So, you’re probably wondering, who the hell is Missy?

Regular readers of my blog are familiar with her — she’s my inner child. Or rather, the child I used to be … the child who snuck into my grandma’s shelves full of Harlequins and Silhouettes when I was eight, and read the books in my room, deathly afraid that I’d be caught.

She read a whole lotta romances before she grew up, and I’ve spent time revisiting some of those (the Memory Lane series can be found here.) And she’s visited Sybil’s blog before, giving advice to authors.

She simply is … Missy. And yes, I dedicated Demon Moon to her, and all of the other inner children lurking around out there. But don’t tell her, please. She’s insufferable as it is.

And lately, she’s been locked in a closet; I haven’t had time to play with her. But since Demon Moon is releasing tomorrow, I think that calls for a celebration.

MELJEAN: Oh, Miiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiissssssssy!
MISSY: I hate you. You try being stuck in a closet for a year, you big fat stupid!
MELJEAN: You said that last time I let you out of the closet. And then you lurved Johanna Lindsey’s Tender Rebel, and totally forgave me.
MISSY: I have no idea what you’re talking about.
MELJEAN: Ah, yes! That’s right. You read the Lindsey when you were twelve years old. How old are you now?
MISSY: Eight.
MELJEAN: Right. And do I have a treat for you — a treat that’s been a long time coming. I meant to read this with you before, but the first time I grabbed the wrong purple book. And the second time, I just lost it.
MISSY: The book?
MELJEAN: …shut up. As for the book, it has horsies.
MISSY: Horses?
MELJEAN: Yep.
MISSY: I love horses.
MELJEAN: I know.
MISSY: No. I mean I love LOVE horses.
MELJEAN: I know. So today, we’re reading Nora Roberts’s Irish Thoroughbred.
MISSY: Who’s that?
MELJEAN: Oh, sweet, sweet Missy … what a life you have ahead of you. Filled with sweet, sweet, sweet NR books, and Eve and Roarke, and other favorites, like the first two Born In… books, or Gage from Night Shadow, who is a lot like Batman, and MacAllister Booke, who is a lot like Mulder–
MISSY: Except for Batman, I don’t know what you’re talking about, dork. Where are the horses?
MELJEAN: Jeez. Okay. First, the cover:

MISSY: That’s not a very good picture.

MELJEAN: It was the best I could find online! I don’t have a scanner anymore.
MISSY: What’s wrong with his hair? It’s kind of fuzzy. Like, it was supposed to be curly, but then he brushed it. A lot.
MELJEAN: I think fuzzy hair was sexy in 1981.
MISSY: It’s not. It looks like a cap of fuzz on his head. Like that guy from Dallas.
MELJEAN: Uh…which one? You grew up in a town called Dallas.
MISSY: The TV show! God! The one I used to crawl out of my bedroom and hide under the table and watch from the dining room.
MELJEAN: That’s sad. You snuck a lot. And you mean Patrick Duffy.
MISSY: Yeah. That’s gross. It looks like a fur-football helmet.
MELJEAN: You have some serious issues, kid. I’m sure it was supposed to be sexy.
MISSY: Ha! Even you think it’s awful. But who cares about his hair? I see a horse in the background of the cover, and a racetrack rail. Can we get on with reading?
MELJEAN: Alrighty. Here’s the back cover copy:

“COME TO AMERICA. YOUR HOME IS WITH ME NOW.”

Adelia Cunnane’s uncle had written her. So Adelia had left Ireland to join him on what he had described as the finest horse farm in Maryland–

MISSY: A hoooooorrrrrrrrrssssssssssseeeeeeeeee farm!!!! A horse farm!!
MELJEAN: Okay, that’s great. But you know what kind of weirds me out? The italics on “me” in the leading text. Because that makes it sound all demanding and arrogant-like … like a hero might say … only it was her uncle.
MISSY: What?
MELJEAN: I’m just saying — it gives me the willies. Because it’s a total hero-thing to say and to italicize like that, but it’s the uncle saying it.
MISSY: You’re sick. And retarded.
MELJEAN: Okay, well stop interrupting the back cover copy with your horse orgasm or whatever that is.
MISSY: God! You’re just dirty!

–finest horse farm in Maryland.

Adelia agreed with her uncle about the farm. But what should she think about its owner, Travis Grant?

MELJEAN: You’re a 1981 Silhouette Romance. I can tell you what you’re going to think. He’s arrogant, rich, sexy, dark, probably has a woman who is dripping with elegance and “cool sophistication” just waiting to get her sharp nails into him, and–
MISSY: Stop interrupting the back cover copy with your Harlequin Presents talk!!

She knew that he could master his strongest horse.

MISSY: Hooooorrrrrrses!!
MELJEAN: Hahaha! Kid, they’re not really talking about horses there. They’re talking about him being all manly, more virile than the most virile stallion, and probably with manly parts just as big.
MISSY: Dirty talk! *fingers in ears* La la la lalalala!

She had seen his eyes soften at the birth of a foal. Yet his lips on hers demanded a submission that she was not yet ready to give — at least not until he had spoken the words she had to hear.

MELJEAN: Whatever could those words be?
MISSY: I know, I know! “You can ride my horse all you want, Dee!” Because that’s what I would hope for! I want to be the stable girl, and ride and ride and ride!
MELJEAN: …
MISSY: Oh my god, can’t you go two seconds without your head in the gutter? Just two flipping seconds?
MELJEAN: No.
MISSY: *sob* I can’t believe I grow up to be you.
MELJEAN: You little twerp. You know as well as I do that if there weren’t horses in this book, you’d be all like, “Are they going to do it?”
MISSY: I would not! … are they?
MELJEAN: You’ll just have to wait and see.
MISSY: Well, let’s get on with it! The first page excerpt, please!

“Just what do you think you’re doing?”

She stared wordlessly at the owner of the harsh, angry voice, a vague shadow silhouetted in the moonlight.

“How did you get in here?” He spun her around, dislodging her cap. Her hair escaped its confines to form a fiery cascade down her back.

“What…the…You’re a girl!”

“Sure, and that’s observant of you–”

“From your accent, I could make a guess that you are little Dee, Paddy’s niece.”

“I am Adelia Cunnane, to be sure, but not your little Dee. And who might you be coming around to grab innocent people?”

“I’m Travis. Travis Grant.”

MELJEAN: Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooh. She’s in trouble now!
MISSY: She has red hair like me! Red hair! Horses! I like Dee!
MELJEAN: She seems a little … feisty.
MISSY: A slug probably seems feisty to you, you sneaking-out, sitting-in-a-corner with your nose in a book, no-friends-having shy brainerd!
MELJEAN: That’s you, too.
MISSY: *sob* Why are you so mean? Can we read the book now?

ADELIA: (sits on a plane and we learn that her parents are dead and she worked hard with her aunt on a small farm in Ireland, until her aunt died, and her uncle in America sent her a letter.)

MELJEAN: Ah-ha! See? No italics in the real letter. “Your home is with me now.” The cover copy people did sex it up to sell the book, to make it all possessive and forthright. Only they sexed up the wrong person’s line.
MISSY: I don’t care about that! She has an “innate ability with animals”. I want one! I want to run naked across a meadow and jump on a wild horse and have it ride away with me!
MELJEAN: ….
MISSY: Shut up!
MELJEAN: Alright then. This is all good for you, but I typically can’t stand heroines or heroes with innate abilities with animals. Unless it’s a paranormal … hey, maybe Dee is like a wee sprite or something.
MISSY: What the hell is a wee sprite?
MELJEAN: I don’t know, but it sounds like something she’d be.
MISSY: You’re so freaking stupid. Sprites don’t ride horses! They ride pigs or something. Do you know what I find interesting about this? That she manages to get backstory told in two pages, without being boring or resorting to letters every opening chapter.
MELJEAN: … I hate you.

ADELIA: Uncle Paddy! Jakers, I’m so glad to be here. It’s willing to work I am!
UNCLE PADDY: You don’t need to do that.
ADELIA: Sure I do!

MELJEAN: God, woman! If someone gives you a chance to be a lady of leisure, what the hell are you doing wanting to muck stables?
MISSY: I want to muck stables!
MELJEAN: Well, I don’t ever want to be useful.
MISSY: Obviously, you won’t be. And what’s with the “jakers”?
MELJEAN: I don’t know, it’s some show my daughter watches on PBS Kids, so I threw it in there. The show has pigs. My daughter’s favorite animal is a pig.
MISSY: Not a horse? *sob* What’s wrong with me when I grow up? What’s wrong???? Why?
MELJEAN: Oh, there’s a lot more wrong than that. But the pig — it’s because it’s pink.
MISSY: Oh, god, she likes pink? *sob* I bet Adelia doesn’t like pink!
MELJEAN: No, but I bet the inevitable cool sophisticated rival will.

ADELIA: (rides Majesty, an amazing Thoroughbred, even though no one else can)

MELJEAN: Oh, god!
MISSY: Shut up! You’re just jealous! There are people like that! And I’m going to be one of them!
MELJEAN: Even the cat doesn’t like you. And, what, you’re going to be a jockey? You’d better stop growing really quickly.
MISSY: I get too tall?
MELJEAN: Yeah. A lot too tall. And any horse you got on wouldn’t ever need to have weight added to a saddle to run in a handicap, that’s for sure.
MISSY: God! I hate you! Why did you eat so much? I wanted to be a wee thing!!

ADELIA: Jakers, I just can’t sleep. I’m going to sneak out and talk to my new friend, Majesty.

MISSY: She sneaks! She sneaks, too! She’s just like me!!! Ride, Adelia! Ride and pet and love that horse!

TRAVIS: What, you’re a girl?
ADELIA: (gives him some of her Irish tongue)

MELJEAN: *snerk*
MISSY: Not like that! God! Dirty! They just met, for god’s sake.
MELJEAN: That doesn’t mean anything now. Nowadays, characters are getting their sex on by page two.
MISSY: … I can’t wait until I grow up.

ADELIA: (realizes in shock that she’s looking at her new boss and checks him out.) Jakers!

MELJEAN: Holy crap, she really does say “Jakers”! I’d forgotten that! LOL!
MISSY: Shut up! You’re interrupting all of the hot initial-meeting tension!

TRAVIS: (grins, because he knows he hot)
ADELIA: Your horse is hot.
TRAVIS: I think so, too.
ADELIA: I’ll be exercising him.
TRAVIS: … like hell!
ADELIA: Give me a chance, because it’s a fine animal he is and he just needs a friend!
TRAVIS: Okay. Why do you have a ditchdigger’s hands?
ADELIA: You asshole! I’ve had to work hard, you pampered bastard!
TRAVIS: (Watches her run off into the night.)

MISSY: She didn’t say “asshole” or “bastard”.
MELJEAN: No, that was me. But you just know she was thinking it.

ADELIA: It’s a new day, and I’m out to show that big, arrogant bully Travis Grant that I can ride like the wind!
TRAVIS: Does Majesty ever talk back to you, half-pint?
ADELIA: (shows the condescending jerk that she can ride like the wind)

MISSY: That’s right!

ADELIA: (sees two kids that look like Travis, tells them she’s fey, then meets Travis’s sister, Trisha, and feels like a toad in comparison)
TRISHA: But I’m really nice, you know, even though I’m totally beautiful and rich.
ADELIA: Okay, it’s friends we’ll be, then. Sorry I have to shake hands with my ditchdigger calluses.
TRAVIS: Let me show you a pregnant horse.
ADELIA: (immediately diagnoses the horse’s problem, because she’s fey)

MELJEAN: *headdesk*
MISSY: Shut up! What’s your problem with this?
MELJEAN: She’s too perfect! She works hard and is nice and has a way with animals! She probably makes her own poultices from herbs she grows in her garden and can cure cancer with them, too!
MISSY: She has a temper! And she’s proud.
MELJEAN: Those aren’t flaws.
MISSY: YES THEY ARE YOU STUPID PIG-MOTHER, ADELIA-HATING JERK!
MELJEAN: *backs slowly away* I don’t hate her. She’s likable. Just too earth-mother perfect.
MISSY: Die.

ADELIA: (visits the pregnant horse)
TRAVIS: (sneaks up behind her)
ADELIA: Don’t sneak!
TRAVIS: But I own this place.
ADELIA: So what should I do, curtsy?
TRAVIS: I’m getting tired of being stabbed by your tongue.
ADELIA: Then don’t talk to me.
TRAVIS: I know a better way to silence that Irish tongue!
TRAVIS kisses her passionately.
ADELIA: Don’t ever molest me again!
ADELIA gives him her tongue, swearing at him up and down.
TRAVIS just laughs.
TRAVIS: I guess I do like it when you’re working up a temper.
ADELIA storms off, but thinks about how hot that was.

MELJEAN: Arrogant jerk.
MISSY: He’s so handsome and forthright and powerful!

THE PREGNANT HORSE goes into labor, but it’s going to be a breech birth.
TRAVIS sticks his hand up the horse’s Jakers to turn the foal.
ADELIA and TRAVIS have a magical bonding birth moment.
ADELIA falls in love.

MISSY: *happy sigh* I want to stick my hands in a horse and make the baby come out and fall in love while I’m doing it!

ADELIA wonders if it was just the magic of the birth that made her think she was in love.
UNCLE PADDY: How are you doing then, now that you’ve been here a few days?
TRAVIS sneaks onto the porch and listens to them through the screen door.
ADELIA: ……..

MELJEAN wusses out.
MELJEAN: Okay, this is and has always been one of my favorite scenes in any romance that I’ve read. I have to just skip on through, because I can’t play with it.
MISSY: What???? What???
MELJEAN: I can’t. I just can’t. Basically, Adelia says that she rode hard because she was working so hard and living without any softness in her life and without seeing a way out. If she came across as even the least little bit whiney or self-pitying, I’d be writing it all out right now. But it isn’t, and I can’t. So I’ll just take one line out of it.

ADELIA: Jakers, but we worked.
MELJEAN’S HEART: (breaks)
TRAVIS: (sneaks away)

MISSY: I don’t get you.
MELJEAN: Yeah. Okay, I think we’re going to have to break this into two parts, because this is getting long at eight pages! Back into the closet for just a minute, Missy!
MISSY: Noooooooooooooooo *muffled* ooooooooooooooooooooo!