At the risk of having tomatoes tossed at me, I use Wikipedia a lot for brief reference look-ups and starting points from which to jump off when I get a bug up my ass about a subject.  I also cruise Wiki’s homepage every so often, and today’s random “On this day in…” selection proved to be something rather fascinating.  Today, in the year 1384, a young lady named Jadwiga, at the age of ten, was crowned the King of Poland.  What’s more, she did this with the blessing of the Polish nobility, who negotiated with her mother prior to their declaration, and crowned her King instead of Queen so that no one would mistake her for a queen-consort.

Now, I’ve taken some history classes, and read some history books–enough to know that there’s a crapload that I don’t know about the Middle Ages, and enough to know that I consider myself just ignorant enough to not be able to do them justice in fiction–I’m caught between some of the realism I know would just suck to have to live in, and the romantic fantasy that continually draws me to places like the SCA’s Pennsic War in the hopes of capturing just a whisper of that magical feel.  But for the most part, I get that a woman’s lot was short, brutal, and over too quick.  Especially a monarch woman’s.  But the fact that Poland actually picked a queen and afforded her power in her own right is astounding.

Interestingly enough, the crown brought several suitors to her doorstep, and in true medieval romance fashion, one of whom planned to pop the princess and present himself as husband accompli.  That plan was derailed, however, and the princess married a Lithuanian twenty-plus years her senior but apparently a monarch with Poland’s better interests at heart.  Her position likely held little power due to her youth, femininity, and the Polish system of government, but she was able to use her influence to benefit her people.  Not the least of this was restoration of a university, and the translation of Latin books into Polish, thereby bringing books to her people.  Alas, the perils of the medieval health care plan recognize no regency, and the young queen was a month past giving birth to her only daughter when both mother and baby failed to recover.  Jadwiga was twenty-five.  She survives as St. Hedwig, patron saint of queens.

So today, I learned something new.  Part of Eastern Europe had a government with checks and balances present, and an attitude with the beginnings of gender equality (tempered heavily by the whole hereditary kingship thing).  And that the definition of “benevolent medieval queen” includes “try to find your people something to read.”

Today, my good friend and critique partner Roxy Harte asked me point-blank, “Who is Xandra and what does she want to write?”

My first thought was, “Well, that’s a big Duh.”  Followed by, “I write…” and then some silence.  Thick silence.  Silence that had been placed on a strict diet of lard, turkey gravy, and cheetos until it was so thick it needed a triple bypass to even exist.

I realized that making a declaration like that was something that shouldn’t be done lightly.  Uniformly, the advice from more experienced writers, industry professionals, and writing career how-to books has been solidly in the “pick a lane and stay in it” camp.  There are reasons ranging from the marketing-oriented to reader expectation which combine to make a great case for finding a tone and (sub)genre to call your own.  Not to mention playing to your strengths.

But here’s where I came up short.  Alien Communion pretty much wrote itself to a certain extent.  I had so much fun creating the Alcaini and sexually liberating my heroine that the rest just sort of fell into place.  I just finished a draft of a really scorching hot M/M that did the same–I just took dictation from the characters.   And I’m letting my big, sprawling space opera WIP take a breather while I work on something that’s distinctly paranormal in nature.  Not to mention the urban fantasy I have in the archives, or the six romantic comedies I wrote several years back.  Granted, not all of these stories were birthed fully formed from a crack in my head, but they all are representative of me.  Of what makes me a writer.  How do I limit myself to just one aspect of that?

So late on a Saturday night when most people are partying their little bunz off, I’m sitting in bed, blogging and thinking (of course, if I wasn’t blogging and thinking, I’d still be in bed–I have kids and therefore no social life).  I should probably pick a lane, and stay in it…at least long enough to get to the next exit.