Word Wenches

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!

Family Ties

Andrea here, continuing our daily celebration of the Twelve Days of Christmastide with short posts on the spirit of the season. The holidays have been a bit quiet for me as this year, instead of our usual Christmas Day gathering, my family has been scattered around the globe. In celebration of my niece getting her PhD in English two weeks ago, my older brother and his wife took her to Rome (it had to be that timing because both my niece and SIL are teaching at different universities with different breaks) My younger brother and his family just moved houses in Wyoming and were frantically getting their old place ready for sale . . . And my nephew (the PhD's brother) jetted off to Brazil to be with his fiancee. (Niece and nephew pictured here)

So, I was feeling a little nostalgic with everyone so far away. And then very early on Christmas Eve morning I was awakened by the "beep-beep" of a text coming into my cellphone. Hmmm. I was tempted to ignore it—I'm not big on texting or being a slave to my phone. However, I decided to take a quick look and it's my nephew from Brazil, apologizing for the wake-up call but in need of immediate cookie help! He was surprising his fiancee with a batch of traditional Swiss "hasselnuss stengeli" Christmas cookies and couldn't remember how to make the lemon-sugar glaze.

So off we go on a flurry of texts . . . He has very fond memories of making the cookies with his grandmother (my mother). As do I. (He loves to cook and is very good at it.) The missing piece of the recipe was easy-peasy to send off but for the next little while we were also exchanging funny memories of past holidays . . . like the time my mother's usually well-behaved German Shepherd, who NEVER stole food, walked through the dining room in mid-feast with a huge wedge of Jarlsberg that he had snatched from the low cocktail table in the living room . . . and the time my mother was insisting on taking SO many group pictures of the family that he instigated getting everyone to take their shirts off when she was fiddling with the camera. (She framed that picture.)

Anyway, when it ended, I was laughing aloud and feeling, well, very connected, even though we were very far away. To me it was a perfect vignette of what the spirit of the season is all about. Family, friends, laughter, sharing . . . and though I don't think of devices are a very good way to do that, I was grateful for modern technology letting me connect to a loved one and share a few laughs.

What about you? Were you able to celebrate together with loved ones? Or did you do some long distance connecting too?

Eight Writers Walk into a Regency-Era Ballroom...

Nicola here. Over the past few weeks we’ve been sharing excerpts from our Word Wench Christmas Anthology, The Last Chance Christmas Ball (which is currently still on special offer in the US and Canada in the run up to the festive season – you can find it here!) A number of commenters have asked about the process we went through writing the book as a group project (thank you!), so we’ve updated a post from 2015 when the anthology first came out explaining a bit about this and about the individual stories that we came up with. Today's blog title actually came from a review of the anthology that was in Publisher's Weekly: Eight Writers (collectively known as the Word Wenches) walk into a ballroom and wreak fabulous, shimmering holiday mischief all over the place."

Jo Beverley, who drew together the original post, described it as “fun: at times the sort of fun you get from a camping holiday with unpredictable weather and odd creatures invading the tent.*G*” Which is to say that it wasn’t without its challenges. Some of these were logistical. We’re based around the world. Even within the US there’s a considerable time difference between east coast and west coast, but then we add in England, which is five hours ahead of the east coast and eight hours ahead of California. Pat was getting up when Jo Beverley and I were thinking about dinner, and Anne, in Australia, was going to bed round about the time America woke up! Even in this modern age we often had to wait many hours for the answer to a continuity query.

In addition, of course, we are all strong-minded authors who enjoyed a good discussion over many, many plot points and other issues! But we did have fun, and as you'll see, we all love Christmas stories.

In the Bleak Midwinter: The Last Chance Christmas Ball

By Mary Jo

Eight authors collaborating on an anthology is not the simplest of projects, but we Wenches thought it would be fun to work together, and The Last Chance Christmas Ball (now on sale for a mere 99 cents!) was the result. Our Kensington editor, Alicia Condon, suggested we might do something like a holiday ball where our characters can meet and mingle. This sounded like a fine idea, so we agreed. We had no idea how much work it would be to integrate the stories into a larger framework!

Jo Beverley created a wiki for us so we could add information about the characters and setting so instead of constantly asking things like the name of the butler or the village, we could look it up. This was very convenient.

Then the negotiations began! We talked about our requirements. Susan King, for example, specializes in Scotland so we created a setting in Northumberland, which is next door to Scotland in far northeastern England. A certain kind of great house was required. A promising house was found and modified. I casually talked about how we could have a wounded soldier in the tower as an example of what we could do, and then realized I really did want to write a wounded soldier in the tower!

The Magic of Harry Potter and History

Andrea here, The holidays are a magical time of year, especially for children. So it seems a perfect time to talk about something truly magical—in every meaning of the word! I just saw the wonderful exhibit at the New York Historical Society entitled Harry Potter: A History of Magic. (It’s the U.S. stop for the show that originated at the British Library, and the linked article from the NY Times shows some wonderful pictures of the display rooms.)

Now of course, Harry isn’t just for kids—I’m a huge fan, even though I’m not usually one for fantasy or paranormal. The magic of J. K. Rowling and her books is the storytelling and how she weaves together the powerful elemental themes of friendship, love, courage in the face of loss and adversity as she tells a riveting tale of Good vs Evil.

The Christmas Ball: Excert Two: My True Love Hath My Heart

  Joanna here --

As you remember from Anne's posting last week, all the Wenches will be posting an excerpt from our stories from the anthology the Last Chance Christmas Ball, one each Sunday in the lead-up to Christmas.

Here's Anne's excerpt from the story Mistletoe Kisses. 

I'll just repeat what she said last week:

"We wenches had written a Christmas anthology before with a linking theme, but for this one we decided all the stories would be linked to an event, based around an annual Christmas ball, held by Lady Holbourne known as Lady Holly to her friends."

Here's the blurb for the collection:  Christmas 1815. Upstairs and downstairs, Holbourne Abbey is abuzz with preparations for a grand ball to celebrate the year’s most festive—and romantic—holiday. For at the top of each guest’s wish list is a last chance to find true love before the New Year…

My story is titled My True Love Hath My Heart. In it, we meet a legendary jewel, a heroine seeking revenge, a handsome scoundrel, housemaids gossiping, a bit about jewelry design, young love, and somewhat older love which is more complicated, this being the second time round.
And . . . well . . . Christmas.

The title of my short story comes from the eponymous Sir Phllip Sidney poem. (I have been waiting to use the word eponymous for a long time.)

My true-love hath my heart and I have his,

By just exchange one for the other given:

 

So. My excerpt opens in Holbourne Abbey in the insufferable Mr. Gower's bedroom. Our heroine Claire, dressed in a maid's uniform, is rifling through Mr. Gower's jewel boxes.

. . .

“I always wondered what housemaids did in their leisure time.” The voice came from the doorway. “Theft, apparently.”

There was an instant like lightning, filled with a flash of recognition in the midst of blank surprise. She recognized him at once. How could she not? Nobody else spoke like silk over steel. Like honey and granite rock. Shouting in panic, sarcastic over the card table, whispered across a pillow, that was not a voice one could forget. She turned slowly to face him.

Nick Lafford stood in the doorway, a man not taking his dismissal seriously. She was furious with him. She was impatient and unforgiving. And everything inside her—heart, mind, and spirit was glad to see him.

He strolled into the room. Time flowed sluggishly around him, giving her a long opportunity to feel five or six emotions in a row, all of them complicated and contradictory.

“Picture of a maid dusting the jewelry,” he said. “How thorough of you.”

“Searching it, actually.”

“We rise above the banal, then. I always enjoy rising about the banal with you.” He came to look past her into the box on the wardrobe shelf. “We have the very likeness of plunder. I feel quite piratical. Is the loot immensely valuable?”

“Not so far.” She closed the leather case with the rubies and put it firmly back in the tray. “If they were vegetables, this would be a pile of potatoes.”

“Not counting the Coeur de Flamme.” Nick wore one of his deceptively open expressions. 

“Not counting the Coeur, which I haven’t found yet. What in the name of sanity are you doing here?”

“I appear to have joined you in ransacking with intent. Embarrassing if I’m caught at it.” He leaned to look into the jewel box and they touched, just a little. A brush of his jacket on her shoulder. A feeling of warmth at her side. Nothing really.

He said, “I’ll bet these dainty little leather boxes contain the good stuff.”

“Almost certainly. Go away, Nick.”

“I don’t think so. You may, eventually, be glad I’m here.” He stirred a finger into the jewels, inquisitive. “Or, of course, you may not. But I’m here anyway.”

This was so typical of him. Ready to filch jewels at her side or lead her onto the dance floor in Vienna in front of the assembled nobility of Europe. Once, he’d helped her relocate an inconvenient body. Once he—

Blast him for being Nicholas. For being sneaky and single-minded and never giving up. For being clever enough to move her like a chess piece to this time and this place. For saying he loved her.

Blast her for being happy to see him again, even for a minute.

She squashed down the anticipation and gladness that was springing up inside her like so many bubbles rising to the top of beer. She concentrated on being stern. He’d taken her by surprise. That was all. Nothing had changed.

He hooked up entangled necklaces and bracelets and let them dangle. “What a hoard for a man to lug about the north country. They almost beg to be stolen, don’t they?”

“No.”

“I hear their siren call. ‘Pick me up and carry me away,’ they say. Surely he won’t miss a few.”

“I’m busy, Nick. I don’t have time for this.”

“And we’re not thieves, like the regrettable Mr. Gower,” When she didn’t comment he said, “The money doesn’t matter, does it? He didn't just cheat you out of money. He stole your work. He tried to steal your good name.”

Nick understood. That was what made him so insidious. He’d always understood her.

She batted his hand out of the way and picked up the next leather case. “You contrived this. Both of us in the same house. It’s not some cosmic mischance.”

“Humbly, I admit it. I arranged for a guest list to the House party to land in the papers. You saw it. You’re here.”

“I should have been suspicious.”

“I’m glad you weren’t. I’m also glad you’re here,” he gestured a circle, taking in the rest of the room, Holbourne Abbey, and Northumberland, “with me, instead of breaking into Gower’s townhouse. He keeps guards. With guns.”

“Guns in his garden and the unbreakable safe he brags about. I hope someone robs it one fine evening, but it won’t be me. Damn you for interfering.”

“I can’t help myself, you know. Indulged from childhood. No self-discipline.”

He hadn’t changed a whit in the months since she’d sent him away. Still the perfect English aristocrat, casually confident, wrapped in the armor of first-class tailoring. Still the long, intelligent, handsome face that didn't show a tenth of what he was thinking. Brown hair in fashionable disorder. Brown eyes, carefully controlled in what they revealed.

He reached past her and selected a leather jewel case, flicked it open, and found emeralds. “This is nice.”

Very nice. Trust Nick to see that. “It’s famous—both the bracelet and the central stone. Spanish work, from stones plundered out of the New World. It’s been owned by most of the royal families of Europe at one time or another.”

“It must cringe at the company it keeps. May I confiscate it for you in my capacity as representative of the British government?”

“You may put it away.”

“You’re almost impossible to give jewelry to, my sweet.”

“Well, you can’t steal it for me.”

“I can’t buy it for you either, alas. I’ve tried.” He set the emeralds aside. His next leather case held a necklace of citrine and gold.

Her choice held a diamond broach, the stones cut at least a generation ago. She said, “This came to the daughter from her mother's family. The girl's name escapes me--“

“Mary.”

“That’s right. I expected to find it yesterday when I searched her room. He must hand her trinkets out to her, one by one, and take them back at night.”

“One of several petty punishments. They disagree over her choice of marriage partner.”

The English nobility were particular about who they let marry into the family. Wasn’t that the root of her own unhappy problem? “Who would be the daughter of a Gower? I’d rather scrub and dust for a living.”

She opened the next case. Opals. Then the next . . . and held her breath.

Nick whispered, “Well, well, well.”

Here was the Coeur de Flamme, the Heart of Fire.

Christmas snippets

Anne here, starting something a little bit different. We're putting up Sunday posts containing an excerpt from our stories in the Last Chance Christmas Ball — one each Sunday in the lead-up to Christmas.

The anthology was such a fun—and sometimes tricky— thing to do. We wenches had written a Christmas anthology before with a linking theme, but for this one we decided all the stories would be linked to an event, based around an annual Christmas ball, held by Lady Holbourne known as Lady Holly to her friends.

The emails flew back and forth as we tossed around ideas, made plans and thrashed out the details of the setting. Some of us wrote interweaving stories, some of us made our stories linked, but separate, several of us had our people not actually make it to the ball. But we all had such fun doing it, we wanted to share it again.

Here's the blurb for the collection:  Christmas 1815. Upstairs and downstairs, Holbourne Abbey is abuzz with preparations for a grand ball to celebrate the year’s most festive—and romantic—holiday. For at the top of each guest’s wish list is a last chance to find true love before the New Year…

My story is called Mistletoe Kisses, and it's about Allie Fenton, a young woman who, for various reasons, has never been able to attend a ball. Now orphaned and on the shelf, she's planning to become a teacher at a girl's seminary in Bath. But first there's her last Christmas at home and then, Lady Holly's famous annual Christmas ball. 

Here's a short excerpt:

"You'll come to my Christmas ball, then," Lady Holly told her. "Don't bother trying to think up any excuses — you're coming and that's that. Your year of mourning will be up, and you have no reason to stay here moldering away when I've gathered an excellent range of eligible gentlemen for your perusal."

Allie laughed. "For my perusal? As if I'm going shopping?"

"That's exactly what you'll be doing."

"Don't the gentlemen have any say in it?"

The old lady sniffed. "Women have been making men believe they have a choice for generations. Now don't be frivolous, Allie — I am determined to give you one last chance to find a husband before you go off and bury yourself in this, this school of yours." She pronounced 'school' as if she really meant 'zoo.'

Allie smiled. For all her caustic tone, Lady Holly had a very kind heart. "I would love to attend your ball, Lady Holly. . . "

The old lady frowned. "I hear a 'but' coming."

Lessons in Longitude

Andrea here, thinking about . . . Time. This month, most of us in the U.S. turn the clock back an hour for Daylight Savings Time (I don’t know about you, but I very much dislike the darkness that settles in around 5 pm in winter.) Now, where does that hour go? Yes, I know that we get it back in Spring, but it seems a cavalier attitude to play games with the ticking of the Universe.

My mulling on this has been amplified because I’ve been thinking of working in marine chronometers in a future Wrexford & Sloane mystery book. I happen to love antique mechanical wristwatches, as I think they’re both beautiful and functional. The intricate inner workings are exquisite works of art—for me it’s very cool when functional objects can also be intrinsically beautiful.

But back to marine chronometers! From the first stirrings of humanity, time is an elemental concept that regulates so many facets of our existence—our age, the cycle of the seasons, how calculate speed and distance . . . The first really precise timepiece was the pendulum clock, invented in 1656 by Christiaan Huygens (shown above), a Dutch scientist who was inspired by Galileo’s experiments with pendulums.

Wenches and the Wild

 Joanna here, bringing you tales of Wenchly encounters with wild things.  We Wenches had been chatting by email about chickens and copperheads, as one does.

Mary Jo, first up, brings us her stories from further to the the Wild Side:

I love animals and grew up on a farm, but I have no tales of devil red hens, mega-roosters, or sinuous copperheads.  There have been plenty of cats and dogs in my life, and my woodsy suburban neighborhood has lots of squirrels and chipmunks and deer and foxes and bunnies.  (I hope those last two don't meet up often!) 

But for real drama, I'll have to turn to Botswana.  Two years ago, we did a safari there after I spoke at a conference in Johannesburg, and it was great.  We traveled several vast nature preserves in open sided safari trucks.  The wildlife there is not tame, but many of the animals have become accustomed to the trucks and pretty much ignore their human visitors as long as we behave.  So a leopard ambled by a few feet away and lionesses lounged in the dirt roads, supremely confident.  

But my most dramatic encounter was our last night in one of the three safari camps we stayed in.  This particular camp housed guests in glamorous tents.  (Hence, "glamping.")  The camps were completely dark when we returned to our quarters after dinner, and we were told to always have a guide escort us back.  On that last night, I was walking ahead of the Mayhem Consultant and our guide, only a single flashlight to guide our path through the African night. 

As I neared our tent, I heard something rustling in the underbrush.  It didn’t sound large  but it could have been a hyena or some other critter I didn't want to startle.  I returned to our guide and said there's something up there, it didn't sound like a big beast like an elephant, but he might want to check it out.  He did and came back and said calmly, "It's an elephant."

Sure enough, standing smack dab in front of the entrance to our tent, maybe four feet from the canvas, an elephant was chomping on some greenery.  I thought we'd retreat to the headquarters until the elephant moved on, but our guide just said that we could get in through the end entrance of the tent. Oooh-kay, if he thought it was safe… 

I unzipped the end door entry and we went inside.  (I peeked out the front entrance and saw the vast curved back of the elephant silhouetted against the stars, and felt the presence of that great bulk just a few feet away.)

For the next half hour or so we could hear the elephant brushing around the canvas sides as it continued to foraged.  I wasn't frightened but I was wary.  The Mayhem Consultant wanted his shower so he took it.  ("brush, brush, brush, a crunch of a branch, brush, brush, brush…)  I didn't want to be caught starkers if the elephant absented-mindedly took down part of our tent, but that didn't happen.  Eventually the elephant wandered off and all was calm.

But I didn't forget that encounter with a Wild Thing!

Strokes of Genius

Andrea here, musing today about art and history, two subjects near and dear to my heart. One of the fundamental reasons I love the Regency era is because it was a time of challenging of the old order and served as a catalyst for new ways of thinking about all aspects of society—the birth of the Modern! Art was no exception. The blossoming of Romanticism—individuals suddenly free to express an emotional reaction to the world around them—ignited a whole new realm of creativity.

Color, brushstrokes, draftsmanship—the traditional ways of depicting subjects gave way to experimentation and imagination. Turner began dabbling in a bold new way that inspired Impressionism. And the French artist Delacroix . . . hmmm, well, Delacroix has been a conundrum to art critics over the years. But a grand new retrospective of his work currently on view at the Met in New York City, is generating raves and new appreciation of what a revolutionary artist he was. (You can listen to the Met curator of the exhibit give a short talk on Delacroix’s genius here.)

Through the Looking Glass . . .

Andrea/Cara here, Like my fellow Wenches, I find doing research is an integral part of the creative process for my books. Digging deeper into elements I want to weave into a story and learning little details often spark ideas that embellish the plots. One of the very fun aspects of my summer sojourn to England was the chance to explore up close and personal some of the scientific inventions that I feature in my Wrexford and Sloane Regency-set mystery series.

My current WIP features a voltaic pile (named after Alexander Volta, it was the first electrical battery and could generate a current.) But you’ll hear more about that in the future. I also have Wrexford and his assistant solve a key part of the mystery using a microscope. And as I was fortunate enough to be able to visit the Museum of the History of Science in Oxford during my trip, I was, as they say, in hog—or rather, lens—heaven!

A tasty slice of culinary history

Andrea/Cara here, feeling in a pizza state of mind today. (There is a reason for this, but honestly, does one really have to a have a specific reason? I mean, who doesn’t like pizza?) I’ve been spending time in New Haven, Connecticut recently, as I mentor freshmen students as they arrive for their first semester at college. I find it really rewarding to help students navigate such a huge change in life as they begin to decide on courses, extracurricular activities, and just how to adjust to roommates and living away from home. And I love the intellectual energy and excitement of a university town, with all its museums, libraries and cultural offerings. But in the spirit of full disclosure, I also love spending time in New Haven because it has the best pizza anywhere. Bar none.

Peak Performance—the oldest golf club in Switzerland!

Andrea/Cara here, As many of you may have noticed, some of us Wenches have gallivanted hither and yon this summer and have been taking you on a virtual tour of our travels to historic places. (Trust me, your armchairs are SO much more comfortable than airline seats, and you don’t have to stand in security lines!) I’m going to continue the peregrinations today, but with a slightly different twist. I’m the resident Wench “jock,” so today instead of visiting castles or museums or Viking ruins, we’ll be taking a peek at some sporting history!

I just returned from playing golf at the oldest course in Switzerland (and the seventh oldest course in continental Europe.) The Engadine Golf Club, located a short drive from the legendary mountain resort village of St. Moritz, is not only set in a breathtaking beautiful setting, but it also has a fascinating history . . . so let’s tee it up and hit the fairways!

A Royal Romp Through Kensington Palace

Andrea/Cara here, And as you might have guessed from my last post, I’ve recently been in a palace state of mind. (A reseach trip to England will have that effect on you!) Today we’re journeying from the outskirts of Oxford into the heart of London to take a look a Kensington Palace, which figures prominently in the opening scene of my next Wrexford and Sloane mystery. In fact, the title is MURDER AT KENSINGTON PALACE! (tentative release date—September 24, 2019) So of course I had to do a thorough walk-through of the rooms and gardens!

The Splendors of Blenheim Palace

Andrea here, As you probably know, a number of the Wenches traveled through England, Scotland and Ireland in the last fortnight (and got to spend time together, both exploring and speaking at the RNA Conference, which was so much fun!) So here is the first of many “show and tell” blogs from our experiences. But as most of you love history as much as we do, I hope you’ll enjoy these vignettes of places that captured our fancy.

 

Napoleon Loses a Hat . . and a Battle

Andrea here, musing today on how I always enjoy it when a snippet of history unexpectedly comes to life when I least expect it. I was perusing the digital front page of the New York Times the other day (a rather depressing exercise of late, I must confess) when a small article caught me eye that actually make me smile. Now, I knew, of course, that this past Monday was the 203rd anniversary of the Battle of Waterloo. But what I didn’t realize what that at some point in the raging conflict, Napoleon lost his hat . . .

Ask A Wench — childhood reading

Anne here, introducing the topic for this month's AAW (Ask A Wench): In your childhood reading was there a place you fell in love with?

Pat:  England, hands down. I read tons of Brit lit in elementary school. They used to sell Austen and Bronte in the Scholastic Library book fairs, the only time my parents gave me money for books. So I went for the great big fat books, and they were all about the white cliffs of Dover and the misty fog over the Thames and the thatched cottages in the Cotswolds. I had no idea where any of those places were, but I wanted to see them all. 

And then there were all the books about the kings and queens in the library that I had to research to figure out their relationships, because they were obviously all related, right? So then I wanted to see all their grand castles, the Tower of London, the towns and. . . I suspect I expected to see horses and carriages as well, but the cottage gardens would have sufficed! 

The Art of Research . . . AKA Down the Rabbit Hole!

Andrea/Cara here, I have a hard act to follow this week, as on Monday Anne plied you with tea and scrumptious goodies, followed by Mary Jo hosting our birthday celebration on Wednesday, complete with cyber chocolate and champagne. By now you are all replete with sweets and good cheer . . . leaving me wondering what titillating fun I can offer.

Well, at the Wench birthday there was much mention of how you all enjoy jumping into the research rabbit holes with us—so let’s all get down and dirty on the subject of botanical illustration in early 1800s London!

 

12 YEARS! REALLY!!!

Happy Anniversary to the Word Wenches!

by Mary Jo

This is the 12th anniversary of the Word Wenches!  I hope you joined Anne's celebration tea party on Monday.  (The cakes and tea cups were splendid!)

Today, we continue the celebrations with reminiscences and book giveaways. 12 years is a long time, and in the way publishing has changed, it's eons.

Back in 2006, blogs were the Hot New Thing. Authors wanted to be able to reach readers, interact with them, and sell books. But it seemed like so much work! Surely better to put together a group and take turns?

The idea was sparked when Susan King and I had lunch with Eileen Buckholtz, a web goddess and friend. We decided to ask a few friends if they'd like to join with us, and to my surprise, everyone we asked said yes, even the most extreme of introverts. Turns out we all wanted to chat, interact, and sell books.

Blogging seemed very mysterious at the beginning, but we eventually figured it out. (Regency writer Candice Hern was a great help since she was already an experienced blogger and has fabulous collections on her web site.) Our first post was on May 22nd, 2006, and we're still standing after all those years. <G>

Much has changed over the years as we've lost some Wenches, and acquired wonderful new ones who bring their own special stories and talents. As the writing world has changed, some of us have moved in different directions like mainstream historicals, mysteries, and paranormals.

In 2006, I was in my paranormal historical phase. I love fantasy, so I loved blending magic with real history and romance. In 2006, Stolen Magic, Book 2 of my Guardian Trilogy, was published, and I was working on Book 3, A Distant Magic. I wrote seven paranormal historicals all together, 4 adult and 3 young adult, but a year later I moved back into more traditional historical romance because in this business, things are always changing.

As one of the original Wenches, I figure I've written over 300 blogs. (!!!) But I like doing these short pieces about all sorts of topics, I love interacting with readers, and most of all, I love hanging out with my wonderfully talented, good-natured fellow Wenches. Good times, then and now!

 

 

Ask A Wench--Personal News

Today’s Ask A Wench post comes from Beverly Abney. She said:

You are all authors whose work I read, and I like the blog to keep me posted on how you are and what you are writing. It is so personal and I can feel that you are friends of mine. Personal news from authors is important to readers.

Pat:

I’m a firm believer that readers and authors ARE friends. Writers may pour out their souls on the page in private, but we’re exposing those souls to our readers. So how could we not trust each other and look for better understanding?

Not that a writer’s life is all that interesting, mind you! We curl up in our caves and wail and gnash our teeth for the better part of our days. In my case, I occasionally escape to play with flowers. I’m in utter awe of this orchid cactus that has multi-colored flowers!

Every so often we sneak out of our caves for research. I just did a quick run up the Pacific Coast to Santa Cruz to get a better “feel” for the area I’m writing about in my new Crystal Magic series. Occasionally we escape to go to conferences where we can talk to people who understand about wailing and gnashing. I’ll be attending the RNA conference in Leeds, UK this summer with a couple of other wenches. Lots of talking will be part of the program! Let us out from behind our desks, and we can’t stop jabbering.

And in personal news, our one and only grandchild is graduating early and heading off to college in the fall. So there’s lots of excitement and tears around the old homestead right now.

A Royal Botanical Treasure

Andrea/Cara, musing today on gardens—specifically the Royal Botanical Gardens at Kew, as it figures into the plot of my current WIP. It seems fitting, as May is traditionally the month when flowers burst into bloom in the northern hemisphere. But here in the Northeast it’s been a very cold spring and things are way behind schedule (the leaves on the trees are not quite unfurled) so I decided to take a walk through the early history of Kew to brighten a very grey day here.

The seeds for this spectacular botanical enclave were sowed in the 16th century when Henry VII established a palace and royal hunting grounds on a swath of land by the River Thames in Richmond. It became a summer retreat for the royals, which in turn drew courtiers to build their own fancy houses in the area.

What We're Reading - April

As usual, the wenches have an eclectic and exciting selection of reading favorites from this past month. I think we've covered all the genres from wedding fantasies to biographies, with lots of romance in between!

 

Pat:

Aunt Dimity's Death, Nancy Atherton

This book is labeled a mystery, but it’s not a traditional one, which is probably why I adore it. There is no suspense other than determining the reason the mysterious Aunt Dimity was left alone and unhappy all her life. It’s more a fairy tale ghost story, since Aunt Dimity haunts the protagonists’ life in more ways than one, always in a cheerful, amiable manner. The heroine is the next best thing to the Poor Little Match Girl. She gets to visit what is, to all intents and purposes, an enchanted castle in a modern metropolis, meets a prince who isn’t really handsome but a lawyer, and is given a list of odd tasks she must accomplish to earn a princely sum. It’s all low key, pleasant, and charming, and we all get to live the fairy tale with her. In this day and age, I’m good with that.

 

An intriguing Emperor . . .

Andrea/Cara here, I recently finished a new Lady Arianna mystery—the first full-length addition to the series since its original publication by NAL—which was great fun, as I love writing these books. In Smoke & Lies, (it releases on May 15, and is available for pre-order now) the mystery takes Lady Arianna and Lord Saybrook to Elba, where the scheming and intrigue of Napoleon’s court in exile tests their mettle . . .

Now, weaving a plot line for this was an interesting challenge, given that we all know what ultimately happened! Since I wasn’t about to change history and have my intrepid protagonists stop him from returning to France, I had to figure out how to create tension and a compelling mystery within that context. I really enjoyed weaving together actual history with my own inventions to give them a compelling conundrum to solve (at least I hope readers find it compelling! You can read an excerpt here.)

 

Fact and Fiction . . .

Andrea here, musing today about the balance of reality and an author’s creative storytelling in historical fiction. I got to thinking about this (actually, I think about it a lot, but for different reasons) because I happened to be alerted to a reader comment on Goodreads about my new mystery, Murder at Half Moon Gate. Now, like most experienced authors, I’ve learned not to take negative comments too personally, but this one got my attention because it raised an interesting question in the broader context of writing fiction.

The Home of the Heart

By Mary Jo

A couple of weeks ago the Wenches got to chatting behind the scenes about what places feel like home, and the answers were interesting. In some cases, home is where we were born and raised even if we're not there anymore. In other cases, it's a place one has moved to and then claimed for oneself. It could be a place you've never lived. Here's what the Wenches have to say:

Andrea/Cara:
I must not be very adventurous at heart, for I’ve lived in New England all my life. (There were a number of years in New York City, but I always felt I had one foot in the country, as it’s only a hop, skip and jump to the Connecticut border.) Or maybe it’s just I that I feel a great affinity to the stark and simple beauty of the area—the colonial clapboard houses of the old towns, the rugged little harbors, the meandering stone walls, the sense of history around every bend. There’s a quiet, reserved air to this part of the country—a good vibe for an introvert like me.

New Englanders are a pretty taciturn lot, perhaps a vestige of the area’s Puritan heritage, but they are also observant, and given to introspection—think Henry David Thoreau and Emily Dickenson. I feel at home here, despite having traveled all over the world. I love the stubborn sense of place, the old-school traditions, the independent spirit. And I love the changing seasons—especially a New England fall, with its bright blaze of colors and crisp apple-scented air.

 

Art, Murder and Science—Regency Style!

Andrea/Cara here, MURDER AT HALF MOON GATE, the second book in my Wrexford & Sloane Regency-set mystery series, releases on March 27th, (it's available for pre-order) and I thought I give you all a little backstory on what inspired the series, and on the specific theme in this upcoming book.

The series is inspired by two fascinating developments in the Regency. First is the birth of modern science in Britain—the spirit of curiosity, analytical observation and creativity. (I confess there is a certain irony about me writing about science, as the last formal class I had in the subject was ninth grade biology.) I now really regret not realizing how fascinating science is, but better late than never!

The second was the sense of camaraderie between scientists and artists during the flowering of the Romantic movement. They saw each as kindred souls, exploring the nature of life and the world around them. The Lake Poets attended scientific lectures at the Royal Institution and Percy Shelley was captivated by astronomy. In turn, Humphry Davy, the great chemist, wrote poetry. They cross-pollinated each other and helped each other see things from different perspective. I thinks it’s part of the reason for the great energy and excitement in both disciplines.

What We're Reading — February 2018

Anne here, hosting our discussion of the books we've read in February.  

We start with Pat's find of the month, THE READERS OF BROKEN WHEEL RECOMMEND, by Katarina Bivald. Pat says: I love this book! It’s a quiet book about a quiet book reader who summons the nerve to leave Sweden to visit an elderly penpal in a quiet small town in Iowa. Not just a quiet small town, but a broken one. The economy has struck the town hard. Residents have mostly died or moved away.

Amy, the penpal Sara comes to visit has also died, but the town insists that Sara stay in Amy’s home because they all knew how much Amy enjoyed reading her letters and how much Amy had been looking forward to her visit. Stunned by her situation, by the graciousness of the residents, and by the enormous library of books in Amy’s empty house, Sara quietly begins to change everything without even realizing she’s doing so.

There’s even a quiet romance. It’s an amazing journey for readers who loved The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society. Highly recommended! (And right now, it's only $2.51 at Amazon)  (Anne adds that she and several wenches have read and enjoyed this book, bought on Janga's recommendation on this blog back in September. Thank you Janga.)

 * * * * *

Mary Jo is sailing down a river: Her recommendation this month is The Rivers of London Series, by Ben Aaronovitch. The first book in the series is: Midnight Riot, PC Peter Grant, Book 1

Said to be a cross between CSI and Harry Potter, this series has been mentioned by a couple of other Wenches, Joanna and Pat, perhaps.  I was a little leery since I couldn't quite figure out what it was about, but once I read an excerpt of the first book, Midnight Riot, it made perfect sense.  In a fantasy-ish sort of way.  <G>

Peter Grant is a diligent young London constable with a mother from Sierra Leone and a father who is a talented but often addicted jazz musician.  His mixed heritage plays into the story in various ways, including his being a bit of an outsider.  He become much more of one when he has a chat with a ghost and is seen by a DCI Thomas Nightingale, who turns out to be the only licensed wizard in Britain and in charge of investigating all crimes involving magic and 'other beings.'

In no time at all, Peter is working for him as an apprentice wizard, which turns out to be dangerous but far more interesting than being a police paper shuffler.  Peter is a great character--smart and funny and committed to helping people even when it takes him into mortal peril.

Valentine Tidbits

Andrea/Cara here, musing about traditions and how they evolve. This is, of course, the month of Love, with hearts, flowers, and chocolate—not to speak of a dizzying array of bling—filling the stores and airwaves in anticipation of Valentine’s Day. Now, I’ll confess right away that I’m rather curmudgeonly about this holiday. It’s always struck me as crassly commercial . . . I like to think Love doesn’t need to be scripted and that gifts should be personal and heartfelt—quirkily offbeat rather than perfectly polished.

I know, I know, as a romance writer, I should be embracing it. And at heart I am, as anything that encourages the expression of love and friendship is a Good Thing. However, the history nerd in me couldn’t help but be curious about the history behind the holiday. And in doing a little research, I discovered some interesting—at least they are to me—things. So allow me to share a few randomly-chosen Valentine’s Day tidbits.

There are three different Christian saints named Valentine. One legend says St. Valentine’s Day is named after an early priest, who defied the decree of Roman emperor Claudius II that forbade young men to marry. (He thought single men made better soldiers.) Valentine continued to perform marriages, for which he was put to death.

Another variation of the legend say that while Valentine was in prison, waiting for his execution, when he fell in love with the daughter of his jailer, and sent her love letters signed “from your Valentine.”

Others claim that the origin of Valentine’s Day lie in the Roman pagan fertility ritual of Lupercalia that took place every spring in February. Goats would be sacrificed, and young men would roam through the streets slapping young women with strips of the bloody hide—its touch was supposed to make them more fertile in the coming year.

During the Middle Ages, a common belief in England and France was that February 14th was the start of the mating season for birds—and thus the date became associated with the day of Love. Chaucer reinforced this idea in his writings—a quote from him reads: “For this was sent on Seynt Valentyne's day
/When every foul cometh ther to choose his mate."

The first Valentine poem is to have been written in 1415 by the Duc d’Orleans to his wife from the Tower of London, where he was imprisoned after his capture at the Battle of Agincourt. (It still exists and is in the British Library’s manuscript collection.)

In the 1840s, Esther Howland created the first mass-produced Valentine cards, complete with lace and ribbons, in America. Today, it’s estimated that over a billion cards are sent worldwide. (And in case you were wondering, over 110 million roses are purchased for Valentine’s Day.)

In the early 1860s, Richard Cadbury, who took over his father’s chocolate and cocoa business with his brother, had the inspired idea to package their fancy chocolate “assortments” in fancy decorative boxes. He was the first to create a heart-shaped box!

Okay, now that I’ve revealed my sentiments and regaled you with some “bon-bons” from history, let’s hear your thoughts about Valentine’s Day. Do you like the holiday? Do you send cards? What gift do you most like to receive? (Aside from chocolate, which I’m assuming is a given. I mean . . .who wouldn’t want chocolate. Even a curmudgeon like me!)

What We're Reading in January

Susan here, on the last day of January 2018 (already!), bringing  you our WWR (What We're Reading) post. Contemporary, historical romance, a treasure trove of mysteries, an English king and a Renaissance giant -- the Wenches have discovered some truly great reads this month! 

Pat says -- 

I still can’t tell if I enjoyed THE ART OF CRASH LANDING by Melissa DeCarlo or was just seriously annoyed with it—which means I really got into it and lived with it, which doesn’t happen often anymore. The protagonist is a hot mess. Her mother was worse. Her life’s screwed up, and then her grandmother dies and she runs off to see if she inherited anything--before even calling the lawyer. She continues to recklessly fling herself into life, other people’s lives, future lives, but with each futile leap, she learns a little more. The reader gets to watch as she opens up, just a little, to the possibility that there are other lives out there besides hers, that they’re as seriously messed up as she is, and maybe, just maybe, she might fix one small thing here and there. There’s a touch of romance, but mostly, this is a woman learning how to live and face the future instead of wallowing in guilt and self-loathing. I don’t think I’d like this woman if I met her, but she’s someone I wouldn’t hate by the end. If I made you curious, try it!

Mary Jo -- 

I've read several good books recently, but for the now, I'll just tell you about Emily Larkin's Trusting Miss Trentham -- #3 in the Baleful Godmother historical series, it features Letty Trentham, a plain woman who is the greatest heiress in England, and has been gifted with the ability to tell truth from lies every time.  Since she's an heiress, this is useful--she's turned down almost 200 proposals because no matter what they say, she knows they're lying and only interested in her fortune.

Then one night at a ball, after she's turned down one proposal, she's approached by gaunt, haunted Major Icarus Reid, recently out of the army, and needing her help to find which of two English officers betrayed secret information that led to the French ambushing Reid's scouting party in Portugal.  Four young men died, and Reid was broken in deep emotional ways.  He wants to see justice done so he can die in peace, and he needs Letty's help to find the liar.

Letty weighs the cost to her reputation against the lives of four men who were needlessly slaughtered, and says yes. This leads the two of them on a colorful journey across country, and a relationship that develops in unusual and fascinating ways.  Well worth reading! 

 

Foyled Again!

Andrea/Cara here, confessing to having felt a little blue-deviled last night as I finished streaming an episode Foyle’s War and realized that I’ve almost come to the end of the show’s eight seasons. Now, for those of you who aren’t familiar with the series, it’s a BBC period police procedural set in a coastal English village during WWII, and deals with the drama of ordinary people coping in a world of conflict and change

The mysteries deal with wartime issues—profiteering, pacifism, cowardice, among others—and the plots are vey well done. But to me the real appeal of the show is the subtle and layered characterizations and the exploration of human nature. Friendship, loyalty, love—all elemental themes that transcend any specific era. I’ve learned a lot about storytelling from the episodes, and I shall miss seeing my “friends” continue to grow and develop.