I’m going to say something for the record, Gentle Reader, because I have had some odd experiences with one particular word of late.
What word, Miss Gail?
You might well ask.
No, not you for asking, that’s the word. Silly.
And I want to go down the record owing it. Here’s what I mean. I describe my books as silly. I don’t think this trivializes them, or makes them any less meaningful to the reader (or the writer). They have their poignant moments, but I genuinely believe that their strength is in their silliness.
I’m not being factious when I say that the ability to make a stranger, half a world away, embarrass herself by laughing out load on the train is my most treasured achievement. (Well that and pin-ball prowess.) My favorite parts of my books are the silliest: Ivy and her hats, Lord Akeldmaa and his drones, the ridiculous machines designed to do the most absurd things, the encumbered Alexia falling over the edge of baskets.
I’m owning my silliness.
The best and most enjoyable times with my friends, family, and partners over the years have been the silliest. Stealing Brussels sprouts from my mother one Thanksgiving and stashing them all over the house (I hate Brussels sprouts) lives on in infamy and hilarity. Why shouldn’t we value silliness? What’s wrong with loving and being proud of the parts of you that make others smile?
I think this is why I love Ivy Hisselpenny so very very much.
The old saying amongst literary folk is that comedy never wins awards, but of an evening I’m reaching for Wodehouse over Steinbeck. Every. Single. Time.
In the end, I’d rather people wanted to read my books and enjoyed them than anything else. Period.
So color me Silly and Proud!
Speaking of which, someone has made a Parasol Protectorate quiz on Goodreads.
GAIL’S DAILY DOSE
Your Writerly Tinctures . . .
One for Lord Akeldama.
Some Ivy-ish hats.
Quote of the Day:
“Negligent (adj.): Absentmindedly answering the door when wearing only a nightgown.”