Blog A Go-Go

In which I do some armchair traveling

As a genre, armchair travel is one of my favorites. I'm fascinated with other places, and reading about them saves all the bother of renewing the passport and packing adapters. (I do actually love to travel, but there are times when circumstances make it necessary to console myself with books instead of passport stamps.) Lately, I've been reading quite a bit about Scotland. My next novel opens in Edinburgh and features a few Scottish characters. It's been a decade since my last trip to Scotland, and I wanted to refresh my memory.

So, I've settled in with pots of tea and a stack of books. One of my favorites is The Guynd by Belinda Rathbone. It chronicles her time as chatelaine of her husband's ancestral estate. It was edging into dereliction when she arrived as a bride, and if the front cover is any indication, it emerged in fairly glorious shape by the time she finished with it. (She eventually divorced her husband and no longer lives at the Guynd, but her son is heir to the property. She will never be completely done with the place, I imagine.) Rathbone is American, and for any red-blooded American girl who has ever imagined living in a stately home--or rehabilitating a crumbling old house--the book is vastly interesting.

My other favorite was published in the UK as Title Deeds, although it's just been released in the US as A Charmed Life. The book is subtitled "Growing Up in Macbeth's Castle" because the author's father owned Cawdor Castle, the latest in a very long line of Thanes of Cawdor. Liza Campbell writes unflinchingly of growing up in a dysfunctional and eccentric family amid the trappings of wealth and privilege. It is a thoughtful book, and one I enjoyed tremendously.

In which I am SCOTTISH

Today is St. Andrew's Day, so fly the Saltire and drink a dram with me, won't you? My family comes from all parts of Great Britain and Ireland, but the majority were Scots with a fair bit of Welsh thrown in. I am a Mackintosh and extremely proud of it. The clan name was on my wedding invitations and the recessional was "Scotland the Brave", played by the most accomplished pipers I have ever heard. (It really startled the guests, though. Texans don't spook easy, but you should probably warn people before you let six pipers and drummers loose in a convent chapel with extremely good acoustics.)

I have been to Scotland twice, and both times I very nearly sat down in Edinburgh and refused to leave. The city is pure magic. Go now and see for yourself. I'll wait. If you're looking for a place to stay while you're there, might I recommend The Balmoral Hotel ? I stayed there when I was six months pregnant, and when I wanted chocolate ice cream, the room service staff sent someone OUT to get it. They served it in tiny scoops, with a garnish of red roses. (My gynecologist let me travel internationally only because I was going to Scotland. Her philosophy was that they had the best obstetrics facility in the world, so if I was going to do something stupid, that was the place to do it.)

If you are actually contemplating a trip to Scotland or you just want a little armchair travel, don't miss Scotland.org , an extremely informative site. I particularly love the map you can keep clicking to add infrastructure. Or, if you're feeling really ambitious, whip up a batch of shortbread. It is absurdly easy--just a cup of butter to a cup of sugar to three cups of flour. Cream the first two ingredients, knead in the third, pat into a cake tin, prick with a fork, and bake at 275 for almost an hour. You'll know it's done when you can smell it. (Personally, I haven't made it in years on the grounds that I don't cook with refined flour or sugar. I will confess that today I intend to break open a box of the store-bought and weep a little over not having the real thing.)

So, it's a day to nibble our shortbread and admire Gerard Butler (or nibble Gerard Butler and admire our shortbread, either way) and remember that, in the words of J.A. Froud, "No people so few in number have scored so deep a mark on the world's history as the Scots have done."

(And please note that as of THIS MORNING, Silent on the Moor is DONE. It is being e-mailed to my editor and agent this very day. Celebration is commencing as we speak. There will be wine and perhaps some confetti as well. If you've been working feverishly at NaNoWriMo, please pull a cork and join me. Whether you made your word count or not, you TRIED, and the glory is in the attempt. Slainte!)

ETA: It only took eighteen minutes after I e-mailed the book to my editor for me to begin questioning every choice, every character, and every plot point. I now want to beg for it back and start all over from the beginning. I'm not worried though, because now I know this is perfectly normal writerly behavior. It will come with every book, and the trick is to ride it out by putting the book OUT of my mind and getting on with other things. So, I'm going to go get a manicure now and then I have to go sign some stock of the mass market paperback of Grave for a local authors display at my B&N. I've said it before, and you can chisel it on my gravestone: writing isn't for wusses.