A white easter isn’t exactly what I was dreaming of. After we did not have any real snow for the whole winter, it’s kind of strange to have it now. Friday it was snowing the whole night and day, but not a very nice snow: all sticky and wet. This morning the weather was very cold, but sunny, so that I could at least appreaciate the visual beauty of the white landscape. And my son is happy, because of all the snow activities he was missing out this year, and because of the tracks of the easter bunny he is sure to find tomorrow in the forest.
If I could I’d just stay in bed till spring arrives. But the horses and my family wont accept that. But I do spend more time in front of the pc and with a good book. I am currently reading a novel by Melissa Hill, which seams quite nice, but not very carefully edited. I know I should not look at the mistakes in a text (and I hope you don’t do it with my blogs!), but it’s just the way I am: I can’t stop myself. One of the heroines has a small son, and I started thinking about how difficult it seems to be to make children real in novels. Hill doesn’t do a bad job, the boy is believable, but I don’t get to know him (don’t have finished the book, though). I recently read a book called “the only boy for me” by Gil McNeil. It was a nice book, but not one of my favorites. Which is not the fault of the author, but mine: the book is too realistic. I like my heroes and heroines to be a little bit bigger than life, and their stories, too.
Do you know who does children very well? Jayne Ann Krentz! Which is kind of strange, as children are not all that important to her stories. They just serve to show some characteristics of the hero or heroine to better advantage.
My favorite children in romance novels are by Patricia Veryan. She is the best not only with young characters, but also with animals. I don’t really know how she does it, but her children and pets (horses, dogs, cats, pigs, you name it) are always great. Many writers have tried the same and failed dismally.
Terry Pratchett has a funny way describing children. Very un-romantic, kind of as if he does not like them. But maybe he does, in a much realer way than many adults do. In one book the governess (and Death’s granddaughter) tells the children she cares for to stop acting cute. And they do.
Filed under: me as a mother, me as a reader | Tagged: children in novels, easter bunny, Gil McNeil, Jayne Ann Krentz, Melissa Hill, Patricia Veryan, snow, Terry Pratchett
