My Boyfriend, The BBC

It probably started with my love of Shakespeare and Jane Austen. Something about reading and/or watching either one always made me feel smarter and more cultured. Years of Pride & Prejudice parties on Super Bowl Sunday (same snacks, just fancier) and you have the makings of a girl who was bound to fall in love with British television.

So today, I'm sharing my love of the BBC and my vast appreciation for Netflix. Without them, I'd probably have more of a social life! Anyway, here are a few of my favorites:

Doctor Who

Doo-wee-doo! There's something about a man who's seen so much horror and continues to value human life and fight for what's right. And the fact that he's quirky, brilliant, and hilarious? Well, that just makes him more appealing. Matt Smith incarnation of the Doctor with his affinity for bow ties, fezzes, Stetsons, and dressing like a substitute science teacher will always be my Doctor. I will forever be listening for the TARDIS and hoping he's the one nabbing me for an adventure. 

Sherlock

Admittedly the first time I saw Sherlock, I thought, There's sure a lot of nudity... (It was Scandal In Belgravia, which was my favorite until the antics of Drunk Sherlock.) I was quick to learn that nudity and profanity weren't a staple for the show, because Sherlock is all about the brains.

I blame my Sherlock obsession on a dad who read mysteries to his children and introduced us to Columbo and Poirot during our formative years. Who dunnits still draw me in. And really, do I have to say it? I'm a little bit in love with Mr. Cumberbatch. I just want him to read me bedtime stories I his sexy, low voice. Or, you know, recipe cards.

Downton Abbey

My love for period dramas and romance attracted me to Downton, though not initially. I watched the first episode and thought, I don't get it. What's all the fuss about? Weeks later on a lazy Sunday afternoon I thought I'd give it another try. I still haven't turned it off. The unique upstairs/downstairs interactions, the stunning fashions, and the ooey gooey romance keep me coming back. As my friend explained to someone who's apparently been living under a rock and knows nothing about it, Downton is a period soap opera. 

Too true. And we eat it up.

Call the Midwife

A friend brought Call the Midwife to my attention. She was intrigued by the ins and outs of midwifery portrayed in the show and she's absolutely addicted to the 40s. However, the videos of childbirth from my Human Development courses were as close as I wanted to come to live birth, at least from that angle. But, when I had a moment free from Doctor Who, Sherlock, and Downton (yes, I did fly through them all in a matter of months) I pulled up Call the Midwife and watched a couple of episodes. Here's what I love about it: the cadence, the heart, and the class. It's as beautifully choreographed as a dance. Give it a try. Maybe you'll love it. And maybe you'll learn to do your hair in victory rolls too.

* * *

I'm pretty sure I could go on. I haven't even mentioned The Paradise, Merlin, or Robin Hood, which are fantastic examples of what I love about British TV. Classic literature, myths, and legends revamped with the perfect blending of drama, comedy, and humor. As a writer and/or couch potato I can get behind that. 

And hey, who doesn't love a good accent? Tom Hiddleston is also more than welcome to read me bedtime stories. Or the ingredients on the back of the cereal box.

* * *

Anything else I should check out? Leave me a comment and tell me what you're obsessed with! As always, for reading! If you'd like to learn more about my geeky tendencies, revisit Fan Fiction & Fairytales or Geek Chic. 

Life-Changing Literature

Breath out, breathe in. I had to remind myself of the process. In through the nose, pushed out through the mouth.  Repeat.

I glanced across at my friend, noting her wide eyes and pinked cheeks.

"I had to look away," she admitted. "It was just..." And there it was again, the wide-eyed did-that-just-happen look that begged me to complete the thought.

I didn't need to. My thumping pulse bore witness of what had just taken place.

Few things have this shaken-to-the-core effect on me: a good car crash will do it--especially when I'm at fault, powerlessly watching someone in the throws of a seizure puts me in the same place, and anytime a child is mistreated in my presence will send me right to the verge of crazy.

But it was none of those.  This time it was Shakespeare.

The fandom wouldn't miss a beat. "Because: Tom Hiddleston," they'd chorus.

And they wouldn't be wrong--he was the reason I heard about Coriolanus in the first place, combed my group of friends for a willing theater-goer, and happily whipped out the plastic to cover the tickets.  

But the smug fandom wouldn't be entirely right either. Actors spin a story in their own unique way.  Through a brilliant combination of body language and vocal inflection they portray raw emotion to the viewer.  However, without a story to tell, even the accomplished and oh-so-attractive Tom Hiddleston wouldn't have gotten very far.  

This leads us firmly to the heart of the matter: Shakespeare, one of the greatest storytellers of all time.

Imagine dragging an obscure Roman warrior from the past and breathing life into his long-forgotten heroics and human foibles. Let me share a portion with you from the end of the play. (No spoilers, I promise!) After having defended Rome with his own life, Coriolanus is banished from his homeland by those who lauded his name only moments before.  In shame and great humility, he turns to the man he defeated and becomes a sword in his enemy's hand against his own people.  Desperate, Rome sends emissaries to plead their case. One by one. they are turned away by Coriolanus.  As a last recourse, they send his beloved mother, wife, and young son to his camp:

My wife comes foremost; then the honour'd mould
Wherein this trunk was framed, and in her hand
The grandchild to her blood. But, out, affection!
All bond and privilege of nature, break!
Let it be virtuous to be obstinate.
What is that curt'sy worth? or those doves' eyes,
Which can make gods forsworn? I melt, and am not
Of stronger earth than others. My mother bows;
As if Olympus to a molehill should
In supplication nod: and my young boy
Hath an aspect of intercession, which
Great nature cries 'Deny not.' let the Volsces
Plough Rome and harrow Italy: I'll never
Be such a gosling to obey instinct, but stand,
As if a man were author of himself
And knew no other kin.

Life-changing literature.

I can never aspire to what William Shakespeare has done, but every time I interact with his works, I come away enriched, uplifted, and inspired.  He has grown me as a writer and human being in ways I can't express.

Here's my point: there is great need for writers to be readers.  Losing ourselves in a good book, play, or movie is as good a way as any to get the heart racing and the creative juices flowing.  In my quest to extend my online presence, I overlooked the importance of immersing myself in good literature, and as a consequence, my writing suffered.  Now, empowered by the immortal words of Shakespeare, I pick up my pen (ahem, laptop) and get to work.

I urge you to do the same.  Find what inspires you--people, places, high quality literature--and jump in with two feet.

And, let me tell you something, it doesn't hurt if "passing sexy" Tom Hiddleston is part of the process. 

Knights in Tarnished Armor

I do occasionally date.  (I know, SHOCKER.) And in the big bad world of dating, I've met some humdingers.  Case in point: the guy who asked me for a second date before we'd gone on the first, then after the first date, never called me back. That'll make you feel like a princess.

The knight in not-so-shining armor I'm thinking of was nice enough, relatively gentlemanly (he slogged through slushy snow to pick me up on the curb so I could keep my shoes dry--winning brownie points in my book), and he was oh-so-obliging and friendly. I firmly believe I could have made him date me if I had wanted to, but after about two dates, neither of us was interested enough to put forth the effort.  This is something happily married folks tend to misunderstand.  Sometimes it's just better to be single.

Go ahead.  Gasp, turn blue, and keel over.  I live in Utah, for Pete's sake, I've heard it all.  After 37 years of living the single life, here's my favorite nugget of wisdom: happily single is preferable to unhappily attached.

I'm not talking about ego or convenience--though it is nice to not have to fight over the remote on Superbowl Sunday or argue about whose socks were left in the living room or whose dishes were left in the sink.  What I'm talking about is something so good it makes your life better. Don't get me wrong, I'm not talking about making your life easier, like the newest whatchamacallit that will both dice your vegetables and remove stains from your favorite jeans.  Nope. I'm talking about improving your life in ways that really matter.  Three blog posts later (see The Power of Fairytales), I still don't believe Happily ever after solves all your problems.  In fact, it usually opens a floodgate of new ones.  But, if it's right, good, and worth fighting for, it can bring genuine joy to your life.

I'm still looking for my prince charming.  Not some stunningly handsome bloke with scads of money, a fancy car, and charm oozing out his hooha, truth be told, I prefer knights in tarnished armor who've been around the block and carry a ding or two from the ride.  Real, good, and funny suits me just fine.  

Until I find one who a) fits the bill, and b) is also intrigued enough to take on a crazy redhead, or c) is Tom Hiddleston, I'll keep conjuring Mr. Fantastic up in the land of twisted fairytales.  True love and romance aside, there are few things as satisfying as creating a hero readers respond to with, "If you leave him out to dry, I'm going to hate you!"

Meet the gentlemen who inspired the aforementioned comment, the Beast and his faithful companion, Jack: 

*Author note: for this exercise, please picture the Beast as quite big, burly and beastly.  That is all. Carry on.

They had tromped into the dining room—which was really little more than a dingy space with a large table, chairs, and some shelves for storage—with Jack trailing slightly behind.  Jack was tall and broad shouldered, with the muscular physique indicative of hard labor.  In any circle, he would have been considered a large man, but compared to his master he looked average.  Additionally, Jack had dark rumpled hair, a strong jaw defined by a trim mustache and beard, and intelligent brown eyes.  If it weren’t for his common attire, he might have passed for a gentleman. 

After my captor had pointedly ignored me and seated himself at the head of the table, Jack introduced himself, offering me a friendly grin.  Meanwhile, the Beast took one spoonful of soup, spat it back into the bowl, pushed it scornfully aside, and proceeded to mutter about how horrible it was.  On the other hand, Jack shoveled spoonful after spoonful into his mouth as if it was the best thing he’d ever eaten, practically endearing him to me on the spot.  I looked from one to the other, folded my arms across my chest, narrowed my eyes at my host and pronounced, “You really are a beast.” 

He laughed the low sardonic laugh that made the hair on the back of my neck prickle.  Propping his booted feet on the table, he leaned back in his chair.  “Of course, princess.  That’s all you can see, isn’t it?”

(Excerpt from Becoming Beauty, all rights reserved.)

They are quite lovable, aren't they?  Like most things, they become more charming with time. Oh! And if you should happen to come across my prince charming, will you send him my way? I think he may have gotten stuck in a ditch or something...