Word Wenches

Wild harvests...

Anne here, ruminating on the gathering of food from nature...more or less. This train of thought was started when I visited a friend's blog and read this verse of poetry:

Nutting, by William Wordsworth

—It seems a day,
One of those heavenly days which cannot die,
When forth I sallied from our cottage-door,
And with a wallet o'er my shoulder slung,
A nutting crook in hand, I turn'd my steps
Towards the distant woods, a Figure quaint,
Trick'd out in proud disguise of Beggar's weeds
Put on for the occasion, by advice
And exhortation of my frugal Dame.

And it sparked such memories. When I was a kid we used to spend time with friends who'd built a beautiful Austrian-style log cabin in the foothills of the mountains, near Bright in Victoria -- Otto, my dad's friend, was originally from Austria and this cabin was a labor of love carried out over many years. 

Nearby was a farm that contained an old walnut orchard, and we kids used to sneak in and pick walnuts off the ground. The farmer was elderly and very grumpy and at the first shout of "Oy, I've told you kids—" we'd run like crazy, giggling our heads off, our hands and pockets full of booty. He'd threatened to give us a hiding if he caught us and it didn't take any convincing for us to believe it.

It was one of those games you play in childhood, flirting with danger, wresting food from nature (or the farmer) at great risk. In retrospect I suspect it was much the same for him, because the cabin was only five minutes walk away and he could easily have walked up the track and complained to our parents, and as far as I know, he never did.

Once gained, our precious booty was devoured. We cracked the nuts between river stones -- the bigger kids, especially the boys, used to crack them in their hands, nut against nut. We'd eat the meat, but even then we weren't finished with them. The aim of cracking the shells was not simply to get at the meat, but to try to crack the nuts without breaking the shell, to split them into perfect halves. We'd use the halves for all sorts of games — we'd make walnut shell boats and race them, and being a small girl, with another small girl for company, we also made them into cradles for bush babies, and on several memorable occasions made tiny gardens in them with mud and moss and tiny ferns from the creek that burbled down from the mountains, cold and crystal clear.

Further down the road there were huge chestnut trees that grew along the side of the road and as far as we knew they were public property, and not nearly as exciting. But the nuts were easy to collect and delicious to eat, and we'd bring them back in triumph. We'd put a small cut in the skins, then lay them around the edge of the fireplace, close to the hot coals and waited until they split with a hiss or a sizzle, then, juggling the hot nuts in our hands, we'd peel the skin off and eat the hot roasted flesh sprinkled with salt. 

We also used to go out mushroom picking. In the cool weather, a few days after rain, we'd get up early in the morning and head out to the best mushroom places. The adults knew which were safe and which weren't and we soon learned. We kids would compete in spotting the smooth domes of creamy mushroom rising from the grass. We'd fill my mother's wicker basket with mushrooms and then go home where she'd cook us all a mushroom breakfast. Even now, one of my favorite breakfasts is mushrooms, cooked with bacon, garlic and thyme, on thick hand-cut toast.

In late summer, we used to pick all sorts of fruit; figs, fresh off the tree, warm from the sun, with a golden drop of nectar showing that fruit is ripe, apricots, apples, plums, quinces, feijoas, all of which was eaten and preserved  as jams or jellies. 

My favorite thing was going blackberrying. Blackberries are regarded as a weed in Australia and they spray them early now, and kill them before they have a chance to fruit, but when I was a child they were everywhere in great abundance, huge tangled mounds of prickles, covered with sweet, ripe berries. We'd spend hours picking them, eating as many delicious berries as we picked, coming home with mouth, fingers and clothes stained purple. We'd make blackberry jam  and have blackberries and ice cream for dinner or blackberry and apple tart.

When we went to live in Scotland for a year, I discovered that schoolchildren were encouraged to collect rose hips -- for hospitals I seem to recall, though I could be wrong. They were paid some small sum per pound, and the rose hips, which are very high in vitamin C, were turned into rose hip syrup and rose hip jelly. I'd never tasted either, but that year I picked hundred of rose hips.

One year when I was about 10 we moved into an old house with a line of trees with dark reddish foliage along the back fence. My mother was delighted. Crab apples. One long weekend, just when the crab apples were ripe, my eldest sister came on a visit from the city, bringing with her a Very Special Boyfriend. He spent the entire visit up the trees, picking crab apples, while my sister was in the kitchen, slicing and boiling and straining crab apples. To this day my brother-in-law shudders at the mention of crab apple jelly. I've no idea why. ;)

There is a special pleasure, I think, in finding food from nature. It probably satisfies our ancient inner hunter/collector instincts. My parents certainly loved it and passed on the knowledge and pleasure to us. The list of things we collected or picked or caught was endless ; my first oyster was eaten straight from the sea, prised off the rocks with my father's penknife; my brother used to hunt rabbits and bring them home for the pot; we kept bees; my brother and his friend used to catch yabbies (like freshwater prawns) with his friends and they'd cook up a feast of them then and there with a fire and an old tin can. I was never allowed to go (too small) and have never caught a yabbie, so even though I've eaten them in restaurants, the idea of catching and cooking my own still carries a special allure for me.

Food gathering and collecting — and I'm not just talking about harvesting— has been part of the country dweller's seasonal routines forever. It's probably only in recent years, when food of all sorts, from all climates is widely available in supermarkets, regardless of season. But the pleasure is still there when we get it for ourselves -- those pick-your-own fruit farms know it; it's not only about saving on labour costs. 

Country activities such as these are rarely mentioned in historical novels, possibly because such activities aren't in the experience of city bred modern authors. I'm not talking about huntin' fishin' and shootin' which, of course is in many historicals. But gathering food that's growing wild is rarely mentioned, even though it was common at the time. Such things could, of course, be left for the servants to do, but really it's a lot of fun, especially if done in a group, and the gentry would do it, too, I'm sure.

Georgette Heyer knew it, even though she lived in the heart of London.  In her book, Venetia, the heroine, Venetia changes into her oldest gown to go blackberrying and heads for the best spot for blackberries --  the property of her absentee neighbor, the notorious rake, Lord Damerel. Of course, the Wicked Baron, home on an unexpected visit, comes upon our heroine and before she knows it, she's being kissed; forfeit for the berries she's taken. It's a wonderful introductory scene. (If you haven't read it, get a copy. You won't regret it.) 

Can you think of other scenes in books where characters collected food from the wild?

And did you ever go out collecting food from the wild when you were a child? Did you enjoy it, or was it a chore?  What did you gather, collect or hunt? Do you still do it now? Tell us about it 

Or has your collecting instinct concentrated itself in that other ancient pleasure, shopping? And if so, what's your weakness?

Body Art!

Hello, Nicola here. Today I’m talking about body art, specifically tattoos! This isn’t meant in any way to be a comprehensive history of the art of the tattoo, more an explanation of how I became interested in the subject after a tattoo slipped unexpectedly into my most recent book…

I say that the idea slipped in there unexpectedly because I genuinely don’t know why I decided to give my heroine a tattoo. I don’t even know where the idea came from. At this point I have to come out and admit that I’m not a great fan of body art personally – I’m too squeamish for one thing - but that I hugely admire the creativity of some people who choose to decorate themselves this way.  And of course giving the heroine of a Regency book a tattoo is pretty controversial and I’m braced for some comments. It would have been easier to tattoo the hero, especially if he was in the British Navy. But a heroine? How could that possibly be historically accurate? Well…

 

The art of the tattoo has a long history, of course. It’s thought to date back at least 5000 years. The word tattoo itself is said to derive from the Polynesian word ‘ta’ which means striking something and the Tahitian word ‘tatau’ which means ‘to mark something’. In Europe it was the Celts who brought with them to Britain the widespread use of body art, painting themselves with woad in patterns of spirals, knots and braids to symbolise the interconnectedness of life.  Research by Newcastle University also shows that Roman soldiers on Hadrian’s Wall had a military tattoo. Written evidence for the practice comes from the Epitome of Military Science, written around the 4th century AD by the Roman chronicler Vegetius. He recounted that recruits to the Roman legions would have to earn their tattoo once they had been tested by physical exercises. A written record from the 10^th century traveller Ahmad Ibn Fadlan records a meeting with Viking traders in which they are described as being tattooed from "fingernails to neck" with dark blue or dark green "tree patterns" and other "figures."

Despite these early references, tattoos have left little trace (pardon the pun) in the subsequent written record and it is not until the eighteenth century that I could find further references to them in European culture. It was the voyages of Captain Cook and other explorers to Polynesia that re-introduced tattooing into the European  cultural consciousness. Not only did these explorers return home with tattooed Polynesians to exhibit at fairs, lecture halls and in museums but it also became a tradition in the British Navy for sailors to have tattoos. By the middle of the eighteenth century many British ports had a professional tattoo artist in residence. An anchor designed showed that a sailor had crossed the Atlantic, an image of a fully rigged ship meant that he had sailed around Cape Horn and a shell-backed turtle that he had crossed the Equator.

During the Georgian and Regency period it was the travelling fairs and circuses that promoted the popularity of tattooing. Astley’s Ampitheatre and The Royal Circus and Equestrian Philharmonic Academy were two of the London circuses that featured acrobats, rope-dancers, jugglers, sword-swallowers and clowns as well as equestrian displays. During the nineteenth century it became the norm for every major circus to employ several tattooed people. Some were displayed in sideshows and others were performers. But it was mainly via the local fairs that body art spread to the mass of the working classes.

Enter Alice Lister, the heroine of my second trilogy book, The Scandals  of an Innocent. Alice may be an heiress but she is a former housemaid whose eccentric and lonely employer left her a fortune. Alice belonged to a class for whom the fair was a treat from the drudgery of normal life: “the delight of apprentices, the abomination of their masters – the solace of maid servants, the dread of their mistresses – the encouragement of thieves…” The fair was a rough place after dark. It attracted “the light-fingered gentry” as one newspaper from the nineteenth century put it. It was dark and dangerous and raffish with its exhibition of dwarves and giants, its amateur boxing ring and drinking booths. A respectable woman would be unlikely to venture there and if she did it (as the character of Jane Austen did in the recent film Becoming Jane) then it would be with a heavy male escort. Alice, in contrast, goes with a gaggle of other maidservants on their night off. She sees the sideshows, the giants and freaks and dwarves, some with their tattoos. She drinks mead, sweet with honey, and then, encouraged by her giggling friends she is tempted into the tattooist’s tent where the old woman tells her a tattoo won’t hurt much and her lover will like it. Alice is naïve and thinks the picture will eventually wash off. But two years later when she is by fortune if not by birth a lady of quality, the tattoo is something scandalous and shocking. In the immortal words of the Duchess of Cole on hearing the scandalous rumour: “My dear Miss Lister, tattoos are for circus freaks and sailors…” Poor Alice! Already struggling to adjust to life in a different level of society, she knows that the possession of a tattoo literally marks her as a woman who is unsuitable to be a marchioness.

  This association of the tattoo with the working classes is interesting. Some social reformers associated tattoos with deviance and criminality and asserted that the only females to have tattoos were prostitutes. However the practice was far more widespread than that amongst the lower classes. The wives of sailors were amongst the  first women to be tattooed and in the mid-nineteenth century Princess Marie of Denmark had a tattoo of an anchor in order to show that she too was the wife of a sailor. In the middle to late nineteenth century tattoos became acceptable in the upper classes when the Prince of Wales, later King Edward VIII, had a tattoo of a Jerusalem cross on his arm. In 1882 his son, the future King George V, had a tattoo of a dragon. Society ladies also picked up on this fashion with the Marchioness of Londonderry sporting the tattoo of a snake on her wrist. Tattoos became more socially acceptable because they were visibly sported by people who were themselves socially accepted.

 

My question is: if you were to have a historical tattoo, what would it be? A Tudor rose? A Celtic knot? I'm offering a copy of my July release, The Scandals of an Innocent, for the most creative suggestion!

Back to cats and kittens

Why Charlie in a Halloween costume? Because I failed to get a picture of Charlie with a cat. My son and daughter-in-law's cats try to eat Cabbage Patch Kids, so I'm not even sure it's wise.

I don't have any particular pictures for this blog, so they'll be random choices.

I've really enjoyed reading through everyone's lovely stories about cats and kittens. Someone said that they were surprised that I'd never had a cat, as I wrote about them well. Thanks for that. :) I have been around cats, of course, but there is an ability writers have -- to be able to believably construct things about which we don't have strong personal knowledge. I suspect all writers have it when they start out, but that it gets stronger the more we write.

I remember a piece on the radio years ago. It was a CBC show called Morningside, hosted by Peter Gzowski, who had been a journalist, and the author was Margaret Attwood. He complimented her on the realism of scenes set in a '60s newsroom and asked if she'd ever been a reporter. If not, how had she done it? She replied, "Imagination, Peter. Imagination!"

(The picture is of Torcross, Devon.

It'll be a lot busier now, but still, it's an amazing thing to come across in what seems to be the middle of nowhere.)

I'm not sure I completely agree with the word. I think of imagination as something I use to weave stories, and it can be literally out of nothing. If I sit here now and come up with a story about two non-human, non-humanoid characters from a fantasy world that bears little resemblance to earth, it's going to be a feat of almost pure imagination. It wouldn't be particularly difficult. Making it into a good story that earth-based readers would enjoy would be the trick, because I think we all enjoy fiction that has strong ties to realities we understand, otherwise it's too difficult a constructive task. Would you agree?

This ability to create a reality we don't really know is something else, because we use a whole lot of stuff. We go through life gathering stuff. No, not the knick-knacks and clothes we'll never wear again -- our experiences. Every moment of every day, new things stick. Most of them we don't even remember. But if we're a writer, they magically bubble up when needed.

I don't think I could create an impressively real '60s newsroom because I haven't got enough stuff about it. I don't even watch movies or TV programmes set in news rooms as it's not all that interesting to me. That's probably why I don't write stories likely to be in newsrooms! If I were likely to write such stories, I would have been interested in newsrooms all along. If you follow me.

(A very good cafe in Penzance. Had to go to a place called Steckfensters in Cornwall, didn't we?)

I have been interested in history all along. English history. Roughly 1100 to 1820. Really interested, really all along. As far back as I can remember. As a child I headed straight for the old and ran around gathering as much as I could, and I've been doing it ever since.I bet all historical writers did this, because we end up choosing to write stories set in worlds we can never actually live in. We have to use this ability to alchemically change a load of stuff into a believable reality for our readers.

We need a name for this ability. Anyone want to have a go at coming up with one?

Of course we research, too -- that is, go in search of information we know we need to know. We also deliberately expose ourselves to books, screens, and places where there's likely to be loads of the right stuff just waiting to glom onto us. Period houses, costume galleries, old inns, old streets, and every museum that comes within our radar.

(This picture is a fireplace in the Lady Lever Gallery in Port Sunlight. A wonderful place to stuff-gather. They also have on line podcasts of talks about some of their works, such as one about a Holbein portrait of Henry VIII. Check out the site.)

But at the end, we can't research every moment, every step. At least, I can't. In the end I have to write the story, and that means surrendering to the creative flow. Going with my characters, hanging on for dear life. I can't be constantly doing reality checks about shoes, cups, staircases, street surfaces etc etc, never mind the feel of things. Not just the smells, which can be researched, but which smells that character would notice in that place at that moment.

But you know, we mostly get it right. Authors will often mention this. Sometimes there's a detail we need to know and we go looking for it. Exhaustive searches fail to reveal it. So we make it up. We take our best guess and carry on. Then later we come across that detail, and we got it right! Magic?

In a sense, yes. But really it's the stuff. When we make that best guess, we're doing it based on everything we know by deliberate research and a lifetime of stuff. We might have a hole in our knowledge, but all around the hole is knowledge, and tho boundaries of a hole tells us a lot. Some would say that the universe is actually the space between the stuff. It comes to the same thing in the end.

I started out with cats and kittens, didn't I, and drifted far afield.

I've had a great time reading over the cat stories again and I thank you all for sharing them. The random pick was easy. That turned out to be the very first comment from Danielle, so one kitten is Georgie.

Choosing the other was very hard.

(This is a library chair, designed for sitting "backward", complete with book stand. They also had library chairs that niftily transformed into steps when needed!)

I was very taken by some names -- Catullus in particular, especially as the companion cat is Isabella, my heroine's name. Of course Sherlock Holmes and the Duke of Wellington just won't do. I loved the bossy cats, and the saucy cats, and the cats who think they're dogs. Not to mention the rabbit! And I love that Louis had Manx cats, and that Ink the guard cat could growl loudly enough to scare away burglars.

It was an impossible choice, but in the end I picked this, fairly short one, from Dorotha Holloway.
"Our 14 year old "Sable the Unstable" stable cat, lost her life in a auto accident May 5th. She gained her title as a 4 week old abandoned kitten. My daughter smuggled her in with our 4 datseys and she grew up thinking she was a hound. She loved rolling in mud, chasing horses, and seekning up on unsuspecting humans. We miss her very much, the only other member of the cat family I have ever known was a blue Manx that was know as Smoke to all who met him."

(Picture on right is of a British uniform. It's from the Canadian War Museum in Ottawa. Another excellent place to visit.)

Three simple things came together here for me. At 4 weeks, Sable was about the age of Tabby's kittens when she was lucky enough to find a great home. She died very recently. And Dorotha also had a Manx cat. I do also like the idea of a cat who chases horses, though what the horses made of it, I have no idea. :)

So, Danielle and Dorotha, the kittens are Georgie and Sable. Georgie after the king, I'm sure. I'm assuming for now that Sable is very black and sleek. Borrowing from some other posts, I think he or she is the non-Manx and very proud of its tail.

I'll send you both a copy of Dangerous Joy if you'd like one. E-mail admin@jobeverley.com

Thanks, everyone.

Jo :)

Wench News

We should declare July an official Wench Month, as so many of the Wenches have books coming out in a few days.  Here's the list:

Loving a Lost Lord by Mary Jo Putney

Don't Tempt Me by Loretta Chase

Mystic Warrior by Patricia Rice

The French Mistress by Susan Holloway Scott

The Scandals of an Innocent by Nicola Cornick

Pat and Mary Jo have already blogged about their books, and Loretta and Susan will be interviewing each other next month regarding their July releases.  (Loretta - 7/13; Susan - 7/15)

Congratulations to Pat, Mary Jo, Andrea, and Loretta for garnering a number of accolades and starred reviews!  Pat's Mystic Warrior, Mary Jo's Loving a Lost Lord, and Loretta's Don't Tempt Me are Top Picks at Romantic Times magazine.  Loretta's Don't Tempt Me received a starred review from Booklist. Loving a Lost Lord got starred reviews at Publisher's Weekly and Booklist. Andrea's Seduced By A Spy is a finalist for the Daphne Du Maurier award for Best Historical Mystery/Suspense.

Don't forget to check out the newest set of bookmarks for Mystic Warrior and Loving a Lost Lord under "Additional Pages" in the right-hand sidebar.  And we've just added two more bookmarks for Nicola's June book, The Confessions of a Duchess and July book, The Scandals of an Innocent. Enjoy your bookmarks!

Mystic Warrior

Pat here, doing the obligatory promotion for MYSTIC WARRIOR (Signet Eclipse) on stands soon, I assume, since my copies arrived last week. The wenches have a long lovely list of new releases in July--so stock up for your beach reading!

I think most of our readers understand that Blatant Self-Promotion (BSP to those Who Know) is a topic with which most authors are uncomfortable. I was brought up in the days of children are seen and not heard, and nice girls don’t brag.  When I reached the age of Ladies don’t talk about themselves I was wearing mini-skirts and boots and declared I had no intention of being a lady. Unfortunately, I was brainwashed and indoctrinated far too young to really rebel. And I’m still uncomfortable with talking about myself and my books. Writing is very personal for me, so I present my baby with pride and fear.

So here’s the official promo:

As Europe is torn by revolution, the fate and survival of the Mystic Isle of Aelynn is dependent on an elusive treasure and a man who has been banished for his dangerously erratic psychic powers.
Lissandra Olympus seeks the help of renegade warrior Murdoch LeDroit in assuming leadership of the island, even though he believes his psychic abilities would cause more harm than good. But to protect Aelynn from chaos, they must work together to retrieve the Chalice of Plenty. Only then can Murdoch ever hope to rule Aelynn with Lissandra by his side, ever his co-ruler, his lover, his wife.

(excerpt at http://patriciarice.com/mysticwarriorex.htm)   

Sounds easy to write those short blurbs, doesn’t it? It’s not. I must have a dozen equally important threads in the book. How can I leave out the part about Murdoch killing Lissandra’s father? Or the blue ball of spirit flame?  Or Murdoch’s fiery disasters and Lissandra’s fascination with a world she’s never seen? And his fear that he’ll kill her if they make love? But authors are increasingly asked to reduce their 100,000 word novels to a few sentences. Good for the soul, maybe, but I want to pull hair.

And then we have to reduce even those few sentences to punchy one-liners we can quote on bookmarks and at autographings. Take a look at my wench bookmark. In creating that, we giggled and gave up and simply said:  He's Fire. She's Ice.  They have a steamy relationship.
Second place was: She’s good. He’s Bad. Of course they’re in love.

I mean, a single sentence begs the obvious, doesn’t it?

So let’s have fun with this silliness.  I’d love to hear what you have to say about BSP—and the flames may fly any way you wish. (Given Murdoch’s fiery tendencies, it’s only fitting, after all.)  I have a love/hate relationship going with self-promotion, so I’m open to all manner of diatribes, suggestions, or praises. 

And if you’d like to reduce some of your favorite (or not so favorite) books to single sentences, throw them in here.  It’s a pity it isn’t possible to hand out leaflets on upcoming wench books so readers could help come up with blurbs for them! 

Since I have boxes of MYSTIC WARRIOR filling my office, I’ll happily give a book away to any entrant drawn by our inestimable Sherrie from among the comments (just click on the link that says “comment” below). And if a really good blurb appears (good, bad, or ugly about any book at all), I’ll pick another winner.

Finally, a new book! Loving a Lost Lord

by Mary Jo

For those who have been pining for a straight historical romance from me—the time has come!   It’s good to be killing off heroes again.  <g>  Of course, anyone who has read many of my books probably realizes that main characters aren’t as dead as they might appear, and that’s true of Loving a Lost Lord, first book in my new Lost Lords series. 

In 2008, my only releases were reprints from hardcover and the like.  Changing publishers often means a gap in the publication schedule, plus my editor wanted to find exactly the right time to release LALL.  Hence—June 30th, 2009.  Though usually books start showing up in stores a few days earlier.

The series is set in the Regency, mainly because I love the period, but also because it’s such a fascinating point in time.  Romanticism, revolution, war, social change—the Regency is eternally balanced on the intersection between the ancien regime and modernity.  And men look very fine in full Regency fig. <G>

The second book of the series is finished and scheduled for May 2010.  (No title yet.)  I’ve got several other guys who are hero material, so I’d like to do an open-ended series.  Trilogies are just so skimpy.  <G> 

Over the last several years, I’ve received a ton of e-mails from people who wanted to see more of the characters created in The Marriage Spell.  I’d originally intended that to be the beginning of a new series, but then I changed publishers, and a new house wants a new series. 

But those characters were in my head, so when I came up with the Lost Lords idea—young men who bonded at the Westerfield Academy, a school for boy of “good birth and bad behavior,” several of the characters were definitely akin to those in The Marriage Spell.  The hero of LALL is the Duke of Ashton, a sort of non-magical cousin of Ashby in the earlier book.

I gave him pretty much the same story, too.  The book begins with Lady Agnes Westerfield, the unconventional duke’s daughter who founded the Westerfield Academy.  In the middle of a dark and stormy night, three young men come to her door to break the tragic news that Ashton, who had been their classmate in Lady Agnes’s first class, had been killed in the explosion of his steam yacht in Scotland.  Her former students had come to her as much for comfort as to share the news.

But when Lady Agnes learns that no body has been found, she returns to full schoolmistress mode and orders them to go searching for Ashton, and to by God bring him home, dead or alive! 

So off go Randall, Masterson, and Kirkland, figuring that will be pure luck if they find his drowned body, but at least they’re doing something, not feeling helpless.

Meanwhile, on the far northwest coast of Cumberland, lovely Mariah Clarke is rejoicing in finally having a home.  As a girl she’d lived with her part-Gypsy great grandmother while her father, a gamblin’ man survives on his charm, skill, and ability to get himself invited to house parties.  After Granny Rose’s death, Mariah traveled with her father.  They're close, but she isn't fond of their unsettled life.  After several years, he wins a pleasant estate in Cumberland, and she becomes Miss Clarke of Hartley Manor. 

With shocking abruptness, Mariah’s father is killed on a journey south and she is alone in the world.  Alone, and being pressed for marriage by the former owner of Hartley Manor.  Afraid that in a moment of weakness she might say yes, she performs a Gypsy ritual asking for her help—and then finds a half-drowned man rolling onto the shingle beach of Hartley Manor.  An exotically handsome man with no memory, mesmerizing green eyes—and a complete willingness to believe Mariah’s impulsive claim that she’s his wife….

Okay, one of the reasons I love historical romance is because one can write over the top plots, and this is one of them.  I was recently asked why I like amnesia plots (this is my third—I do about one a decade <G>), and the reason is simple.  Strip away a person’s memory and even more important, the expectations of everyone around, and what emerges?  I think this is a chance for a person to become more truly him or herself. And that’s what happens for Adam, a half-Hindu duke who spent many years learning how to appear absolutely conventional.  Now he’s himself—whoever that is. 

There are lots of adventures, of course.  One of the most fun aspects of the book was a scene with a diving bell as Adam’s friends work with a salvage operator to find the wreckage of Adam’s steam yachts.  Diving bells are very cool—Aristotle mentioned them, and it’s said that Alexander the Great descended in an early bell.  The things one learns in this business! 

In more blatant self-promotion, Loving a Lost Lord received starred reviews from Publishers Weekly, Library Journal, and is a Romantic Times Top Pick:

“The enchanting first Lost Lords novel confirms bestseller Putney as a major force in historical romance….Sensual romance heats up between the couple until Mariah reluctantly reveals the truth.  When she learns of Adam’s real history, Mariah must make a terrible choice.   Entrancing characters and a superb plot line catapult this tale into stand-alone status.”
 Publishers Weekly, starred review

“Compelling, flawless prose, gentle humor, exotic elements (courtesy of Adam’s half-Hindi heritage), and irresistible characters caught in a sweet, sensual dilemma will leave readers smiling, breathless, and anxiously awaiting the next adventure in Putney’s new “Lost Lords” series. Readers who loved Putney’s “Fallen Angels” series are in for a rare treat; fortunately, there are more delicacies to come! Putney (A Distant Magic) writes some of the most sensitive, exquisite historicals in the field.”
 Bette-Lee Fox, starred review, Library Journal

“TOP PICK! If you loved the Fallen Angels, you'll adore the Lost Lords: men who formed unbreakable bonds while at a school for boys of "good birth and bad behavior." Only the incomparable Putney could bring them to life and have readers yearning to be close to such dynamic heroes and the women who tame them.”
 Kathe Robin, Romantic Times, four and a half stars

But ultimately, what matters is if readers like the book.  If you pick up a copy, I hope you enjoy it.  If you want to sample the goods, there are two excerpts on my website, http://maryjoputney.com/  (First chapter and first meet.)

I’m giving away a signed copy of Loving a Lost Lord to someone who comments on this post between now and Thursday midnight.  Also, some time in the next week, a video for LALL should go up on my website, if you enjoy such things. 

So--after all the years and zillions of classic historical romances that have been published, do you still like them?  Or have you grown jaded?  What makes you love a historical romance?  I love hearing the opinions of intelligent readers like those who come to Word Wenches!

Mary Jo, always willing to kill off another hero <g>

Musing on Muses

Andrea here. Today, I’m taking a break from talking about research topics to muse on . . . well, The Muse and what kindles our inner fire.

So what sparked the idea? Well, my older brother and I were recently packing up all the personal memorabilia from my mother’s condo in readiness for a rental tenant moving in. As my Mom was an incredibly creative person—she recently passed away at the age of 85—it was quite a task.

Not only was she an accomplished painter and computer artist (having decided to master PhotoShop and her Mac at age 78) but a talented photographer as well . . . here she is—at age 84— getting ready to go up in her friend Morgan’s plane to do aerial photography. (She also had a pilot’s license but let Morgan do the flying.)

 She also turned her hand to a number of other crafts, including studying hand bookbinding with one of the head library restorers at Yale. Combining this skill with her expertise in photography, she made exquisitely detailed family scrapbooks. She had always taken lots of pictures of us growing up, and carefully collected a wealth of other memorabilia, like drawings and letters, to go along with the photos. Each year had its own book, and with her typical Swiss precision, she meticulously labeled events, pasted childish artwork in place, and preserved little treasures such as letters from first grade teachers, sporting ribbons, etc. So, needless to say, the process of boxing all the books and art proceeded VERY slowly as my brother and I stopped often to look through the record of our lives. 

As I sat perusing the pages, watching myself progress from infant to toddler to college undergrad and beyond, the experience brought some very interesting observations into focus. I tend to be reflective (I think most writers have a strong streak of introspection) but seeing a visual record of my ”self” and my interests really got me to thinking about how we find our passion in life.

Here are a few of the fascinating things I realized:

From a very early age I loved creating stories and art. Still do. Here I am as a four-year-old, hard at work at my desk. (These days I probably spend a few more hours glued in my chair, but you get the picture!) My earliest creations were Westerns—I’ve since moved on to Regency England, but at four, I had not yet read Jane Austen.

I tended to immerse myself in a character—I loved to dress up and imagine myself in a whole other world. Still do. (The imagining part, that is. These days I forgo the Davey Crockett and cowboy outfits as I write. Sorry, no ballgown or tiara either.)

Writing down my stories, sometimes with detailed illustrations, was something I really loved. Still do. And travel always sparked my imagination. Still does. For example, my parents took me to Gettysburg when I was nine, and that summer I wrote a Civil War short story based on the experience of seeing the battlefields, and reading all about the clash of armies.

In reading over letters from teachers, awards, etc, I saw there was constant reference to books, history and art. A quote from my fourth grade teacher reads, “Andrea is the class master of history.” In junior high school, I was voted “Best Writer.” In college I won an award for best printing project by an undergraduate. It was for a book of quotations from Thoreau, illustrated with original etchings. I set the type (old-fashioned lead letters) and printed each page by hand, then bound the book using marble paper I had made myself. (I was a graphic design major, so I got to study all sorts of fun things while my roommates slaved over pre-med courses.)  Anyway, those three subjects still captivate me.

And lastly, I saw that another childhood interest was archeology. (No wonder I adore the Amelia Peabody books by Elizabeth Peters.) I was enthralled by the past. Still am. And I was enchanted with marine biology (Go figure that one—I had absolutely no aptitude in science, but I loved the ocean. Still do. It must have been all those Jacques Cousteau documentaries. I still dream of going on a research boat to study great white sharks . . . even though I get terribly seasick.)

But getting back to what makes us who we are, the essence of what I learned was that my childhood passions are remarkably similar to my current ones. The things that captured my imagination as a five-year-old still shape my life today.

When I talked about this with some of my good friends, we discovered that each one of us was different. Some of us knew from the start what we wanted to be when we grew up. Others needed time to find their true calling—it wasn’t until adulthood they that realized what made them happy. And some of my friends are still searching for what makes their heart sing.

It was fascinating to hear how some discoveries are stumbled upon—a chance visit to a museum exhibit sparking a passion for collecting teapots—and some come from out of the blue. My avid gardener friend has no idea why she suddenly developed the urge to dig in the dirt. As a child she had absolutely no interest in plants and couldn’t tell a daffodil from a daisy. And my mother, who couldn’t have cared less about birds when I was a child, suddenly became fascinated by them, which sparked a whole new passion for painting them in watercolors. (Here is one of her paintings.)

I feel incredibly lucky to have a passion in life. Not to speak of being paid—albeit a pittance—to do it.

So, what are you passionate about? And how many of you knew from an early age what inspired you? How many of you came to it later in life?

(I will be selecting a winner to receive a copy of The Scarlet Spy from those who comment, so be sure to enter a post!)

 

Meet Eva Ibbotson

Anne here.  This interview with Eva Ibbotson is a little different from most of the guest interviews we do here on Word Wenches. Eva  is a Living Treasure and has just passed her 84th birthday. As you will see, however, Eva Ibbotson and her books, are ageless. The interview was conducted over the phone and transcribed by Eva's agent, Stephanie Thwaites. Thank you Stephanie and Eva for making this possible.

Eva Ibbotson has written some of my all-time favorite keeper books.  She and Georgette Heyer are my top two desert island authors and comfort reads. I watched with dismay as the copies of her adult books went out of print and became more and more hard to find, so it's been a huge delight for me to see them reissued.            

 These adult romances are superb — and not "teenage novels" at all (which is how the publishers are now marketing them— I presume because there are no sex scenes.) Her stories are wonderfully textured, heartwarming and, to quote another Word Wench, "they have a magical blend of wit, sweetness, and emotion."  I'm sure they'll delight a whole new generation of readers 

            

Eva, welcome to the Word Wenches. You've written children's stories and romances for adults. What made you decide to write romances?

 

Eva: I had so much pleasure from Georgette Heyer that I wanted to write books that would please others in the same way.  I think I was really writing the kind of book I wanted to read myself when I had the flu.

Anne:  You certainly succeeded. Many of your books are set in a space between contemporary (almost within living memory) and historical, mostly between the wars, and you said once that your favourite year was 1910, which was well before you were born. What is it about that time that appeals to you? 

 

Eva:  Many of my books originate in my mother’s memoirs and the stories she told me about her childhood in Vienna. She was born in 1902 and it is the years after that date until she left Austria in the early 30s that I became most familiar with and took as my own terrain.

 

Anne:  Your wonderful account of your personal connection with public libraries is still available to be read on-line, and it always draws a strong response when I've read it aloud at library talks. It begins: 

I was eight years old when I came to Britain as a refugee - and was not particularly grateful. Mostly this was because after years and years of being a sheep coming to the manger, or a grazing cow, I had at last landed the part of the Virgin Mary in the nativity play at my convent school in Vienna.

And then ... Hitler.

Tell us a little  about your life when you first came to live in England as a child. How did this life later come to feed your stories?

 

Eva: I came to England as an 8 year old girl; my parents had been separated for some years and I was a bit uncertain where I belonged. When we came to settle in London it was in the world of refugees and danger, and reading for me, as for so many children in those years, became a way of escape.  But the cosmopolitanism of my fellow refugees made a rich tapestry which I used again and again when I began to write. (In THE MORNING GIFT I have explored this further).

 

Anne:  There is a theory that people who are writers were often lonely children, or children who lived isolated lives or spent a lot of time on their own. Was that true for you

  

Eva: This was certainly true for me. I was an only child of parents very busy with their own separate careers and I remember very little family life as the words are understood. On the other hand the solitary journeys I made between my parents gave me lots of opportunities to get inside my own head.

 

Anne:  What stories in English did you first fall in love with? Did you always want to be a writer?

 

Eva: I loved all the well known children’s books in English, there seemed to be far more than in German and they were wonderful.  The Arthur Ransome books (SWALLOWS & AMAZONS) come to mind and everything by Frances Hodgson Burnett and L.M Montgomery. I loved school stories however silly!

Anne:  One of the things I enjoy discovering about other writers is how particular books came to demand to be written. I read in an interview here that it was seeing a house demolished that made  you think about ghosts being made homeless, and that led to the writing of your first children's book, "The Great Ghost Rescue."

Was there a particular spark of inspiration that germinated into Magic Flutes?

 

Eva: I visited Hochosterwitz on my last return visit to Austria well after the end of the war. It was completely over the top, and the basis of Pfafferstein. For the rest I have had a passion for Mozart’s music since I was six years old – my aunt was a teacher at the Vienna Conservatoire, and everybody brought up in Vienna gets dunked in Opera and the love story grew out of that. I thought the complete contrast with all that pomp would be Martha Hodge and Newcastle where I lived by then would be fun to do.

 

Anne: The reissued novels have different covers (and in some cases different titles) in the UK and US. I must say I prefer the US covers. Did you have any say in the covers and the retitling?

 

Eva: To be honest I don’t like any of the reissued covers whether English or American but I try not to make a fuss because marketing has become such and issue and evidently the covers work for teenagers. Change of title from MAGIC FLUTES to RELUCTANT HEIRESS was done without my knowledge and the Americans apologised very profusely – these things happen…. 

Anne:  The Magic Flutes (aka The Reluctant Heiress) won the prestigious Romantic Novel of the Year in 1983, when it was first published. For those who've never had the joy of reading Eva Ibbotson, here is a taste, as our hero , Guy Farne, comes face to face with two elderly members of the crumbling aristocracy of post-war middle Europe:

 

Augustine-Maria, Duchess of Breganzer, was in her eighties, her eagle’s beak of a nose and fierce grey eyes dominating the wrinkled, parchment face. The Duchess wore a black lace dress, to the hem of which there adhered a number of cobwebs and what appeared to be a piece of cheese. A cap of priceless and yellowing lace was set on her sparse hair and her rather dirty, arthritic hands rested on a magnificent ivory cane which had once belonged to Marie Antoinette.

                Her sister-in-law, Mathilde, Margravine of Attendorf and Untersweg, was a little younger and in spite of recent shortages, resolutely round-faced and plump. Unlike the Duchess, who had received them standing, the Margravine remained seated in order to embrace more efficiently the quivering, shivering form of a goggle-eyed and slightly malororous pug whose lower extremeties were wrapped in a gold-embroidered Medici cope.

 

Anne: Your "Mittel-European sensibility" and the world you portrayed in this book (and others) of the crumbling aristocracy,  the up-and-coming thrusting new money, the snobs, the opportunists and the heroes — it all has such an authentic feeling to it. How much (if any) of this is based on your own experience? (I would love it if you really knew a monkey gland prince.)

 

Eva: I have no direct personal experience of the crumbling aristocracy. My characters are drawn from reading and from my imagination. My father was a biologist and fashions like monkey gland injections were rife when he was young.

 

Anne:  As well as heroes to-die-for and and gutsy, heart-wrenching heroines, you've created some marvelous minor characters. Do you have readers writing to you begging for some of your minor characters to have their own stories? I confess, one I'd love to see is Ollie's story. And Sergei's. And I'd like a romance for Martha Hodge too.

 

Eva: The minor characters are incredibly important; indeed the word minor hardly fits. To be honest I don’t quite know where they come from but this is the case altogether with writing; it remains mysterious. I’ll think about a romance for Martha Hodge!

 

Anne:  You create wonderful antiheroes — I think my favorite is the fiancée of the hero in Countess Below Stairs, so smooth-skinned, beautiful and smugly ruthless. Yet you treat them with kindness in the end, often more than I think they deserve. 

 

Eva: Perhaps it’s because I thought of myself as plain and unattractive (in spite of a very happy marriage) that my anti-heroines are usually beautiful and voluptuous and smug. 

 

Anne : Guy Farne is a splendid hero. I loved the story of how he grew up, a small hero in need of dragons to slay and heroines to rescue. The relationship between him and his foster mother is beautiful. And when he sees our heroine.. .sigh. Kindness and honor and strength.

Your heroes are often trapped between honor and their hearts desire, and as they're the sort of men who would never compromise their honor, their future often seems doomed to polite misery. The resolutions to their dilemmas in both Countess Below Stairs  and Magic Flutes are particularly good fun, as those concerned are beautifully hoist with their own petard (she says trying not to give any of the story away.) Are you the sort of writer who plots stories out in advance or do they take you on a journey that unfolds as you write? Have you even painted yourself into a corner?

 

Eva: The kind of dichotomy between honour and passion is as old as the hills and I must say getting my heroes out of their dilemmas has sometimes not been easy. This is where the so called minor characters come in – like the Littlest Heidi in MAGIC FLUTES.  I only know the broad outline of a story when I begin; the way obstacles are produced and then cleared up comes as I go along. It can be an awful headache!

 

Anne:  Some of your children's stories, for instance "Journey to the River Sea" have been transformed into stage plays. I would love to see your adult novels turned into a BBC mini-series or three. Any chance of this?

 

Eva: I too would like to see my adult novels turned into plays or films – there’s an option out on THE MORNING GIFT so keep your fingers crossed.

 

Anne:  You said once in an interview that you thought of your books as a present for readers and, for me and countless others, they have indeed been the most wonderful gift. I hope they're in print for many more years. Thank you.

 

Eva: Thank you. I meant what I said about trying to think of my books as presents- which means that the reader wants to know what happens and not too much about my soul, or the sunset. I’m glad you’ve enjoyed the books. All the best, Eva. 

Anne again: Eva Ibbotson is not able to join us for a discussion on Word Wenches, however I have promised to forward all the messages and comments to her, via her agent, so whether you're an old fan or new fan, this is your chance to send her a message. What's your favourite of her characters or books? Or if you haven't read her yet (lucky you, what a treat in store) -- what qualities do you love in a hero or heroine? (A commenter will be chosen at random to receive a copy of one of Eva's newly reissued books) 

 

Two Hundred Years of Country House Visiting - Corsham Court

Hello! This is Nicola with a post for everyone who enjoys a virtual tour of a historic house! I have to admit that country house visiting is one of my favourite pastimes. Luckily I can claim it as research so I don't feel as though I am playing truant but instead am virtuously doing something work-related! One of the most famous country house visitors in literature is Elizabeth Bennet, of course, whose tour of Derbyshire with her aunt and uncle in Pride and Prejudice leads to an unexpected meeting with Mr Darcy at Pemberley. Whilst my own visits to historica houses have not been quite as momentous, I have seen some wonderful places and met some eccentric, endearing and very interesting owners over the years. My favourite was at castle Matrix in Ireland (shades of Monty Python), where we staggered in on a wet afternoon and the owner made us a pot of tea and a sandwich before giving us a personal tour of the castle and spinning a marvellous tale about her late husband, whom she claimed had been a modern day Knights Templar! 

So one never knows quite what to expect, which is part of the fun, and last month I went to a house that I have wanted to visit for a long time. It is called Corsham Court and it is near Bath. It houses a world famous collection of Old Master paintings and has stunningly beautiful gardens and pleasure grounds, as well as a troupe (is that the correct collective noun?) of peacocks who can be found wandering into the town, sitting beside you in the gardens or even perching on the roof!

The village of Corsham itself has a wonderfully historical atmosphere. It is recorded that King Ethelred the Unready had a summer palace there and that in 1244 Richard Earl of Cornwall, one of the sons of King John, built himself a Manor there. The estate was given to both Katherine of Aragon and Katherine Parr, but it is said that by the end of Henry VIII's reign the medieval manor house was in ruins. It is reasonable to speculate that the current house, which was built in 1582 might well have been on or near the site of the medieval manor and the earlier palace. Sir Paul Methuen, a wealthy diplomat, bought Corsham Court in 1745 and it has remained in the Methuen family ever since. It was Sir paul who accumulated the grand collection of Old Master paintings that still hang in the house today.

The first guidebook to Corsham Court was produced in 1806. At the time the general public were permitted to view all the staterooms including the State Bedroom. These were where most of the portraits were hung and the early guidebooks provide a detailed description of the collection, making it clear how proud the Methuen family were of displaying them. Two hundred and three years later I followed in the footsteps of those early visitors! One of the things that I particularly liked about Corsham Court was that much of the house has remained architecturally unaltered since the 1760s and so walking through the staterooms was like stepping back into the eighteenth century in all its opulence.

Many of the paintings are displayed in the picture gallery against a background of crimson silk damask. In the eighteenth century this was considered to be the optimum material for displaying paintings in gilt-wood frames. The chairs and sofas were covered in matching material, which meant that a huge order was put in to Morris and Young of Spitalfields. In 1765 they supplied seven hundred yards of damask at thirteen shillings and sixpence a yard. Four years later that provided a further four hundred and seventy eight and a half yards of material for the furniture. The price had gone up to fourteen shillings a yard. I loved the fact that when, over the years, the damask furniture inevitably became worn, pieces were cut from the material behind the paintings in order to patch them up!

Of the many magnificent portraits on display in the house, my favourite was this painting of Paul Cobb Methuen and his sister Christian by Sir Joshua Reynolds. Paul has such a vivid little face and a naughty twinkle in his eyes and I adored Christian's hat!

Such a picturesque house is bound to be in demand as a flm location so it was no surprise to me that Corsham has featured in the BBC adaptations of Tess of the D'Urbevilles and Wives and Daughters and also in the film Barry Lyndon.

The splendours of the house are matched by the gardens and pleasure grounds (I love the idea of pleasure grounds - it conjures up lazy days strolling under the plane trees or riding about the estate!) There is a wonderful view of the deer park and grounds from the Picture Gallery windows. This pastoral scene was the vision of Capability Brown who re-designed the park with a vew to integrating the landscape paintings indoors with the view outdoors. He created a "Great Walk" with panoramic views of the estate, and a romantic wilderness woodland complete with a little ornamental bridge of petrified stone. In the early years of the nineteenth century Humphrey Repton developed the Corsham vision further by creating a lake from the medieval stew ponds and planting specimen trees such as the American Oaks and Oriental Planes that look so magnificent today.

As always with historic houses it was the little nooks and crannies that intrigued me the most and my favourite bit of my visit was discovering the bathhouse. This was the work of Capability Brown and it was intended to provide an invigorating cold dip for the family, friends and visitors. The bath was sunk into the arcaded ground floor and a flight of steps led to a dressing room above. The style of the bathhouse was gothic, with arched windows, niches and pinnacles on the roof. It was absolutely charming but possibly not sufficiently so to temp me to shed my clothes, even in an English summer! Close by was another building that caught my fancy – the Sham Ruin. Built as a folly in the late eighteenth century and intended only for decoration, it did contain some of the stonework from the medieval house demolished in the sixteenth century.

 

Those of you who have read the “Regency Authors Go Wild” page on my website will know that one of my most pressing requirements for country house visiting is that there should be a tea shop close by so I was thrilled to discover that whilst there was not a teashop at Corsham Court itself, there was a lovely little pavement café in the village where we sat in the sunshine and enjoyed tea and cake.

I hope that you have enjoyed this “virtual tour” of Corsham Court! I wondered what it is about a trip that makes it special to you? It needn’t be to a historical place, although it could be – anywhere that you love or that is important to you. Do you have special places that you visit or things like my country house afternoon tea ritual that you particularly like?

Looking at covers again.

I have to confess that I forgot I was supposed to blog. (Spent the weekend at a Huna workshop -- Hawaian spirituality, though not, alas, in Hawaii, plus so many things coming together for our upcoming move to England.) So I've dug a post of mine from the very early days of Word Wenches. Covers are always worth revisiting.

Here's what I asked the last time. Do you pick up books because of covers, or avoid them because of covers? Do covers affect how you read a book?

I'm ashamed to admit I have to say yes to all three. I know covers often have little to do with the book. I know the author often has zero say. But some covers, especially where the man looks brutal -- or dead, but not in an interesting vampiric way -- make it really hard for me to pick the book off the shelf.

It's nothing to do with what others might think. It's simply that I don't want to meet that man inside the covers. I don't want to spend time with him. 

It's not just the men. I don't want to travel awhile with that angular-jawed woman who's wearing too much make-up for the past -- or the wrong sort.

This original cover of Dark Champion is one of my least favorite covers, perhaps especially so as its one of my favorite books. Fitzroger is a lean, hard-trained warrior, not a beefed-up gym boy, and Imogen is very young. Instead, there's the angular jaw, too much make-up look. They did try to show her magnificent hair, but it's enough to make a rug! Then there's her huge endowments -- or perhaps they're inflated because he's doing a one-arm push up on her ribs! Add pepto pink text, and it's all pretty revolting. The reissue was much better. You can see it through the link above.

If I get the wrong cover images in my head and they won't go away. Need I mention that I'm a very visual reader? I'm just very visual. Very literal about my visuals. At the workshop I had to keep asking for adjustments to visualizations because the ones offered didn't work for me.

So I'm actually okay with the covers that chop off the characters' heads, even though I think they're a bit weird, because it's much better than having an unfortunate image imposed.

Then there's the "look of the day" which for cover heroes at the moment seems to be stubble. What is it with stubble? I don't find that attractive. I like this cover of the new edition of Lord Wraybourne's Betrothed, which will be out later this year, but I wish David wasn't stubbly.

Do you think historical covers have changed much in the past three years? If so, how? I think there are fewer of the rampant clinches, or the lantern-jawed half naked men, but perhaps I've just blocked them out.

My covers haven't changed much. 2006 saw the publication of The Rogue's Return, with what I think is a lovely cover. The heroine -- what we can see of her -- looks young, and though we have the common strange lack of underwear, the costumes are pretty good. This year, of course, saw The Secret Wedding, which you've seen plenty of times.

Okay, am I the only one bothered by the number of 18th and 19th century heroines who appear to wear their gowns over nothing? And not mind being peeled out of their one layer when outside, possibly in view of many? I think underwear can be very sexy!

Below is what I've seen of the cover for a British edition of My Lady Notorious that will come out next year. It's lovely, isn't it? And there's probably a reason she's naked beneath that wrap. With my permission, they've dropped the "my" which they didn't feel worked as well as Lady Notorious. I don't think that's enough of a change to confuse anyone.

It's time it had a good cover. The first one was odd, and the reissue bland. You can see that here.

(I'm still working on the prizes for the kitten posts. Thanks for your patience.)

Best wishes,

Jo