Daily Archives: March 30, 2012

Whilst it’s still Guyday Friday . . . Didja ever wonder . . .


Ever wonder if Marian's back caught on fire from all the smouldering Guy was doing right behind her?



Ever wonder how one hot, sweaty enraged henchman could be so damned sexxxxxy?




Ever wonder if Lucy Griffiths went home at night thinking. "Why, oh why couldn't Marian decide she likes Guy . . . I would certainly have more fun!!!"


Rare & Amusing Insults 3: Guy and the Princely Milksop

Sir Guy of Gisborne (BBC TV drama)

Sir Guy of Gisborne. Definitely NOT a milksop. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

milksop: an unmanly man; a mollycoddle (pampered or effeminate boy or man)

Origins: Literally meaning “bread soaked in milk.” Chaucer was one of the earliest to use milksop to refer to an unmanly man. The modern version of milksop is milquetoast, taken from a timid comic strip character named Caspar Milquetoast.

The spoiled, capricious Prince John definitely had more than a hint of the milksop in him.

With all his talk about love and the way he was cupping Guy's face, we all half-way expected Prince John to kiss the handsome henchman. Well, if any man could convert you to the other team, it would be Sir Guy.

Rare & Amusing Insults 2: Armitage as Snollygoster


Snollygoster: an unprincipled, but shrewd person. The origin of this word is unknown, but it was used to refer to dirty politics in 19th century America. One newspaper editor referred to a snollygoster  as “a fellow who wants office regardless of party, platform or principle.”

Richard has not yet played a politician, honest or otherwise, but I do think this word could apply to our smooth criminal, John Mulligan. Definitely intelligent and definitely possessing fluid morals.

John Mulligan, the sexiest snollygoster around.

One snollygoster I wouldn't mind snogging.

Rare and Amusing Insults: Guy & the Cockaloram


Vasey was always hurling insults at our poor Gizzy, the sheriff’s favorite whipping boy.

"Stop sniveling, Gisborne! If you didn't go around painting your arm like a girl . . ."

Here’s a good insult Guy could have used to describe  his loathsome employer.

Cockalorum: A boastful and self-important person; a strutting little fellow.



What Guy is thinking: God's tears! It's bad enough to see this cockalorum fully dressed--but in the rude nude. That's a cockalorum I just don't want to see . . . or hear. *sigh*



This Robin fellow could be pretty much of a cockalorum, too, come to think of it.


Screencaps courtesy of RANet

It’s Guy Friday once again! Here’s some Reasonably Happy Gorgeous Henchman for you.


Some pretty pictures of Sir Guy in a good mood. He’s happy it’s Friday, too, it seems.

Oh, you are such a foxy fellow, aren't you, my beloved henchman?

I lurv this one. The smile, the eyes. The awesome masculinity.

Oh, Guy. She's gonna run out on you, but at least you can have some temporary satisfaction.

Happy Friday, happy writing, happy Richard.


Well, I accomplished one of my goals for today. I got some sleep, and in a nice comfy bed instead of a hard desk.  Poor Mr. Thornton.

Sometimes, you just need to catch some ZZZZZZZZZZs.

The phone didn’t ring once (a rarity here), all remained quiet and peaceful.  I was pretty much out like a light for close to ten hours. Perhaps that was a suggestion I really needed it?

I feel your pain, cute little bunny.

My brain felt rested enough to go back to work on my novel, which meant not only writing but more double-checking for historical accuracy re my collection of reference books and various websites. I am not a historian, of course,  and certain things I am having trouble verifying ( I would go and choose to set the novel in 1750 instead of a more popular period for historical romances, but then I am hard-headed that way) but I did take some steps forward.

More than 500 more words completed along with some re-writing to (hopefully) improve other passages. I feel as I have made progress and that is a satisfying, uplifting experience.  As if I am not beating my head against a brick wall, but actually peeking around it, and, to further mix my metaphors, there is light at the end of the tunnel.

I don’t think I actually get writer’s block so much as I get subject block. I mean, I can write pretty much any old time about something; I wrote professionally for ten years and let’s say it becomes a habit.  I like to write, I need to write; I have to write.

I have a charming “Writing Muse” my sister (she of the Orange Beach condo) gave me as a gift. And it looks just like this:

There is a quote on it from the late author James A. Michener:

I love writing. I love the swing and swirl of words as they tangle with human emotions.

I like to say that line out loud. There is a wonderful rhythm to the words as you speak. I would love to hear Mr. A, my beloved muse, read that quote in his rich, warm, earthy voice of chocolate and velvet.

I love Mr. Armitage’s acting. I love the subtle nuances of each lingering glance, each sigh, each flicker of a lush-lashed eyelid and each bob of an Adam’s-apple in that gloriously swan-like neck.  The mobile mouth with its amazing ability to smirk, smile, sneer, snarl and howl.

I love it when Richard speaks with words, and without them. But as a reader, a narrator and actor, I am certain he loves words, written and spoken.  Words, I suspect, make him happy, too.

Thank you, dear Richard, for inspiring me. You are a wonderful storyteller. And I am trying to be.

Thank you for sharing your talent, Richard. It makes us want to share our own.