Word Wenches

It's our Wenchiversary!

By Mary Jo and the rest of the Wenchly Crew

Has it really been thirteen years since we cautiously launched the Word Wenches blog? Indeed yes, and so much has changed in the world, in publishing, and in us. We've lost beloved Wench sisters Edith Layton and Jo Beverley, entered into new genres and new forms of publishing, and we've expanded to having Wenches from Australia, Canada, the UK, and the US so we can truly say that the sun never sets on the Wench Empire!

Here is the very first Word Wench blog post, also written by me. (I thought I was better at not volunteering!) Here is also a link for the first month of blogs, as we felt our way into this new enterprise and learned how to use the blog site's tools.

And we're still here, musing three times a week on books, history, travel, and other intriguing topics. Blogging is work even if we each only write one about every two weeks. When on deadline, there can be a mad scramble to swap dates, whip off something very quickly, or republish an older post. But we've kept blogging all these years because, basically, we like doing this.

We like connecting with our readers. We like being able to do quick, low stakes riffs on things that catch our attention. We LOVE telling readers about our new books, or new authors we've discovered.

For our first anniversary, we did a three part series on Getting Naked With the Wenches, and very popular it was! Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

 

Memory & Flowers

Anne here, taking a wander through the garden and considering the way so many flowers and fragrances evoke other times, other people. Many of the plants in my garden have come from cuttings or plant divisions or gifts from other people's gardens, and as well as bringing their own beauty and scent to my garden, they evoke memories of those people, some of whom are long gone.

My daphne is a little bit sick at the moment, and I'm very anxious about it. It grew from a cutting descended from a cutting taken from the daphne that grew in my grandmother's garden many years ago. My mum saved the plant and took cuttings and gave them to friends and family. I adore the scent of daphne, and now every time I smell that divine smell, I think of Nan and Mum. Let's hope I can cure my plant of whatever ails it.

My gardenia came from a cutting from the mother of one of my oldest school friends. She had a wonderful gardenia bush that flowered prolifically every year.

I must have mentioned at some stage how much I loved the scent of gardenias because she never forgot it. Her husband was a very important man, but each year when the gardenia came into flower, she'd make up a beautiful little packet of them, sealed in cellophane, and make him detour on his way to work to drop it off at my place — even when I was living in a shabby student share-house. My gardenia is from a cutting from her plant, and each year when it flowers, I think of Winnie.

Musings on Mindfulness, Machines and the Art of Letterwriting

Andrea here, taking a break from research (though I’ve been diving into some really interesting things of which you’ll be hearing soon) to muse on mindfulness and connecting the brain to something other than a machine.

I have been thinking about this lately as I take my daily “plotting walk,” which helps me unwind as I just let my thoughts wander. It’s amazing how often good ideas or the unraveling of plot knots happen when you turn off all the noise in your head and take the time to look and listen to Nature. There’s an elemental delight in spotting a leaf shaped like a heart, or a sea-washed feather on the beach—that sense of discovery and wonder is a special reminder to stay connected to real world, not just the devices that have become such a dominant force in our everyday lives.

Two Truths and a Lie

Susanna here. This week I'm in New Orleans, at the first ever Booklovers Con, enjoying the time spent with old friends and new ones.

Today I'm one of a group of authors taking part in a reader game of Two Truths and a Lie, wherein people try to guess which of the statements we make are the false ones. In preparation for the game, I had to come up with twenty truths and ten lies (I found the truths a lot harder, for some reason...), and without using any of those same ones here, I thought it might be fun to play a small game of our own here on the blog.

I'll share three of my writing habits. Tell me, which one is the lie?

Ask A Wench - Men in Boots, and other favorite historical clothing!

Nicola here, introducing this month’s Ask A Wench feature. Recently on my Facebook page I’ve started to post an item called Saturday Swagger, sharing some of the gorgeous historical portraits I’ve seen and love. One of them was this 17th century miniature of Sir Edward Herbert reclining in a come-hither pose. When she saw it, fellow author and Word Wench friend Sophie Weston of the Liberta Blog  commented: “The Boots! The Boots!” Happily, this set us all thinking about those aspects of historical costume that we particularly enjoy, and the result is this blog piece in which we ask: “What is your favourite item of historical clothing, to wear, to make or simply to appreciate?” So here are the Wenches' thoughts on this topic of sartorial splendour and we would love to hear yours!

The Little Matter of Chocolate Pots

 

The Chocolate Maiden carrying water and hot choc

Joanna here, talking about chocolate pots in the Eighteenth and early Nineteenth Century, which is a small and very specific topic, but it possesses a certain naïve charm.

The whole sweeping history of chocolate is a huge ocean upon which I do not feel ready to embark when I am still (endlessly) in the midst of moving household. So we’re just going to look in at one of the tiny islands in that sea. If Georgian chocolate drinking were Homer’s Odyssey, looking at chocolate pots would be like visiting Calypso’s Isle. A manageable bite, as it were, and we don’t meet the Cyclops or get turned into pigs, which makes it a good day by anyone’s calculation.

London Calling! Part 2

by Mary Jo

On Wednesday I talked a bit about museums I visited on my recent week long getaway in London, and they were great. Today I'm going to riff about the people and non-museum spaces, which was even more fun!  (The very British shop window to the left was in the St. James area, about which more below.)

A catalyst for the trip was the opportunity to take an interesting workshop, which I did and very interesting it was, but what made London special was the people. Firstly, I stayed with a writer friend at her home in Chelsea, a gorgeous little townhouse just off the King's Road. In the 17th century it was literally the King's Road, a private route that King Charles II used to travel to Kew, and it was private until 1830. (Though a privileged few could also use it.)

 

London Calling! Part 1

By Mary Jo

I've always been an Anglophile. I'm not sure if it's my DNA or all the books I read with British settings and British authors. I remember being surprised in school when a world map showed me the actual location of the British Isles. So far north and so SMALL! But mighty in world history, and in my imagination.

My interest in Britain and British history had a lot to do with living there for over two years in my 20s, when I was the art editor of a start up magazine about third World Development. I lived in Oxford and made brass rubbings in churches and drove a Morris Minor Traveler, a little station wagon with a wooden framed back structure that creaked like a ship at ship at sea when rounding corners. (Once a wheel fell off on a turn. I was told that the king pin broke, which happened regularly on older Morrises. O-kayyyy….)

Spring Cleaning

Anne here, musing about "spring cleaning," it being that time of year in the northern hemisphere.
And even though it's autumn here in Australia, I've just had a mini-spring clean as well. It's a little bit part of my ongoing decluttering process, but it was also a very definite spring clean, where I went through everything in my old-fashioned walk-in pantry and tossed a lot of stuff out, washed all my storage jars and relabelled those that needed it, and scrubbed down the shelves. And didn't it make me feel good when it was done?

I also went through my wardrobe and put a stack of my summer clothes, and a good few of last year's winter clothes that I no longer want, to be put out to the chartity collection that's coming. And while I was at it, I completely emptied the wardrobe, and wiped it out with a damp cloth, and then again with a cloth sprinkled with lemon myrtle oil. Lemon myrtle (backhousia citriodora) is an Australian native plant which has a fresh lemony scent with a slight eucalyptus tang. My wardrobe smells gorgeous. 

But I don't dare decide to attack the whole house at once. I tend to get a bit perfectionist, and so have trained myself to only do a small chunk at a time. Not for me the whole week of dusting, scrubbing and polishing that my female ancestors used to do. I have vague childhood memories of it. Such a drama — and yes, the house was beautiful and clean afterwards, but . . . a whole week? To clean? Not for me.

Sunday announcement — a winner

 

 

A winner has been chosen to receive a copy of Lucy Parker's THE AUSTEN PLAYBOOK following this interview. 

It's Beverly Abney, and she has been notified by email.

Thank you to Beverly, and to everyone else who joined in the conversation — and, of course, to Lucy Parker, for being such a lovely guest.

Anne