Word Wenches

Research 101

by Mary Jo

We Wenches have blogged about many, many things over the last three years, but the largest single category is probably research in its many forms.  Naturally I love reading such stuff—one has to have a certain taste for research to be a good historical writer, I think.  (I freely admit that most of the other Wenches are better at it than I, but I do my share.)

This afternoon I e-mailed a novella to my editor.  It’s a story for the third paranormal anthology done by Jo Beverley, Karen Harbaugh, Barbara Samuel, and me.  We have fun working together on a themed anthology, and our interests are different enough to make the stories enjoyably varied. 

But it’s too early to be promo-ing the anthology.  Today, I want to talk about some of the research that went into this one little novella.  And some of the byways a researcher can wander down!  (If you think that Susan Sarah’s Friday blog on distractions has some bearing on this—you’re right. <G>)

For starters, “Strangers on a Train” is set in WWII Scotland, a period I’ve not written about.  It’s within living memory, so I needed to make an effort to get the details right, but it’s not within my personal memory. 

I originally thought I’d start on the Flying Scotsman, the famous train that runs from London to Edinburgh.  Did it even run during WWII?  Though it wasn't exactly research, I started by reading Carola Dunn’s Murder on the Flying Scotsman, part of her Daisy Dalyrmple series, which is set in the ‘20s.  Not the right time, but I thought the book might give me a feeling for the train. 

It did, a little.  But even more, it got me hooked on Daisy Dalyrmple.  I ended up reading the whole series. <G>

I also ended using a Scottish no name train that is more or less invented—but I did want to figure out where the train lines ran in Scotland, because there aren’t that many.  Googling proved fairly useless.  I eventually found my best information in a book on the history of trains on my own shelf.  Photocopied a map, blew it up, and got out the magnifying glass.  And remembered the poky little compartmentalized trains I rode on in England in the 1970s, which were similar to one that would have been used in WWII.

I did manage to find some info on railway blackout measures: black curtains on the windows, and interior light bulbs painted blue.  That must have been weird! 

I also needed to find out about auto blackout regulations.  In the early days, cars could only use sidelights at night.  British motorists were doing more damage to each other than Hitler was managing, so the regulations changed to allow three small slits in a sort of mask that went over the headlights.  Speeds were limited to 20 mph. 

For sentimental reasons, I gave them a Morris Minor after determining the model was old enough.  When I lived in England, I drove a Morris Minor Traveller, which was a woody wagon that creaked like a ship at sea when I rounded corners. <g>

Susan King, our expert on all things Scottish, suggested that the Moray Firth might be a suitable body of water for my story.  It’s that great chunk of the North Sea that bites into the east coast of Scotland, and indeed it was just right.  I researched and yes, U-boats might have snuck in, and it has a lot of cliffs around the edges.  Just what I needed, and in the process, I found a holiday rental cottage I’d like to try someday. <G>

I considered using sea lions or porpoises in the Firth, and looked up some info on them, but in the end, I didn’t use it.

Shall I make my Guardian heroine, Jane Macrae, a codebreaker at Bletchley Park?  Mmmm, a bit early for that.  So I made her an ace analyst who worked for military intelligence while theoretically a secretary.  This occasioned a foray into the history of British military intelligence, though virtually none of it shows up in the finished story.

My hero, David Sinclair, is a Canadian from near Halifax who enlisted in the Royal Air Force and became a fighter pilot in the lethal skies of the Battle of Britain.  Were there Canadians in the RAF?  Indeed, there were 112, and pilots of many other nationalities as well.  (574 of them.) Only Poland and New Zealand had larger contingents in the RAF than Canada.

So David is one of the few famously referred to by Winston Churchill in his immortal words  "never was so much owed by so many to so few".

What rank would he be?  That necessitated more research.  Wikipedia was amazingly helpful for a lot of these details. While it might not always be dissertation level accuracy, it’s pretty darned good for a general understanding of millions of topics.  I found an article on RAF ranks and decided to make David a wing commander, the equivalent of a lieutenant colonel.  He’s under thirty, but promotion was fast in those days. And I learned that it is always “wing commander,” never shortened to commander.

There is a reference to a sister of Jane’s who is also a pilot.  She can’t be an RAF pilot in those days, but she could be in the Air Transport Auxiliary, ATA.  These were pilots who did the dangerous work of ferrying aircraft around, and something one in eight were female.  They were known as the “Atagirls.” <g>

They had the distinction of receiving equal pay and benefits with male pilots, unlike the American WASPS (Women’s Air Service Pilots), who received as little as 35% of the pay of men.  Any pilot who could do the job was eligible, even if missing an eye or limbs.  They were sometimes called the “Ancient and Tattered Airmen.” <g> 

I needed my characters to borrow a private aircraft for a hot pursuit of the villain, so I put the Mayhem Consultant to work on it. He came up with the Fairey Fox,  a nifty little biplane that might have been bought as surplus by a private pilot of means during the 1930a. 

Okay, what kind of flight check would a careful pilot perform before taking off?  Found that, including the tidbit that it’s good to check for mouse nests under wheel cowlings. <G>

What kind of stove would the heroine use to heat the tea water in a simple country croft?  Can’t have trauma without tea!  Hmmm, peat looks best, and it smells nice.  I found when traveling in Scotland that sometimes water comes out of taps brown because it travels through peat layers.  Alarming to an American at first!

Did McVitie’s chocolate digestive biscuits exist in 1941?  Indeed they did, and their popularity continues unbroken.  They’re basically a whole wheat cookie with milk chocolate on one side. 

Onward to Rosslyn Chapel, made famous (if inaccurately so), by the mega-bestselling The DaVinci Code.  Fabulous carvings inside!  I really must visit some time.

Another topic to research was male underwear of the time.  (This is a romance, after all. <g>)  Turns out that the basic styles of briefs and boxers date from the 1930s, so nothing exotic need be explained.

How about bomber jackets, still dashing and fashionable in the 21st century?  Turns out they date to WWI, so fine for WWII.  Very useful for keeping warm in high flying aircraft that had no heater.  <shiver!>

I also wanted to make David a competitive swimmer.  I was pretty sure that swimming has been a competitive sport for a long time—Johnny Weismuller went from Olympic swimming glory to the becoming Tarzan, after all—but I still did a spot of research to find out more.  Swimming contests started early in the 19th century.  Most English swimmers did sedate versions of the breast stroke, and were rather shocked by the wild flailings of American Indian competitors—who beat the breaststrokers all hollow with what became the crawl stroke.  Interesting!

What would a Roman era goblet look like?  About as one would expect, but still, it’s good to find some pictures. 

Hmm, I need some kind of bag to carry an object. Ah, perfect, a buckled canvas military bag.  I found a nifty picture of a WWII original on a shopping blog.  Unfortunately, it has already sold or I’d’ve been tempted. 

And so it goes.  This is only a sampling of the grasshopper research that I did for this one modest story.  (Though I think it turned out rather well if I do say so myself.)

So that’s how a writers research goes—fun and false starts, and lots of temptations to stray or buy! 

I assume if you read the Wenches, you like this kind of stuff, too.  What are some of your favorite research bits that you've read?  And how many of you have comparable detours and poking around in your own work?

Mary Jo, off to admire that cottage in Portknockie again….

Total Litiots II

Edith is deep in Manuscript Madness and has invoked the Wench Classic Clause.  Below is a blog post from April of 2007, as pertinent today as it was then.  ~Sherrie 

Total Litiots

I know people, and I even like some of them, who don’t read books.

Yes. True. They just don’t read books. Now, these folks are literate. They read newspapers and advertisements, and the occasional magazine. But they don’t read books, fiction or non-fiction.

I can’t understand it. But so it is.

What’s worse though, in my opinion, are those who do read books – but only those they see in reviews in the NEW YORK TIMES, THE NEW YORKER and other influential magazines, or those books being touted on TV. These readers are in the same class as people who belong to book clubs and only read what’s assigned to them. Goes without saying that these misguided folk don’t read any genre fiction unless it’s being touted by their Literary Authorities - they are only reading so that they can talk about what they read and be considered intelligent.

For all they read, I don’t think any of these people are literate in the truest sense of the word. They’d never walk into a bookstore and just look around, browsing through all the aisles, glancing at covers, reading blurbs and bits, seeing what might interest them. That idea would just be alien to them. Read something they haven’t heard about? A book their friends, or the people they look to as notable, aren’t reading? Be seen with a book no one that they know reviewed? Or buy a paperback, especially an unknown one with a sexy or lurid cover? These readers will never do that. They sneer at such books.

I have to giggle when I see such former paperback romances reissued in hardcover when the author gets famous and on the bestseller list, and these same people reading books they wouldn’t have touched in the original. (As to that - while they say hot covers make it easier for romance readers to identify their faves that way, its still arguable whether or not those covers, while holding on to their fan base, ever bring in new readers, and will ever let romance readers and writers be taken seriously. Discuss among yourselves.)

Still, to only read the already read and approved? Bah, fah, and humbug. To me, the thrill of discovery is part of the literate experience. Finding an unknown author in any genre and then falling in love with the style and enjoyment of the writing is a delicious experience. Those folks will never know that thrill of discovery.

Of course I read romances and historical novels; I adore them. But I read everything that looks interesting, no matter the genre. I love fantasy, and mysteries: police and P.I., historical and modern, serious and funny ones. Science fiction, I teethed on those and love the good ones even now. I’ve even tried erotic, exotic, experimental and mainstream fiction too. (Although not horror. I’m too impressionable and always hear things that go bump in the night anyway.)

For example, I discovered Terry Pratchett’s first Discworld novel in paperback, and it in paperback - with a silly cover as well. But it intrigued me and I bought it, and was utterly enthralled, and became hooked on his books. A CIVIL CONTRACT got me fascinated with Miles Vorkosigan, and started my reading Louise McMasters Boujold (albeit backward, from CC, the last book written, to the first in the series.) I’ve found many other authors by browsing: some who became famous, some who didn’t; some who never lived up to the promise although they published again.

I must admit I have tossed some of these randomly selected books before finishing them. But when I hit a winner, I so enjoy the adventure of finding it on my own that I don’t mind the occasional disappointment.

Book browsing and gambling on new authors or those new to you is fun. It’s a thing, I fear, that many people I know will never ever know, no matter how much they read. Have you ever picked up a book you didn’t intend to buy, never thought to buy, and been seduced by something - anything about it? And then found yourself with a new writer you adore? Only then, are you, in my estimation, truly literate. Congratulations.

I know people, and I even like some of them, who don’t read books.

Yes. True. They just don’t read books. Now, these folks are literate. They read newspapers and advertisements, and the occasional magazine. But they don’t read books, fiction or non-fiction.

I can’t understand it. But so it is.

What’s worse though, in my opinion, are those who do read books – but only those they see in reviews in the NEW YORK TIMES, THE NEW YORKER and other influential magazines, or those books being touted on TV. These readers are in the same class as people who belong to book clubs and only read what’s assigned to them. Goes without saying that these misguided folk don’t read any genre fiction unless it’s being touted by their Literary Authorities - they are only reading so that they can talk about what they read and be considered intelligent.

For all they read, I don’t think any of these people are literate in the truest sense of the word. They’d never walk into a bookstore and just look around, browsing through all the aisles, glancing at covers, reading blurbs and bits, seeing what might interest them. That idea would just be alien to them. Read something they haven’t heard about? A book their friends, or the people they look to as notable, aren’t reading? Be seen with a book no one that they know reviewed? Or buy a paperback, especially an unknown one with a sexy or lurid cover? These readers will never do that. They sneer at such books.

I have to giggle when I see such former paperback romances reissued in hardcover when the author gets famous and on the bestseller list, and these same people reading books they wouldn’t have touched in the original. (As to that - while they say hot covers make it easier for romance readers to identify their faves that way, its still arguable whether or not those covers, while holding on to their fan base, ever bring in new readers, and will ever let romance readers and writers be taken seriously. Discuss among yourselves.)

Still, to only read the already read and approved? Bah, fah, and humbug. To me, the thrill of discovery is part of the literate experience. Finding an unknown author in any genre and then falling in love with the style and enjoyment of the writing is a delicious experience. Those folks will never know that thrill of discovery.

Of course I read romances and historical novels; I adore them. But I read everything that looks interesting, no matter the genre. I love fantasy, and mysteries: police and P.I., historical and modern, serious and funny ones. Science fiction, I teethed on those and love the good ones even now. I’ve even tried erotic, exotic, experimental and mainstream fiction too. (Although not horror. I’m too impressionable and always hear things that go bump in the night anyway.)

For example, I discovered Terry Pratchett’s first Discworld novel in paperback, and it in paperback - with a silly cover as well. But it intrigued me and I bought it, and was utterly enthralled, and became hooked on his books. A CIVIL CONTRACT got me fascinated with Miles Vorkosigan, and started my reading Louise McMasters Boujold (albeit backward, from CC, the last book written, to the first in the series.) I’ve found many other authors by browsing: some who became famous, some who didn’t; some who never lived up to the promise although they published again.

I must admit I have tossed some of these randomly selected books before finishing them. But when I hit a winner, I so enjoy the adventure of finding it on my own that I don’t mind the occasional disappointment.

Book browsing and gambling on new authors or those new to you is fun. It’s a thing, I fear, that many people I know will never ever know, no matter how much they read. Have you ever picked up a book you didn’t intend to buy, never thought to buy, and been seduced by something - anything about it? And then found yourself with a new writer you adore? Only then, are you, in my estimation, truly literate. Congratulations.

The Distraction Factor

Sooner or later, We Who Write Books (or we who do anything creative, demanding and tied to a deadline!) must come to that inevitable place, the Deadline Tunnel, as it's termed in my house. And I'm there, with helmet and flashlight, backpack and snacks, an extra pair of socks and a notebook. It's also known in my house as the Hobbit hole -- a place where I can be left aloooooone for the duration, with not enough sleep, not much attention paid to food, clothing, housework or the needs of the bewildered family. For the next several weeks, the only thing that matters is Book, Book, Book.

BUT -- with lots left to do and barely enough hours left in day or night to race that deadline clock, or get to the light at the end of that tunnel ... I am still finding lots of OTHER things to do first.

Reading Pat's post the other day, a discussion of blogs, websites, Twitter and other forms of Major Web Distraction, made me think about how much my writing process has been altered by the Web. Several years ago, as long as my sons were all accounted for -- at school, doing homework, playing video games or sleeping (thankfully for at-home mom writers, teenage boys sleep a LOT) -- I could turn off the phone, shut myself up in my office or the spare bedroom (where the chair is very comfy for laptop use), and zero in on the work to be done. Total immersion in the book. It's a great place, and a tortuous place at times, to be. And it's essential to the process.

But that was before the Web and e-mail transformed life as I knew it. And that's what Pat's post the other day brought into sharp relief. I realize I'm more distractible than I used to be, even with the sons mostly out of the house (one to go and two still visiting frequently! *g*)-- and even when the calendar says I must delve deep in that book and stay there, that internet icon on my desktop beckons like a Siren...

I just need to check my e-mail once more, waiting for a response from agent/editor/friend in need/son/etc. ....okay, done--but what's that headline? OMG, she wore THAT and got caught by the paparazzi?? Oops, forgot to check my other e-mail addresses...and back to work -- dang! I'd better check that all-important factoid on the Web ... oh look, I could make that recipe for dinner *if I ever get out of this house to go to the grocery store again* ... back to work ... .... yeah, that scene just isn't ready yet -- gotta think about that emotional motivation ... oh man, I forgot to check www.dailypuppy.com today!!  Time for another cup of tea, and while the water's boiling, I'll sit down with the laptop in the kitchen - it's still on ... right, I'll reply to that note later, but -- the kettle is still not boiling yet, and my friend sent me another link to the videos at www.cutethingsfallingasleep.com ... awwww!!! ... send that out ... okay, BACK to work...

...Now it's time for more tea, a little chocolate, and oh yeah I do need to find that bit of Irish verse in its earliest translation. The transcribed Gaelic would be good too ... yup, there it is, so that's the right word, now to get back to that chapter... what, it's going to rain tomorrow?!  That's okay, I will be inside all day writing, writing... what's this new YouTube video - oh that's a HOOT!  ...

And that's WITHOUT hours on Facebook or Twitter, blogs and a million other possibilities for time-sinking, er, spending. So far I've been good about keeping extra web activities to a bare minimum, because I've resisted the social sites ... but the Internet is a time-sink of mythic proportions, no matter what form the addiction takes.

I'm not particularly ADD by nature. When I need to focus, I can -- or used to be able to do that without a problem. Yet I am a curious and thinking sort, and that creates its own distractibility. Still, when I have to work, I do it -- nonstop for hours, days, weeks when necessary. No question, though, it was a helluva lot easier before the Web. To some extent, with all these bytes and bits and fascinating facts, all the enormous incredible accessibility of everything on the Web, my brain has become entrained to a more fragmented concentration.... and I have to work harder to claim it back. I have be stern with myself, and that's hard to do, as I'd rather stretch a line than toe it.

So if I start Twittering, or get lost in the maze of Facebook or LinkedIn or whatever, what then for the trusty deadline tunnel? Isolation and focus is necessary to finish a manuscript, which means reverting to a non-techie existence (except for computer-as-word-processor and internet-as-research-library). 

Really, it's a relief to isolate for the book and cut myself off from virtual and techie supply. The web-savvy world can be delightful but demanding, offering way too much for quick disposal and way too much vying for our attention. The things that need and deserve quality attention are not always getting enough nurturing focus. 

I don't mean my kids, husband or the housework -- yeah, I can ignore them guilt-free for the short term, they know I'll come back. I mean the BOOK. The next book won't exist in its best form unless I can concentrate and give it all I've got. And when I splinter available creative focus by sauntering over to the Web with its myriad temptations, it takes time and energy that belongs to my writing.

But sometimes I can't help myself, my curiosity and the need for a little brain down-time overrules.

All you Twitterers and Facebookers, Bloggers and Readers, Compulsive Checkers of E-Mail and DailyPuppy.com -- have you noticed a change in your ability to focus? Do you put off important things to do less important -but more immediate- things on the Web? 

And here's another question -- in what ways is the major web distraction HELPING you? Argue for following the temptation of it. If I can rationalize my web-wandering, that would be Good.

Allow me to offer one more distraction: the trade paperback of LADY MACBETH will be released SOON -- April 7!!! -- and the first two chapters of the next book (QUEEN HEREAFTER) are in the back of the book, along with Reader's Guide questions and a gorgeous new look! It's available for pre-order at Amazon now. See the link to the right side of the page!

Happy Web-wandering and of course happy reading to all,

Susan Sarah

If wishes were movies...

Anne here, responding to a question from one of our readers. JaneAnn  asked, "Why can't we see more books go to TV movies? Although I predominately read, I do like a good movie —generally after I have read the book.  TV stinks so my nose is always in a book of one kind or another. I like them all, if well written. Live to read and read to Live."  ( JaneAnn will receive a book for the question)

JaneAnn, it's an interesting question. Of course, authors aren't the ones who make the decision about whether to turn a book into a movie, but it's also an issue that's been niggling at me lately. Quite often contemporary romances get made into movies, but I don't know of many (any?) historicals — and given the current popularity of costume dramas, I think that's a pity. Is it maybe because movie producers don't know about the wealth of stories out there, or are there too many to look at, so they don't look at any? 

I love Jane Austen, but lately I've been wondering how many more Jane Austen movies, remakes and spinoffs can we bear? Don't get me wrong — I've enjoyed every version of Pride and Prejudice I've seen, from the old black and white version with Greer Garson as Lizzy and Sir Laurence Olivier as a wonderfully stiff Darcy, to the Colin Firth wet shirt series and I even enjoyed the Keira Knightly / Matthew Macfayden version with the peculiar pig-wandering-through scene (what were they thinking of?) I've liked them each for each for different reasons, though the series was the only one that could live up to the book, simply because of its length. And that's just from one title. But really, I think it's time to give Austen a little rest — look around, movie makers and TV producers — there are many more wonderful books out there that would make wonderful costume dramas.

For instance, Elizabeth Gaskell's Wives and Daughters, North and South (with Richard Armitage, sigh,) and more recently, Cranford have all been excellent. 

But I would love producers and directors to look wider afield, not just at nineteenth century novelists, but at some more recent novels set in historical times.

In particular, I would dearly love to see Georgette Heyer's books made into movies. Her books are superb — witty, fast paced, well plotted, with brilliant characters. There have been just two of her books filmed, as far as I know — a German version of Arabella, about which I know nothing, and a British adaptation of The Reluctant Widow in 1950 which was so bad that Heyer was reportedly horrified and refused to allow any more of her books to be turned into films. 

.

I've seen that film — it turns up on late night tv reruns from time to time. It was made as a gothic adventure and the hero was acted by a tall, cadaverous fellow with long gangly legs and a very strange hairdo. Not my image of a hero at all! And the movie heroine was a helpless wimp, not at all like Heyer's Elinore, who was a woman of humor and character. The script writers had no understanding of the appeal of the novel, so they culled all the humor, characterization and subtlety from the book, keeping only the bare bones of the mystery plot. So I can understand Heyer's distress and her subsequent ban.

.

But fifty years has passed since that debacle, and as far as I am concerned the time is ripe for Heyer books to be filmed, hopefully by the people who did such a superb job of the Gaskell books, or the people who made P&P the series (cue to wet shirt) and not by screen adaptors who don't understand the appeal of the original.

But it's not just Heyer, there are dozens more, probably hundreds of historical romances I can think of that have the qualities necessary to make great movies  — action, lively, sparky dialogue and a rattling good yarn, and written by (gasp!) living writers. 

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I'd love to see Elizabeth Lowell's 3 connected medieval historicals (Untamed, Forbidden and Untouched) made into movies. Amanda Quick's stories would easily adapt to the screen, I think. Mary Jo Putney and Jo Beverley's books are so meaty and complex they'd make brilliant mini series. I'd love to see Laura Kinsale's Flowers from the Storm made into a movie, and  Eva Ibbotson's books would, I think make excellent films. And I would probably kill to see Loretta Chase's Mr. Impossible in a movie, though I'm not sure who'd play Rupert...

And the list goes on as more and more titles spring to mind...

.

So if you had the power to make just one historical into a movie or TV series, what would it be, and why? 

And if you were able to cast a movie for Mr Impossible, who would you choose to play Rupert? 

And if you know any movie producers, please, hand them your favorite historical romance.

Hello From Devon!

Hello there from Devon! I have Charlie here, but I've neglected to take a picture of him in an interesting situation, so you get a black swan, instead. The black swans are a feature of Dawlish, where we're staying, but they seem particularly appropriate as the Duke of Ithorne's ship is the Black Swan, and the Kentish inn he and his friends use for secretive communication is also named that. There's a reason, but I'll explain that sometime next year.

Now, The Secret Wedding is the book of the moment. It's a bit odd to be over here when it will soon be on the shelves over there, but I'll be back by the official pub date. Excellent reviews are coming in. Booklist called it, “A top-notch tale of romantic suspense.” I wouldn't quite call it suspense myself, though there is a mystery. It's more a romantic adventure with a strong dose of romp. I love a good romp. Anyway, I hope you'll all rush out and buy it, and even more importantly, enjoy it!

If you'd like to read an excerpt or two, go here. 

I was hoping to have done my research trip to Glastonbury by the time I was writing this blog, but that's for next week. What we have been doing is exploring the coast for places we'd like to live, and living a regular routine life instead of zipping around all our friends. 

We were tested a bit to begin with by the weather, which followed weather lore precisely. March, it is said, comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb. So our first week was overcast with frequent rainy periods and occasional heavy rain and strong winds. But then the lion slunk away and the lamb frolicked in and we've had mostly sunshine and warmish temperatures. It's nice to know some things still follow the rules! April, of course, brings “April showers” which in particular are light rain while it is sunny. I remember on one visit when we were crossing high land, probably in Yorkshire, having an April shower of snow! Snow in sunshine is pretty.

English country birdsong is a beauty all its own. I try in my books to remember birdsong as background, because I know what a strong part of country ambience it is, but it's often an intellectual exercise. Being here refreshes the memory, but I need to relearn the bird songs to identify them. There are wood pigeons here -- I'm pretty sure that's what they are -- and their distinctive cooing is often a country background. I haven't heard any crows, however, or cuckoos. Such a variety of song birds, however, some exquisite.

There are places around the web with recording of English birdsongs, both individually and in chorus (I think I pointed to some a while back.) If you're a writer, I do recommend exploring them to get the feel for what your characters will be experiencing in a garden or woodland area. Of course now it's spring the chorus is particularly rich as the birds attract mates and mark territory.

I haven't hit a large bookstore yet (hard to find around here, actually)but in the local ones there's sometimes a section for Mills and Boon (sister to Harlequin/Sihouette) but anything we might think of as single title romance is in with general fiction. This probably helps individual authors to sell beyond genre, but it might hold back sales of others. I don't know. I do know that I was delighted by one vertical section in the local W H Smiths. It was labeled “Poetry and Mills and Boon.”

I was also charmed by one TV screen. There are the basic channels here, the BBC ones all being paid for by the TV licence that everyone with a TV pays, and then many others. As I clicked through the channels on the first night, the screen went blank and then showed “text message.” A moment later, it informed me “Yesterday will return tomorrow at 6 am.”

I felt obliged to sit and meditate on that for a while. :)

(Apparently Yesterday is the History Channel.)

I'm enjoying the papers, too. How does anyone get anything done when there's a large and complex national paper to read -- and such a choice of them. Today's Telegraph had a little essay on the letter Z. Zed here, from the Greek, but taken to the New World as zee. Apparently older names for the letter were izzard, zad, and ezod. So X, Y, Izzard to you!

I meant to write more about historical places, but most towns along the coast here were so overhauled as seaside resorts in the Victorian and early 20th century that history has been occluded, plus before George III made sea air and bathing and this stretch of coast famous, they were mostly tiny fishing villages of no great significance. But there's a picture of some old Dawlish buildings which are probably not superficially different from Regency times.

We have visited Lyme Regis, of Jane Austen fame, which is a delightful small town of 3,000. That's a row of seafront Georgian houses. Of course Jane Austen visited, and then used it in Persuasion. Here's some history of Lyme Regis.

Brixham, a small port still full of character, and where a replica of Drake's Golden Hind can be visited. You can find more here.

Brixham  is totally charming, but rather isolated.

That might seem strange in crowded England, but getting to places from them can be a bit difficult. Devon is known for its narrow roads, which are often single lane with skimpy passing places. Even the double lane roads are windy and hilly, and easily congested. It took us ages to get into and out of Brixham, and this was in March. I dread to think what it's like in summer! Lovely in one way as it has probably preserved the town's character, but I'm not sure I'd like to feel challenged if I wanted to drive off to visit friends, get medical treatment above the basic, or even to visit some shops of any size.

There's Brixham on your left.

Another thing about coastal Devon is that it keeps you fit. It's all hills!

I have to finish with the obligatory tourist scenery. I was up early one morning and caught the sunrise over Lyme Bay.

Have you ever visited England, or do you live there now? If so, what are your favorite places? Would you like to visit England? If so, where would you like to go? To eliminate the obvious, it has to be somewhere outside of London.

All best wishes,

Jo

We Have Winners!

Congratulations to our newest winners!  Susan Holloway Scott's winners are as follows:  Barbara has won a copy of Royal Harlot, Anne won a copy of Duchess, and Peggy Q has won a large type Miranda Jarrett.

But wait, there's more!  Edith has a winner too.  Donna Brown, please choose an Edith Layton book from Edith's backlist.

Winners, please contact Sherrie with your full name and mailing address so that we can get those books out to you!

Reality Show

By Susan Holloway Scott

“World building” is a trendy term among writers and readers right now.  A long-time favorite with paranormal and sci-fi aficionados, it refers to the convincing creation of a setting of the writer’s invention: a fictitious place made so vividly real that readers can believe in its existence.

We historical writers do this, too. While our worlds are based on the actual past, we still have to sift through the mountains of research to find the exact details to bring our stories to life. Just because we’ve learned tons about a specific time or place doesn’t mean we have to inflict it on our trusting readers. We’ve all groaned over the infamous “wallpaper history” that can smother characters and bring a good plot to a grinding halt. Long descriptions of gowns, politics, or the exact rules governing Almack’s are deadly. The trick is to integrate all those facts into the story seamlessly, and to make the reader feel as if she, too, were at the character’s side, feeling how that gown swirled around her ankles when she danced, or the mortification she felt when those grim matriarchs looked down their noses at her. As writers, it’s our obligation to make it real.

Yet sometimes all this reality gets a little, well, spooky.  Most writers have wicked good imaginations, and when the Muse is happy and the story’s ripping along at a merry pace, the line between the world being built and the world that exists can get fuzzy.  I’ve been in the grocery store and seen my current hero over by the bananas, and I’ve looked at a modern river and seen it filled with sailing ships, not tankers.  Because I’m currently writing historical novels based on the lives of people who actually lived, the line’s blurrier still.  With the exception of a convenient footman or coach driver here and there, all my characters did walk this same old earth as the rest of us, albeit 350 years earlier. 

My July book, The French Mistress, is based on the life of Louise de Keroualle, Duchess of Portsmouth and Duchesse d’Aubigny.  Louise had a great many excellent qualities for a heroine: shy but determined, she was a beautiful outsider with many enemies, and unable to trust anyone except the man she loves.  She was born to a poor but noble family, and went to seek her fortune (i.e., make a good marriage) at the French court. Instead of a husband, she found considerable intrigue, serving as a spy for one king, Louis XIV of France, and becoming the much-loved mistress to another, Charles II of England.  She was apparently accomplished in both areas, and richly rewarded by both kings. And in an era remarkable for its faithlessness, Louise’s only lover was Charles, and she remained loyal to his memory even though she outlived him by fifty years. 

I adored writing about Louise, and building her “world” from her humble beginnings in Brittany to the grand palaces of Versailles and Whitehall. Though I’ve written about Charles’s raucous court three times before –– in Duchess, Royal Harlot, and King's Favorite –– this time I saw it through Louise’s eyes, comparing it (unfavorably, of course) to the French court at Versailles. Before long, Louise's world became a real world to me, too.

But there’s real, and then there’s REAL.  One of my favorite scenes in the book revolves around the night Charles gives Louise the Letters Patent that officially legitimizes and ennobles their three-year-old natural son.  No matter how much in favor, royal mistresses are always in a precarious position, and rightly desperate to ensure their children’s security for the future. I’d researched descriptions of 17th century Letters Patent, and knew they were imposing documents, scribed by hand on parchment, threaded with gold ribbon and only made official with the imprint of the Great Seal on a fat blob of red wax. With that seal, the three-year-old bastard became Duke of Richmond, Earl of March, and Baron Settrington in the peerage of England.  (Here he is in all his splendor, by William Wissing; I'd love to know how the painter was able to make a boy that age sit still bedecked with so many ribbons and laces.) Soon after, little Charles  was also created Duke of Lennox, as well as Earl of Darnley and Lord Torbolton in the peerage of Scotland. As can be imagined, Louise was pleased by the king’s generosity, while he in turn was pleased that she was pleased, and that was how I wrote it.

Then, to my amazement, I stumbled across a photograph of the Letters Patent of the first Duke of Lennox on the internet. THE Letters Patent, with the seal still dangling from it, exactly as Louise would have known it. (Here’s the photograph, Goodwood Ms 10, by courtesy of His Grace the Duke of Richmond and Gordon, and with acknowledgments to the West Sussex County Record Office and the County Archivist.)

A few emails back and forth with the archivists at the West Sussex County Council (where the papers of the Dukes of Richmond are kept, not far from Goodwood House, the family seat) only made everything more real still.  The present duke is the tenth of the line that descends directly from Louise and Charles.  His Grace is now styled the Duke of Richmond and Gordon (the sixth Duke of Richmond and Lennox was also created Duke of Gordon in 1876), as well as the tenth Duc d’Aubigny: the only duke in the realm to hold four distinct dukedoms. How pleased Louise would be by that!

To Louise, the Letters Patent was the ultimate symbol of Charles's devotion to her and their son.  To the ten Dukes of Richmond, the Letters Patent is the basis of their rank and good fortune. To the archivists in West Sussex, it's a fascinating document, a rare piece of local history. But to me, it's one more thing that brought Louise de Keroualle to life for me as a writer –– and, I hope, for readers as well.

I don't have copies yet of The French Mistress, but I do have a few of Duchess, Royal Harlot, and The King's Favorite that are looking for good homes. I'll select two names from those who leave a comment for this blog by Sunday noon, and the winners will have her/his choice of a book.  You don't have to wax philosophical on royal dukedoms (unless you want to!) Just your name will be enough to be entered in the drawing.  I'm not picky. I'm cleaning house. *g*

And here's another mini-contest with a specialized giveaway book: a large-print, hardcover edition of The Duke's Gamble, one of the last historical romances I wrote as Miranda Jarrett.  This is a Mills & Boon 100th Anniversary edition, too, which I suppose makes it collectible.  The give-away drill's the same.  Leave me a comment saying you're interested in the large-print Miranda Jarrett, and you're entered.

Post away!

Mass Information Explosion

Pat here:

According to caslon.com , there were 184 million blogs in March 2008.  If the bombardment of people telling me about their new blogs is any indication, that number has probably doubled by 2009.  No one knows how many of those blogs are active, or if anyone is reading them, although statistics show 77.7 million people read blogs in the US, alone.  Or maybe 94 million, depending on your source. No one really knows, but the numbers are staggering.

And now there is Twitter, which in March 2008 was producing 3 million Tweets a day, and I’m figuring that’s probably tripled over this past year.  If you want to figure out trendspotter  predictions (I can’t even figure out the visuals), the question now is whether we’ve reached the peak and are about to topple over, or if the entire internet will simply explode with an overload of trivia.

I know everyone loves new toys, but haven’t we just about reached the limits of static noise in our lives yet?  How much of this “news” has any bearing on anything, much less reality?  I scarcely have time to read our wenches blog—and I enjoy the sharing of information here—much less keep up with everyone else’s, plus write my own. Yet when I have the opportunity, I’ve found some valuable nuggets on blogs I’ve been directed to, and seen news of layoffs in NYC shortly after the laid off people were notified.  So I know there’s tons of immediately useful info out there, but how does one find the time to sift through the chatter? 

And will someone please explain Twitter to me?  Our own Sherrie has been on top of Twitter since its inception, but the idea of my mailbox filling with one-liners from total strangers makes me wish for a quiet cave in the Sierra Madres.

Has the information age gone too far? Up until recently, I’ve been thinking the internet would soon become our TV/newspaper/bookstore, but now I’m wondering if cyberspace hasn’t become a grunting time hog destroying civilization as we know it. Okay, maybe my imagination is a little overactive.   Is there any hope for someone whose head is about to explode?

Living La Vida Locavore

by Mary Jo

I decided to riff on Barbara Kingsolver's most recent book, ANIMAL, VEGETABLE, MIRACLE partly because the book is such fun, but also because of the insights on what eating and food production were like in the not-too-far distant historical path.

Part memoir and part a journalistic exploration of our food system, AVM chronicles a year when Kingsolver, her biology professor husband, Steven Hopp, and her daughters Camille and Lily, became locavores--living on food grown within a hundred miles of their home, a good amount of it raised on their own small farm.  Barbara's husband and older daughter coauthored the book, with Steven contributing sidebars on food science and production and 19 year old Camille writing monthly updates and seasonal recipes. 

As most of you probably know, to be a locavore—that is, to eat food produced locally— is a new wave of food interest.  Many parts of the world have never gotten away from eating mostly local foods, but in modern America, most of us think nothing of eating fruit from South America, salad from the Imperial Valley, lamb from the Antipodes, and salmon from the waters off Alaska. 

And it’s not just food.  My local Trader Joe's currently has small bunches of just opening daffodils from England for a mere $1.50 each.  I told myself not to think about the jet fuel involved in shipping daffodils across the Atlantic and I bought a bunch because I fell in love with those first daffodils of springtime when I lived in England.  But it's a long way for flowers to come. 

Still, it was living in England that made me much more conscious of the pleasures of seasonal eating.  The first strawberries of spring are exquisite, with a flavor and texture far superior to the year-round berries that come from far places.  The knowledge of brief seasons makes fresh food taste all the more special.  I came to appreciate the winter vegetables that dominated English markets in the cold season.  (Yes, I confess it: I like Brussells sprouts.  The kind I cook quickly so they're still green rather than the gray, over-boiled variety.)

I've always loved Barbara Kingsolver's essays, which are smart, funny, and have the self-deprecating charm of sharing a cup of coffee with an old friend.  After years of spending the school year in Tucson and summers in Appalachian Virginia, she and her family moved permanently to Virginia.  The move was partly to be closer to family (Kingsolver grew up in nearby Kentucky), and partly because the land could better support their experiment in locavore living than the deserts of Arizona. 

Barbara's family shared a mutual interest in food, both producing and consuming, so they all agreed to the year's experiment.  Not only would it be educational, but fun, and they got a bestselling book out of it.  <g> 

Each member of the family was allowed to choose one non-local "luxury" item for the year.  Steven chose coffee (Barbara said that if he had to choose between coffee and his family, it would be a tough call. <g>)  Camille chose dried fruit, Lilly hot chocolate, and Barbara the spices and flavorings needed for her cooking.  (You can grow garlic and onions in Virginia, but not cloves, turmeric, and cinnamon.)  Plus, there was no local source for flour or olive oil.  So those they bought, but in all cases, the specialty items were purchased from fair trade sources that benefited the producers and the land where they were grown.  

AVM is great fun to read even for people who don’t know how to boil an egg.  The chapter on turkey sex is hilarious.  Barbara wanted to start a breeding flock of Bourbon Red turkeys, a heritage breed. Heritage breeds of vegetables, fruit, and farm animals are some of the survivors of what used to be a vast area of varieties. 

If you’re raising apples for yourself and your neighbors rather than for distant markets, you aren’t concerned with whether it’s tough enough to shipped three thousand miles in a crate.  You go for flavor and other characteristics.  Our farming ancestors didn’t order from catalogs—they took cuttings or seeds from neighbors. 

A lot of those older farm varieties had better flavor, better disease resistance, and other superior characteristics to what is currently available through agribusiness.  These days, a small but growing band of farmers are raising heritage plants and animals to preserve these older varieties.  Hence, Barbara’s choice of the Bourbon Red turkeys.  The average American table turkey is a Broad-Breasted White—lots of white meat, no sex life, and zero ability to survive on their own.  These commercial turkeys are conceived through in artificial insemination, so turkey sex has practically vanished except among the wild cousins. 

The turkeys Barbara raised from hatchlings still had their inbred ability to forage, fly, and survive, but they were all young and not quite sure how to go about mating,   Hence. Barbara’s possibly unseemly interest in turkey sex.  (She defends herself on the grounds that they don’t have cable tv. <g>)  That chapter alone was worth the price of the book.

Having grown up on a farm myself, and with a pretty good sized garden, too, I have a fairly good understanding of where food comes from, but fewer and fewer people have hands on experience of food production.  As a historical novelist, I can say it’s a great advantage to have been raised in farm country when one is writing about a 19th century agrarian society. 

Kingsolver and her family had to calculate how much food they would need to get through the hungry months of winter—and they came perilously close to running out of garlic.  Is there enough feed to get the livestock through until spring?  Younger daughter Lilly has a flock of chickens and an entrepreneurial streak foreign to the rest of the family, so they had their own supply of eggs.  But other supplies were running low by the end of the hungry season.

Winter squashes keep well and taste delicious, but the first rhubarb of spring was a delight.  There was Kingsolver tomato sauce in cans and lots of produce in the freezer, including containers of pesto sauce made from their own basil crop.  Plus, the family had local sources of milk, and Barbara makes her own cheese. (Soft cheeses are dead simple, she says.) 

But even with their planning, the year was an education in growing food and eating it.  It’s a reminder of how life was for people in our historical romances (when a pineapple grown in a glasshouse was an amazing luxury), and for our own grandparents in many cases.  These days, a locavore who runs out of food can go to a well-stocked supermarket, but for pioneers on prairies, or in other remote areas, it was a very different matter.  Survival required constant attention and work.

The locavore movement wants to encourage people to eat locally because the savings in fuel for shipping food are enormous, and that’s becoming critical in these days of energy concerns.  Local food is usually fresher and tastier, too.  There are plenty of good reasons for becoming more aware of where our food comes from. 

In Britain, citizens were encouraged to plant “Victory Gardens” during WWII.  (Ironically, the population ate more healthily during the war than before or after.)  Gardening plots called allotments are common in Britain, with some people cultivating the same allotment for years.  Relaxing, fun, and saves money, too. 

Not everyone has a farm, or a desire to turn the back lawn into a garden.  (Though even apartment dwellers may be able to grow tomatoes or herbs on a balcony.)  But farmers’ markets are proliferating.  Once, there was maybe one in the Baltimore metro area where I live.  Now there are three within 15 minutes of my suburban home.  That’s not counting the farm stands that sell corn and tomatoes and fruit during the summer months. 

Personally, I think it’s worth paying a little more for quality food, and also supporting the hard working farmers who grow it.  The results are good for our bodies, for the land, and for the environment in general.  Plus, I grew up among hard-working farmers, so this is an issue that has personal resonance for me.  (Not directly relevant, but Kingsolver mentions a Garrison Keillor story about how in Lake Wobegon, churchgoers lock the doors of their cars in the summer for fear of coming back and finding that boxes of zucchinis have been left inside. <G>)

I’m not about to become a full fledged locavore—I wouldn’t want to give up bananas, among other things.  But these days I’m more aware of where my food comes from, and more willing to go to a little extra effort to buy the fruit of local labors. 

I have friends who are pursuing the locavore life with considerable energy.  One who lives in a Philadelphia Main Line town has seriously considered where she might be able to raise chickens in her backyard. 

Another, Romance writer Val Taylor, became interested in local eating.  Since there didn’t seem to be a local food network in her Cincinnati area—she created one.  Her blog, Cincinnati Locavore, which “celebrates the Ohio Valley Foodshed,” is one of the top ranked blogs in the Cincinnati area.

Eating locally is an intriguing subject, one that is becoming more and more visible.  There’s lots of interesting information and sources out there.  In some places, it’s possible to buy produce shares from local farmers, which aids cash flow for the farmers, and produces regular box of fresh fruit and veg throughout the growing season.  If the box is mostly fresh beets—it’s motivation for learning new beet recipes.  <g>  Other folks seek out markets that carry as much local produce as possible—or ask their own supermarket managers if more local food is available.

Are you a locavore?  An aspiring locavore?  Someone who hasn’t thought much about it, but may start making more of an effort to eat locally?  Or do you consider the microwave mankind’s highest achievement?  I'd love to know!

Mary Jo, who likes to eat from the edges of the supermarket, which is where the less processed foods tend to be located.

I read the news today, Oh boy.

Edith here, on another Friday the 13th.

Oh woe and what to do?  This is a scary day, but honestly, aren't they all these days?

The economy keeps tanking.  Our enemies here and abroad seem to be getting crazier by the hour.  Global warming is threatening.  It will make Manhattan into a swimming pool, and the glorious American West into shorefront.  In the future, the last pair of polar bears on earth will be the only ones allowed to use air conditioning.  The food we eat is contaminated half the time, even the Good Old  All American Peanut is considered suspect now.  The air we breathe is getting thicker, and women are starting to litter like cats. Comets are seen in the midnight  skies and are missing us by inches as they blaze by.  

Newspapers are folding, and not just into the size of canary cage bottoms the day after they are printed.  

Magazines are thinning to wafer dimensions.

And book readership is shrinking.  Now that's a real Yikes.

And I'm supposed to be scared of Friday the Thirteenth?

Well, I guess I am.  These are treacherous, ominous days.  I scoff at nothing.  But what I do to run away from too harsh truths, Gentle Readers, is to read.  And write.  I think that's the greatest escape.  Oh, going to the movies is fine too.  I'm waiting for the Shirley Temple of our generation to appear to sing and dance her way into our empty hearts and minds.  But there is nothing like a book.  Take one down from the shelf, pull the covers up over your head, and sink down into it.  Bliss.

But how do we readers and  writers convince this text-twitter-blogging-vlogging-myfacing-myspacing generation to actually read anything that's over a paragraph in length?

I have a plan.

Pictures.  We get great book covers, don't we?  They're there to snatch the eyes of passing probable readers, and Marketing says they work.  So why not march into the future with even more pictures inside our books?  

Why don't the publishers take our brilliant words and illustrate them every couple of pages?  Like Anime' and comic books, I suppose, but not instead of text - rather, accompanying text.  Different styles of art for different genres.  Nice big colorful pictures - the kind they use in comic books.  But klassy, you know.

Romances can have heroes and heroines pictured in fairy tale style, shown consumed by lust, to head up every chapter.  You can guess what Erotica categories can have.  Mysteries can have lovely bloody scenes of mayhem illustrating their pages.  Science Fiction and Fantasy can go Disney or Wall-E.   Spies and hidden treasure and lawyerly mainstream novels are made into movies three weeks after they hit the stands in paper.  Why not hurry the process and use actors and actresses to pose for their pages?    You get the point.  

Why, even Classics can have classic masterpieces of art... speaking of which, I just realized that one of my most beloved reads is illustrated: Moby Dick and Rockwell Kent.  What a pair!

Why don't we do that again?

Too much like children's literature?  What's wrong with that?   Children love books.

The  point is to get readers reading again.  Not the "RU TXing me?" kind of reading, but whole words and long sentences in stories.  

We have to save the printed word.  Why not use the printed picture to help?  Up with the Arts!

What do you think of the idea?  What artists would you recommend for which books?

The best answer will receive a whole book of the winner's choice from my backlist, sans interior illustration, alas, but with every word spelled right. 

Oh.  And be careful out there today.

Mothers and daughters-- royal and otherwise by Ella March Chase

    I remember the day my daughter first saw the image of Elizabeth Tudor garbed in a breastplate facing down the Spanish Armada.  Kate was fourteen then, and when she read the stirring 'heart and stomach of a king' speech, Kate demanded to know why Elizabeth couldn't have 'the heart and stomach of a queen?'  We were big into girl power at our house so I had to explain that during the renaissance most major decisions in women's lives-- especially princesses-- were in the hands of powerful men.  At that time there was serious scholoarly debate as to whether women even had souls.  Because of that, the fact that Elizabeth Tudor grew into one of the most astute monarchs ever to rule England was a tribute to the woman's intelligence, statescraft and courage.

But as I delved deeper into biographies of this remarkable queen, I was surprised to discover that-- fascinating as the triumphant 'Gloriana' was, it was the far more vulnerable young Elizabeth that captured my imagination and my heart.  When I read of Anne Boleyn in those last, desperate days before her arrest, taking Elizabeth to Henry VIII's window, holding the child up and begging Elizabeth's father to look at her in hopes of softening the king's heart, it made me ache for the three year old who was about to become motherless.  What hell it must have been for Anne Boleyn, knowing her child would soon be at the mercy of her greatest enemies.

Labeled a bastard, her paternity in question because of the charges of adultery that led to Boleyn's execution, and preceeded in the succession by a brother and sister, no one then dreamed Elizabeth would be queen of England one day.  After Henry's death she was given to the care of her stepmother, Katherine Parr and that lady's husband Thomas Seymour, an ambitious, ruthless con man willing to use anyone or anything (including his wife and stepdaughter) to advance himself in the powerful world of court.

 This interlude with the Seymours should have been a time of happiness and security for Elizabeth.  Motherly Katherine Parr loved the girl and Elizabeth loved her stepmother.  Historical record exposes a heartbreaking situation instead.  Rumors swirled throughout Elizabeth's reign that the princess was seduced by her stepfather, Thomas Seymour.  Accounts coerced from Elizabeth's beloved governess Kat Ashley affirm that Seymour frequented Elizabeth's bed chamber, that he once cut her gown into ribbons with a knife in the garden, and that Katherine Parr found the couple in each other's arms, then banished the fourteen-year-old Elizabeth from the household.  Certainly Thomas Seymour compromised Elizabeth's honor.  Whether he deflowered her is still a matter of debate.  In any case, this scandal was one of the numerous times Elizabeth's life hung in the balance.  

When I stumbled across a tidbit in my research about a midwife who claimed to have been blindfolded then carried off in a coach to a fine house where she delivered a baby to 'a very fair young lady' she claimed was Elizabeth , I began to ask the question: What if?  What if motherless Elizabeth, the most remarkable woman of her age, gave birth not to the son some believe, but rather, to a daughter?

What if those nearest the princess attempted to smother the babe to protect Elizabeth but the child lived?  What if the midwife smuggled the child away and gave her to a noblewoman who had just lost her own babe?  What if the daughter, Nell, was as daring and intelligent and stubborn as Elizabeth, and resolved to be part of the glittering court where the most brillant minds, the most daring adventurers and most exciting scientific discoveries of the age were to be found?  What if-- once there-- she made a dangerous discovery of her own-- one that could topple Elizabeth from her already shakey throne?  And what would Elizabeth Tudor do to preserve her crown?

More compelling still for me, as mother of a cherished daughter, what must the mother who raised Nell, loved her, nurtured her all those years feel as she watches her daughter stride into the lion's den of Tudor court, knowing that all the love in England cannot save her?

In the end, The Virgin Queen's Daughter is the story of three women and the difficult choices they are forced to make, the high cost Elizabeth pays for wearing a crown,  Nell's struggle to define herself in an age that still attempted to bar women from scholarly pursuits, and Thomasin de Lacey's challenge-- one that still goes on in every mother's breast: the heartbreak of letting go of a child who has grown beyond your ability to keep her safe.  

In Praise of Everyday Heroes

 Anne here. A month ago I blogged about extreme weather and the heat wave that struck Melbourne, the city I live in. The next day we had the worst bushfires in our history. The extreme heat, the prolonged drought and the weather conditions on the days following all contributed to the most appalling disaster. 

Whole communities have been devastated, two hundred and ten people killed, hundreds of houses, thousands of animals killed, and miles and miles of beautiful bushland reduced to ash and charcoal.  Words cannot describe the tragedy that resulted. My heart goes out to those who lost loved ones, homes, livelihoods in the fire. Almost everyone I know has someone who has been touched by this disaster.

Below is the view from Kinglake, one of the devastated communities, to the city. [Picture: David Geraghty]

The speed, intensity and power of the fires was unimaginable. Cars melted as people tried to drive them away. Houses, and all their contents were reduced to ash and rubble. It came like a tsunami of fire, and whole communities, accustomed to fighting bushfires, were devoured in minutes. 

Which brings me to the topic of this blog. I'm not talking about heroes in books this time. This is a tribute to the everyday heroes who've been fighting these fires, day and night for weeks on end. The firefighters, the men and women who've battled on, exhausted in the heat and smoke, facing the unimaginable, but never giving up.

Because the vast majority of these ordinary men and women are volunteer firefighters. They are members of the Country Fire Authority, which is one of the largest volunteer-based organizations in the world. The CFA services more than 150,000 square kilometres and 2.8 million people, and currently has nearly 60,000 active volunteers with almost 500 career firefighters and 700 career support staff.[Photo: Jason South (theage.com.au)]

They are volunteers, unpaid, but highly trained, regularly risking their lives, and giving up their time to fight fires. In the last month they have worked around the clock to bring these fires under control. Some of them have lost their own houses to the fires while they were battling to save someone else's.

Heroes one and all. As are their partners, the husbands and wives who support them, and the families who must cope with the anxiety and the aftermath. It's not just a dangerous, exhausting job, it's also emotionally devastating. 

 The fires raged on. For weeks the city air was  a haze of smoke. But a few days ago it rained — the first rain we've had in months — and finally, finally the last of the bushfires were brought under control. [Photo : David Caird]

And after the fires passed, while the firefighters and volunteer rescue services were cleaning up, more heroes came to pick up the pieces; the survivors — human and animal — fed, clothed and housed, the tragic remains identified. Donations have been flooding in — the whole country is appalled by the loss. People are desperate to help.

Almost immediately after the fires were reported, other local communities started to organize. There but for the grace of God...

Following is part of an email sent to me by a friend, a fellow writer who volunteers as a tourist guide one morning a week. It was sentn on 11th February. I have her permission to share it. 

Today was simply amazing - our local shire took it upon themselves  to put out a plea for any sort of animal needs from budgie to camel. We  diverted the big stuff - that's on its way already - what we coped with today  was the small stuff. I have never seen a community so desperate to do something. We had old men with budgie food and old ladies staggering under 40 kg bags of dog food and people who looked like they had no money to bless themselves with coming in with a boot load of quality dog  food - `in small lots cos they'd be more useful in a tent' - aren't some people thoughtful? We had vets arriving with vet stuff - things like teats for injured animals - we had kennels arriving - one guy arrived with ten brand new trampoline beds for big dogs. And so much kitty litter!!! The woman I was working with was muttering "What's wrong with ash?" We filled the local hall which is huge. People came to give and stayed to help.

We had wooden pallets donated - every time we needed something it  generally took half a phone call - moving van guys donated boxes - we needed plastic and tape and the manager of local stationery supplier was there in a  minute -we'd organized trailers but just when the stuff was starting to look overwhelming, one guy came in with a whole bunch of horse gear —fantastic stuff — his daughter's grown out of riding - looked around said you guys look like you could use a semi trailer and five minutes later he had it organized so we have a huge semi - then had to reorganize load so every centre gets what it needs and stuff is easy  to unpack. Thanks to our stationery guy every pallet is cling wrapped so they're totally weather proof and vermin proof.

Cos I had a name tag - there were five of us with name tags - everyone assumed we knew what we were doing and amazingly it sort of worked. Half way through the afternoon when tins of cat food were starting to blow a hole in our heads the manager of the local disability workshop arrived with ten kids - they took over a couple of stalls and did the most fantastic job boxing tins according to pics on cans. And the people,... I can't tell you - horse floats and ancient utes and a zippy little open topped Mazda Mx 5 loaded with chook feed - lined up in the street waiting for their turn to unload.

And one lady brought in a huge load of old blankets which was fab - looked at us all, went away and came back with two cartons of cold drinks. Aren't people fabulous?

Ain't it the truth? People can be fabulous, and we need to remind ourselves of that, when the media mainly shows us the other side of the coin. There are everyday heroes all around us, not just in books.

So who are your everyday heroes? 

Ella March Chase Here March 11

This coming Wednesday, Pat will host guest Ella March Chase.  Ella will be talking about her recent release, The Virgin Queen’s Daughter, a fictionalized Queen Elizabeth historical wherein the queen hides an illegitimate daughter.  Come join us Wednesday, and welcome Ella!

National Anthems

by Mary Jo  

No matter what one’s political inclinations, January 20th was an extraordinary day for the United States.  And not just in the US—people around the world turned on their TVs to watch the inaugural.  Our Aussie Wench got up at 3:00 am (!!!) to watch.

 

Many of you know what a great show it was, including the different kinds of music.  (I was ravished by John Williams’ ‘Aire and Simple Gifts.’  When clarinetist Anthony McGill came in with the melody of ‘Simple Gifts...”  Swoon!!! 

 

But the music that sparked a behind-the-scenes Wench discussion was Aretha Franklin singing “America,” also known as “My Country ‘Tis of Thee.’  I wondered a bit about why this particular patriotic song was chosen, but if that’s what they wanted, no problem.

 

 

However, two of our Wenches are not American citizens.  To Jo, English and Canadian, and Anne, Australian, it sounded very strange indeed to hear the British national anthem at the American presidential inauguration. Different words, of course, but that music is unmistakably “God Save the Queen/King.” 

 

 

How would a French citizen feel about hearing “La Marseillaise” played at the inauguration?  Or how would an American feel about hearing “The Star Spangled Banner” played at a British coronation?

 

 

Did some American intend “My Country ‘Tis of Thee” to be a poke in the eye of the old country?  Probably not.  A couple of hundred years ago, it was pretty common to latch onto a good tune and set new words to it.  Samuel Francis Smith, who wrote the lyrics to "America/My Country 'Tis of Thee" (aka "God Save the Sovereign of Your Choice") got the tune from a German source:

 

Through much of the 19th century, “America” was a de facto national anthem.  In earlier days, around the time of Washington, “Hail Columbia” was the most common patriotic choice.  Other songs were also widely song. 

 

The music of “America/God Save the Queen” is very easy to sing, especially when compared to the notoriously difficult “Star Spangled Banner,” which covers an octave and a half range, so that helped the song's popularity. 

 

 As some of you probably know, tune of “The Star Spangled Banner” was taken from a drinking song called “To Anacreon in Heaven.”  (Anacreon was a classical Greek poet who wrote poems in praise of love and wine, which makes perfect sense for drinking songs.)  In the 18th and early 19th centuries, people latched onto tunes as merrily as they do information on the internet today. 

 

And the internet is right where I went because I was intrigued by the whole subject of national anthems (and more broadly, patriotic songs in general.)   The idea of a national anthem really took hold in the 19th century, along with the development of nation state identities, though some of the anthems are older, of course. 

 

Probably the first national anthem was “God Save the King,” which dates from the mid-18th century.  Ideally, an anthem captures a sense of the nation and its essence or aspirations.  These days a lot of anthem recognition comes through sporting events.  Before television, anthems weren’t needed so much.  A lot of anthems weren’t formally adopted until the 20th century.  “The Star Spangled Banner” wasn’t adopted until 1931, for example. 

 

Anthems generally come in two types: marchs, or hymns of praise to the monarch or the country.  “God Save the King” is definitely hymn-like, as is “Jerusalem,” which is also something of a British anthem, as is “Land of Hope and Glory.”

 

That last is sometimes considered as an anthem for England, as opposed to GSTK, which is actually the anthem of the United Kingdom as a whole (and often used as a royal anthem through the Commonwealth countries.)  Wikipedia says Wales, Scotland, and Ireland have anthems of their own, but not England.  See how complicated this gets? 

 

Countries born in revolution often have more martial anthems, and of these, France’s “La Marseillaise” is hard to beat.  Stirring! 

 

Both the US and Britain have marches as well as hymns. “Rule, Britannia!” is a grand and stirring song, but not exactly conciliatory.  <G>  The refrain is “"Rule, Britannia! Britannia, rule the waves: Britons never will be slaves." The military pride and naval slant definitely reflect the Empire.  (These days, you can get “Rule, Britannia” as a ringtone for your cell phone. <G>) 

 

“The Star Spangled Banner” is also pretty martial, with all those bombs bursting in mid-air.  “The Battle Hymn of the Republic” is both a hymn and a march.  “He hath loosed the fateful lightning of His terrible swift sword:.”  Right.  It was a popular abolitionist song during our Civil War, but it’s not exactly conciliatory, though still popular as a patriotic song.  Actually, even hymn-like anthems tend to turn martial in later verses, with much smiting of foes and crushing of enemies beneath righteous feet. 

 

 

On the other hand, “America the Beautiful” is definitely a hymn, and that’s the patriotic song I heard most after the horror of 9/11.  It has always been a contender for national anthem, and it’s a love song, not a battle song.  It was written by Katharine Lee Bates, a Wellesley English professor, after she took the train cross country to Colorado Springs.  It’s said that the words came to her when she was up on Pike’s Peak, looking out over the ‘amber fields of grain’ of the Great Plains.  (The music is by Samuel A. Ward.)

 

 

Chosing anthems gets complicated.  Australia used GSTK/Q for a long time, but it’s not an Aussie song.  “Waltzing Matilda” is widely associated with the country, and personally I think that a song about the drowning of a sheep thief has a cheerful anti-authoritarianism which seems quintessentially Aussie to me.  <g>  (In a similar vein, our webmistress, Sherrie Holmes, says that the unofficial state song of Washington is “Louie, Louie.” <G>)

 

Being a modern nation, Australia decided its national anthem by popular vote in 1984.  There were four contenders, and the winner was “Advance, Australia Fair,” a nice enough song in the hymn mode.  Our Australian Wench, Anne Gracie, preferred the song derived from the poem “My Country,” by Dorothea Mackellar, which is well known to all Australians:

 

“I love a sunburnt country, a land of sweeping plains,
Of ragged mountain ranges, of droughts and flooding rains.
I love her far horizons, I love her jewel-sea,
Her beauty and her terror- the wide brown land for me!
Though earth holds many splendours, wherever I may die,
I know to what brown country my homing thoughts will fly."

 

 

Definitely a love song to a country, and one that describes Australia vividly. 

 

Music has been called the language of the soul, and at its best, it speaks right to our emotions.  Patriotic songs, which touch on our deepest feelings about our homelands, can bring tears.

 

 

All that being said, why was “America” sung at the inauguration rather than a different patriotic song?”  I don’t know the official reason, but my guess is because it’s a paean to liberty and freedom, an affirmation of our deepest American ideals.  As such, it makes perfect sense for the inauguration.

 

So do you have any thoughts on national anthems in general, or the choice of “America” in particular?  What songs stir your blood?  Which ones make you want to stand up and cheer? 

 

And which ones bring tears to your eyes? 

 

Mary Jo
 

 

In Praise of Plumpness

By Susan Holloway Scott

I promise this won’t be another rant about whether Jessica Simpson is too fat, or Katie Holmes too thin.  It’s our historical heroines that concern me.  I worry about them.  Are they eating enough to catch the eye of historical heroes, or are they languishing into 21st century waifs? 

Yes, I know, in every age there are thin women and not-so-thin women, tall women and short women and every other variation between.  If you’re lucky, you live in an age when your particular “look” is in vogue, but even if you’re not, odds are you’ll still find love and happiness.   And I’ll also discount the bodacious babes shown on most romance book covers, because they seldom bear much resemblance to the heroines inside. 

But the truth is that for most of the historical past that our characters call home (England from the  middle ages until 19th century), the fashionable ideal was considerably more upholstered than in our own  time.  A voluptuous figure was a sign of health and prosperity, desirability and fertile youth, and a well-rounded wife was a status symbol for many husbands, proof before the world that he could afford to keep her gloriously well-fed.  The famous/infamous courtesan Lola Montez (1821-1861), right, wrote a bestselling advice book that included the perfect proportions for a Victorian beauty: hips that must be wider than shoulders.

The seventeenth-century women painted by Peter Paul Rubens (1577-1640) such as the Three Graces, left, are notoriously mocked in our own time.  For most modern women, being called "Rubensesque" is not exactly a compliment. Yet when this picture was new, in the middle of the Thirty Years War, most of Europe was suffering from famine and deprivation, and all that creamy, dimpled pulchritude was doubly desirable for being so scarce.

The ample young woman drawn by Thomas Rowlandson (1756-1827), right, in the Regency period would have represented the heights both of beauty (she is wickedly based on Emma, Lady Hamilton) and longing.  Most young Englishmen were engaged in fighting at some point in the interminable wars with France, and Rowlandson’s women represented all that was most alluring about the English girls at home, with their wholesomely ample figures and rosy cheeks the products of good English beef and country air.

In my last blog, I mentioned that the real-life heroine of my July book (The French Mistress), Louise de Keroualle, Duchess of Portsmouth (1649-1734), was fondly called Fubs by her lover, King Charles II of England (1630-1685), on account of her famously chubby cheeks and figure.  He even named a royal yacht "Fubsy" in her honor.  At least one blog-reader found this offensive, but I’m willing to bet that Louise was pleased, not insulted.  I wrote her that way, too: thin as a teenager, growing rounder and rounder as time progresses, especially after the birth of her son, and I also wrote how charmed Charles was by her increasingly curvaceous figure. (Here's Louise a little later in life.) In the 1670s, plump women were prized and admired, and gentlemen sighed as they watched a lady work through a hearty meal with gusto, an encouraging sign of being a “woman of appetites” in other areas as well. 

In fact it’s really only been since the flappers of the 1920s that a boyish figure has been considered fashionable, and that the full cheeks that Regency ladies “improved” with cork were replaced by the hollowed high cheekbones of Vogue models.  Now it’s a size zero that represents luxury and wealth: the income to support a gym membership, a personal trainer, liposuction and lifts, and a personal chef preparing a gourmet low-fat diet of costly organic vegetables and wild salmon.  In a time of fast-food excess, indulgent deprivation has become the new sign of class-conscious status.  Go figure.

But what has this done to the heroines in historical romances?  Most readers augment the descriptions in books with what they see in movies.  Like it or not, one picture will always be worth a thousand words, and there are plenty of writers who keep pictures of various movies stars before them as models for their characters.  But Hollywood (and even the BBC) is more concerned with audience than accuracy.  The current queen of historical movies is Keira Knightly, whose now-fashionably-skeletal figure would have horrified Almack’s; as lovely as Ms. Knightly’s face may be, compare her in evening dress to Sir Thomas Lawrence’s 1819 portrait of the lushly beautiful Countess of Blessington, right.  When then-unknown Kate Winslett was cast as the lead in Titanic, snarky critics faulted her appropriately Gibson-Girl figure as being grossly overweight. 

While there are a few notable exceptions, many historical romance heroines follow twentieth century tastes rather than those of her own time.  They’re described as willowy, slender, elegantly thin, sylph-like.  They have long, tapering legs that stride along with the hero’s.  They don’t need the corsets that propriety forces them to wear.  Though they generally have ample bosoms, they also often have waists so small that the hero’s hands can “span” them (which, when you think about it, makes them sound like Barbie, or at least credits the hero as having stupendously large hands.)  They never have rounded bellies or dimpled thighs or pillowy bottoms, and they never, ever have hips broader than their shoulders.  Sorry, Lola.

I'm not excluding myself, either. I've written my share of historical romance heroines who were tall and slender, even athletic to the point of being called Amazons.  Not that there's anything wrong with that, for there have been Amazons in every generation.  But I never used the same adjectives I've used to describe Louise de Keroualle, and I didn't imagine any of my romance heroines resembling Rubens' Graces; unconscious self-editing, I suppose, or simply following the writing crowd.

So why is this?  Certainly most romance writers do their research, and know how their heroines “should” look to be considered great beauties of their time.  Are writers seeing something different in their heads when they describe their heroine as fashionably thin, imagining her thinness as relative?  Are editors insisting on thin heroines, or do reader expectations demand the ladies must look a certain way to be worthy of love?  There’s always a certain element of fantasy to romances, no matter how well-researched.  Are always-thin heroines like never-bald heroes?  

What are your thoughts?  How many lushly proportioned heroines can you remember in your favorite historical romance?  Would you like to see more, or would you rather stick to modern  ideals of a beautiful figure, however anachronistic?

Finishing A Book

Pat here:

Anne blogged about starting a book a few weeks ago, while I was in the process of finishing one.  So in the interest of process analysis…

I never finish a book.  Really.  I can’t read the final printed product because I would still want to change things, and it would frustrate me no end that I couldn’t.  I apparently have a control freak hiding in my brainpan somewhere.  Don’t know where the gremlin is the rest of the time because control is generally not an issue for The Queen of Absentminded, but when it comes to my books…  I’m OC. (Right now, I'm making feverish changes to the final proofs of July's book)

I rewrite a manuscript the entire time I’m working on the first draft, so I can’t even say when the editorial process begins.  But the torture of finishing a book—to turn it into an editor—comes after I write the last word on the last page.  Sort of. At least at that point I know how the book ends so I can go back and link together all the bits and pieces that drifted from my fingers as I wrote.  At that point my Muse is whimpering under the bed so I turn on the editor and play with words, run spellchecks, hunt down my repetitive phrase syndrome, etc, until my Muse has slept and recovered.

I’ve already printed pages half a dozen times during the writing process, so at this stage, I create a mock galley from the manuscript—making it look like a finished book.  And then I try reading it as if I’m a new reader just opening the pages of a book I hope will transport me into another world.  I scribble and redline all over these pages and go back to the computer with a better idea of where I’ve left plot holes and how I need to build up character traits. Once I whack out all the unnecessary bits and enter all the revisions, the poor book has to sit and settle awhile. I’ve never understood how other writers can whip the last smoking page off the printer and shoot the whole thing off to New York.  I wish I could.

Of course, even after I’ve gone through my brilliant masterpiece for the millionth time and declared it finished, my editor will return with pages of revisions notes and I’ll rip half the scenes apart and rebuild and then go through the above process again. And again. Makes one wonder how I ever wrote those first books on a typewriter!

How do the other writers among us polish a book for editorial consumption?  Any handy tips for prying me out of my rut before I burn out all my brain cells?

But while my current WIP is simmering, waiting for the Muse to recover, I’m playing with electronic publishing.  Random House has compiled most of my contemporaries as e-books that may sell 25 books a year, so I’m not expecting much of this new venture.  I just have this image of libraries of the future existing on handheld gizmos we carry around with us, and I want to be ready for that day. So MERELY MAGIC is now up at BelgraveHouse.com and RegencyReads.com and will eventually migrate to Fictionwise and maybe even Amazon, although I have issues with their idea of a fair share of proceeds.  Ultimately, the rest of the Magic series will appear in the same places. Since I don’t even own an e-reader, I can’t tell you about the reading experience, but learning the publishing ending of it has been enlightening!

How many of you have e-readers? What’s your experience been like? And I know some of you will have to have the printed book pried out of your cold, dead hands, but I’ve run out of walls for my books. How do you deal with the inventory problem?

Congratulations, Jo and Loretta!

                         

Congrats to Wench Emerita Loretta Chase for winning two categories in this year's AAR Annual Reader poll.  Your Scandalous Ways won Best Historical Romance Set Outside the U.K. and Best Love Scenes. 

Also, Jo's A Lady's Secret and Loretta's Your Scandalous Ways were both listed in the Reader's Advisor Online list*, "Under the Radar: Great Romances of 2008."

*Please note: This was originally attributed incorrectly to Book Club Classics, which actually got this list from Reader's Advisor Online, a subscription database whose members are libraries across the nation.  Thanks to RAO for so graciously calling this to our attention! You might want to visit the Reader's Advisor Online blog where they publish a roundup of book industry news, booklists, etc. every Monday.