Nicola here! Today is St Patrick’s Day, the feast day of the patron saint of Ireland, and if you’ve read Wench Susan’s post earlier in the week you will already be in the mood to celebrate with a pint of Guinness and some delicious soda bread!
Whilst the harp is the official symbol of Ireland, found everywhere from Guinness glasses to official coinage, the shamrock is another symbol that is as widely recognised and popular. It is said that this little sprig of green was important to the druids and that St Patrick used it to explain the concept of the trinity in his teaching, as it has three leaves.
The original shamrock has been identified as being either the lesser or the white clover, although down the centuries there has been a lot of discussion amongst botanists as to what genus of plant it actually was. Normally it has just the three leaves; if you find one with four then that is especially lucky! References to it in medieval literature refer to beautiful fields of it in flower – there is a story that St Brigid decided to stay in County Kildare when she saw a meadow clothed in glorious shamrock/clover flowers.
It is not news that Britain is an island. Not just an island, but part of an archipelago, a wide flung collection of islands including Ireland, the Hebrides that are the wild western fringe of Scotland, Shetland and Orkney away to the north, the Scilly Isles scattered southwest from Cornwall, the yachting Isle of Wight to the south, and many more: there are two major islands, Great Britain and Ireland, some middling sized ones, and over 6000 smaller ones, some not much larger than rocks, but still… (Photo at left from Wikipedia by Jeff Schmaltz, Modis/NASA.)
I'm delighted to have retrieved the rights to my Bride trilogy. Book 1, The Wild Child was released in November, and now book 2, The China Bride is available. Here is the tagline I came up with for the trilogy:
Three extraordinary women, Three powerful men, Three passionate, unlikely marriages.
When I wrote that, I realized that all three are marriages of convenience that become true marriages of the heart. In other words, pure romance!
As a kid, I was always fascinated by the distant, empty spaces on the maps at school, which may be why I've written a number of books where my intrepid British protagonists have adventures in distant lands.
(I've learned I can usually do about three exotic settings in a row before my publisher starts muttering about returning to Britain. <G>)
But China has special resonance for me because I grew up hearing my mother's stories about living in China when she was a girl. Her father was an anatomy professor at the Peking college of medicine, and there are pictures of my mother and her little brother bundled up to ice skate. She also had a marvelous collection of Chinese jewelry, brass ware, rugs, and embroidered Mandarin garments, which stimulated my imagination wonderfully.
Those of you who follow the wenches regularly know that I’m a notorious sun lover. Even though I now live in Southern California, the land of sun, I still love traveling to the southern hemisphere and enjoying the long days of summer while the US is experiencing the short days of winter. Since our son, the ultimate sun-lover, lives in the Philippines, we meet every other year in a warm place none of us have explored. This year, it was New Zealand.
The written history of New Zealand isn’t very long. The country was the last habitable place in the world to be discovered—the Maori didn’t arrive until roughly 1200 AD, after Polynesia became overcrowded. We have only their oral history for that.
The first European to discover NZ was a Dutch explorer in 1642, Abel Tasman. We visited a spectacular national park named after him, right along the western coast with untouched natural beaches, rock formations, and amazing wildlife.
But it wasn’t until Captain James Cook arrived in 1769 that traders began arriving regularly. While the US was fighting a revolution, New Zealand was no more than a lawless trading post, fighting with the local Maori for the valuables they could strip from the land, and destroying flora and fauna found nowhere else in the world. (extinct Moa from the Auckland museum)
Not until 1840 did the British establish a government, in cooperation with the Maori. Maybe because New Zealand was established so late in history, it grew at a slower pace and in what I consider to be a more civilized fashion. Agriculture still seems to be the predominant business—no big box stores and sprawling suburbs. They still have real downtowns!
We could barely cover the entire country, much less delve deeply into culture and history, in our spare two weeks. But we did our best! Auckland has a fabulous museum where almost the entire first floor is devoted to Maori artifacts and history. From Auckland, we drove to Hobbiton—in the farmlands south of Matamata. The rolling hills remind me of the Cotswolds. I could have spent far more time there, just as I’ve always wanted to linger in the Cotswolds. The Hobbiton movie set was built on a farm and if you arrive early enough, before the crowds, it’s a little like walking through the movie. You expect Bilbo or Samwise to step out of their homes at any time. The flowers are maintained by the young student employees, and it’s very much like walking through an old English village—except for the hobbit doors!
Ever onwward, we traveled south to Rotorua, home of fascinating hot springs that fill the town with the scent of sulfur when the wind blows the right way. There are several Maori villages there, where local families offer insight into the traditional language, music, and culture. I’m not too much on bathing in hot springs, but the Maori dances are a wonder to behold! (we have some great video, if only I could figure out how to download from an ipad!)
From there, we really should have gone to Christchurch, but due to various road closures, we were directed back to the opposite coast, where we explored the Abel Tasman park mentioned earlier.
Since we’re not athletic, don’t backpack, bicycle, or climb mountains, we spent more time driving through the mountainous south island than actually exploring it. At the last minute, we decided to skip the glaciers and cross back over to historic Christchurch. I could easily have spent a week there, but we were running out of time. So we trotted quickly through the botanical garden, adored the Nor'West Arch Morris Dancers dancers, didn’t have time for the animal reserve, which we really wanted to see. And then we hiked all over the vibrant downtown area, so sadly damaged by the earthquake.
We ended our journey in Queenstown, where we ate decadent chocolates, cooked our steaks on stones, visited a fabulous bird park, and surrendered the car to take a bus tour to pristine Milford Sound, enjoying not driving anywhere for a while.
The best part of the journey, of course, was visiting with our son, but I’d go back in a heartbeat. Is there some part of the world you’d love to visit? Why?
Nicola here! There are many Christmas and New Year traditions that I enjoy. Most involve being cosy and warm, out of the elements, maybe eating special food or chatting with friends in front of the fire. I might even go for a brisk walk with the dog, particularly if it's been snowing. I've already been to the swimming pool in an attempt to start 2018 in a healthy fashion. And yet... Possibly my least favourite way to mark either Christmas or New Year would be by jumping into cold water. Perhaps I'm missing something, though, as every year, more and more people are taking the plunge to celebrate the festive season.
The tradition of "winter swimming", open air swimming in the winter season, has long been associated with Epiphany in countries like Russia and in Eastern Europe but in the UK it has become popular for reasons varying from an extreme hangover cure to raising money for charity. The earliest record of the tradition in England seems to be from 1860 when the Brighton Swimming Club, which comprised a number of tradesmen from the town, met up at 7am every day for a dip in the sea. Apparently they had formed the club two years earlier when they had all decided they wanted to learn to swim, which is rather cute. Many other Christmas and New Year swims were established in the 20th century and have been running for approaching 100 years. Suitable garb these days can be anything from bikinis and mankinis to fancy dress and Santa costumes!
Lidos and open air swimming pools are nothing new, of course, but in the far north (or south) it does take a hardy spirit to embrace them. Whilst the first official lido in England was established in the Regency period at Cleveland Pools in Bath, there is a record of an open air pool at one of Oxford's colleges in the medieval period!
Have you ever celebrated the festive season with a plunge into cold water? Are there traditions like that near where you are? Or have you done something different but equally challenging to welcome in the New Year?
In the way of such things, the Gettysburg battlefield isn't much more than an hour north of me and President Lincoln's train passed a mile or so from my house on his trip to speak at the dedication of the Gettysburg Soldiers National Cemetery in November 1863, yet I'd never made a real in-depth visit to the site.
However, the Mayhem Consultant has, and to celebrate the delivery of my Book That Would Not End, he took me to Gettysburg for an overnight getaway and a proper visit.
The Battle of Gettysburg has been widely studied and written about so I won't go into much detail. The brilliant Confederate General Robert E. Lee wanted to take the war to the north, into Pennsylvania, in hopes of persuading the North ti end the fighting. The town of Gettysburg had ten roads entering it so it was a good place to assemble.
The Union Army of the Potomac was led by General George Meade, who had been in charge for a mere three days when he had to face the Southern invasion. The three day battle was fought all around the town, and was the bloodiest of the Civil War with over 50,000 casualties. The South's brave and futile attack called Pickett's Charge was called "the High Water Mark of the Confederacy" and a spot on the battlefield is designated at such.
Last week, whilst many people in England were getting excited about the first snow of winter, I was heading south to visit the wonderful island of Madeira. Madeira is a Portuguese island off the coast of North Africa and has a lovely sub-tropical climate, which meant that there were lots of colourful plants and trees in flower – and there was also a lot of rain! However, that didn’t dampen the mood as I’d wanted to visit the island for over 40 years since my grandparents first went there when I was a child. I imagine the main town, Funchal, has changed quite a bit since that time but we still found it to be an enchanting place of historical buildings and glorious botanical gardens.
Nicola here! Today I’m musing on book fairs and literary festivals. Ten days ago I had the huge honour and pleasure of being invited to speak at the Sharjah Book Fair in the UAE. Despite the fact that this is the third biggest book fair in the world and has been running for 35 years, I hadn’t heard of it before (my bad) and I wasn’t entirely sure what to expect. Those who had experienced it told me it was a fascinating mixture of a book fair and a literary festival, but I’m so glad I had the chance to see it for myself. It was an amazing experience.
We arrived in Dubai late on a Wednesday evening. As the time difference between the UK and the UAE is 4 hours it was already dark. Seeing Dubai lit up at night had a wow factor though. It reminded me of Las Vegas in terms of the bright lights and sense of excitement. The other thing we quickly learned was that the traffic was appalling. We were stuck in a traffic jam for two hours and apparently it’s always bad except on a Friday morning which most people have as time off work.
Have you checked your bucket list lately? I don’t know that I’ve ever set down an official one, but in my head, the Albuquerque International Balloon Fiesta was on it. And we finally checked it off! For those of you who follow my Facebook page, you’ll know I had a fabulous, magical experience.
We chose to go with a local tour group that could bus us into the balloon grounds and provide us with a VIP tent since the mass ascension starts around 5 AM and the balloon glow is necessarily after dark. Albuquerque’s altitude is over 5000’ so the weather is considerably cooler than here in Southern California. The warm tent was welcome, but it was well worth wrapping in blankets and sipping hot chocolate to walk beneath those magnificent balloons as they heated up and lifted off. Watching their colorful glow drift into the night sky was like watching the stars lift from earth.
Greenland and Vinland: In the Wake of the Vikings 3 By Mary Jo
The harsh lands of Scandinavia produced a hardy race of warriors, explorers, and colonists, and part of the value of our two week September cruise was how much I learned about this part of the world and how it affected history.
The three countries of Scandinavia are Norway, Sweden, and Denmark, and they directed their attentions in different directions. Swedes tended to head eastward to the Baltic area and Russia. The Danes swept down on the British Isles, and the Norwegians explored ever westward, all the way to North America.
Pat Rice here, asking you to welcome Patricia (Pooks) Burroughs back to tell us about the second book in her dark YA historical fantasy series, The Fury Triad. Set in an alternate magical Regency world, The Dead Shall Live is available for preorder everywhere and will be released Halloween.
At midnight on Samhain, the dead shall roam.
The Dead Shall Livebegins the moment the award-winning dark YA fantasy, This Crumbling Pageant, ends—with two kings but only one throne. Persephone Fury’s Dark powers are finally under control but at a horrific price, and she is married to a man she has long loathed but with whom she shares her Dark burden.
Nevertheless, her beloved Robin has sworn to bring her back from the Dark.
“To unthrone the usurper, return to the cradle of the Fury.”
This mysterious message from within the stronghold of the enemy sends Persephone to Ireland with Vespasian. There, they will finally learn the truth and horror of their shared Dark powers and the prophecy that binds them together.
Death in all its forms is Vespasian’s gift and Persephone’s curse.
How much more of her soul will she have to sacrifice to the Darkness within?
And under the malevolent midnight moon on Samhain, who are the dead that shall live?
So when the last and dreadful hour This crumbling pageant shall devour, The trumpet shall be heard on high, The dead shall live, the living die, And music shall untune the sky. John Dryden, 1687
Pat:How much research do you need to write historical fantasy?
Pooks: I'm afraid I do an iceberg of research for every ice cube that shows up in the book, but that's more a matter of how my brain functions than anything that could be deemed scholarly!
For The Dead Shall Live, my husband [the Resident Storm Chaser and Intrepid Pooks-Wrangler] and I spent about a week in the walled medieval town of Youghal [pronounced Yawl] on the southeast coast of Ireland, though material on my time period—Regency—was slim to nonexistent.
Youghal is on the very edge of County Cork [pronounced Cark by the locals] and I was a bit surprised to find out that even many Irish people aren't familiar with it. It's a bit of an undiscovered gem that only now is beginning to develop ways to show its history to advantage. It's part medieval walled town and part Victorian beach resort, though there are now plenty of modern places to stay. We stayed in a self-catering home as our research base.
We were fortunate enough to have a private tour from the official Town Crier [yes, really!], Clifford Winser. He's a font of fabulous info on Youghal's rich history and was particularly helpful on another of my story needs, the time of Sir Walter Raleigh. Raleigh's connection to Youghal as mayor and recipient of holdings from a grateful Queen was the primary reason I’d chosen Youghal as a setting.
The Fury family’s ancestral patriarch, Bardán Fury, was able to establish wealth and security by assisting any Tudor monarch who happened to be in power. During Elizabeth’s time, that took him back to his native Ireland. Being on the side of the English in Ireland was not the way to win friends and influence people—unless you happened to be in Youghal, an important port that--within the walls, at least--was more English than Irish.
That is the backstory and the mystery that brings Persephone and her inconvenient husband to Youghal over two centuries later, in 1811. By then Youghal was evidently so settled and boring that the local museum, tourist information center and even Clifford didn’t have any specifics to offer. There were no maps of the town in the early 1800s, or drawings.
However, quite unexpectedly, one of my new characters in this book, Akachi Redshanks, had her own connections to Youghal. I had no clue when she exploded into the story [rather literally], that this escaped slave from Barbados would have strong connections to Youghal. I knew she was part Irish and part Igbo, but not that as a busy and important British port, Youghal had shared in the ugly history of slavery. And I hadn't realized that Oliver Cromwell both entered and departed Ireland via Youghal, where he also kept his headquarters during the time he was directing the pillaging of the Irish Catholics to turn their lands over to English landlords using the first of what became to known as the Plantations.
Suddenly Persephone found herself the focus of a threatening narrow-eyed glare.
The other woman tossed the spent gun to the deck and snatched another from her holster, holding Persephone in her sights.
"I got many names. The name my owner give me be Mary." Her luscious lip curled. “Because his wife not like Irish, so I have English name in they house. The name my mam gave me, may holy immaculate mother intercede for her soul, be Brigid, like the saint…."
She took a hip-swaying step closer, and Persephone had to stop herself from backing up.
"But the name I give me my own self, that name be Akachi Redshank. Akachi I make myself to be. Akachi mean the 'hand of god.’” She eyed one of her hands—and the flintlock in it—proudly. “And Redshank, that be for my Irish blood." Her voice was both lyrical and lethal. "And whoever you think you be, fine lady, this ship not going to my Mamo’s cursed home island of Ireland nor my Nne Nne’s cursed home island of Africa. And more? God’s truth, where this ship go, you not be on her."
She spat at Persephone's feet.
Akachi most definitely holds a grudge against Youghal. Ahem.
And, as we strolled along the waterfront, there were some new buildings that could be placed in my approximate time period.
In the late 1700s Youghal had been extended out into the bay so that new docks could be built. The wall that had protected Youghal from invasion by water was history, and now there was a new road traversing where it had separated the town from the mouth of the Blackwater River pouring into the ocean. And on that street--Catharine Street--stands a stretch of row houses that originally would have had businesses on the street level and, most likely, living quarters or storage above. Nobody knew exactly when they were built. Maybe some time between 1810 and 1815? they suggested.
This was both frustrating and liberating.
Those buildings were the beginning of me cutting the apron strings from real history and letting alternate magical history take over. Because as I was strolling down the opposite side of Catharine Street looking at them, I noticed one that had small, carved busts supporting some of the corbels.
I needed a place in Youghal where the Magi would do their business without calling attention to themselves. And there it was—the secret identification that ‘this is it.’
The ruling society in Persephone Fury’s Magi world worship the Greco-Roman pantheon. They first arrived in the British Isles with the Romans, and later in great numbers with the Normans. Those who were in the British Isles to begin with worship the Celtic pantheon.
In Persephone’s Youghal, those buildings were new, but they were there. And those busts? In her world, they were Apollo.
Apollo’s bust could have meant anything in a period when Greek architecture, fashion and art were popular. But on Catherine Street in Persephone’s Youghal, it was the sign that Magi were welcome.
Moving forward, I researched and wrote about a Youghal that is built on all the history at my disposal, but could in no way claim to be as it was in 1811. This meant I no longer had to worry about how much of the wall was still in existence, compared to how much was rebuilt later in the century. I didn’t have to know if those row houses were there yet. I didn’t have to know whether Bold Town still existed on the other side of the walled town—the place where Irish had to live because they weren’t allowed to stay overnight in Youghal, even if they worked there. By 1811 that wasn’t true, but in Persephone’s Youghal it still was.
While I was taking real history and letting it give me new threads to twist, I fell in love with The Collegiate Church of St Mary.
It began as a monastic settlement in c 480, which fit perfectly with the need in my world for a connection that went back to the 6th Century and the time of Myrddin Wyllt, or Merlin the Wild. The church itself is the oldest church in Ireland that has had continuous worship, with the oldest entry in the vestry book being from 1201. It’s a medieval beauty, and alas, ended up being important to my tale. I say alas, because I had to create a little bit of extra magical history to tuck into it, involving an ominously inhabited green Connemara marble tomb commissioned by a cohort of Sir Walter Raleigh’s holding… well, I did say there was a mystery, didn’t I?
Imagine my astonishment when only a couple of weeks ago a 2-minute video clip was posted to Youghal Online revealing what is described as “the green panel tiled floor at St. Mary's Collegiate Church, Youghal,” which is believed to be a tomb. [Oliver Cromwell’s daughter—yes, that Oliver Cromwell—is believed to be buried there, but since they can’t prove anything, they can’t prove it’s not [name redacted to protect mystery], either! [I quickly amended my book to add the green rectangle on the floor that appears after—oh, dear. Well, yes. My apologies but I can’t reveal that, either.
Finally, where but in Ireland could I need a magical road to take my people into Faery, and find actual magical roads—at least one of which is close enough to Youghal for me to include in Persephone’s quest.
Oddly, one of the most fascinating and I am almost certain accidental bits of research and parallelism where real history intersects with my magical world is Persephone’s ancestor’s magic assisting Oliver Cromwell as he destroyed the Irish life forever by confiscating lands to redistribute as boons for the new English landlords and Irish traitors and who sided with Elizabeth I at that time.
I quite sadly identify with Persephone as she begins learning the truth about the ancestor she revered so much, the family history she reveres so much, and the foundation of her very being that culminates on Samhain [Halloween] 1811, under a full moon [yes, there was one that year] with the Great Comet of 1811 in the sky.
You see, my Burroughs genealogy ends with the Burroughs forefather who landed in Baltimore, Maryland in 1787 from Dublin. We haven’t been able to find out anything about him prior to that which is most likely due to the destruction of most census and Church of Ireland baptismal and marriage records when the PRO [Public Records Office] was burned during the Irish Rising in 1922. Not that he would have been recorded in the CoI records or the Catholic records.
Just as in an episode of “Who Do You Think You Are?” there is a significant detail about that first Burroughs that may tell us more than I wanted to know.
He was Baptist. [Sounds like the beginning of a joke, doesn't it? A Baptist Irishman walked into a bar... Oh, wait.]
And according to Baptist history, until the mid-19th Century the very, very few Baptists in Ireland were descendants of those who came to Ireland with Oliver Cromwell. Like Persephone, I am coming to terms with the fact that my family was part of the bad guys.
Pat: How much of this research shows up in your material?
Pooks:There are many details, events, or bits of history woven throughout This Crumbling Pageant and The Dead Shall Live. A handful of subjects that influenced the world-building, for example, include Greco-Roman mythology, Celtic mythology, the Reformation in England, Catholic and Anglican history, Arthurian legend, , Georgian medical practices including bone-setting [ouch!] and period approaches to treating adder bites [holy moly!]. and that's off the top of my head.
As someone who is not a poet I was particularly challenged by having to write the 6th Century prophecy that incites all the warring factions in my world, which involved much reading of ancient Welsh literature and its medieval expressions to finally come up with the historical basis for the prophecy, which resulted in me turning Arthurian legend upside down and also writing some new ''secret verses" to an existing work. I love research. I love when it stops me cold in my tracks and I have to work harder to solve a plot snarl. I love it when it feeds me fabulous facts to complicate and enrich my world. I love it when it inspires me to a new twist.
But, here's the thing. I usually drop these details in so lightly they may go unnoticed, or the reader may assume it's part of the fictional world-building. I'll never write historical fiction like those whose knowledge of their era is decades old and soul-deep even though I love to read it. My muse delivers me a wild premise I want to write, and then I have to find the best fit for it in location and/or history. I write stories of passion, adventure, romance and [something] that are set in a location or time period that enhances the tale and fascinates me enough to want to live there for a few years.
Once I'm telling a story, I may not explain why this public building is painted yellow [even though I know it was only yellow for six months in the year of my book and never again] if someone is desperately running past to escape a murderer, but believe it or not, I couldn't write that two sentences of someone running down a real lane in a real Irish town in 1811 until I exhausted all avenues of research in an attempt to make sure it was then the way it is now. [This is actually really hard and sometimes impossible in the setting of The Dead Shall Live, when the local history is rich and bloody but finding out specific details of the town in 1811 was nigh on impossible. , or reference the old folk remedy for adder bite that inspired Vespasian's attempt at a magical remedy for Persephone. I'm a storyteller. Sometimes finding a way to reveal that the hero’s efforts to treat a wound are historically correct without it being awkward wraps me up in knots, so I just don't bother.
But I have to do this kind of research and immerse myself in all of these things because I have to believe the world before I can write about it. Mind you, I am not immersed in all the details and minutiae of all the subjects I mentioned above! I am immersed in the culture I am building that--for sound real world historical reasons--includes all those various elements.
I also have to be fascinated by this world before I can write about it. That's the tougher challenge. So I'll comb through several books about ancient art and ritual in Athens or Rome, remember a countering religious attitude in ancient Wales, and have that 'oh wouldn't that be fun?' moment that will make them collide in a way that is weird or fabulous or horrifying.
I live in hope that the occasional reader will lift eyebrows in surprised recognition when stumbling across one of the wee nuggets that get included.
Pat: What's the fun part about writing historical fantasy?
Pooks: Not only do I get to live in another age, not only do I get to play with magic, but writing in an alternate magical world allows me to stretch my imagination farther and twist my story more unexpectedly. [In other words, as I have blatantly demonstrated, ultimately I get to twist facts to my will!] But don't misinterpret that. For every time I decide a shortcut is in order, there are a half dozen others where I take wicked delight in letting history and facts make my characters work harder or even face doom.
Pat: What do you want us to know about the new book?
Pooks: Well, the first thing I’d like to share is the book trailer. It’s the first one I’ve ever done and I’m proud of it, and it involved a lot of research, as well!
Also I do believe there was more than a bit of “woo woo” in the air when I was desperately looking for some nighttime images of Samhain or Halloween celebrations or cemeteries that were evocatively exciting or moody and could pass for 1811. Tall order, evidently! You would think it not a difficult task, but almost everything I found had special effects wizardry or graphics adding witches and goblins and pumpkins and such. I judiciously cropped a couple of images to eliminate 21st Century ghosts and ghouls and also added a Celtic tombstone to a cemetery so it wouldn’t look so American.
And this is where the “woo woo” comes in.
These images were of a recent Samhain celebration in Youghal, Ireland—the exact location [and date, for that matter, give or take a couple of centuries] of the climactic scenes of The Dead Shall Live.
But they were the copyrighted material of Shane Broderick, a professional photographer in Ireland. Fortunately for me and the last few strands of hair on my head, he graciously allowed me to use the two I needed. [Watch for the horse and the eerily burning torch pics!]
And the music? Well, I am truly delighted to introduce you to Adrian von Ziegler--a gifted Swiss composer [pictured on the right] whose entire works are available for us to hear on youtube or download from Bandcamp. His “Dance With the Trees” is the perfect soundtrack for the video.
And if you want to see the video I created next so that This Crumbling Pageant wouldn’t get jealous? Click here.
Finally—to answer the question, what do I want you to know about The Dead Shall Live?
That it doesn’t stand alone. You really have to read the first book in the series first. But have I got a deal for you? I do! This Crumbling Pageant is available in eBook everywhere for only 99¢ through the end of the year. And The Dead Shall Live is available for preorder for only $3.99 through October 28, when the price will increase to $4.99 for the October 31 book release. I’m grateful to my publisher, Story Spring Publishing, for making both books available for the price of a single book for those who preorder.
Thank you Word Wenches for once again inviting me to guest post and special thanks to Pat Rice for the Q&A! I love the Word Wenches; I love your books; I love your website; and most especially--I love the WordWenches.com readers!
All the Wenches are madly busy at the moment, with books to finish and travels to take, so I volunteered to post some of my travel pictures from various places.
Here's a gorgeous display from the Larco Herrara Museum in Lima, Peru.
Our North Atlantic cruise was so interesting that I'm breaking it into three parts. (I could go on much longer, but I'll spare you. <G>) I've already written about Norway, and now I'm writing about some of the wonderful places we visited.
The Mayhem Consultant and I both selected the same cruise from a fat Viking Ocean catalog, and the reason was the itinerary. In the Wake of the Vikings was scheduled to go to all kinds of fascinating places that are hard to get to. I mean, really, how many people do you know who have gone to Greenland who aren't military? Irresistible!
As is my unfortunate custom, I hurled a manuscript into email for my editor and a few hours later left on a major vacation: in this case, a flight to Oslo where we would pick up a cruise ship in Bergen and then sail across the North Atlantic to Montreal. Which we’ve done, and it was a great way to recover from deadline panic. We saw many wonderful things, several blogs worth. I napped a lot. <G>
We sailed on a terrific Viking Ocean cruise called In the Wake of the Vikings in a brand new ship called the Viking Sky. (The Mayhem Consultant and I independently picked this itinerary out of a fat Viking catalog. Image above is from the Oslo ship museum.)
The Sky a beautiful ship with wonderful, thoughtful design at every level and I could write a blog about it, but won't because this is not an ad for Viking. <G> But here is a gorgeous horsy piece of artwork from the ship, one of many.
Every now and then a reader writes to tell me that they’ve gone on vacation to one of the settings I’ve used in my books, and have sat where my characters sat or have walked on the same path, and I’m always amazed and incredibly flattered that someone would go to the trouble of doing that.
Not that I don’t understand.
In the spring of 2007, I took a research trip to Greece, for the half-finished sequel to Every Secret Thing (which was coming along fine until the idea for TheWinterSea took over, and since then it’s been puddling along in fits and starts between the other novels…)
My mother came with me, because Greece was somewhere she’d wanted to go nearly all her life, and since we share a love of Mary Stewart's novels—some of the best of which are set in Greece—the trip, for us both, had the air of a pilgrimage.
So on our way from Athens to the island where my story would be set, we detoured north and went to Delphi.
Anne here, dashing in with a very quick blog — I'm at my third conference in four weeks, and have revised a book in between, so I'm time poor and brain-dizzy.
The middle of those conferences was in New Zealand (as any of you who read my Hobbiton post would realize) so today I'm going to give you a quick glimpse of some New Zealand places I visited.( Click on the photos for a larger view)
It was early spring, and I'd only ever visited NZ in the summer, so I kept stopping to take photos of the flowersI kept spotting in people's gardens.
The RWNZ conference was in Rotorua, a site of bubbling hot mud and gushing geysers. The first hint that you're getting close is the smell of sulphur in the air, like rotten egg gas. (All through the conference I kept thinking of a boy called Lynton Hastings, who I went to school with, and who was notorious for concocting bad smells in science class.) So that's what Rotorua smells like. (Below is the view from my hotel.)
Anne here, and I'm just back from my travels. I went first to Brisbane (capital city of the state of Queensland) for the Romance Writers of Australia conference, and then to New Zealand for the Romance Writers of New Zealand conference but I'm blogging today about neither of those events (though I will, once I've unpacked my case and sorted out my thoughts.)
Today it's all about Hobbiton, the "real live" movie set used in The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings.
I first started to read Tolkien when I was fifteen, but never finished The Hobbit. And never read the rest. I tried again as an adult, but again, never finished. I also started to watch The Hobbit on a plane, and again, didn't finish it. So I was definitely the odd person out on the little tour I did. (I had to confess that what drew me to make the tour was my love of little houses. Yes, a deeply frivolous wench, I'm afraid. The tour guide thought so, too.)
Though I'm a lifelong reader of both historical novels and science fiction and fantasy, I somehow managed to miss Marie Brennan's Lady Trent series until I read about the upcoming release of the fifth and last of her series of memoirs written by a distinguished dragon naturalist.
Dragons? Lady Trent? Within the Sanctuary of Wings? Clearly this was something I must investigate! So I cautiously tried the first book, A Natural History of Dragons. And was hooked, big time. I've very grateful that the series was complete when I started to read it!
During these few days while I’ve been getting all my things in order—doing laundry, making lists, and sorting through potential outfits—I’ve been wondering how the women of the past prepared for their trips. So I turned to our old friend Miss Leslie, who you may remember gave such great advice on how to deal with lady authors.
And she didn’t disappoint. In Miss Leslie’s Behaviour Book: A Guide and Manual for Ladies (1864), and her earlier Miss Leslie’s Lady’s House-Book: A Manual of Domestic Economy (1850), I found many useful travel tips.
Nicola here. The recent hot weather in the UK (3 hot days and a thunder storm, as the old adage suggests) has given us lots of lovely opportunities for being outside, whether sitting reading a book, eating, or doing some much needed gardening. Two hundred years ago if I had been sitting in this spot it would probably have been a vegetable garden and pen for the pig. The cottage would have been newly built, two rooms up, two down. It looked out across a rough track rather than a paved road, and there was a stream that ran down the side of the road and into a pond at the bottom of the garden. The villagers dumped their waste there; lots of pottery has been found in the dried out pond bed.
In those days people living in this sort of worker’s cottage had precious little time for leisure or for growing flowers for pleasure. They grew food and kept animals to live on, and their existence in the village was a communal one with one well (now in the garden of Spring Cottage.) You would need to go further up the social scale to find a cottage or “villa” where there was a garden designed for relaxing in. The doctor and the vicar would have that sort of house in this sort of village; their wives and daughters did not need to work and the garden was a social space. Those houses look pretty big to us today and cost a fortune to buy but in the Georgian era they were the homes of the lesser gentry and though there might be time to sit around drawing or growing flowers, the lady of the house would still learn all about seed planting and making herbal medicines alongside her other house hold duties.
Nicola here! A couple of weeks ago I went on a family visit to my native county of Yorkshire. It was a great opportunity to catch up with the places I used to love visiting as well as with family and friends. When I was a child one of my favourite local places was a house called Lotherton Hall near Leeds The name itself sounds exactly the sort of place you would find in a Bronte novel and I remember wandering through its rooms lapping up all the historical displays and soaking up the atmosphere. It was one of the places that fostered my love of history.
When I went back a few weeks ago I barely recognised the place. It now has a bird garden, a café and a shop, an adventure playground and beautifully landscaped gardens. It was an absolute delight rediscovering it.
Inside the house there was an exhibition called “Fashionable Yorkshire: Five Centuries of Style.” Each exhibit not only showed the clothes that women wore but through them gave an insight into the lives of those women. They reflected the period they were made in and provided an insight into the women’s place in society. Yorkshire women have always been renowned for their sense of style – my grandmother was a good example – so this was particularly fascinating.
Nicola here. A couple of weeks ago I visited Portland, one of the most wild and remote parts of the UK. It lies off the south coast of the county of Dorset, opposite the famous seaside town of Weymouth and is a “tied island” connected to the mainland by a causeway. Back in the 18th and 19th centuries though the best way to approach was by boat and even that was very dangerous with the tides, currents, and lurking rock shoals that surround the island.
The day we arrived was extremely stormy with the sea lashing the famous Chesil Beach and it was easy to see how isolated you might feel in the depths of a Regency winter. Despite its remoteness however, Portland has been inhabited since the Stone Age, with the Romans settling there and the first Viking raids in England recorded to have taken place there in 787AD. The castle, built by Henry VIII to guard against French invasion, still stands and is open to visit. Once a part of the Portland Naval base and off-limits to the public, it now stands on the rejuvenated harbour.
Portland really came into its own in the 17th century with the opening of the limestone quarries on the island. Sir Christopher Wren used six million tons of the fine white stone to rebuild London after the Great Fire of 1665 including such buildings as the Banqueting House, St Paul’s Cathedral and Buckingham House. The quarrying families such as the Gilberts who owned property on the island grew rich through the stone trade and built themselves very nice houses such as "Queen Anne's House" in the village of Fortuneswell.
One of the Gilbert family was also the architect of the church of St George, built to a stunning Georgian design with box pews, each with their own door and latch, and three galleries. The lives of the inhabitants of this wild island are recorded on the tombstones of the churchyard. Sailors, fishermen and pirates have their graves here, as do prisoners from the nearby gaol. Shipwrecks were so common that only the ladies and officers tended to be buried in the churchyards; everyone else was buried on the beach where their bodies were found. Plunder of the wrecks was also common.
At St George's a very unusual memorial to Mary Way and William Lano notes that they were murdered by a press gang in 1803. This event was known as the Easton Massacre where a crew of a Navy vessel illegally tried to press male members of the town into naval service. When the townspeople opposed them, the ship's captain fired on them and killed three people, injuring Mary Way who also later died of her wounds. Four of the ships officers were tried for murder but acquitted. The wording of the memorial, however, leaves no room for misunderstanding; this was murder and was recorded as such.
There were other casualties of the wild weather over the years as well, including a lighthouse keeper who was struck by lightning on Chesil Beach in 1858 and a man whose house fell down on top of him in the Great Storm of 1824.
A number of the gravestones have the skull and crossbones depicted on them, not as might be imagined at first glance, because they are pirates’ graves but because from the 17th century this symbol was used to denote mortality. Pirates borrowed the symbol because they liked the way that it struck the fear of death into people. However, once the pirates started to use it the Church decided it was no longer appropriate for burials and it was phased out in the later 18th century!
Whilst Portland may have been remote and lawless, across the bay was a very different place, the popular Georgian seaside resort of Weymouth. With its sheltered bay and golden sands, Weymouth was the ideal centre for a spot of sea bathing. By the mid 18th century there were wooden bathing houses on the bay and in 1773 Stacie’s Hotel and assembly rooms opened. The photo shows a Georgian bathing machine that still stands on the sea front.
As part of the plan to popularise the resort, the roads were paved and improved, watchmen patrolled the streets and kept the peace. The first guidebook was produced in 1782 by the postmistress, Mrs Delamotte, and the famous Harvey’s Improved Guide followed in 1800. These listed all the entertainments on offer as well as the hotels and lodging houses, many of which are still standing today, including the elegant red brick of the Royal Hotel.
It was in 1789 that King George III first came to Weymouth to recuperate from a bout of illness and he liked the town so much that he continued to visit until 1805. The royal seal of approval brought even more rich and influential visitors flocking to the seaside town.
Wild beaches or the delights of sea-bathing? If you were visiting Dorset in the Regency period would you have preferred mingling with the pirates on Portland or high society in Weymouth?
The Mayhem Consultant and I like to take winter vacations to warmer, sunnier places, and that generally means the Caribbean, which can be reached from Maryland with a mere four hour flight. The warmth and sunshine are reliable, but the bonus is that the Caribbean is like a spilled jewel box of islands, each with its own unique character.
This year's main vacation was a cruise on a Windstar ship, the Star Legend. Because it carries only 212 passengers, the ship can visit small, out of the way islands. Such islands don't have large modern ports, so passengers usually go ashore on tenders, which adds to the fun.
This particular cruise started and ended in Puerto Rico, which is the gateway to the Eastern Caribbean. Cruise ships sail from San Juan and there are small planes that fly out to farflung islands. I cherish the memory of our first visit to Virgin Gorda in the British Virgin Islands, when our 10 passenger plane included a caged rooster sitting on luggage behind the seats. As you might imagine, he was not a happy rooster, but he made it safely to his new home. <G>
Antiqua San Juan
Over the years we've spent scattered days in San Juan while coming and going from vacations, but this time we decided to go two days early, partly to visit an old college friend who is a professor at the university and also as a buffer against possible bad weather that might interfere with leaving Baltimore. (This turned out to be unnecessary--there's been virtually no snow this winter. But I like to be prepared for the worst because sometimes we've been hit with blizzards when we're trying to escape .)
In San Juan, we decided to stay at a hotel in the historic area, called El Convento. which is literally a 350 year old Carmelite convent built across the street from the oldest cathedral in North America. I'm told there were tunnels to allow the nuns to go to the cathedral in privacy.
There has been a lot of remodeling since the nuns left, and the hotel rooms are beautiful, not tiny cells. But the really spectacular part is the courtyard, where meals are served under gorgeous trees. Heaven to have a late lunch after flying in from the US! Originally founded by Ponce de Leon, Old San Juan has narrow streets and steep hills and not much parking, but it's beautiful and rich with history. Puerto Rico ("Rich Port") itself is fascinating: as a commonwealth of the United States, there is a lot of American influence and a lot of bilingual people, but the country is very much itself, with a proud Hispanic history. We want to return to El Convento as part of future getaways.
One of the first visits on our cruise was Gustavia, the capital of St. Barthélemy, a French island and known as a hangout for the glittering rich. I didn't know much about it other than the rugged island's only airport has such a short runway that only six passenger planes can land, and when they fly in over the rugged mountains, the pilot has to cut the engine and glide onto the runway! Strong men who have climbed mountains and dived from airplanes admit to being terrified. Above is a picture and yes, the runway really is that short!
The glittering part was true, too. The harbor was packed with yachts and the main street was one world class boutique after another: Hermes, Bulgari, Louis Vuitton, and other brands I'm too provincial to recognize. <G>
But what impressed me the most was getting off the tender and seeing a Windstar crewman pushing a small trolley with a very, very large fish on it. See that tail? I asked what he had and was told it was a mahi mahi and yes, it would be dinner on board ship that night. Sure enough, this placard with the chef's dinner special showed up a few hours later. <G> Montserrat:
All of the islands were interesting, but the one that impressed me the most was Montserrat, about which I had known absolutely nothing. I thought it was a French island because of the name, but in fact it is a British Overseas Territory. (A lot of the Caribbean islands changed hands over the years in a colonial version of musical chairs.)
Montserrat was nicknamed the Emerald Island of the Caribbean both because of its lush greenery and because of the number of Irish who settled there. Apparently Gaelic was spoken in places on the island into the 19th century, and we were told it's the only country besides Ireland where St. Patrick's Day is a legal holiday.
But what makes Montserrat so memorable is what the island has suffered. Hurricane Hugo blasted the island in 1989, leaving 90% of the population homeless. One of the things destroyed was the recording studio built by Sir George Martin, manager of the Beatles. Many famous musicians, from the Rolling Stones to Paul McCartney to Jimmy Buffet had recorded albums there, enjoying a world class studio in a tropical paradise.
But worse was to come. In 1995, a long dormant volcano in the southern section of the island erupted and continued its destruction for years. About 60% of the island was covered with lava and ash and the 18th century island capital, Plymouth, was completely destroyed. The majority of the population left the island and much of it is now an exclusion zone where entry is forbidden.
We were lucky enough to hire a tour guide who was a retired police officer. He'd been one of the first people on the island to discover the eruption, and he was in charge of the evacuation. Relatively few islanders died--about 21, he said--but the beautiful, prospering island was devastated. Slowly, stalwart islanders are rebuilding and there will be a new capital at Little Bay. This is one island I will not forget.
Our last port of call ended the cruise on a much lighter note. Jost Van Dyke is the smallest of the four main islands of the British Virgins. It's only three square miles and very rugged, with only about 300 residents. Several times we vacationed on Tortola, the largest island in the BVI and only about five miles away. We saw Jost floating in the distance like Bali Hai, but getting there is complicated and we never made it over.
This time, we finally reached Jost Van Dyke. I'd contacted a local taxi company to hire a driver and guide, and the charming woman who arranged our trip joined us on our journey, which went up and over the hills and brought us to Foxy's, a well known local beach bar, where we had lunch. All the people we met were wonderfully friendly and it was fun all the way.
A bonus was the sea grapes I saw at Foxy's. Somewhere between a shrub and a tree, sea grapes love beaches and are found throughout the Caribbean, but for the first time ever, I saw them bearing fruit. And yes, they do look very much like grapes. The green turns purple and it's said that the fruit has a lovely taste. Maybe next time I'll find a some sea grape preserves.
For surely there will be a next time because there are still many islands we haven't seen!
Do you have favorite islands? Not just tropical ones, but anywhere? Because there is something about an island…..!
Nicola here. I’ve been enjoying the current series of “Who Do You Think You Are” the BBC’s genealogy programme, very much. It’s been the usual mix of actors, singers and celebrities, each with a fascinating family history story to tell. Whether they find a royal connection, a shocking secret, a family tragedy or a black sheep ancestor, the subject matter has been very varied and interesting but what makes the programme for me is the response of the people involved. They all seem to have found it thought-provoking and have gone away different people as a result of delving into their history. In some cases it has thrown light on their own family relationships and in many it has made them think about how the lives of previous generations have made them what they are.
Plans can be a wonderful thing. They can give us a shape and structure for the time ahead. At the same time we’re also all aware of the old saying “Man plans, God laughs.” The best laid plans, as Robert Burns pointed out, so often go awry. Today the Word Wenches are sharing some of their plans for 2017, writing and otherwise, and we’re asking you to tell us what you have lined up this year.
Pat: If I actually stopped to think about my plans for 2017, I’d probably run screaming for the nearest margarita. But I’ve learned if I just sit at my desk every day and pound the keyboard, eventually, it all gets done. My plans include releasing three more Unexpected Magic books in 2017, all of which are currently in various stages of development. We will not talk about all the editorial and promotional work that they need on top of the actual writing.
If I stay focused on that keyboard, I hope to have the final segment of the Genius mystery series ready by fall. I have five backlist Regencies in the computer, waiting for a final edit, covers, yadda yadda. So if you enjoy those old Regency stories, they’re coming. Eventually.And for those of you who follow my misadventures in moving, we’ve just sold another house and are tentatively looking around, wondering if we ought to tackle another. We’re not leaving this area, but once we run out of things to fix up, we get itchy for more DIY fun. So until that’s decided, we’re not planning any fancy trips. Yet. The son is showing an interest in New Zealand though…
Susanna here, happy to be starting 2017 closer to the end of my current work-in-progress, Bellewether, and hoping to be able to turn it in to my editors before the snow melts. Fingers firmly crossed. Then, in between the inevitable revisions and copyedits, I’ll be starting work on my very first ever novella, as part of the collaborative effort I’m doing with Anna Lee Huber, Christine Trent, and C.S. Harris—a book of linked novellas (tentatively titled The Jacobite’s Watch) that follows an infamous, possibly cursed pocket watch as it passes from owner to owner over the course of two centuries, carrying secrets. With luck I might be finished that before I head to Portland for the Historical Novel Society’s American conference in June. I have some other travel lined up for the year—it’s mostly conferences: Atlanta in the spring for the Romantic Times convention, Orlando in July for the Romance Writers of America National conference, and Surrey, B.C., in October for the always awesome Surrey International Writer’s conference, but I’m squeezing in a research trip for the NEXT book as well, which should be fun.
Andrea/Cara: I should have asked Santa to bring me an extra 8 hours a day for the coming year as it already feels like 2017 is going to be a very busy time. I have a new Regency-set mystery series coming out—MURDER IN BLACK SWAN LANE releases in July—so there will be a lot of promo things to do. Not to speak of being deep in the throes of writing Book Two! I’ve also been delving deeper into indie publishing. I recently got the rights back to my Lady Arianna Regency mysteries and this month I re-released them in e-books, with new covers and a new low price. It’s been interesting learning the tech side of the business, and I’ve also enjoyed the left brain-right brain engagement of using my graphic design training to create my own cover designs. Also on the To-Do List is to finish the traditional Regency I’ve been noodling in my spare (!) time and getting that up sometime in late summer. Stepping outside the writing cave, another endeavor I’ll be spending time on is serving as a mentor/academic advisor to freshmen at my old college. It’s really fun and rewarding to work with students. Their energy and enthusiasm—honestly, the things they manage to juggle makes ME feel like a slug—is inspiring, and in turn I hope I can give some useful advice. Then lastly, there’s the Wish List—I’m hoping I can somehow swing a trip to London this year. I haven’t been there in quite a while, and I love exploring the city and all its wonderful small museums (like the National Maritime Museum in Greenwich.)
Nicola: As 2017 begins, some plans are coming to fruition here whilst others are just starting. Ethel the guide dog puppy is heading off to training school next month and all being well will qualify as a fully-fledged guide dog this year. We are so proud of her! I’m completing my third dual timeframe novel, which will be out later this year. This one is set at beautiful Lydiard Park, near Swindon, and the entwined stories are set in the Georgian era and present day.
A role that’s likely to keep me busy from May is Chair of the Romantic Novelists’ Association. I’ve been a member since I was first published 18 years ago and I am both honoured and a little bit daunted to be taking this on but I love the RNA and the way in which it supports writers and I will do my very best for it. Finally I’ll be first through the door when Ashdown House re-opens in April, eager to start my guided tours again!
Susan: This year I have lots of irons in the fire and they're starting to glow. I'm looking forward to the release of a new (new!) historical romance, and I'll share more about that in a few months. Just now I'm slogging in the dark, deep deadline tunnel with that one, head down, headlamp on. I've also got a couple of exciting fiction projects in the works that aren't ready for prime time yet, but will be fun to talk about once I have more details! At home, I'm thinking the walls need fresh paint, the basement needs clearing, and some of this Stuff needs to go with its rightful owners, our kids. I love change, so I'll be happily moving furniture and maybe swap whole rooms for the fun (and feng shui!) of it. There's definitely travel in my forecast this year, but that's still under discussion--not sure where yet! The next several months will bring lots of great surprises. Wish I could say more--where's that crystal ball . . .
Anne: I'm going to be pretty busy in 2017. I've started a new series, and the first one, MARRY IN HASTE comes out in May. I'm also hoping to self-publish a couple of short e-books, only one of which is finished so far. I haven't self-published any books before, so it's a big learning curve for me. As well, I'm doing a bit of teaching -- running writing workshops in Sydney, Brisbane, and in New Zealand, (see links on my website) and all of those will involve a bit of travel. With any luck I'll add a holiday to my New Zealand trip. It's a beautiful country, and though I've been there many times, it's always wonderful. As well, there are changes on the home front, and though I'm looking forward to the final result, the process is a bit daunting. Stay tuned.
Joanna here, nattering on about her plans for the year. It's a good time for me to be doing this. I just finished -- well almost close to about finished except for the copyedits -- Beauty Like the Night. This means most parts of my brain are leaning back and thinking around the edges of the next story.
This is the part of my process when I wander around bumping into things, trying to dream up new characters and new places. New adventures. I also talk the ear off anybody who doesn't flee in a determined and convincing manner, asking them things like, "If the protagonists are late teens is everybody going to think it's a Young Adult story?" and "Are you okay with a 'Happy For Now' instead of a 'Happy Ever After'?" and "Does this [insert fairly ridiculous premise] sound plausible?"
So I'm planning on writing, of course, and planting bulbs and refinishing a black stone table that has become all scratched and carrying in lots of firewood and writing and finding some type of coffee I deeply admire and enjoy. These are not ambitious plans for refurbishing body, mind, and spirit but they suit me.
Mary Jo here, contemplating my plans for the year. I don't really make resolutions, but January does usually bring a sense of possibilities, and since it's generally a quiet month, a fair amount of work can be done.
For books, Once a Rebel, the long awaited story of the enigmatic Gordon, "Lady Agnes Westerfield's one failure," will be out in September, and I'm now gnawing away at the third book of the Rogues Redeemed spin-off trilogy. Just in the last few days, I realized that the setting I'd thought I'd use for book 3 simply doesn't excite me. It's worthy, important, blah, blah, blah, but despite research, I couldn't come up with a single spark of enthusiasm.
So I've jumped the shark into a completely new direction: new setting, new characters, now plot. <g> We want to be excited by our stories because we spend so much time with them!
In other bookly news, I'm trying to revert the rights to three more backlist series. Stay tuned! And this is the year I publish two or three backlist collections of my shorter works. Really. I will!
On the private side, there will be a couple of cruises this year, one quite soon into warm waters and small islands, and a longer one this fall to far northern and much colder islands!
As for the rest of life this year--well, we'll see. New and unexpected things always emerge. <G>
And now it’s over to you. Are you a planner or do you like to see where life takes you – or a bit of both? Do you have any exciting possibilities heading your way this year, or is a year of peace and serenity the nicest thing that could happen?
Nicola here. Today is known as Epiphany, Three Kings Day or Twelfth Day. For many the date marks the end of the Christmas festivities, the day people take down their decorations if they haven't already done so the day before. It’s also the last of the Word Wench festive posts for this season as we head out into 2017!
We’re lucky that these days we have artificial light to help us face the long, cold and dark days of winter. Candles and firelight may sound romantic but I imagine that if I was trying to read or write in that sort of light on a daily basis it would get very difficult. Travel, work, cooking, all the elements of daily life are aided by light. Importantly a lot of people also find their mood is affected by an absence of natural light and so the darkness can pull us down and at the start of the year in particular, when Christmas is over, it’s important to have things that lift our spirits.
Many of the events and entertainments that are going on at the moment have their roots far back in history. The fun fair, the pantomime and the carnival were all winter activities designed to entertain people when life was bleak. Coming back to Three Kings Day, El Dia de Los Reyes, is a particularly important festival in Spain and Latin America, but there are celebrations on 6th January across the globe, ranging from pageants and parades to the creation of special bread to share at family and community meals.
Here in the UK it’s pantomime season (Oh no it isn’t!) The origins of the panto date back to the Middle Ages and over the years have incorporated lots of different traditions from Tudor masques to Victorian music hall. The pantomimes are nearly always based on well known children's stories such as Peter Pan, Aladdin, Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty etc. Pantomimes are performed not only in the top UK theatres but also in village halls throughout the country. Our local one is Jack and the Beanstalk. Audience participation is a very important part of a pantomime and it’s all very silly and fun. The audience are encouraged to boo the villain whenever he enters the stage, argue with the Dame (who is always a man) and warn the Principal Boy (who is always a girl) when the villain is behind them by shouting out "He's behind you!" It’s completely eccentric but it gets us through the winter!
This evening I'll be making cheese and rocket bread, in honour of Three Kings Day. It's delicious eaten warm, with a bit of butter and extra cheese! Are you a fan of speciality breads? What would you recommend to share to celebrate Twelfth Day?
I was doing some research reading and came across a sentence saying that in days long gone, the typical breakfast for most people was was cooked grain mixtures. I looked at that and thought, "Hello, oatmeal! And its cousin, corn flakes!" Which led me into reflecting on how some things travel down through the centuries, maybe with variations but the underlying food is the same. (Picture below is a German breakfast buffet from Wikipedia by Torsten Seiler from Cologne, Germany)
Breakfast means literally to "break our fast"--eating after the hours of sleep. In places where people do hard physical labor, breakfasts tend to be hearty. In modern times, some people are breakfast people, some are not, and we tend to figure which sort we are fairly early in life. Some folks can't face food until the body kicks into gear, others need the food in order to get those gears moving in the first place.
I am solidly in the pro-breakfast camp, which may be related to the fact that I am not a morning person so I need to a solid breakfast to get moving. When I was a kid, my mother would cook hot cereal for us, usually oatmeal or Cream of Wheat. Amply garnished with milk and sugar, often I'd be gulping down the last of the my bowl as the school bus rumbled toward our house. (As noted above, I'm not a morning person. <G>)
When I moved to England years ago, I went into a little shop to buy some oatmeal and was proud of myself for asking with that fine English term, porridge. The shopkeeper looked puzzled. Discussion ensued. The light dawned when she said, "Oh, Quaker Oats!" and she whipped out a box that looked just like the kind I bought at home. <G>
The best oatmeal I've ever had was at a B&B in Ireland. Sadly, it was the Mayhem Consultant who ordered it--I almost mugged him after I got a taste. Smooth Irish oats, interesting things added, and a milk so rich that it was halfway to being cream. Delicious!
I still have oatmeal for breakfast sometimes, using one of the faster cooking versions of Irish steel cut oats, topped with milk augmented with some half and half, a handful of raisins, maybe chopped walnuts or granola for texture, and honey for sweetness.
But my basic breakfast for decades has been a poached egg on whole grain toast with orange juice (fresh squeezed if I can get it) and a cup of coffee to follow. This is because I like the protein and can poach an egg more or less in my sleep, see "not a morning person," above. <G>
I've had fun discovering different breakfasts 'round the world. My first trip to Europe when I was in college and hitchhiking around with my roommate introduced me to the wonder that was the full English breakfast: There would always be cold cereal on offer (which I ignored.) Fried eggs, fried bread, several forms of pig meat (English bacon is cured differently from American and doesn't get crisp, is more ham-like, plus sausage was usually on offer), grilled tomato, fried mushrooms, tea, toast, and marmalade. And, baked beans, which was not something I wanted to eat for breakfast. At that time tea was universal, but now coffee shares equal breakfast honors.
English toast is a class unto itself. It's served in a toast rack that carefully separates each piece from its fellows, guaranteeing they'll all be cold. I'm told that's because English homes are often chilly and stacking hot toast would cause condensation and sogginess which makes sense, but I missed hot toast.
As a corollary, years ago the Mayhem Consultant and I were traveling in the English West Country and stopped at a country inn for the night. The room we were given was damply chilly, but the landlord turned on an oil heater and assured us that soon the room would be "warm as toast." When we returned after a nice dinner downstairs, the room was still shiveringly cold, at which point I remember that English toast was NEVER warm!
Also on that first visit to Europe, in Paris I discovered the joy of a warm, flaky croissant and café au lait--strong coffee with hot milk. My roommate and I were staying in a five story walk up student hotel, but we descended in the mornings to bliss. The picture here is a more recent Continental breakfast in Venice, complete with a fruit filled pastry and a heart drawn by the barista on the cappuccino.
In Northern Europe, I learned that the Dutch and Germans like sliced meats and cheeses and Scandinavians favored open faced sandwiches. These days, a good European hotel breakfast buffet will have some of everything, including fresh fruits and lots of breads and pastries. In Hawaii and Down Under, there will be Asian rice based dishes and noodles and seaweed. People eat the foods around them--in Jamaica, ackee (a kind of fruit) and saltfish are common. Looks like scrambled eggs, but it isn't. Tasty, though. (Picture on the left.)
Given the scope of the British Empire, it's not surprising that variations of the full British breakfast are found around the world--the classic American breakfast of eggs and bacon and toast is a direct descendant, though I think we may have led the charge to add hash browns or home fries. Here's a picture of a recent South African breakfast, with eggs, tomatoes, mushrooms, bacon, and a choice of lamb, beef, or pork sausage. Robust!
As you might have gathered, I love breakfast in its many variations, though maybe not the seaweed. And I haven't even touched on waffles and pancakes and other cooked grain cakes, or the Mexican magnificence of huevos rancheros. (Eggs with tomato chili sauce, tortillas, and maybe refried beans and/or guacamole.)
Are you a breakfast eater, or does the thought of so much food in the morning make you shudder? What are your favorite breakfast dishes? And what interesting ones have you met along the way?
Mary Jo, adding a picture of a fine B&B breakfast in Virginia with egg, ham, and a very fine crepe with orange slices.
Today it’s my great pleasure to welcome author Charlotte Betts to the Word Wench blog. Charlotte is a multi-award-winning author of historical novels who describes herself as a daydreamer and a bookworm (so she’s in good company here) who lives in Hampshire in a C17th cottage in the woods. I first met Charlotte years ago as a fellow member of the Historical Novel Society and the Romantic Novelists’ Association. I love that she has written in different time periods and very different settings, from the Great Fire of London, to Revolutionary France to the Regency. Her books are full of adventure, mystery and romance, with rich backgrounds that make the past come alive. Today Charlotte is talking about her research and her latest novel, The House in Quill Court. Welcome, Charlotte!
Recently I clicked ‘send’ and gave an exhausted cheer as my manuscript for The Dressmaker’s Secret flew off to my editor. As any author knows, that cheer isn’t a signal to take an extended break. The deadline for finishing the first draft of a novel always seems to coincide with the launch of the previous one, while the publishers are simultaneously asking for an outline for the next one. Non-writer friends sometimes ask how I manage to keep all the details of each story in my head at once but really it’s no different from watching several drama series on the television on consecutive nights; you simply jump from one world into another.
Terroir has nothing to do with terror, horror movies, or upcoming Halloween. Instead, terroir is a French word derived from Latin "terra" and French "terre" meaning the earth.
Most often it's used to refer to the natural conditions of soil, sun, weather, climate, et al, that produce specific flavors in food and drink. In other words, it's the agricultural version of "we are what we eat." We all more or less know this even if we don't think about it much, but in wine cultivation, terroir is an important concept. I might add that I am no wine specialist and my house wine is box pinot grigio, which is a perfectly good table wine.
But the concept of terroir is interesting. I started thinking about it when I was writing my most recent book, Once a Soldier. My fictional San Gabriel is a small kingdom between Portugal and Spain and wine is its most significant product. and the only one that has the potential to bring in revenue through exports.
Nicola here. Today I am musing about life in the English village. So many of the historical romances I’ve read are set it cities such as London or Bath, or smaller towns like Brighton or Cheltenham. This makes sense. These places were the epicentres of activity in the Regency era, the venue for balls and other social events, a place where people might go for their health, for sea bathing or to take the spa waters. They were a good hunting ground for ladies looking to secure a titled husband, or for men seeking an heiress. It feels as though all the excitement is focussed on the towns and cities where there are lots of new people to meet and lots of things going on. After all, as Jane Austen wrote in Northanger Abbey: “If adventures will not befall a young lady in her own village, she must seek them abroad.”
In some ways, things haven’t changed much in two hundred years. When I was younger I lived in a number of different English cities: Leeds, London, Leicester. They were vibrant places with a mix of cultures and events that was very stimulating. Even today a trip to London, or Edinburgh, or Oxford is something of a treat. The combination of history and shopping is irresistible and much more exciting that what is on offer at home. So where does that leave the English village?
Nicola here. Today I’m talking about an eccentric museum in the Scottish Highlands, a ruined castle, a monument and… The “Harry Potter” train! The thing that unites them all is the Jacobites.
A couple of weeks ago, like Bonnie Prince Charlie, I made my way to the Scottish Highlands and enjoyed following in his footsteps around many of the places with connections to the Jacobite cause. (I also enjoyed seeing the wildlife, especially the pine marten in the picture which visited the bird table at the place we were staying!) I’ve always had a soft spot for the Stuart dynasty. Their political judgement might have been wayward but there is something dashing and romantic about their struggles again the Hanoverians. Like so many lost causes they appeal to the heart not the head.
The Jacobites aimed to restore the Roman Catholic King James VII and II, and his heirs, to the thrones of Scotland, England and Ireland. Jacobites rebelled against the British government a number of times between 1688 and 1745. There was support for the Stuart Monarchy all over the country but most particularly in the West Highlands of Scotland where some of the clans had strong Roman Catholic affiliations. The story of Bonnie Prince Charlie has become inextricably linked with the Highlands and the Scottish clans but also with tins of shortbread, mugs and… trains.
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