Embarrassing recollection #10002 (and counting)…
When I was young I played principal cello in my High School Orchestra. (No big deal, I know, but I was also principal cello in the Virginia All-State orchestra and the famous D.C. Youth Orchestra, so I must’ve played cello OK.)
Now it just so happened that most of the cellists in the McLean High School orchestra were female AND it just so happened that most of the violinists were guys. It also just so happened that the concertmaster – we just call them ‘leader’ in the UK but the US is different – just happened to be just about the handsomest Greek-American you ever saw. He had charm, poise, manners as well as looks.
“So?” you’d like to know, “And your point is?” (Though the historical romance writers here are already thinking, “Hmm, how could I use this in my next?” because – let’s face it – that how all writers think, but romance writers most of all! 😊)
However, my point is not that I dated this guy, because I never did. I was a music nerd who did nothing but play cello, and he was one of McLean High’s pin-ups, is why. Though he, rather weirdly, also wound up being my kid brother’s Best Man. We laugh about this now!
Instead, my point is that – because miniskirts were still A Thing – we cellists did exactly what Regency ladies did on horseback. We played the cello side-saddle. . Not every day, of course, because – hey – we also wore jeans in the 70s and 80s😊 – but it was a rare school day when someone in my section wasn’t playing side-saddle. (Yes, we were just that dumb.)
Regency ladies didn’t play cello side-saddle, however, because Regency ladies didn’t play cello. Lady cellists didn’t exist until the early 1900s. It just wasn’t considered ladylike to have the knees gaping open, even for so obviously useful reason as holding a cello or riding a horse.
So, that’s my embarrassing memory of the day. Why am I sharing it?
Because, this week, a fan of mine wrote to me, wondering whether I might be willing to advise someone whom she happened to know is scribbling a regency romance with a cellist heroine.
My first thought was: “Hey, I’m not advising anybody. My days of developmental editing are OVER! Not getting involved.”
My second thought – which was more disturbing – was, “But surely I owe it to a fellow writer, to prevent them from being ridiculed?” But after checking out the fellow-scribe in question, I noticed that the person concerned wasn’t submitting for international awards, or editorial reviews, either. Publishers Weekly will never get snippy about their novel. NetGallery will never see it… Those terrifying Goodreaders – the ones who rate Austen herself at a mere 3.9 out of 5 – will never review it. The author should be fine.
Yes, it was an ethical dilemma and yes, my professor husband still thinks I should have contacted this person. But where I am with it is this: people can write whatever they like, even if they get it wrong. (Though most authors in Regency fiction get most things mostly right.)
This person is selling fine. Their readers are out there, hungry for escape from all the trouble and turmoil in the world. My opinion wasn’t called for. And… what’s a random cello-player, among friends, even though you know, and I know, it couldn’t have happened in 1820?
So… was I right or wrong?
What would you have done?
PS No hard feelings, if you disagree with me, btw. Honesty is always welcome!!!
Alice McVeigh’s most recent book, Pride and Perjury, was this week rated 5 out of 5, not on Goodreads (which doesn’t even happen to Jane Austen) but on Clarion Foreword reviews (where a perfect five is mega-rare). The review is here:
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