The Duchess Who Wasn’t, Margaret Wolfe Hungerford was an Irish novelist who went under the name ‘The Duchess’ and was, it seems, the chick lit queen of the 19th century.
A fan of a light-hearted read now and again, I set about searching online to sample some of her romantic fancies. Sadly, they are obviously only to be paid for at a bookshop or perhaps borrowed from a library but I did find an essay she wrote on how she went about penning a novel.
‘To sit down in cold blood and deliberately set to cudgel ones brains with a view to dragging from them a plot wherewith to make a book is (I have been told) the habit of some writers, and those of no small reputation. Happy people! What powers of concentration must be theirs! What belief in themselves–that most desirable of all beliefs, that sweet propeller toward the temple of fame. Have faith in yourself, and all me, will have faith in you’
I adore English literature. The beautiful, flowing language that we to often neglect in these modern times feels wonderful on the tongue as you speak it and has such a soft, meandering rhythm. The imagery is vivid and the that which is described sounds pretty which appeals to my need to furnish everything in life with a little added sparkle.
Sitting and reading the essay over a very stately and appropriately duchess-like cream tea (albeit I suspect a real Duchess would have received far better service! Boo Patisserie Valerie, a hearty boo to you) with earl grey no less, I took pleasure in discovering that a story would just appear to her when inspiration struck and that she didn’t believe in forcing more than 2 hours writing a day from her creative chasms.
2 hour is more than achievable. Now, how long do I have to sit and wait before inspiration strikes?
The Celebration Challenge 