readers with a Web site that hosts a loud, gregarious, opinionated, and dare we say, Bitchy community of fellow readers and fans of romance, yes, but just readers. We don’t drive industry trends, unless by “drive” you mean pay for them, put them in shopping bags, and drive them home from the bookstore. We don’t make publishing decisions or recommendations to editors, and we surely don’t have any control over What Comes Next.
Before we move into the reckless and irresponsible musings that constitute two women with absolutely no real applicable knowledge of the publishing industry making sweeping and grand sparkly predictions about the future of romance publishing, let us state that, well, we’re two women with no real insider knowledge of the publishing industry. We know romance, and we like to think we know our readers and our fellow romance bloggers, and thus our predictions are for shits and giggles. Don’t make any investments based on our blather, for God’s sake, and read all instructions in the manual before operating. All rights reserved, no purchase necessary, must be two years of age or older, and void where prohibited except when expressly stated that it’s bodacious by law.
Spending all this time looking in the rearview mirror means we have a few predictions about the future. We’re betting our last crispy dollar that the romance market remains strong, even as predictions of health in the publishing industry make it sound as if the heroine and the industry both have terrible, life-threatening colds. Yes, there may be too many books on the market, and maybe there is some financial pole dancing that could be done in a different titty bar, but romance readers are always going to want romance, we’re always going to want more of it, and we’re always going to pay for the pleasure of reading it. Romance readers are a faithful lot, and our genre, we love it enough to keep it going.
The marvelous thing about the romance genre is its flexibility, its fluidity, and its endurance. It’s a bendy, twisty, accommodating ho, that romance genre, and because of that, it’ll be just fine and dandy while the rest of the publishing world may run about screeching to the skies about the end of the world as they know it. In our world, the ending is always happy, if you know what we mean, and we think you do.
Ready to take a glimpse into the future? Let’s break it down.
ONLY OLD LADIES READ ROMANCE. THE READERSHIP IS DYING OUT.
HEY! We’ll pretend you didn’t say that, and you can pretend Sarah’s not wearing mom jeans. Romance’s readership isn’t going anywhere, for two very distinct reasons. First, the youth of the Internet and the
youth of publishing. The Internet has created a large, powerful voice for readers, and we’re not just talking about us, though we are plenty loud. The Internet is the worst and the best thing that ever happened to publishing. Worst because feedback is instantaneous, and reviews are everywhere. Feelings are hurt, snappy accusations are made, and minor flame wars break out with the least bit of tinder when someone’s tender pride gets a swat in the backside. All that instant feedback can be tough, and we know it.
But the Internet is also among the best things that’s happened to publishing, in our opinion, because the Internet allows readers and writers and publishers to interact in ways they haven’t before, and that interaction lends a clarity to determining what it is that readers want, like, and, most important, will buy. Plus, the industry of publishing has a huge number of young people working within it, young as in “hopelessly and utterly wired at all times,” and therefore the Internet and its cranky denizens have more editorial assistants quietly watching and reading—more than one might think. Youth and the Internet will save publishing, specifically romance publishing, from the dire predictions of “fail, fail, epic, fail.”
The other element working in romance’s favor? The letter “e,” as in e-books. Harlequin’s decision to release every book as an e-book as well as a paperback was so brilliant we might need to genuflect. Harlequin could have been dismissed as a dying concept in romance publishing, because, really, who subscribes to book clubs like Harlequin anymore, or CD clubs for that matter? The readers who would happily immerse themselves in a selection of books each month that they personally didn’t choose is definitely on the wane, if it hasn’t reached endangered status already. With that pesky Internet came the desire to customize every last purchase to the point where some people take any removal of autonomy as a personal affront. So the idea of a publisher shopping for books for you? Not likely to appeal to the younger, wired audience, in our opinion.