I was saddened to learn of the death of Kathleen Woodiwiss. I wouldn't be a historical romance writer today if it weren't for her.
Heck, I wouldn't be writing anything if it weren't for Kathleen Woodiwiss. Which is not to say I write anything like Ms. Woodiwiss or try to. Her style is not my style.
But if it weren't for finally reading THE WOLF AND THE DOVE after turning up my snooty English Lit degree nose at it for the first few months after my friend gave it to me, my life would have been completely different. I don't know what I'd be doing, but I wouldn't be writing.
To be sure, there may be a few things I take exception to now (the rape of the heroine, how she can't seem to go three paces without getting her gown ripped off and, having nursed a child, the fact that the heroine doesn't seem to have any discomfort when her baby goes missing for over 24 hours). But I can tell you that I'll never forget the rush of reading that book the first time. Here was the kind of story I liked -- hero and heroine equally important, equally vital. And one mighty fine hero at that.
I wanted to tell that kind of story. Could I tell that kind of story? Let me give it a try....
That's how much of an influence one writer and one book can have on a person.
So rest in peace, Ms. Woodiwiss, and from my heart, thank you.