Word Wenches

Let's Party!

Andrea here, looking ahead to February with a sigh. Where I live, it’s usually the dreariest month—gray, cold and often snowy—and seem to go on forever, even though it’s the shortest one of the year. So perhaps I can be forgiven for daydreaming about parties to chase away the Winter Blues. Dancing, laughter, glittering candlelight, champagne . . . Well, of course, as I’m a history nerd, that immediately brought to mind thoughts of the most famous party in history—the Duchess of Richmond’s ball, held on the eve of the Battle of Waterloo.

Another reason it flashed to mind is because I've just finished my latest Lady Arianna Regency mystery, A Question of Numbers, (it’s available for pre-order here) and the party features prominently in one of the key scenes. (Honestly, what historical author could possibly resist using it in a book set in Brussels as the armies of Wellington and Napoleon prepared to clash!)

The duchess, born Lady Charlotte Gordon, daughter of the Duke of Gordon, married Charles Lennox, Duke of Richmond, (who famously fought a duel with the Duke of York in 1789) and bore him seven sons and seven daughters. The family moved to Brussels, where the oldest son, William, Lord March, was serving as aide de camp for the Prince of Orange, commander of the Dutch forces allied with Wellington’s British army.

What We're Reading in January

Detail of a portrait of Madame Pompadour by François Boucher

Susanna here.

Welcome to our monthly What We're Reading post!

I’ve been reading mostly primary documents and very old letters in indecipherable handwriting, but unfortunately I can’t share any of them here because I don’t have permission to, so instead I’ll share the books that are currently on my nightstand, waiting to be read…

A Busy Season

 

by Mary Jo

This isn't so much a blog as a flag waving from the bunker. The last several months have been really, really busy for me. Several reasons for that, but one was that my book for next year, Once a Spy, went in way late, largely because of the complexity of the research. (I was working around the edges of Waterloo, and the time line and event juggling were nightmarish.)

That was bad enough, but a year earlier I'd blithely agreed to do a Christmas novella for a Kensington anthology because I love writing Christmas stories. But the late novel delayed the start of the novella by two months and all of a sudden the dominoes were piling up on top of me.

I got both in at the last possible minute, the novella just before leaving on a long planned vacation. (My editor is a saint with nerves of steel.) I'll be on that vacation when you read this, and my plans involve sleeping, reading, walking, and eating. Did I mention sleeping? <G>

But in all the flurry of writing and research and copyedits, I had to do some heavy duty prioritizing. For starters, no holiday cards. I might get some out by St. Patrick's Day. Or not. <G>

Also, the Christmas tree got decorated, but un-decorating it seemed a lot less important. So it's still up, looking pretty if unseasonal. (It's artificial so no fire hazard.) Here's a picture of my favorite ornament on the tree. It will get undecorated and put away soon. Really!

Mary Jo, hoping your lives are peaceful

 

Pearls, pearls, pearls

Anne here, and I'm talking about an addiction of mine — pearls. Last December, in a rush of blood to the head, I lashed out and bought myself some cultured pearls, on line. They arrived on my birthday, thus proving the universe approved of my extravagance. Here they are in the photo on the right. I haven't made them up into anything yet — I'm still deciding what to do with them.

When I was young, I never much liked plain creamy pearl necklaces. For me, they were a bit old fashioned, a bit too "tasteful" for the more hippy-inclined me.  But then one Christmas I made the mistake of wearing an old necklace I'd bought from the op-shop (charity shop) — a cheap string of fake pearls interspersed with tinny gold medallions.

Fine Dining through the Ages!

Nicola here! When I was a small child we lived in an ultra-modern house in a town in the North of England. It was the 1960s and 70s and open plan was the height of fashion. Both sets of grandparents however lived in bungalows and my step-grandparents lived in a Victorian two-up tow-down house. All three of these buildings had one thing in common; they had a room that was “for best.” The door was almost always closed and when I was allowed in I didn’t like it. It was always cold (there was no heating on because it wasn’t used very often) and it smelled of that closed up mustiness that rooms sometimes have. In all cases there was a cactus or an aspidistra (or both!) on a wooden plant stand. It was the dining-room.

Dining-rooms are curious things. They go in and out of fashion. At some stages they are the ultimate in aspiration and at others ignored. The Ancient Greeks are usually given the credit for inventing the concept of the dining-room. There were very specific requirements for it: no more than 11 wood or stone benches around the walls. It was a place where men gathered to eat honey cakes and chestnuts, washed down with wine. Yes, it was men only! The Romans, refining the concept, created the triclinium where both men and women dined reclining on sofas, which can’t have been great for the digestion. The Roman triclinium was a very high status room built to have a view and to provide refreshing breezes as one ate. Many were outside and had murals on the wall and fountains in the tables, according to archaeology done at Pompeii.

Rhapsody in Blue—science and art!

Andrea here, musing today on the joys of experiencing that wonderful sense of discovery when you go to see library and museum exhibits. Okay, that's a given with me, as I’m a total history nerd. But more specifically, I’m going to wax poetic on the fun of learning fun little surprises about a subject that’s already a little familiar.

Allow me to explain! The other day I decided to pop into the New York Public Library to catch a small exhibit on Anna Atkins, a pioneer in photography, who's credited with creating the first illustrated book using solely photography. I had discovered her a while back in doing some other research, and love the images she created.

Letting My Characters Lead

Susanna here, sitting in my writing room and waiting for my characters to lead me where they will.

I remember once listening to a famous Canadian literary writer (and no, I won’t name names) say adamantly, during a radio interview, that characters were mere creations, and as such, were under the complete control of the writer at all times, with the writer firmly laying out what the character would say and do, and the character falling into line—and so any writer who claimed that their characters took on a life of their own was a liar.

Ask A Wench: What We're Doing

This month, the wenches are recovering from the holidays and chatting about what they’re doing now!

Pat here: Oh, I’m slowly going crazy—make that crazier. I’m trying to work with the cover designer for the next Crystal Magic book, AZURE SECRETS, while attempting to finish the draft on the book after that, tentatively called AMBER AFFAIR. And at the same time, I’m supposed to be packing for our trip to Costa Rica. I’ll be on the plane as you read this, knock wood. We’re going with what turns out to be a not very well organized group, which means I didn’t even know what luggage I could bring until just the other day. So I’m frantically rearranging my intended wardrobe and narrowing down to basics to fit into a carry-on. Try that some time. We just received the itinerary and we’re digging in to see what sights are accessible around the hotels we’ll be staying at, checking weather to see if we have all the necessities, looking for wi-fi in hopes we’ll not be too out of touch. . . My list keeps growing instead of getting shorter!

Three Good Things, Redux

Three Good Things

by Mary Jo   

Because of extreme busyness, I'm exercising the Word Wench prerogative of rerunning an older post--from 2006, our first year of blogging!--partly to fill this space, but also because it's a post I like, and good thoughts to make us feel better are never out of place.

The original blog was written just before Christmas, while this rerun is shortly after the holidays. Stress, however, knows no boundaries!  Enjoy this old post to which I've added some new pictures of cats and snow.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

There’s lots of warm fuzzy sentiment in the air just now, most of it generated by the multiple holidays at this season.  (Happy Winter Solstice to everyone!)  There’s lots of gatherings with family and friends, often presents and parties, and waaaaaaay too much unhealthy but delicious food and drink on offer. 

It’s a good season—but for many of us, stress levels are off the scale.  I had my hair done today, and my lovely and efficient hair stylist was dealing with the considerable demands of being a business owner, wife, mother, grandmother, serious church volunteer, providing refreshments for clients and providing a holiday meal for her staff. 

She was two clients behind when she finished me, and it was still morning. Part of this was because a long time client had to be squeezed in because of a death in the family.  My stylist will survive and even enjoy the holidays, but relaxed?  Not hardly!

And there are worse stresses, like the client who had just lost her nephew.  Like the writer friend who posted that her family has just found out that her son-in- law’s return from Iraq has been moved further away—and his unit will redeploy there after six months back in the States.   

 

by Mary Jo   

Because of extreme busyness, I'm exercising the Word Wench prerogative of rerunning an older post--from 2006, our first year of blogging!--partly to fill this space, but also because it's a post I like, and good thoughts to make us feel better are never out of place.

The original blog was written just before Christmas, while this rerun is shortly after the holidays. Stress, however, knows no boundaries!  Enjoy this old post to which I've added some new pictures of cats and snow.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

There’s lots of warm fuzzy sentiment in the air just now, most of it generated by the multiple holidays at this season.  (Happy Winter Solstice to everyone!)  There’s lots of gatherings with family and friends, often presents and parties, and waaaaaaay too much unhealthy but delicious food and drink on offer. 

It’s a good season—but for many of us, stress levels are off the scale.  I had my hair done today, and my lovely and efficient hair stylist was dealing with the considerable demands of being a business owner, wife, mother, grandmother, serious church volunteer, providing refreshments for clients and providing a holiday meal for her staff. 

She was two clients behind when she finished me, and it was still morning. Part of this was because a long time client had to be squeezed in because of a death in the family.  My stylist will survive and even enjoy the holidays, but relaxed?  Not hardly!

And there are worse stresses, like the client who had just lost her nephew.  Like the writer friend who posted that her family has just found out that her son-in- law’s return from Iraq has been moved further away—and his unit will redeploy there after six months back in the States.   

 

Celebrating a special Birthday Week

Hello, Melissa here!

This is a special week for us Wenches.  We have, not one, not two, but three wonderful birthdays to celebrate this week!  

 

We celebrate Anne on January 14th, and then on Jan 17th we have a double birthday.  Joanna and Susanna share a birthday.  How special is that?  Please join us in wishing the three lovely ladies a very happy birthday, and share our cake with us!  This one is a white cake with buttercream icing.  Do you have a favourite?

 

The Willow Pattern

Anne here. Occasionally I post photos of food on FaceBook or my blog, and often it’s displayed on this little plate — an old willow pattern plate. It has a tiny chip but I don't care — it's one of my favorite plates. I bought it years ago from a charity shop when I was a student. I love old crockery and all my dishes back then were mismatched, but each was beautiful in its own right. But the willow pattern plates were always my favorites.

I have memories of my grandmother serving up a roast dinner with vegetables on a big old willow-pattern platter, and I think she also had a willow pattern soup tureen and also some cups and saucers. I don't have any of those, only my op-shop (charity shop) plates and this lovely jug and sugar bowl set that I was given for a birthday present one year.

Life Lessons in Writing

 

Headed in to do the job with a light on my forehead as if I'm a particularly powerful elf

Joanna here: I have decided that repairing an old house is a lot like writing.

Many of the things I do seem to be a lot like writing, frankly. For instance, driving a car is a lot like writing because even when you know where you’re going you have to worry about what you’re doing this exact moment so you don’t hit the curb or a pedestrian or something and you do make progress but you’re too busy driving to notice.

But back to fixing up a house.
This is not unlike delving back into a manuscript you haven’t looked at it in a while. It puzzles you. It displeases you. And you see the manuscript needs a lot of work.

The intense purple of this room.
In the middle distance lies the intense pastel turquoise of the next room.
I have lots of work ahead.

As it happens I have acquired a house where the front bedroom is painted Grape of Violent Disposition. It is the color of Kool-Aid. (Kool-Aid, for those outside the US, is a packaged drink powder composed entirely of artificial ingredients.) It is the color of a chow chow’s tongue.

Chow chows. They really do have purple tongues

Mere photos cannot convey the intensity of this purple in real life.

Somewhere there is a paint sample named  “Mystery Plum” or “Midnight Manic Violet.” That’s what the former owners chose for this little room.
Let us be charitable and assume it belonged to a kid.

The other Wenches take you to see gardens in England with 300-year-old rhododendrons or romantic warm Tropical Isles or ruined castles in Scotland. I let you watch me paint a bedroom.

Okay. The first way working with an old house is like writing a manuscript is that most of the actual work is preparation. You go through many fiddly bits before you lay color on the wall.

 

We begin. You can see some cracks I've joint compounded

So you cover the floor with tarp. You tape plastic up over the mopboards so they don’t get splatted with paint. You protect the doors with blue tape and removed electric outlet covers, (being sneaky, sneaky careful doing that.)
You take home 3450 paint samples and narrow it down to seven nearly identical ones and then you agonize over them and keep changing your mind.

You can see how this is also the approach to the unsatisfactory draft of a manuscript.
In your draft manuscript you have somehow created good words or been handed them by the boys in the basement. You carefully preserve that blessed lagniappe of perfect-pitch language under tarps. If you got it right the first time, you leave it alone. 

In a house the next step is you wash down the walls and ceiling. A big, wet, exhausting job.

Because paint will not stick if the walls aren’t clean.
I have discovered this.

In a manuscript you strip away the sticky film of excess descriptors and adverbs and buffer language and unnecessary whifflejiffery.

Though admittedly in writing this gets done in little chunks instead of a whole room at a time, but I will not let this stand in the way of a good metaphor.

A Sense of Memory

Nicola here, musing about the atmosphere of particular places. Today I’m taking us back a long way in English history, beyond the Regency, beyond those ubiquitous Tudors, to a time before the Norman Conquest when England was split into the Anglo Saxon seven kingdoms. The village where I live has a recorded history that goes back to this distant time – there are actual documents from the era relating to events that happened in this very place over a thousand years ago and I find that mind-blowing. As I walk along the footpaths and over the hills I frequently imagine how it might have looked in that time and try to see all the way back through the mists of history to think myself back there.  I can be pretty successful at this; when it’s quiet and I’m standing on the Ravens’ Fort and all I can hear are the birds singing and I feel the breeze on my face I can persuade myself, for a split second anyway, that I have travelled in time. Then an aeroplane flies over and I think perhaps not after all.

The Twelfth Night

Susan here ... is your tree down, the ornaments packed away, your wreath off the door, the cookies and goodies all gone? Hang on, the party's not over yet ... it's Twelfth Night! 

At least it's Twelfth Night for some. January 5th marks the twelfth day (or night) after Christmas (counting Christmas as Day #1 - some count December 26, Boxing Day, as Day #1 after Christmas, making Twelfth Night Jan. 6, as if it wasn't complicated enough!). January 6th, for many, is the feast of the Epiphany, when the Magi visited the child in the stable and recognized in baby Jesus the manifestation of prophecies of the Divine. 

 

But first - a party! 

Jan Steen, Twelfth Night, Museum of Fine Arts, Houston

Twelfth Night was by custom an evening of raucous and rowdy partying, revelry, pranks and shenanigans, wassailing, role-playing and gender-swapping, all under the rule of a king (often called the Lord of Misrule) and a queen chosen at random by a bean and a pea, respectively, found in pieces of a Twelfth Night cake, usually made with candied fruits and nuts. Historically, Twelfth Night was celebrated with well-established traditions in the medieval era through the Regency and Victorian eras. It made it across the ocean to America, as the Colonials celebrated it too, but while it is still enjoyed today in many places, it's not much of a holiday in the States. Many of us see it more as Taking Down the Christmas Tree Day. Growing up Catholic, my family always kept the decor up until the Feast of the Epiphany, but I heard very little about Twelfth Night beyond Shakespeare. 

 

In fact, Shakespeare's famous play is not about Twelfth Night, although plenty of revelry, shenanigans and role playing goes on - very likely it was performed on Twelfth Night and its subtitle, What You Will, may have been its original title.

Jan Steen, Twelfth Night, 1662, Museum of Fine Arts, Boston

Twelfth Night had some of its origin in the rowdiest of parties, the Roman Saturnalia, and became part of the Christmastide tradition and was especially popular in Europe (or at least wildly popular with 17th century Dutch painter Jan Steen, who painted several scenes of Twelfth Night partying). Mary Queen of Scots was recorded to have celebrated it too - one of her ladies, Mary Fleming, found the bean in the cake, and instead of becoming king for the night, she was declared queen for the evening, and even got to wear something fabulous from Mary's own wardrobe.  

 

Lord of Misrule, book cover 1911, Poems by Alfred Noyes

A night of chaos and craziness, a night of misrule and fools and frivolity - just the sort of contrast that makes the following day, the Feast of the Epiphany and its miraculous mood, all the more special. And perhaps that was the point for the people of those earlier centuries - the contrast of chaos and misrule, and with the dawn, a new order and a sense of something magical and inspiring.

Gerard David, Adoration of the Magi, ca. 1515, National Gallery, London

 

And with the end of the holiday season, we Wenches wish you all the best in the new year!  

 

Was your holiday special this year, and did you make a wish list for 2019?

 

I didn't make any resolutions this time - I'm just looking forward to a better year than last year, with good luck, health, peace, and happiness for all! 

 

Susan 

 

The Party's Over!

The party is over. The glittering lights of the Decembers holidays have gone out with a bang on New Year's . . .The tree's ornaments have been carefully stowed away for next December, the confetti has been swept up, the empty champagne bottles have been carted to the recycling bin . . .

Andrea here, and I have to confess, it's quite depressing! Oh, yes. There are many good things about the new year, and starting, er, fresh. However the state of my fridge and pantry are not among them. Gone are the myriad cookies, the chocolate, the truffles, the brownies and blondies. Instead they are filled with all the things I SHOULD be eating. Sigh. I'm in a state of withdrawal.

I will cheerfully admit to having a sweet tooth. And the holidays are time that I rationalize that it's okay to splurge on all those buttery, sugar and spice confections. I mean, one can't be Scrooge-like and refuse to get in the spirit of season's excess, right? And we all know calories don't count from Thanksgiving to New Year's! (Quantum, surely you can up up with a quantum physics theorem that supports my scientific thinking on this . . .the tilt of the earth, the angle of the sun . . . how quickly you can scarf down the cookie . . .)

Over the holidays, I got in a bad habit of helping myself to goodies every day. And now it's time to stop. As I sit here feeling sorry for myslef I find myself fantasizing about what I miss most . . .it's a toss -up between the homemade Swiss biber (a gingerbread confection filled with marzipan) and my special blondie recipe studded with walnuts and golden raisins, topped with a lemon glaze.

What holiday goodie do you miss most after the clock strikes midnight on January 1? Or are you smarter than me and just say, "Party On!

 

 

Christmastide Train Gardens!

by Mary Jo

Christmas decorations are being packed away now, and that includes train gardens, which might be a custom unique to Baltimore. I was once told that they're done in Pittsburgh, an industrial city rather like Baltimore and not far away, but when I googled "train ," the only hits I got were for locations with them in the Baltimore area.

Basically, train gardens are train sets on steroids. I'm told they began at firehouses, where the firefights often had time on their hands so at Christmas they would build elaborate train environments for people in the community to come in and enjoy.

I don't know when this custom began--I'm not a native of these parts--but it is well established. Does it have anything to do with the fact that Baltimore is the home of American railroading? Haven't a clue!

The train garden I'm most familiar with is built annually at a small but lively local mall. It's enormously complex and I believe the assembly work is done by volunteers, and some of the mall merchants provide financial support.  Here's a picture of this year's from the mall's website:

Really, this is all hearsay! But one true fact is that EVERYONE loves the train garden, all ages from infants to oldies! Parents hold little kids on their shoulders. Slightly larger kids leave nose prints on the barriers around the exhibit. When I was there before Christmas,
a half dozen young people in wheelchairs were tootling around the edges and enjoying the show. Often one must wait for people to move away in order to get up to the glass wall around the exhibit.

So enjoy the train garden pictures. Do they have any such custom where you live? I'd love to know more.

In the meantime--toot, toot to you all!

Mary Jo

Out with the old . . .

Happy New Year everyone!  Anne here, and I'm currently embarking on the incredibly glamorous holiday activity of . . . decluttering. I don't do it every year, but I find the beginning of the year a good time to take stock of things and try for a bit of a fresh start. Clearing out the old to make way for the new.

Not that I'm planning to buy more stuff — I'd love to get down to something fairly minimalist, but I know myself and it will never happen. It's not that I'm a big shopper, it's just that my mother raised me to be thrifty and to use things to the nth degree -- clothes worn until they fall apart, mended if possible, and if not, repurposed into cleaning rags. That kind of thing. Recycling.

As well, things breed in my house. Coffee mugs, bowls, books — oh my, do the books ever breed! — notebooks, and stuff I use in my hobbies — beads and pretty paper and that sort of thing. They breed. You should see my TBR (to-be-read) pile(s) —that's one on the right. I blurred the titles.)  A tactful (cough splutter) friend once said to me, "You know Anne, this place would be really tidy if you just got rid of all the books and the papers."
Yes, but I'd rather cut off my arm! ( Probably. Actually, I quite like my arm.)

I love charity shops, and am very happy to give them anything they can sell. So I'm combing through my wardrobe and filling bags with the clothes and shoes I've hardly worn in the past year, and I'm looking at books that I know I'll never read again, and putting them in the charity box, too. And hats — I have so many hats, but I hardly ever wear a hat! So I'm culling hats, too. (The hats in the photo are just my everyday hats — I have lots more dress-up/silly hats.) And I'm even hardening my heart and tossing things in the rubbish bin. (Extreme behavior!)

It's a lovely feeling when you've cleared out a pile of stuff. I cleared out the bathroom cabinet yesterday and tossed a stack of half-used old tubes of hand cream and sunblock and old make-up and medicines — all kinds of things that were out of date. Today I keep going into the bathroom to admire all the gleaming, empty shelf space. <g> 

I wish I were the kind of person who did this as an everyday thing. I had an aunt whose house was like a display home, and every drawer and cupboard contained something completely unknown in my house — empty spaces!  But I'm not that kind of person and never will be, so every few years there's a frenzy of decluttering and tossing.

What about you — are you an everyday declutterer or is it the occasional frenzy for you?