Get Rooney With It with Guest Blogger: Maggie Dove

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Win a copy of Call me Duchess and meet author Maggie Dove today at the Book Boost! Here's what Andy Rooney...err...I mean Maggie Dove had to say...


Hello Readers and fellow writers…today, I’m Andy Rooney.

I love to write and I thoroughly enjoy being a writer, but there are a few things that I find quite difficult when it comes to writing. So just for today if you will indulge me…I’ve decided to become Andy Rooney and list a few of my writer peeves.


The Blank Page: I detest the way it stares back at me, white and empty. I cringe when I have ideas in my head, a plot ready to be typed, my fingers warm and toasty eager to hit the keys and…nothing. Absolutely…nothing! How wonderful when the blank page is no longer blank.

When it is finally full and all I have to do is edit and correct and switch paragraphs around. Ah, the blank page…my arch enemy! Sometimes I would love to hire a ghost writer to write the very first paragraph so I could take it from there. Life would be so simple if I only could. But I can’t…so I struggle and somehow manage to write a brilliant page when the computer breaks down or a lightning storm erases everything I had worked on for hours.


Form Rejection Letters: Why elaborate? There is nothing more to say. We all hate form rejection letters.


Interruptions: Why is it that no one understands that when a writer is writing, a writer is working? No one ever bothered me when I worked in an office. I abhor interruptions…except when I’m staring at The Blank Page…then interruptions are a welcome distraction!


The Dreaded Synopsis: There is nothing more to say…well, yes, I shall elaborate on this one. It’s not easy condensing a 300 or so page book into 2 to 5 pages. And after accomplishing the impossible task, you find the other house you wanted to send your work to wants a 15 to 25 page synopsis. In a perfect world, all publishing houses would ask for an 8 page synopsis.


Finally, Blogs: It is puzzling to me how I can write novels with over 90,000 words and I can’t seem to be able to blog. I ask myself often--what is it about blogging that I find so hard? I’ve written short stories, poetry, screenplays, and even songs…but blogging…well blogging rattles my mind! I can’t think of anything to write about. I have a website and in that website I have a blog. I came up with what I consider a very appropriate name because when I’m writing hours can go by and I find myself still in pajamas.

My blog is called—yes—you guessed it—Still In Pajamas! I love the name. I’m still trying to write something under it! I marvel at my fellow writers who have full time jobs and young children, come up with wonderful novels every six months and still find the time to blog!

What kind of a name is blog anyway? Who came up with that? I don’t know but I have blogging on my serious to do list for 2011!

Oh my, look at the time. Thank you for indulging me. It felt nice to be Andy Rooney for a day and get things off my chest.

No wonder he has lived so long. Still in pajamas and still in love with writing!


A Note from the Book Boost: Maggie, this was too funny! I own real estate (multiple properties even) in Rejectionville--so the rejection letter hatred is at the top of my list. Personally, I think you did a terrific job of blogging here--pajamas or not! Please tell us more about your book.


Blurb:

A rapist is loose in London…and he has plans for Marguerite Wiggins.

Grippingly suspenseful and romantic, Call Me Duchess, is one young woman’s stunning journey to find love in 1870s London while a dashingly handsome chaperone, a heinous villain, and her own lofty aspirations stand in her way.

Left penniless by their father, Marguerite Wiggins and her sisters must find husbands during the London season or find work as governesses by season’s end. Determined to become the next Duchess of Wallingford, Marguerite must make the difficult decision between following her heart or attaining her lifelong dreams and ambitions as a depraved rapist seeks to make her his next victim.


Excerpt:

Ah, the London Season—how glamorous, how debauch!

Staring at his image in the gilded mirror on top of the marbled staircase, the nobleman adjusted his black mask over his eyes and smiled with approval while surveying the fine-looking picture he presented. As usual, his appearance was faultless. There was not a hair out of place. It was time to make his grand entrance, but he couldn’t help but linger a while longer as he looked over the banister at the massive ballroom below.

The magnificent Bentley House boasted the most exquisite of ballrooms, and tonight the festooned and tinseled room did not disappoint. What would the London Season be without the Dowager Duchess of Wallingford’s annual masquerade ball, held every year at the commencement of the Season? He had looked forward to it for months.

His heart pounded with anticipation as he slowly descended the staircase, his keen eyes surveying the magical grandeur before him.

There she was now—the bejeweled and crusty dowager, dressed in black silk and lace, smiling at her doting son, the Duke of Wallingford. The duke’s escort, Lady Lorena Bonner, giggled and blushed while speaking to Lord Christopher Jackman, who looked more enamored by her than ever.

Entering the room, the nobleman recognized Lord and Lady Hardwood and their delectable daughter, Samantha, from last year’s Season. He accepted a flute of champagne from one of the numerous silver trays being passed around by uniformed waiters. He glanced at the dance floor and noticed the Countess of Salesbury waltzing with a young dandy while her aged husband watched silently.

And was that not the exquisite Marchioness of Albester in lively conversation with the Earl of Deville? Where were their other halves? No doubt enjoying a lovers’ rendezvous in the terrace while their spouses conversed for all to witness. The nobleman smirked, remembering how the four had scandalized the ton with their blatant behavior last summer.

But that was last year’s gossip. He wondered what tidbit this year would bring.

The marchioness called him over, but he could not go and speak to her now. He pretended not to notice, for he had more pressing matters at hand. The nobleman was not interested in the guests he recognized. He was more fascinated by the guests he had yet to meet.

Looking to his side, he observed a large group of young ladies standing by the north wall. So many of them! Giggling and hoping they’d be noticed. This year’s pretty pickings—such beautiful, dainty flowers just waiting to be plucked. Where would he start? Knocking back the champagne with one quick gulp, he headed toward them.

The London Season—how glamorous, how debauch, indeed! The time of year when the upper crust departed from their country manors and brought their young daughters to London to partake in the marriage mart, all anxiously hoping the young debutantes would meet eligible bachelors from good families such as theirs.

He wondered which one he would rape tonight.

Want More Maggie?

Visit her website here: http://www.maggiedove.net

Pick up your copy of her book today. Click here!

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