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Showing posts with label E L James. Show all posts
Showing posts with label E L James. Show all posts

Monday, 9 December 2013

Sex or romance? A hundred years of fiction...

 Never let sex get in the way of a good romance. That was the view of Ida Pollock, the world's oldest writer of romantic fiction,  who died  this week aged 105.  Using several pen names, including Pamela Kent, Rose Burghley and June Beaufort, Mrs Pollock wrote 125 novels which she described as 'full of hope and romance rather than sex...'

The men are normally rich, but never vulgar with their money,' she told The Times earlier this year. 'An older man is essential to provide the reassurance the heroine needs.  There's always turbulence before he sweeps in to save the day.'

Mrs Pollock's daughter, Rosemary, added: 'My mother is interested in exploring relations between a man and a woman on many levels. She would never reduce it to basic primitive sex.'

Ida admitted that many of her  heroes were based on her late husband, Colonel Hugh Pollock who, interestingly,  was once Sir Winston Churchill's  editor.

The author's strong beliefs echo those of the late Dame Barbara Cartland who wrote more than 700 books in her lifetime. Famous for her 'hearts and flowers' approach to romance, Barbara  never changed the format of her books, or her belief that this type of escapism was what women really wanted.

Here is an excerpt from A Nightingale in the Sycamore by June Beaufort, published 1957.

He moved to meet her as she moved to meet him and caught her in his arms, kissing her wildly, like a man who was starving. Her hair, eyes, cheeks, lips - he smothered them with so many kisses that before long he paused to draw breath himself. She was completely breathless but clung to him as if never willingly would she let him go again.


I wonder what E L James would make of that?


 

Monday, 19 November 2012

Sex and Swearing? Not Us! Meet the Romaniacs...

  The six  Romaniacs shortlisted for the Festival of Romance 2012 New Talent  Award -  (in no particular order)  Celia, Lucie, Catherine. Laura, Sue, Jan, Liz, Vanessa, Debbie

One of the highlights of the Festival of Romance for me this weekend was meeting The Romaniacs.  An amazing group of nine talented writers, the Romaniacs represent this year's Romantic Novelists' Association's New Writers scheme which showcases the writing talent of the future.

The girls met a year ago at the first-ever Festival of Romance in Hertford  and have since developed a close friendship, not to mention a feisty blog that is followed all over the world.

At this year's conference 'After Fifty Shades - What Next? ' the Romaniacs were among those who dared to  predict  the future of women's fiction. (I can't give away too many secrets...)

On the subject of blogs the question was simple : what makes people sit up and take notice?

'Sex and swearing' quipped one of the panelists. Whether or not she was serious, I duly took note.

Romaniac Celia Anderson won the Piaktus Prize for her novel 'The Chocolate Project' which will be published as an e-book in the new year.

 Congratulations also go also to Lesley Eames who won this year's New Talent Award with her work-in-progress When Storm Clouds Rage.

The rest of us enjoyed every pink-tinged minute and, hopefully, will  be back again next year.




Tuesday, 10 July 2012

Fifty shades of grey hair...

What is it about grown women and sex? Do they think it's just been  invented?

 When I was thirteen our (all-girls) form teacher took us for Latin.  I loved English, so had chosen the 'dead' language  in the hope that it would  help me to become a writer.  Every morning, when she took the register,  Miss Wright made us answer in Latin,  our surnames denoting the  pecking order with the  addition of 'please.'

'Please' in Latin, translates as  'si placet' (with the emphasis on the hard 'c.') .   We trainee teenagers carried it off without a hitch, until it  came to six, which sadly, is 'sex' in Latin.  And yes - you've guessed it - I was number six. Each day for a whole year I shouted  'Sex si placet,' to the great amusement of all my friends.  Childish, puerile even, if girls can be called such a thing.

Move forward to 2012  and 'Fifty shades of Grey.' Middle aged women are reading this masochistic tome on their Kindles,  giggling, like teenagers and sniggering behind their hands.  Did I miss something? Has sex been re-invented? Are pensioners the new teens?

D. H Lawrence, eat your heart out.  Lady Chatterley might just have become a Dame...