I have a confession.
I have already mentioned that I actually finished my manuscript for
The Famous Mrs. Darcy and was in the editorial process before I gave it up as a lost cause. The truth is, I didn't give up because my writing was terrible, or even that my plot had grown so complex that I had no idea how to work myself out of it. My brother/editor maintained that the reader may very well throw up their hands in disgust because it got so confusing, but not even that was enough to murder
The Famous Mrs. Darcy.
The killing blow came as I penned the last compelling, heart-rending chapter and I realized that anyone looking for a sequel to
Pride and Prejudice would absolutely HATE this book. My Mr. Darcy had demons and passions and deep and treacherous crevasses in his soul. He battled to retain his sense of self. He had
developed evolved to such a degree that he had become unrecognizable.
Plagued with jealousy, torn loyalties and problems without solutions, my Mr. Darcy turned to alcohol. The greater the stressors of honor and duty, the more intense the conflict between loyalties, the more volatile became his temper. My Elizabeth threatened to become a cipher in his shadow. She suffered indignities and made certain choices that would cause Jane Austen to turn over in her grave. My detractors would be screaming "anachronisms" and "social consequences" even louder than myself.
