The Masculine Mystique

Dates. Romantic movies. Innocent flirtations at the library. All those ridiculous getting-to-know-you singleton games. No matter what the outcome, girls are always left wondering, What was he really thinking?
I'll admit it, women are confusing. It's part of our feminine mystique. However, no matter how perplexing men might find women, I refuse to believe that it comes close to the torture girls inflict on themselves after an interaction with the opposite sex. Behold the mental aerobics of the average female:

• What did he mean when he said he had a good time? 
• Did he just mean that it was a nice time or is he interested in something more? 
• If he is interested in something more, maybe he just wants to be good friends. 
• Maybe he just wants to be bowling buddies...
• Or lifelong buddies...
• Or lifelong partners? 
• Ohmigosh! Could he be The One?

No one can go from zero to marriage quicker than a girl. It's embarrassing really.

I could be wrong, but I'm pretty sure guys don't do that. With few exceptions, they tend to be more pragmatic about life. Sex. Food. Sleep. Life's essentials. What else would you really need?

Everything! reply the women of the world. An emotional connection. An intellectual connection. Financial stability. A freaking sense of humor! (I'm slightly passionate about that last one. And yes, I did overuse the italics. On purpose.) 

As I sink ever deeper into singledom, I appreciate any glimpse into the male psyche I'm afforded. I enjoyed Pride and Prejudice from Mr. Darcy's perspective (until contemporary authors decided that what was missing from Miss Austen's works was a healthy dose of sex). A new addition, Heir to Edenbrooke, opens the door on the workings of another hero's mind.

Philip Wyndham is dishy. There's really no other word for it. When he and Marianne Daventry connect, the sparks fly. It doesn't hurt that he's gentlemanly and flirtatious. Marianne can't help but fall for him. The only thing that was missing wasn't a healthy dose of sex, but Philip's take on things.

Either Julianne Donaldson sensed this or, like me, she falls as much in love with her characters as her readers, because Heir to Edenbrooke provides that missing glimpse into Philip's thoughts and feelings during the meet-cute with Marianne, as well as the details of his life before the events in Edenbrooke take place.

My reaction? *Insert girlie sigh* I loved it. And like everyone who's read it, I only wish it was longer. (However, I can respect Donaldson's choice to keep it at novelette length. After all, retelling the entire story from Philip's perspective would add little new information to the tale and that is what good writers strive to do. We want to add value not just word count.)

For detailed reviews of Donaldson's other books, visit A Proper Romance. There's a little something for the lady in all of us.

* * *

FYI I might have penned a novel from the Dude's perspective. It was a pretty interesting process and hopefully all my hard work won't be wasted. But for now, here's Interlude in the Rose Garden to give you a taste of the direction Jonas Selkirk took me in.

By the way, I'd love to hear about your favorite Dude's Perspective Romances. Leave me a comment! And as always, thanks for dropping in!

Diva Depressed

Even divas have their off days. In fact, being a diva ensures that you'll have some especially bad days. After all, the higher you soar, the further you fall.

When we met diva Vanessa Sumers--connoisseur of fine shoes, handbags, and obedient minions--all was running smoothly in her universe. However, like everyone, she has more than a few skeletons in her closet, including the family she left behind in the pursuit of greatness.

We rejoin her after she has learned of her stepmother's death. Returning to her hometown for the memorial services, she must face demons from her past and reunite with those who will always hold a special place in Vanessa's heart.

Excerpt from Vanessa Stmers:

The pastor gripped her hand in welcome, his face full of condolences as he drew her into the chapel.  Relief washed over Vanessa as she realized he didn’t know her.  She spotted a free section on the back row, and attempting to blend into the crowd, she scanned the room for familiar faces.

                “Nessa!” A voice called out as strong arms pulled her into a tight embrace.  “I can’t believe you’re here!  It’s so good to see you!”  Her stepbrother buried her in a bear hug. 

                Vanessa, surprised, returned his hug somewhat stiffly.

                “Peter,” she attempted a smile, her face tight with the effort.

                Unaffected by her uneasiness, Peter grinned.  Shadows of the little boy were evident in the man’s face; the same bright blue eyes that had charmed and incited mischief in his youth, and the ever-boyish grin. He’d become quite handsome.

                “It’s good to see you too,” Vanessa managed at last.

                “You look amazing, sis,” he said, squeezing her arm in a friendly way.  “You always were a stunner.  And we always knew you’d make it big.  Definitely got all the brains in the family,” he declared.  

                “Thanks, Peter,” she said, feeling awkward. She opened her mouth to force a more congenial reply but Peter’s gaze was drawn to the front of the chapel. 

                “Sorry, Nessa. Gotta run.  Looks like they’re about to begin.  You want to come sit with Dad?”

                She shook her head in response; she certainly wasn’t ready for that. 

                He patted her arm, treating her to a sad smile before turning away.

Still taken aback from the run-in with her estranged younger brother, Vanessa made her way down the row and took a seat by the wall.  The services began as someone settled into the seat beside her.         

Vanessa’s gaze was fixed on her father, somberly following his wife’s casket as it entered.  He took a seat by Peter on the stand, his eyes downcast. Roland Sumers had never been a handsome man, but the steel gray hair and the lines creasing his face gave him a distinguished look.  Like her hometown, she hadn’t realized how much she’d missed him, how she’d felt cheated out of the only parent who cared about her, until that moment.  As if an inner barrier had burst, her heartstrings pulled taut in her chest and tears rushed down her cheeks.

A handkerchief appeared before her.  Wordlessly, she accepted it, dabbing at her face so as to cause the least amount of damage to her make-up.  When she’d recovered her composure, she turned to offer a quiet thank you.  The words died on her lips as she met familiar dark brown eyes set in a deeply tanned face. 

“Matthew?” 

His lips curved into a smile.  “Good to see you again, Vanessa.”

The service was underway, so there was no time for else and Vanessa was so thoroughly tongue-tied she wouldn't have been able to formulate complete sentences.  Sitting perfectly still—to all appearances attending to the pastor—her mind dwelt on the man beside her. 

Vanessa had considered the possibility of running into a former flame.  But in her wildest imaginings she had never considered seeing her brother’s best friend, Matthew. When she’d left home Matty Johannsen had been a gangly teen.  All ears and long limbs, he’d been in that awkward ape-like state between boy and man.  His only attractive feature had been the big brown eyes fringed by long lashes.  Those beautiful eyes provided a glimpse into a singularly unique soul: equal parts amiability, wisdom, and humor. 

Matty had been Vanessa’s favorite among Peter’s friends—a group of boys who had typically made her feel stodgy and straight-laced.  Matty hadn’t been like that.  Instead, he’d smile that too-wide, too-many-teeth grin and bombard her with tales of his latest hare-brained schemes and pepper her with questions about her dreams and ambitions.  She would feign disinterest, but something about the odd-looking youngster fed her attention-starved soul.  Matthew had been more like a brother than Peter and some part of her mind persisted in seeing him as nothing more than the skinny too-tall teenager of days gone by.  She couldn’t have imagined he’d turn out like this.

Vanessa covertly looked him over as the pastor droned on. He was extremely tall, she noted, but where he’d been scarecrow-thin as a teenager, he’d developed a broad-shouldered muscular physique as a man which was only accentuated by the suit he wore.

Under the carefully applied make-up, Vanessa felt her face flush all the way up to the roots of her carefully coiffed hair. How could she think this way about Matthew? 

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Matthew's lips twitch, as if he found something amusing.  With a feeling of irritation blossoming in her chest, her lips drew into a severe line and she fixed her gaze back on the pastor.  Matty Johannsen, attractive as he might have become, would not be permitted to laugh at her. Ignoring him for the remainder of the service, Vanessa folded her arms and sat ramrod straight in her seat.

 * * * * *

I'm quite fond of Vanessa. She's the type who stomps her little Prada heel and demands a story of her own. And she did. Read more about Vanessa's adventures in Dealing With Divas, Hostile Makeover, and Finding Myself in Literature. Thanks for stopping by!

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...