Paul McGann and Sophie Okonedo in Sweet Revenge
What does delightful British actor Paul McGann (aka the Eighth Doctor) have to do with The Redcoat?
Quite a bit, as it happens.
(Artwork by Aelinor)
First off, as you can already tell, Paul McGann has been “cast” to play the role of James Archer (I’m not the only author to cast McGann for her romantic hero, either—inspirational Regency writer Kaye Dacus talks about her Captain William Ransome here).
But I also owe a humongous debt to Paul McGann’s fandom on Tumblr, or as we sometimes call ourselves, the Clann McGann. Most of the ridiculously talented artists creating the fanart I feature on my blog are from the Clann, and I also owe Auntie Hornblower (aka nontraditional Regency romance author Julian Griffith) for a bunch of help with historical research. But most of all, it was Hearts who inspired the story of The Redcoat while the two of us were fangirling over Paul’s role as—fittingly enough—a Redcoat, the suavely sinister Colonel McNab in the Kidnapped miniseries.
Unlike McNab, though, James Archer is genuinely sweet and kind, not to mention having a sense of humor. And unlike the Eighth Doctor, the role which first charmed me into the McGann fandom, Archer would be played by Paul McGann with his magnificent real hair:
Even if it’s sometimes covered by a wig…
What a shame, as it’s some fantastic hair. I’m a long-haired brunette woman who can only envy and dream of such hair.
Moving on from his hair—such nice blue eyes (I had the chance to stare deeply into them once when I met him in person. He was very sweet about how weird I must have been. I couldn’t help it—would anyone blame me?)
I swear I’m trying not to pull a Twilight in The Redcoat and lavish hundreds of words describing Archer’s hair and eyes, but I want you to realize what an effort it takes to discipline myself.
James Archer is also, at 32 years of age, a fair bit younger than McNab. Luckily, McGann was in 18th century costume when he was younger, too, although not as a Redcoat—he was Potemkin in Catherine the Great!
I would say “younger and sexier,” but it’s not as if McGann has gotten any less sexy with age.
Looks aside, just listen to him.
In short, it’s easy to see how he inspires so many romance novels.
In honor of this, and because frankly it’s no chore, this blog is going to participate in McGann Mondays for so long as I can find appropriate McGann screencaps (or inappropriate ones…). See you in the tags!
Mumblingsage, here is your revolutionary pinup fabric.
I visited the Metropolitan Museum with a friend of mines and stopped by the American wing. It was list going to IKEA, except I was shopping for pixel furniture. I am surprised how ornate some of these early Americans home could be, of course it was only for the filthy rich. Though doing a lot of research, I assumed even the upper class homes were more simple than this. I cannot imagine what a pain it was to import giant paintings and furniture from Europe. I wonder if it was like IKEA where they would buy the pieces and assemble it at home, huhuhu.
Here’s the link to the source, and more information.
Some favorite pics from Plushie Redcoat’s time at Chicago TARDIS!
"You can go, too, Neathander."
"It won’t be like this forever," he said. "We’ll regroup—we’ll be stronger—and we won’t have to run anymore."
"You realized I needed to hear that, did you?" Aorin rested his chin on his fist and peered at Neathander, studying him.
"Apparently so." Their eyes met. Neathander fought the urge to look away—you could do that now, with Aorin’s eyes, you could look away and not be haunted by what you missed; you might even be relieved—and smiled instead. "I also realized you’re wearing the new vest."
"Yes. Well. Looked better than a bare bloodstained tunic, however well-mended." He picked at the rough red cloth; Neathander had wanted it to be green, but the only green cloth they had on the farmstead was his own blanket, too poorly woven for the task. "A joint effort between yourself and Baneth, I would guess."
"Some stitches are more even than others."
Neathander laughed. “It’s actually myself and your daughter. Baneth wanted her to learn. The even stitches are mine.”
"Oh. I’m sorry, I hadn’t realized—"
"I’ve spent twelve years in army encampments, remember. I know how to do serviceable stitching when necessary."
Aorin’s grin turned sheepish. “Perhaps Kiya will, too…in time.”
"Perhaps she will to humor me. I’m not a good teacher—I badger too much. But then, so does Baneth. Your children are probably used to it."
Aorin’s eyes brightened, and for a moment Neathander thought he would laugh. It would be good to hear anything, even a weak chuckle, anything that might signal the old Aorin returning. But then his gaze went distant, and he said, “We could have been happy here, couldn’t we?”
-Last of the Lesser Kings, pp 352-354