Question: You've written that you like to create heroines who "don't fit the romance-heroine mold." In what ways do heroines such as Della Ward, from your latest novel, Prairie Moon, differ from the typical, and why? The flip side of this is your heroes—they, too, differ from the usual romance fare, don't they?Maggie Osborne:Oddly, I didn't quite realize that I created heroines who "don't fit the romance heroine mold" until this phrase kept popping up in reviews. At the time this comment first appeared, most if not all romance heroines were depicted as beautiful, slender, desirable women. I wrote a book in which the heroine was an alcoholic, not too clean, and not beautiful. My agent at that time refused to submit the book because it didn't have the typical heroine. She didn't believe readers would accept this type of woman as a romance heroine. I hired another agent who loved the book and sold it. It won buckets of awards, and went on to be one of my best selling books. I've since written other heroines who were down-and-outers. I don't particularly set out to write atypical heroines, but sometimes a wonderful story comes to mind, and there she is. It's that fringe personality, I think, that appeals so much to me.
Is the heroine in Prairie Moon atypical? I don't think this heroine is. I think Della Ward is probably a typical romance heroine, not one of the fringe people. She doesn't fit easily into her community, but that's a result of her past, not who she is. I would say my heroes are likely to be typical romance heroes. Strong, decent, good men who are trying to do the right thing. They've made mistakes and they fall on their butts, but they get up and keep trying. To me, that's what makes them heroes. If the hero is atypical, it may be because he can recognize the atypical heroine's qualities and eventually love her.
Q: You also write under the pseudonym of Margaret St. George. How did that come about? It seems that more writers publish under multiple pseudonyms in romance fiction than in any other genre—why is that? Isn't Margaret St. George competing with Maggie Osborne for readers and publishing slots?
MO: I started writing category romance as Margaret St. George to give myself a change of time period and pace from historicals. Writing both contemporary and historical novels helps keep me fresh in both areas. I don't feel that Margaret St. George competes with Maggie Osborne because category romance readers generally don't read historicals and vice versa. For those who do read in both areas, I like to think they will buy and enjoy both Margaret St. George and Maggie Osborne.
Q: Is there such a thing as a "typical" romance reader anymore?
MO:I'm not convinced there ever was a "typical" romance reader. I receive letters from teenagers and great-grandmothers, from women and from men, from people who are obviously well educated and from those who clearly are not.
Q: What drew you to historical romances? And why the old West in particular? Is there any kind of personal or family history tied into your interest?
MO:When I decided to attempt a novel, the market was hot for historical romance. I loved reading historical non-fiction and loved reading historical romance. This area seemed a good match for me. I think I slept through history in school—discovering history as an adult has been a joy. I love the research.
My early books were not set in the old west. Then a few years ago I had an idea that worked best if set in 1880's Kansas. I suppose you could say that I came home. I was raised in western Kansas and have spent most of my life in the west. As a young girl, my grandmother crossed Kansas in a covered wagon.
Research showed me that the old west was filled with misfits. People who didn't fit well, who couldn't succeed in the urban east. I don't necessarily mean outlaws. Ordinary people came west looking for acceptance and opportunity. Many were of a type that we'd consider fringe people, people on the edges of society. These fringe people —particularly the women—exert a strong appeal to me. How did they get this way? How do they view themselves? Can they change? Do they want to? What are their strengths and vulnerabilities as seen against the values of their time and place?
Q: How important is historical research in your writing? I imagine that one of the challenges of writing historical romances is that you've got to come up with characters who appeal to readers who are living today. Obviously, attitudes about such things as race, sex, and religion have changed in our culture since the 1800s . . . thank God! But how do you balance historical accuracy with the need for characters that contemporary readers can relate to? After all, you can't just dress a modern man or woman in period costume and expect to create a believable character. It's almost as though your characters have to belong to the time they inhabit . . . and yet also stand outside of it somehow.
MO:This is a good question. Most historical authors spend a lot of time thinking about the issues you raise here. My solution is to recognize that while customs and mores have changed over time, human nature has not. While attitudes about sex and what is permissible have relaxed in contemporary times, it would be naive to assume that historical people did not have sex outside of marriage and so forth. For example, the fact that there were abortionists in New York City in the 1800's indicates that people worried about many of the same sexual issues then as we do now. The same is true of just about any relationship problem you can name. What does change in a historical novel is the degree of devastation an unmarried pregnancy, say, will cause. And the historical character plays out her story in her time period, which has an effect on the intensity of the problem and how it is resolved. The problem may be similar to that in a contemporary novel, but how the characters react and resolve may be very different. My point is that contemporary readers will identify with historical characters if the author remains true to human nature. The reader isn't identifying with costume or historical politics or that big nickel and iron cook stove. The reader identifies with a character and problems that aren't so different from today's problems, as well as with the character's vulnerabilities and strengths. It always comes down to character.
Q: A related question: How do you decide which historical details to put in and which to leave out? For example, I was struck by the absence of both Native American and black characters in Prairie Moon. Although the novel takes place around 1875, ten years after the Civil War, there seems to be virtually no recognition on the part of major characters that there might have been a moral dimension to the war—i.e., slavery. Similarly, although Della and Cameron make a difficult journey of more than two months across the open range from Texas to Santa Fe, New Mexico, they never encounter Indians or seem at all apprehensive about the possibility.
MO:Whole workshops have been built around this question! There's no right answer. In my early books, I included way too much historical detail. Finally an editor gently pointed out that readers probably didn't really care about the entire history of the Spanish Inquisition—but they did care about what happened to the heroine. It broke my heart, but I had to cut most of that hard-won information about the Inquisition. Sure did improve the pace of the story, though.
When is historical detail too much? When is it too little? I've probably erred on both sides of this. If I hit it right, the reader has a sense of the time period without being overwhelmed or distracted from the story by historical detail.
You're correct that little or no emphasis on former slaves or Indians is placed in Prairie Moon. There is a mention that—Luke Apple has an Indian wife and lives on a reservation. Della grew up with slaves. Omitting any real emphasis was a deliberate choice. I had to ask myself if putting former slaves and Indians on stage would further my story. I concluded it would not. It was tempting, though. Most historical writers would love to write a book that's twice the length and includes as rich and full a depiction of the period as they can create. That's not always practical, and can sometimes lead to losing focus on the characters and story.
Q: I don't mean to imply with my question about slavery that you were ducking difficult moral questions in Prairie Moon. On the contrary, the circumstances that bring Della and Cameron together present an absorbing moral drama of responsibility, guilt, and forgiveness, and of the debts that people owe to the past and to the future. Can you talk about this aspect of the novel?
MO:You have identified what this novel is about—responsibility, guilt, and forgiveness, and the debts that people owe to the past and to the future. This novel began to germinate over a two-year period when my husband's parents lived with us. My father-in-law had emphysema, diabetes, and a bum leg. My mother-in-law was recovering from a broken hip, had glaucoma, and was in mid-stage Alzheimer's. This was probably the most difficult two years of my adult life, and it triggered a lot of thinking and angst about responsibility, guilt, forgiveness, and the debts we owe each other.
Q: When I was in college, more than twenty years ago, my English professors and writing teachers took a dim view of romance fiction, pointing to the prevalence of happy endings as evidence that the genre provided readers with nothing more than an escape from their own unhappy lives. Why do you think there is this kind of prejudice against romance fiction, and do you find it as common today as it used to be?
MO:OK, this question strikes a nerve. Tell me which genre does NOT routinely offer happy endings? Mystery novels solve the mystery, and we're all happy. The good guys triumph over Darth Vader. Harry Potter finds the treasure. Readers—and people as a whole—want happy endings. Happy endings are satisfying and give us hope for our own future. We want our fictional hero to triumph, not fail. We want Richard Gere to love Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. We want Arnold or Bruce Willis to save the world.
So why are romances pilloried for happy endings? I have no idea. To me, this makes as much sense as it would for all murder mysteries to be criticized for letting the murderer get caught at the end. Most fiction ends happily ever after—but romances are criticized for it. Go figure.
But let's say for a moment that your professors were right. Only romance fiction consistently ends happily, and the genre provides readers with nothing more than an escape from their own unhappy lives. So . . . tell me, why is that so bad? Would your professors prefer that the legions of unhappy readers take drugs instead of a book to escape for a few hours? Drown themselves in alcohol? Put down that romance and pull themselves together with a few hours of TV? Buy an exercise bike? I see nothing wrong with escaping for a few hours with a good book, whether it's a romance, a mystery, or whatever.
And yes, I think this attitude is depressingly common, and I have never understood it. Objecting to happy endings is utterly bogus in my opinion. There definitely is prejudice against romance novels, but I don't think anyone has ever really identified the reason for it. Maybe admitting to being a romantic is akin to admitting to weakness. Maybe romance seems trivial to some. Who knows why some people display a puzzling aversion to romance novels? I don't think anyone can adequately answer this question. I once read a quote that sums it up for me. Unfortunately, I cannot recall who said it. "Many people make a virtue of condemning romance novels without ever having read one."
Q: Do you think it would be possible to publish a romance that didn't have a happy ending? Or would that go too much against the expectations of the publishing industry and readers? And if you think it could be possible, how might you do it?
MO:There have been romances written with unhappy endings. Gone With The Wind is probably the most famous. Nicholas Sparks's Message In a Bottle is a more recent example. So is Bridges of Madison County. These books do very well because they go against the genre and are unexpected. They make us cry. But a whole genre of failed relationships? Do we really want to be depressed? Not going to happen. The happy ending is the more satisfying ending. An unhappy ending can offer a great read—occasionally. But not as a steady diet. And no, I doubt I'll ever write a romance that ends unhappily. Hmm. I'm not saying never—but it's unlikely.
Q: One of the most interesting developments in the romance genre in recent years has been the surge of popularity in paranormal and futuristic romances. Have you thought about branching out into any of these areas?
MO:I already have! I've written several paranormal romances as Margaret St. George. I like reading paranormal novels and enjoy writing them.
Q: What are you working on now? Do you have any television or movie projects in the works?
MO:What am I working on now? Well, I can either talk the book or write the book, and my wonderful editor will be happier if I write it. Ask me again when the writing is finished . . .
One of my books, Brides of Prairie Gold, was optioned for a film and actually went to the green-light stage. But the film never got made. Rats. But it happened once . . . maybe it will again someday. I'd love to sit in my living room, eating popcorn, and watch a film that eventually happened because one day I was pacing around doing the what-if process.
Q: Can you describe the what-if process? Maybe you could use Prairie Moon as an example . . .
MO:What if the heroine's last words to her husband were bitter and hateful? And what if the hero is the man who killed her husband? When I asked myself those what-ifs, the novel began to take form.
We're in a wonderful, magical business, aren't we?