Sex Sex - The Greatest Love Story Ever!

Gone with the Wind: is it the greatest fictional love story ever written?

Clark Gable & Vivienne Leigh: the movie image.

Published in 1936, it became an immediate bestseller, and Margaret Mitchell received critical and popular attention. In 1937 it won the Pulitzer Prize, and then quickly adapted to a movie in 1939, which won ten Academy Awards. It was categorized as “A Historical Romance”.

And, we all know it was set in northern Georgia during the drama of the American Civil War and the Reconstruction years. The prime characters were Scarlett O'Hara, Rhett Butler (above image), Ashley and Melanie Wilkes. The novel itself addressed romantic love, unrequited love, jealousy, obsession plus survival and destitution post wealthy lifestyle. It covered the social structuring of gender and class during that period of history: timeline American Civil War 1861 – 1865 = 4yrs and reconstruction years, though the latter left vague in the movie.

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Now let’s compare fictional romance with a real-life Historical Romance.

The great love affair between Horatio Lord Nelson, Admiral of the Fleet and Emma Lady Hamilton:

Emma Hamilton had not been unfaithful to Sir William Hamilton since becoming his mistress in 1787 and his wife in 1791 - William considerably older than Emma. Nelson too, had been loyal to his wife as defined of good husband, but had indulged with courtesans. Neither marriage had given Emma or Horatio the fulfilment of love and romance they’d craved, and both had fallen out of love with respective partners.

When Nelson and Emma met for the first time, besotted expressed the intensity of feelings between them, but it was a hopeless situation: they were both married and he due to sail to war. The second time they met, in Italy, the love they felt for one another could not be denied, and during the flight from Naples and the struggle against the French they fell profoundly in love, and by May 1800, Emma was pregnant with Nelson’s child. He arranged rent of a house and set up home with Emma, but his wife refused to give him a divorce. When Nelson was killed at the Battle of Trafalgar news reached Emma and she was devastated, but worse was to come. She lost every thing because although Nelson had made provision for Emma and his offspring whilst he at sea he had not named her as a beneficiary in his will. His wife laid claim to all his estate despite no children of her own. Emma ended up destitute and it is said she died a pauper-cum-prostitute.

Nelson and Emma’s love affair lasted 6 yrs. It was an intense, emotional romance that swept them away on a tide of genuine love that knew no bounds yet ended in terrible tragedy: for both.

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Napolean and Josephine: Another great love affair, or was it?

The story of Napoleon Bonaparte and Josephine de Beauharnais is supposedly the most passionate and stormy love affair in history.

When Josephine's husband was executed at the guillotine during the Terror in Paris in 1794. She refused to mourn his death and soon became mistress to several prominent politicians of the time. In 1795 Josephine had a brief affair with Napoleon. He was 6 years younger than her, and she didn’t even like him, but it was a politically motivated affair conducted by third parties. Napolean, though, proved utter smitten much to her annoyance and pursued her with intent to make her his wife. She did eventually marry him in March of the following year after an intense an all-consuming love affair for his part, while she had lovers besides. In 1810, after years of failing to produce an heir for him they both agreed to divorce.

A happy and sad affair is this love story: poor old Boney (Napolean) besotted, and Josephine swayed by power of favour and greed.

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War And Peace: again a fictional story, but is it a mere Historical Romance? No, for it does not have a single hero and heroine, it has several of each. Yet the Hollywood movie “War And Peace” supposedly based on the novel by Tolstoy, depicts one heroine, one hero, and sort of anti hero.

Movie image.

With Napoleon's forces controlling much of Europe. Russia is one of the few remaining countries unconquered by Napoleon. So it is a Russian epic story of war and the Rostov family, the Bezukhov family, and that of Prince Andrei Bolkonsky’s family.

The principal characters consist of soldiers: Nicholas Rostov, Prince Andrei Bolkonsky, Pierre Bezukhov, a self-styled intellectual [knows what's right but still does wrong] and is not interested in fighting. Pierre's life is irrevocably changed when his father dies, leaving him a vast inheritance. Although attracted to Natasha Rostov, (Nicholas' sister) Pierre gives in to baser desires and marries the shallow, materialistic Princess Helene. When Pierre discovers his wife's true nature the marriage is ended.

Meantime Prince Andrei is captured and later released by the French, and returns home only to watch his wife die in childbirth. During a visit to the country months later, Pierre and Prince Andrei meet again: cue old friendships/hate/jealousy/desires etc. Prince Andrei sees Natasha and falls in love, and the course of true love gets tough, plus this is one hell of an epic and it would take blog after blog post to write a full synopsis. So go buy the book and read the damn thing this time, don’t rely on the Hollywood version, which is just one snippet of love snatched from what is a multiple story of lovers, their lives and their families. Suffice to say there is death, heartache, misery, loves (plural) and both happy and sad ending.

Which of the above is the greatest love story ever told beside that of Shakespeare’s Romeo & Juliet? Bear in mind all were written more than fifty-years ago.

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Now, here’s the crunch. According to a poll organised by Woman’s Weekly Magazine in conjunction with the Romantic Novelists’ Association, the novel Star Gazing by Linda Gillard has nudged A Woman of Substance by Barbara Taylor Bradford aside.

It’s official the most romantic novel written in the last fifty years is Star Gazing see

Great work Linda, a Brit on Top for a change.

Quote Writers’ News: Linda began writing in disgust at being unable to find romantic novels that reflected the lives of woman over forty.

Yeah, sock it to ‘em Linda. Not that I even knew “A Woman of Substance” had top billing, did you?

For me, the greatest literary romances: Gone With the Wind/War & Peace and Lorna Doone by R.D. Blackmore. I forgot the latter, and should add, all Austen novels, the Bronte Sisters, Daphne du Maurier etc., because I loved Carver Doone (wicked anti-hero), I adored Mr D'arcy etc., and got all dreamy about the Captain Jean Benoit Aubin - Frenchman's Creek.
How about you?

A real life Ghost story for the Boo-fest!

A real life ghost story?  Nah, you say, pull t’other one, it has bells on it . . .

((((ring ring)))

Thanks to Quinn for hosting this blogfest: see link below.

Whatever your thoughts on ghosts and strange spiritual happenings, this incident did happen, and it all started with the early morning feed round in the stables, and sudden mystical apparition of a horse.

 A really thick morning sea mist swirled around the stable block, and with half the horses already fed I happened around the corner from the tack room to see a dark bay – identical to my favourite horse. It was standing a little ways beyond the far box. He shouldn’t have been there he should have been inside his box, so it was natural to assume one of the stable girls had inadvertently left the bolt unlatched and he’d sneaked out to graze nearby lush pasture.


As soon as I made toward him I realised he was bridled and the rein broken, but no saddle. What in hell ? came to mind. Meantime he turned about and ambled off, unlike Barboy who would have stubbornly carried on grazing in defiant stance until made to return to his box. I never thought to look in Barboy’s box: needless to say he was standing at the back of his box and merrily munching hay whilst I made toward the apparent mirror-image horse.


The horse immediately swung about and took off at a meandering trot out of the main driveway and then headed off along the lane keeping a few strides in front of me. At times like these it's best to follow without trying to intercept a renegade horse, which is likely to spook just for the hell of it. So, there I was jogging in its wake hoping to hell no vehicle came our way and collided with either one or both of us. The mist by this time had thickened somewhat and there was nothing but eerie silence as we headed off the lane and down a track through sand dunes. By the time we hit the beach it felt as though the horse was leading me somewhere, but where and why?

It’s difficult to judge distance covered in fog, on open estuary it can be deadly, especially when the tide is out but on the turn. The incoming tide washes across these sand flats and flows up the river so fast it’s easy to get cut-off from safe ground, so few people ever venture beyond red flags. Unfortunately, in thick sea fog red flags are worse than useless.

Suddenly water is seeping across the sand so I know the tide is incoming, water rapidly deepening, and that’s when the horse turned about – me following in its wake – and before I knew it we were back on dry sand, the dunes directly in front of us. The horse stood motionless for a moment as though the fun was over and he was ready to give in. Nevertheless I approached with caution, and not wanting to alarm him I sat down, which usually incites a horse’ curiosity and they’ll come investigate why you’re sat down. Anyhoo, that’s when I heard voices, male voices yelling and splashing sounds out on the estuary.

If you’ve ever been out in real thick fog you’ll know when trying to discern exactly where sound is coming from it is nigh impossible. I looked to the horse, his ears pricked. He let go an earth-shattering whinnie, and replies came back. By this time I was on my feet, and shouting like mad trying to guide whomever and their horses to safety. More shouting came across the water, more splashing and eventual silence. I had no cell-phone with me, and although it was only a short jog back to a telephone it wouldn’t have mattered, and as hard as I listened there was only silence coming out of the fog.

The horse whinnied again and then took off at the gallop from a standing take-off; rein trailing in its wake as he thundered along the edge of the dunes. The horse I never found, nor sign of dead horses or people when the fog cleared quite suddenly as it often does with offshore breeze. There was nothing, not even a hoof print in the dunes. No one else reported hearing horses or voices, and I think people seriously thought I’d lost it.

Five days later out riding I met a wild fowler who’d been shooting on the salt flats up stream, and whilst passing the time of day he said he’d heard about my experience. He then confessed to a similar incident he’d had some ten years beforehand, and relayed a similar story told by a yachting family who were anchored out at sea and came in on a high tide. All had heard horses and men as though floundering in the waters of the rising tide.

The wild fowler revealed he’d already embarked on research some years back because his experience had haunted him, plus he learned through his findings that when the first dredging of the estuary was carried out in the 1900s (to allow larger boats access to the neighbouring harbour the other side of the estuary) bones were recovered and identified as that of equine in nature. Also some people with metal detectors had found horseshoes on the sand flats dating back to the 1600s.



Haunted day and night by the horse apparition I set to with historical research 1600s upwards to present time. What came up was a Castle besieged during the English Civil War by Cromwell’s forces,  (castle above). Beneath the castle lies a cave, through which Royalist top brass reportedly escaped from by boat and sailed up river to where Royalist troopers and horses were waiting for them. They then fled northward to what they thought was a safe haven under Royalist control, intent on making for Chester and expected there but they never arrived. Unfortunately the only crossing point of a third river was under the control of the Parliamentarians, so the assumption being the Cavalier force lay low on the salt flats and undercover of darkness set out to cross the estuary.

All of the Cavaliers presumably perished, with exception of one horse: the horse I encountered, because he galloped along the fringe of the dunes quite hail and hearty. And given his broken bridle and no saddle, maybe his rider escaped a drowning as well. Who knows? But, that experience still haunts me, and if you’ve followed this blog for a while you might have read two snippets from historical novels set within the period English Civil War. This experience is featured in my latest Civil War novel, and I do feel a sincere affinity with this particular period in history. Given poetic licence the rider of the ghost horse survives, but that's all I'm prepared to tell you!

So, what happened that morning in the rolling sea mist, other than that of equine ghost expressing loss of fellow horses and their riders on the sand flats?

To see entries by other participants go here.

Halloween party two posts down from here.

The Never-Ending Blogfest!

Today's blogfest is hosted by Brenda Lee Drake.

The criteria: to write a never-ending scene (cliffhanger -whatever)

Naturally, because I'm a romance writer this is a snip from a romance novel.

Brief: After a horrendous journey in blizzard conditions, cooped together in one vehicle, Luc has finally broken through Tory’s ice-maiden stance, and has, he thinks, reclaimed lost ground on a once happy love affair that went awry for reasons beyond on his control. Meanwhile, although momentarily basking in a rosy glow of renewed affections, Tori is wary and unsure she can fully trust in his sincerity toward her. And so, to the cliff edge moment:

Tori had just emerged from the hotel lift and making toward her own room when Luc stepped from the far lift, Fiona at his side; the other woman fussing about him in manner that of wife rather than PA.

Although there was a brief exchange in passing, more eye contact than verbal between herself and Luc, Fiona's expression was pure cat-with-cream, and Luc’s former request to keep their relationship businesslike hurt more than Tori had thought likely. Worse, anxiety took hold, in seeing Luc about to enter Jean-Claude’s suite and Fiona hovering alongside, though her heart did lift somewhat when Fiona suddenly turned away and walked briskly toward Jean-Claude’s office looking less than pleased with herself.

Mind in turmoil Tori sought sanctuary in her own room, well aware that the next few days would be a testing time. She held no illusions to the fact that Fiona saw herself as Luc’s future wife. The other woman had made that quite clear, just by the manner in which she’d plucked a speck of fluff from Luc’s jacket whilst he busy putting key-card to door.

Tori couldn’t help but think Fiona was the reason behind Luc’s request to keep their romance quiet. He could not be ignorant to his own PA’s overt interest in him beyond that of mere PA, surely?

After all, as soon as Luc had walked inside the foyer Fiona had pounced on him, her entire persona that of a jealous fiancé. She hadn’t needed to say hands off, he’s mine all mine, that was clear by her body language alone. Luc on the other hand, had given the impression of being incensed by the implied intimacy between them. He’d even made his excuses and moved away from Fiona and had gone to have a word with Rory. Yet the damn woman had still hovered close by, as though immune to his indifference.

Tori slid her coat from her shoulders relishing the thought of a long hot bath, and as she made her way to the en suite bathroom something Luc had said, came to mind:

What had he meant by his not looking forward to what he had to do, and, that he was hoping to achieve a happy outcome with little, or at best, no unpleasant fallout. Was that statement an admission of some sense of guilt? That perhaps he and Fiona had been more than mere boss and PA, and that Fiona rightly believed they were a couple? What-if, what if Luc wanted out of the relationship purely because of Tori Bellamy?

Questions, questions, there were so many unanswered questions.

She would hate to think herself to be the cause of a once perfectly happy relationship wrecked because of her, but she loved Luc, had loved him since they’d first met. And what of Fiona? Was she as Tori Bellamy imagined: mercenary, dangerous, malicious and of the gold digging kind of PA?

She’d met sexually obsessive and devious PAs before and had seen the damage flirtatious office affairs had inflicted upon unsuspecting wives and children, the latter innocently believing their loved one genuinely running late due to business commitments. She’d hated witnessing the fallout from such liaisons, and had suffered the wrath of a boss wracked with guilt and torn between sexual love for the mistress and loving duty to wife and children. Often as not these silly men had ended up the losers, their lives ruined by emotional stress and latterly financial straits post divorce, and all because of a moment of madness and wild bout of physical indulgence. She’d sworn, sworn she would never set her eyes at a boss, no matter how dreamy or devastatingly handsome he might be, and now she’d broken that rule.

In Luc’s case it was a little different because he was unmarried and had no children. Fiona was his PA, maybe more, Tori couldn’t be sure. But, and it was a big but, Fiona hadn’t known Tori existed until Paula’s wedding day, and Luc hadn’t known then that Tori Bellamy was still as free as a bird and no partner, but he’d still made a play for her. He hadn’t known then that she was about to become PA to one of his company directors, or had he? She couldn’t be sure on that, because on reflection he hadn’t looked the least bit surprised at seeing her at the airport: in fact, highly amused more like.

Oh God, he’d known, known all along she was free, had known she’d taken this job, and had known that with a bit of love talk en route from the airport and a kiss in the 4x4 he could twist her romantic wrist and get what he’d set out to get that day at Paula’s wedding.

Tori stupid Bellamy, had done it again, fallen in love with Luc Montagne who would break her heart a second time just as surely as he had the first time. God, how she remembered that wonderful ski holiday and the fun they'd had and then, then the romantic entanglement and the disaster no one could have foreseen.

‘Life’s hell,’ she said, turning on the bath taps, thinking: I can’t do it, can’t do what Luc wants. I can’t stay here I really can’t. To be the other woman is just not for me. I’m out of here, as soon as.

 
  To see contributions by others to this blogfest go here.

If you're inerested in knowing what happens next in the Tori & Luc saga, go here.

Always, if I join a blogfest I make every effort to read all entries, so if I don't get to your blog today I will be there tomorrow: promise!

Quick add-on: I've been having trouble with Google friend follower - it seems to be down at the mo  but I will check it out tomorrow!

Halloween Blog Party! - Join in the Fun.

WHOOPSY! Hic!

Oh dear, I think I've had too much witches brew . . . hic!

Oh, and I almost forgot it's N.R's Halloween Party, hic!

I'm late, hic!

Still, it took a little while to secure my sister, hee hee, thereby lessening the competition for my coachman's eyes, whom she has a fancy for, and no amount of witchcraft will get her released before dawn!

Goblins, fairies and broomsticks, what shall I wear?

Ghastly frightening garb to scare the kiddos?
No, red and alluring to tempt their fathers to vices of the night?
Hmmm, I think slinky black catlike velvet. It's by far more in keeping with tonight, for I do have a bit of a hankering for my rough and ready coachman! 

  Will this do the TRICK?

To think I used to get around on a broom just like dear old grandma up there, but I now prefer to travel in style. One never knows who one might meet along the way, especially on All Hallows Eve. After all, we will be driving past Lord Draculon's Castle, and I daresay he'll be out an about seeking the blooded vile of his desire - not a virgin maid safe in bed once his lordship alights upon a chosen bedchamber window sill!

(((((shudders shudders)))))  



 If you wanna lift to the party just send a raven on the wing, though my coachman will challenge you to a trick or two. He's a bit of a dark, rather sinister character, and half-brother to Lord Draculon, so you might experience a chill Bite in the air, and feel a tad light-headed thereafter.

Though he's not half bad when TREATING!

Now all we have to do is find N.R. Williams haunting abode. I've heard it's not unlike a spooky setting out of Lord of The Rings, and has a treacherous road leading to the castle. I believe our host expects her guests to behave with sense of decorum, and I shall try my best to conform to party rules and shall not spend the entire time leading others into temptation.  Well, not all the time, but it is a party! !  

Goodness, we've arrived already, and I do declare there are
 some queer folk loitering at this party.

Sheesh, what a grand nose, my dear, did you tell terrible porkies when young? Oh my, and your friend looks awfully poorly, and by all accounts in need of a wholesome feast.
((((((((shudders))))))) 

Clings to coachman's arm.

And Glam guests, of course, thinking up mischief and spells!

Trick or Treat?
((((sniggers))))

Follow my lead

If you Dare!



Tessa's Blogontest - test your skills as a writer!



Tessa's Blurb is hosting an interesting new Blog Hop, in which she challenges us to stretch ourselves and write something outside our norm. There's no rush on this blogontest - Dec 5th is the deadline.

Taking a gamble, I chose YA, which is way out of my comfort zone! Believe me, it was not easy because the MC is male.

You can see it here. 

Also, why not join this blog hop and test yourself in writing something you've never tackled before. You'll find the link on my story about Hoody