Word Wenches

From History to Hysterical

 

excerpt: http://jamiequaid.com/excerpt-for-giving-him-hell/

Pat here:

 As many of you know, I’ve been published in historical romance since 1984. I’ve written westerns, Americana, Victoriana, Regencies, and paranormal historical romance well before any of those genres became popular. Historical romance has cycled through variations of these sub-genres over the last three decades (three decades—oh my! Obviously, I wrote my first book as a teenager), and to speak frankly, the lords and ladies required of today’s historical romance need a lot of creativity to keep fresh. (Working with a younger sons’ theme rather than dukes and earls, I published my last Regency novel, Notorious Atherton,   in July 2013. Formidable Lord Quentin will be out 3/31/15.) I’ve always interspersed my historical romance writing with other genres to prevent becoming too jaded, but now I have to go further and further afield to keep my imagination entertained.

 

What We're Watching in September

Howdy.  Joanna here.

This month I’m doing a little departure from the usual Wenches’ What We’re Reading.  This month it’s What We’re Watching.  What movie, what TV, what paintings, what real life scenes have impressed and moved us recently?

For me ... I love non-fiction. The life of the duckbilled platypus. The Mongol Empire. The genetics of cats.

Recently I’ve been filling my leisure time with BBC and A&E documentaries on British History. One of my exciting finds -- I get excited by history -- is Tales From the Green Valley.  Five archeologists and historians live for a year on a farm on the Welsh border, wearing the clothing, eating the food, using the farming techniques and following the household customs of 1620. It’s exact, detailed, authentic

(Well ... I caught them in one bit of  ‘folk etymology’ error -- the origin of the phrase ‘upper crust’ to mean ‘rich folks’. Not 1620. It’s Nineteenth Century.)

This Tales From the Green Valley is a nitty-gritty, hands-on-the-plough, realistic view of a way of life that continued in some aspects till Victorian times. Interesting for its own sake. Interesting as the background upon which our stories are enacted. Fascinating to watch. 

 

Andrea also recommends a non-fiction TV series. She says: 

I very rarely watch television. I know there are really good shows, with fabulous writing, but when I have some down time, I always gravitate toward curling up with a book to relax.
However, a friend of mine recommended that I watch the PBS special seven part series on "The Roosevelts—An Intimate History" (the wonderful thing is you can download and watch all the episodes on your computer!) So I tuned in for the first one—and was absolutely hooked. 

 

Nicola takes us right to Real Life.

Nicola here. This month I am watching the sea at Bamburgh Castle on the north east coast of England. We've had the most glorious weather and calm seas so far but tomorrow there is a storm promised. I find the sea so soothing and refreshing and walking along the beach has filled me with ideas and inspiration. It's wonderful to be here and see the geese flying overhead on their journey north and the castle silhouetted against the sky.

Taking Inspiration Where I Find It

Anne here, talking about taking inspiration where you can find it.

I have often envied Wench Nicola (and now Wench Jo since she's moved back to England) for their ability to pop in to various stately homes and use them for the settings of their stories. I can't do that. I'm a 26 hour plane ride from the UK, and a few thousand dollars, so I have to find my settings on line, and from memory, mostly.

But sometimes, a setting can inspire, even though historically it's not authentic.

In the last couple of months I've conducted a few writing workshops at the beautiful National Trust property of Rippon Lea. It's a large Victorian-era house, built in 1868.

Crying over a good book!

Nicola here. Last week I spent a day on writing retreat with a very good friend of mine, also a romance writer. Over lunch, we got chatting about the books that make us cry. We weren’t talking about those books that drive us to tears of frustration as we’re writing them although there are plenty of those. We were talking as readers about the scenes that can make us cry every time we read them, even though we know them back to front and word for word. Not all of our favourites were romance books although some of them were. Others were thrillers, crime stories, even biographies.

Autumn

Jo here. Welcome to autumn.

Where does the word come from? I'll just quote wikipedia.

"The word autumn comes from the ancient Etruscan root autu- and has within it connotations of the passing of the year. It was borrowed by the neighbouring Romans, and became the Latin word autumnus. After the Roman era the word continued to be used as the Old French word autompne (automne in modern French), and was later normalised to the original Latin. In the Medieval period there are rare examples of its use as early as the 12th century, but by the 16th century it was in common use."

What did they call it in English before the 16th century? Apparently, harvest, which makes sense. Especially when I think of my bountiful crop of tomatoes at the moment!  If I were in France I might be harvesting grapes, and I'd certainly welcome a bumper crop of them. We used to have a vine in Canada and we did make wine. Tomato wine? We tried it once. (We've experimented with nearly all fruits.) Nah. 

Sparky Ate the Computer

Well, maybe he didn't actually eat Sherrie's computer, but a bug did. So the latest kitty report is on hold until she can get back online. To hold everyone over until the report appears, we present a Sparky re-run!

But we have wenchly announcements!

 

"On October 10, Wench Joanna will be interviewing Historical Romance writer Joan Wolf, author of more than 40 books. Look forward to a discussion of historical research and ... horses."

And the real icing on the cake: Mary Jo's Not Quite A Wife is on the NYT bestseller list!
Wenchly readers, take a bow for your participation and your most excellent taste.

 

O, say can you see…?

by Mary Jo

In a Robert Heinlein novel, the War of 1812 is mentioned dismissively as a brushfire conflict on the fringes of the Napoleonic Wars.  I'm not sure that the average Briton has any awareness of it at all.  But in the US and Canada, the war matters.

In my hometown of Baltimore, the war is very, very personal.  When I first moved here, I was surprised to find a Maryland state holiday called Defenders Day on September 12.  Say what? 

It turns out that September 12 was the land part of the Battle of Baltimore, where the militia stopped the advance of British troops, allowing time to prepare for the naval part of the battle, which was the defense of the city at Fort McHenry.  

Are We Writers Part Deux

We're back today with the rest of wench responses to the question When did you first think of yourself as a writer?

 

Cara/Andrea:
Maybe I always knew, at heart, that I was going to be a writer. At age five, I spent hours writing and illustrating books. (Art is still a love, and bad spelling still plagues me. Alas, my crayolas did not have spell-check!) And I still distinctly remember my sixth grade teacher stopping me one day, after we had all stood up to read our wriitng projects, and telling me that I had a real knack for telling stories.

But the left brain-right brain tug of war in me pulled me to the visual arts in college. Graphic design is also all about communication, that is to say, combining word and images to create compelling messages. I loved  it . . . but I think I slowly realized that I wanted the words to be MY words. I missed storytelling—not for a client, but for the sheer fun of letting my imagination run free.

Ask A Wench: Are We Writers?

Pat here, and today’s question pulled out of our own hat is:

-- When did you first think of yourself as a writer?

Anne speaks:
There's a school of thought that says that if you write, you're a writer. While I wouldn't argue with that, I think there's a difference between calling yourself a writer and simply writing; I cook every day, but I don't call myself a cook.

I've been writing ever since I was a child -- scribbled stories in exercise books, songs, the odd (and I mean odd) poem, plays, and letters, lots and lots of letters. In my student household we had long-running correspondence between housemates -- not about house work or anything mundane or practical -- it was purely for fun, and contained a story thread and characters and occasional rhymes (mad doggerel) and all kinds of silliness. And it continued in letters long after we'd moved out, started work and lived in scattered parts of the country. Writing to friends in fun and silliness has always been a joy to me.

Some years back I started writing seriously, with the aim of getting published, but I never called myself a writer. I'm not sure I even thought of myself as a writer because, to me, being "a writer" carried with it some kind of professional connotation. I'd say "I'm writing", or even "I'm trying to write" but I didn't call myself a writer until long after I was published. I waited until I had several books published, and writing was my main source of income, as well as my main professional activity.

THE SPARKY REPORT #48

Because of Sparky’s partial blindness she has been confined to the house. No more stalking the back 40 looking for varmints. All that enforced inactivity has caused a little settling of the meat and potatoes in her rump area. Sparky isn’t exactly fat, but let’s just say that when she sits, her belly covers her feet, sort of like lava overflowing the volcano’s rim. So after thinking hard about her once svelte figure (see above photo) Sparky has embarked on an exercise regimen.

Like any sensible exerciser, Sparky starts out with some stretching exercises.

 

 

Stretttccchhh those arms!

 

 

Limber up that tight neck.

 

Flex those toes!

 

 

Practice manual dexterity.

 

 

Now, for some lip dexterity.

 

And finally, a workout with the rubber exercise band.

 

Does my butt still look big? What? I need to exercise more??? Groan . . .

 

 

On Fairy Tales

“The realm of fairy-story is wide and deep and high and filled with many things: all manner of beasts and birds are found there; shoreless seas and stars uncounted; beauty that is an enchantment, and an ever-present peril; both joy and sorrow as sharp as swords.” ― J.R.R. Tolkien, "On Fairy-Stories" 

Susan here, thinking about fairy tales lately. My bookshelves are crammed full, like the bookshelves of every Wench author and most if not all of our blog readers. And a couple of my shelves are devoted to fairy tales. From old, tattered, beloved childhood copies to antique fairy tale books to paperback anthologies and academic studies of fairy tale themes, this bunch of books doesn't gather a lot of dust at my house—because I still read fairy tales. I still love them. 

“I used to be Snow White, but I drifted.” --Mae West

I have some familiar favorites, like an old copy of the complete tales of The Brothers Grimm, the tales of Hans Christian Anderson, Charles Perrault, and of course Andrew Lang—The Blue Fairy Book, The Red Fairy Book, the Green Fairy Book (and The Yellow, Pink, Grey, Violet, Crimson, Scarlet, Orange, Olive and Lilac Books). 

Of the Little Golden Books I had in childhood, my favorite was The Twelve Dancing Princesses, exquisitely illustrated by Sheilah Beckett. When I was very little, I treasured an old copy of The Tall Book of Fairy Tales by Eleanor Graham Vance. Not sure where it came from, but once I got my sticky little hands on it, it was mine, mine. Another favorite is more recent, a beautiful reprint of Steel’s English Fairy Tales, illustrated by Arthur Rackham. And then there are the Joseph Jacobs Celtic Fairy Tales, and Irish fairytales collected by W.B. Yeats … and so many others, old and new.

And that’s just the stories. I enjoy reading studies of fairy tales too. I have a dog-eared, read and reread copy of Bruno Bettelheim’s The Uses of Enchantment, Marina Warner’s fabulous From the Beast to the Blonde, and some of the work of Jack Zipes, and more.

“If you want your children to be intelligent, read them fairy tales. If you want them to be more intelligent, read them more fairy tales.” --Albert Einstein

Fairy tales go back eons, as far back as myths and legends, probably as far back as the darkest of caves and the brightest of fires, and the urge to explain why the stars wink, why the wind blows, why thunderclouds look like dragons, why a shaft of sunlight or rainbows can be like a good fairy come to the rescue. Stories explore life and give us choices and tools to address and comprehend what we encounter in the realm of reality.

But what did I know about absorbing life lessons--and storytelling techniques--from fairy tales. I was into the princess, the frog, the prince, wicked witch, good fairy, ragamuffin, the castle, the mountain, the happy ending--and the chills when things didn't work out, and the thrill when they did. And I was all about the illustrations, too--sat turning pages just for the pictures, copied them in crayons. Whatever lessons about good and evil, right and wrong were definitely subliminal. I was just having a great time, and yet I was learning life skills for what I might encounter later.

Maggie Osborne: A Romance Classic

Anne here. Recently I've been discovering some of the older style historical romances. Not rediscovering — discovering them for the first time. I came to romance novels later in life, and many of the US romances simply weren't available here in Australia, so I know I've missed out on some that are regarded by many romance readers as "classics of romance."

Some time back, on the wenches private loop, Jo Beverley mentioned Maggie Osborne's The Promise of Jenny Jones and out of curiosity I went looking for it. I bought it on line, read it and loved it. So fresh and original and good.

Jenny Jones is a rough, tough, fiercely independent Annie Oakley kind of western gal. When the story opens, she's been sentenced to death, but a desperate mother takes Jenny Jones' place in front of a firing squad in exchange for Jenny's promise to see her daughter safely to California. Jenny mightn't look like much, she mightn't have much, but she takes her honor seriously, and any promise she gives is solid gold.

Jenny and the six-year-old Graciela are chalk and cheese — or maybe burlap and satin. The battle of wills between her and the spoiled and indulged yet vulnerable Graciela are wonderful. A bunch of Graciela's cousins are in hot pursuit — for evil or for good, Jenny isn't sure— but add in handsome cowboy Ty Sanders, and you've got all the ingredients for a wonderful romance. But for my money, it's the relationship between Jenny Jones and Graciela that steals the show.

The Elegance of the Cravat

Nicola here, and today I’m talking about the cravat. Such an elegant part of a Regency gentleman’s attire. Cravat-wearing fell out of fashion in the late the 20^th century when it became a synonymous with the sort of gin-quaffing, yacht-sailing, smooth-talking roles played by actors such as Roger Moore or David Niven. It became a bit of a parody and even a joke. Yet at the recent Edinburgh Festival one author at least was encouraging gentlemen to pick up their cravats again and wear them proudly. Nicholas Parsons said: "I've seen people with beautifully tailored jackets on, with an open shirt… and an awful Adam's apple." The solution, he suggested, is the cravat.

 The Croatian neck cloth

 Cravat-wearing is said to have originated in Croatia in the early 17^th century. Mercenary soldiers fighting in the French army popularised the style, which was known as La Croate, “in the style of the Croats.” The officers had cravats of fine silk, the ordinary soldiers had cravats of poorer quality linen and they varied in size and colour.

 Prior to the 17^th century, gentlemen had worn the ruff or something called a band, which was effectively a cravat – a long strip of neck cloth that could be either attached to the shirt or draped over a doublet. The benefit of a neck cloth was threefold. It was easily changeable if it became dirty, it covered up a less than pristine shirt and it provided some comfort between a man and his armour. Cravat Day is still celebrated in Croatia on 18^th October.

 Paris Fashions

 The Parisians, always on the look out for a new fashion, were very taken with the style of the cravat, which became known as the “cravate” in French society. They added broad laced edging to the linen and muslin, and on occasion made cravats entirely out of lace. The court even employed a cravat-maker (cravatier) who delivered a few cravats to King Louis XIV on a daily basis so he could choose the one that suited him most. The cult of the cravat quickly spread across Europe.

THE SPARKY REPORT #47

 
Please excuse my delay in posting Sparky’s Sunday report. Let’s just say circumstances were beyond my control. Despite my week of discombobulation, Sparky had an outstanding week doing naughty things and getting into all kinds of mischief. She provided me with many moments of laughter, leavened by occasional doses of “I’m going to kill that cat!” In other words, a typical Sparky week.

Happy, happy that Sparky can see well enough to spot a spider on the ceiling directly above my desk. Not so happy, happy that she came crashing down on the desk after an unwise attempt to catch the spider.

 

Efforts to console Sparky after her failed arachnid assassination were mistaken for an invitation to play “Let’s attack Mom’s hand.”

 

After rebuffing my overtures, Sparky decided to beat up some jugs of newly purchased kitty litter. Take that, you dastardly label! (Note the rubber band--her previous toy--hanging from her back leg.)

 

I removed the kitty litter to safety, swept up the torn labels, and tried to give Sparky a friendly pat. No dice. She’s wired and wants to play rough.

 

So, okay, the jugs of kitty litter have been put away, but there are still shopping bags full of interesting stuff to get into—until Mom takes them away from me.

 

So I retaliate by attacking her hand. Again. It’s a favorite game of mine, and while I never use my claws or break the skin with my teeth, Mom says my play bites are a bit too enthusiastic.

 

But I say Mom’s hand tastes mighty good!

 

By the end of an energetic week getting into mischief, Mom always forgives me when I seek out her lap and get into funny positions. Night-night, all!

 

Buying a "pair of colours."

Hi, Jo here. I'm in the middle of edits for my next book, and short of time, but I remembered that back a while someone had asked about how men bought ranks in the army in the Georgian and Regency period. That's an easy topic because I researched it once at the Canadian War Museum library. I checked who'd asked, and it was Elaine Ransil. Elaine, you win a book for having a topic used.

 

Let's start out simply.

Men paid to attain officer ranks in the British army. They started at the bottom, generally as youths, when someone purchased a slot at the lowest rank, which was cornet in the cavalry and ensign in the infantry. This was popularly called "buying a set of colours." Thereafter, they purchased the next highest rank from someone who held it when that man was either retiring -- "selling out" -- or moving up the ranks by buying the next highest.

Hence, the Purchase System.

They money paid in over the years can be seen as an investment, or even a pension plan, because when a man sold out he kept what he was paid for his rank at the time.

It's easy to see it as a corrupt system, but in many ways it worked and of course there were all kinds of variations and nuances. For a start, the Royal Artillery and the Royal Engineers never had the tradition of purchase. Nor did the navy.

So let's get to the details.

Further adventures in audiobooking: Dancing on the WInd

by Mary Jo

I made a flash announcement here when the audiobook version of Dancing on the Wind finally went live two weeks ago, but I wanted to ruminate a bit more on the process.  This is the third audiobook that I've produced, and each time there have been more things to learn.  

Though I'm still a novice, for me the key points are:

1) The first big challenge is finding The Voice. Someone I like listening to, and who will also appeal to regular audio listeners.  I have a fondness for a lovely deep male voice (calling James Earl Jones!!!), but a man with a naturally deep voice will probably have trouble with lighter female voices, just as a woman with a lighter, higher voice might have trouble with male characters.  A skilled narrator doesn't actually imitate multiple voices, but implies them through accent, inflection, pacing, and other verbal tricks.  Doing that consistently throughout a full length book takes a real pro.