Showing posts with label books we love. Show all posts
Showing posts with label books we love. Show all posts

Tuesday, January 23, 2024

Don't Write What You Know by Victoria Chatham




    At the beginning of their writing journey, whether for personal pleasure or possible publication, authors are often taught to write what they know. Admittedly, that’s a comfortable place to start. It is a way to find your writing feet in describing what’s around you, beautiful days, or maybe not-so-beautiful days when the wind is blowing and rain falling in buckets. It might be an avenue for you to begin writing that family history or memoir.

    Still, when penning a novel, many authors, me included, must write what they don’t and can’t know without doing their research. My first novels were Regency romances, and after having read many, I had to read more. Now I have files full of historical facts and details from 1811 – 1820, and a shelf full of reference books.

    There are several authors who come to mind in this ‘write what you don’t know’ theme. I’m reading a book now written by Dick Francis. All his books have a horse racing background, but he writes so vividly the reader doesn’t need to know horses or racing to enjoy them. Each of his books has a different theme, which would have required much research. Here is a sample of his titles:

     • Flying Finish – international horse transport. 
     • Shattered – glass blowing and making. 
     • Second Wind – meteorology. 

    One quote about Dick Francis I especially like is this from the Daily Mirror: ‘As a jockey, Dick Francis was unbeatable when he got into his stride. The same is true of his crime writing.’ 

    After thirty years of living in Canada, I think I’ve had time to learn much about Western life, but I still must ask questions and do research. A newspaper article from way back about a mother/daughter ranching duo stayed in my mind, and I thought it might work for my new book, Loving Georgia Caldwell. I learned quite a lot about rodeos and ranching when I wrote my other western titles, Loving That Cowboy and Legacy of Love. But for the new book, I decided my mother/daughter duo needed to have something they could do together besides the vital work of raising cattle.

    I’d recently come across the sport of team cattle penning, but what did I know about that? Nothing. So once again, I jumped into the research breach, dear friends. I read all I could on the subject and watched many YouTube videos. I talked to some trainers, who explained how not all horses make good cow horses, which reminded me of a rancher who had a lovely, solid Holsteiner gelding who disliked cows. When they broke through the fence into his paddock the gelding, all on his own, rounded them up and chased them out. After that, he would cut any cow out of the herd or push them wherever asked. I read the rules and regulations for the sport and watched local events. I talked to some competitors about their experiences and reactions and hope I conveyed their responses accurately.

    Other aspects of the book I needed to research were American football and owning a private jet. I have friends who are football fiends (sorry – fans) who were enormously helpful, as was the Netflix series ‘Quarterback.’ Google was helpful in getting to know the ins and outs of private jets, including cabin floorplans, and who knew getting an ‘empty leg’ flight on one was possible? Not me, that was for sure, but if the time ever comes that I’d like the experience, I know where to call.

    Research these days is a far cry from when anything you wanted to know outside of your experience meant a trip to the library or writing a letter to someone knowledgeable in your field of interest. These days, the Internet is a great place to begin. Whatever you can imagine can be confirmed or not by diligent digging, and in that process, who knows what they will find. So, to all you writers, I say get out of your comfort zone and write what interests you. You may be surprised with what you find.



Victoria Chatham

  AT BOOKS WE LOVE

 ON FACEBOOK

 

Saturday, December 23, 2023

The Gift by Victoria Chatham

  



 

It might be Christmas, but Suzie Castle felt no cheer or goodwill to all men. Losing her parents this year within months of each other weighed heavily on her, as did having her art class budget cut. She worried for her students, who had left before she did today with cheery Christmas greetings and shouts of ‘see you next year’ as they filed out of the classroom before her.

Cold from riding the train and then taking a bus from the school where she taught to her home, her feet wet from walking through slush and snow from the bus stop, she trudged up the stairs of her three-storey apartment building, wondering why she’d insisted on having a room with a view when an apartment on the main floor would have been so much more convenient right now.

Stopping at her door, Number 304, she set her grocery bag down and searched her purse for her keys. Why hadn’t she thought to find them while sitting on the train or the bus? She fitted the key in the lock, turned it and pushed her door open—then stopped.

Pale blue light flooded her open-plan kitchen, dining, and living room.

Had she left a light on? She didn’t think so. Besides, all her lights were practical, white LED bulbs. This morning, she had switched them all off and opened the drapes before leaving for her journey to the school. Now, not only was there light, but her drapes were closed against the wintery night. She stepped inside, her jaw dropping as she looked around.

The blue light came from an acrylic Christmas tree on her coffee table. Who had put it there? And when had all those cards been set up on her mantle shelf?

Suzie toed off her wet boots and wriggled her toes into her welcome mat as she unzipped her coat. Who on earth had been in her apartment? She hung her coat in the hall closet. As she approached her coffee table, she noticed several wrapped gifts on the floor beneath it. Frowning, she picked one up and looked at the label.

Happy Christmas, Miss Castle. See you next year. Best wishes, Jorge.

She picked up another.

Thank you for making the last term so fun. Love, Beccy.

Thinking of the bright, difficult fifteen-year-old with whom she’d had more than one skirmish, tears pricked Suzie’s eyes. She brushed them away and picked up another gift.

You helped me see things differently. Thank you. Love, Donny.

Donny. Suzie laid the gift on the table. She’d crossed words with him, too.

Suzie ran her gaze along the row of cards, stunned to see herself depicted on each one. She picked up the biggest, showing her in her toque and muffler with a big smile. She ran her finger over it and opened it.

Hope you like my drawing of you. Happy Christmas. Peter.

Peter. Her most talented pupil.

On another card, she was pointing something out to a figure she was sure was little Mary Brown. Whose easel had been behind Mary’s? Suzie couldn’t remember but thought it might have been Devon Jackson. She turned the card over. Sure enough, there were his initials and the date.

Suzie swallowed the lump in her throat as she remembered some of the casual, throw-away questions and comments from the last few weeks in the run-up to Christmas.

What do you do at Christmas, Miss Castle?

“Snuggle up in a big blanket with a book and drink hot chocolate.”

Do you have turkey and all the trimmings?

“Good gracious, no. It’s just like another day for me, although I sometimes buy myself a box of chocolates.”

Have you ever locked yourself out of your apartment?

“Only once, and then I left a spare key with my neighbour.”

Why did that question and her response suddenly spring into her mind?

Who had asked it? Suzie’s brow wrinkled as she thought back. It was Beccy. She was sure of it. At the time, she’d been busy suggesting a correction to the shading in Beccy’s drawing and not thought anything of it. Now, she saw clearly how her students had been cleverly gathering information all this time.

A knock at her door startled her, but she went to open it, only to find her elderly next-door neighbour, Mrs. Delaney from Number 306, outside.

“Mrs. Delaney,” Suzie said, welcoming her with a smile. “Please come in.”

There was an answering smile in Mrs. Delaney’s kind, blue eyes. “Don’t mind if I do, but I won’t keep you a moment. I only wanted to make sure you weren’t cross that I’d used your spare key to let the young ones into your apartment, and of course, I stayed with them while they decorated. They were such polite young people and wanted to do something nice for you so you wouldn’t feel lonely at Christmas.”

“How could I be cross about that sentiment, Mrs. Delaney?” Suzie motioned her to sit down. “This is the nicest thing that has happened to me in a long while. Would you like a cup of tea?”

“If you’re sure it’s no trouble, dear.”

Suzie went into the kitchen to fill the kettle and switch it on, but right beside it, a mug with two single sachets of gourmet hot chocolate sat on top of a box of chocolates.

“Mrs. Delaney,” Suzie called. “Would you like a mug of hot chocolate instead? Irish cream or salted caramel?”

“Irish cream would be lovely,” Mrs. Delaney said, and Suzie unhooked another mug from her mug tree.

When she had made the drinks and carried them into the living room, Suzie sat opposite her neighbour and smiled at her.

“Thank you for helping my students set this up,” she said. “This is the best gift anyone could have given me.” She raised her mug in a salute to Mrs. Delaney and each one of her students. “Happy Christmas!” 

THE END



Victoria Chatham

  AT BOOKS WE LOVE

 ON FACEBOOK

 

Monday, October 23, 2023

A Picture Is Worth A Thousand Words by Victoria Chatham

 


AVAILABLE HERE


I was looking in my files for a particular photograph today and was shocked to see how many I have on my computer.

Time was, with a Canon point-and-shoot, I had to make every shot count because of the expense of having the film developed. Taking a dozen shots of the same object or view on my phone makes ensuring I get one good one easy. I also have a large plastic tub of photographs. Every winter, I intend to go through them to sort them out to create a history for my family, especially as, at some point, if I haven’t curated them, no one else likely will. In that eventuality, someone will have to dispose of them.

We started a new photograph album for a specific year or family holiday in the good old days. We missed some years because we didn’t have a camera and only splurged on the Kodak instant cameras for special occasions. Photography in my family was a bit hit-and-miss until my dad took it up as a hobby. He started with a Canon but soon added an Agfa because he became fascinated with slide photography and thought it was the better camera for that format.

On one visit to my family, my children and I decided to go out for the day on a Bank Holiday, but typically, it poured with rain. It was the perfect time to sort through my parents’ boxes and boxes of photographs and slides. We decided that if we didn’t know who was in a photograph or where it was taken, then it was discarded. With the help of a couple of bottles of wine and lots of memories and laughter, we reduced the total by two-thirds, but we came across some absolute gems.




I take a lot of photographs as part of my research for books. It doesn’t matter if it’s my historical or contemporary books. A legend board here, a costume there, a vista that I don’t want to forget. It is far easier to take a photograph and refer to it later than to write notes on the information and my impressions.

Legend board in the Lagg Distillery, Arran

Rogers Pass, Canada

Museums often permit visitors to take photographs without the use of flash photography. I recently visited the Victoria and Albert Museum in London, England and took many pictures in the Jewellery and Ceramics rooms. These were purely for my enjoyment, but I have shared some of them, too. One of the most fun museums I visited was the Costume Museum in Bath, where my daughter and I tried on a variety of hats.



Thankfully, my daughter likes to keep the old sepia family photographs, so there will be a home for those. But for the rest of them, well – they keep some memories alive for now.

How do you keep your family memories alive?


Victoria Chatham

  AT BOOKS WE LOVE

 ON FACEBOOK

 MY WEBSITE

 

 NB: photographs from the author's collection

Sunday, April 23, 2023

From Hisses to Kisses by Victoria Chatham

 


AVAILABLE HERE

 

Retirement from day-to-day formal employment in 2013 was a dream come true, but as many retirees have found, the dream can fade. My dream was to concentrate on my writing, which I did for a while, and then I started getting restless.

But then a writer colleague asked if I knew anyone who might house-sit for them and look after their animals so they could have a family vacation. Who better than moi? With years of property management experience, I thought I was well qualified to look after a house. I’ve had a couple of cats and dogs for most of my life. I've been around horses since age five. In addition, I have several more qualifications, including being a mature, non-smoking individual. So now it’s have laptop, will travel. I have clients in different places, from almost on the doorstep to within a few hour’s drive from home. I enjoy very different scenery, from watching glorious sunrises on an acreage to spotting hummingbirds in an urban garden, all while I  get my pet fix.



My house and pet-sitting career started with two horses, a dog, four cats, and a bearded dragon lizard. Since then, I’ve cared for chickens, turkeys, rabbits, pigs, fish, sheep, calves, birds and goats in the ten years since then. Now I’m more mature (IE: older, but I dislike that word), I’m pickier about caring for the larger animals, goats especially. They may be adorable as kids, but in my book, they are evil beasts as adults and their horns hurt.

My mandate is to maintain as much of the pets’ routine as possible. Are pets allowed on the furniture or beds? What is their feeding routine? Are they afraid of anything? And then there are the practicalities such as where is the electrical box and main water shut-off? I always ask for emergency contacts, especially a vet. Before accepting a new client, I like to meet them and their pets. It’s a two-way street, giving the pet owner a chance to know me and see how their pets interact with me. I’m not offended if they are uncomfortable and prefer to make other arrangements, as for me, it is all about the pet(s) and their comfort.

The hardest part of my client interviews, especially where senior pets are concerned, is the ‘what if’ discussion. However much we love our pets, the sad part of being a pet parent is that they are likely to pass on before we do. Of all the seven dogs I’ve had over the years, I’ve had to make end-of-life decisions for every one of them. My first was the hardest as I had not had him long, and he wasn’t much more than a pup. The others were between twelve and nineteen, all living happy, healthy lives until they were no longer happy or healthy.

Animals give us so much joy, and I often think humans are undeserving of their love and loyalty. I’ve spent hours in the paddock with the horses, watching and talking to them. There is nothing as willing as a horse's ear. Chickens can be charmers, and many enjoy being cuddled. I've had them go to sleep in my arms. I ran a lukewarm bath for the lizard to help her slough her skin and made a mud wallow for the pigs, laughing at their antics as they splashed in and out like children playing. I had a panic attack at the house with six cats when I could only find five. It turned out that the sixth cat was very shy, and I didn’t see her until the fourth day.

My current charge hissed at me every time he saw me for the first couple of days, but now we’re joined at the hip, and I get kisses. I go to the kitchen, and he comes too. I go upstairs, and he follows. I go to the bathroom—you get the picture. I flatter myself that he really likes me, but being a cat, it could just be his way of ensuring the person who feeds him and cleans his litter tray doesn’t stray. He snuggles up to me in bed, although I draw the line at having my ear washed, and sits beside me on the sofa when I’m done writing for the day.


I consider myself fortunate to have such a variety of furry friends. Once I know their routines, I can settle into writing when they curl up in their beds and sleep. Do I have favourites? That would be telling. Life being what it is, I’ve lost some four-legged clients and gained new ones. Retirement? One day I might find out what it’s like, but until then, I’ll continue writing and house and pet sitting. 


VICTORIA CHATHAM

AT BOOKS WE LOVE


NB: images from the author's collection.

Thursday, March 23, 2023

English in the Modern Idiot by Victoria Chatham

 

AVAILABLE HERE


I was sorting my way through homonyms, homographs, and homophones, those tricky little similarities that can and do trip up the unwary writer. In case you are unfamiliar with them, homonyms are spelled and pronounced the same way but with different meanings, like the word pen: an enclosed area or a writing tool.

Next are homographs, words spelt the same but with different pronunciations and meanings, as in these two examples. The wind is blowing indicates moving air and rhymes with pinned. I have to wind my watch, which rhymes with find. 

Lastly are homophones, words with the same pronunciation but different spelling and meanings. Do you think it will (rain, rein, or reign) today? Or: Can I come to the park (to, too, two)? Your challenge, if you choose to accept it, is to insert the correct word. In this, Google is not your friend, as all of them are proper words. If you fail, I promise you will not self-destruct. (Sorry, Charlie.)

The vagaries of the English language are numerous and devious, but how did we get into this mess? English as we know it developed like good wine over time. Going back in history, we would likely not understand a word said then, as a person from A.D.-whatever would be unlikely to understand us today. 

Historians tell us that five invasions of Britain contributed to the development of the English language. The earliest people to inhabit the British Isles were the Celts, an Indo-European group from before the common era. Spreading westward into Southern France, Spain, and Central Europe from as far east as the Black Sea coasts, the oldest evidence of the Celts was found in Hallstatt near Salzburg in Austria. The languages they spoke still survive today in the forms of Gaelic found in Brittany, Cornwall, the Isle of Man, and more familiarly, Ireland, Scotland and Wales.

Although innovative farmers and artisans, the Celts did not have a developed form of writing. We know of them mostly from Greek and Roman historians, who did. Bear with me while I throw a few dates around. The Romans had already made contact with the Celts about 55 B.C. Still, the Roman invasion didn’t begin until later, around A.D. 43. They brought with them not only their road and fort-building skills but their language too, and Latin became the universal language of the time.

The Romans remained in Britain until the fall of their Empire in A.D. 420. When they decamped, Britain and her shores were left undefended. Roll forward to A.D. 450 or thereabouts, and along came the Anglo-Saxons, Germanic tribes who raided the coastal areas but by a couple of hundred years later had settled in different parts of Britain, and guess what? Each tribe had its own dialect. What we now call Old English mostly came from the dialect of the West Saxons, who settled an area in the south of England known as Wessex.

After the Romans and the Anglo-Saxons came Christianity, not a military invasion as such. The religion was not unknown in Britain, but the Anglo-Saxons suppressed it as much as they did the Celtic tribes. That all changed in A.D. 597 with the arrival of St. Augustine, who was determined to Christianize pagan Britain. The monks who inhabited the early monasteries began to record the oral stories of the Anglo-Saxons. This assimilation of Anglo-Saxon oral tradition into the Christian culture led to many words with Latin roots finding their way into common parlance.

Did you think that was it? Sorry, not a bit of it. Next came the Vikings, those invaders from Scandinavia, raiding and pillaging their way around Britain between A.D. 750 and A.D. 1050. Sharing many similarities with the Anglo-Saxons, their language was absorbed into the emerging English language. In addition to their oral traditions, they carved marks into bone, stone, and wood. These marks were called futhark, the runic alphabet.

With me so far? Not to worry, we’re nearly done. So after the Romans, Anglo-Saxons, Christians, and Vikings, next came the Normans. I, and every English school kid of my era, knew that the Normans invaded Britain in 1066, dispatching the English King Harold at the Battle of Hastings. Along with William, the Duke of Normandy, forever more known as William the Conqueror, came a new language and culture, adding another layer to those already in existence. The language used in court, government, and the church was now Old French. Old English, the language of the Anglo-Saxons, only existed in the lower orders of society.

Over the next few hundred years, this mix of oral and written history developed into the English language as we know it today, along with our love/hate relationship with its glorious, sometimes messy, grammar. However, we are not done yet. So far this year, no less than twenty new words have been added to the Oxford English Dictionary, so English as we know it continues to evolve.

 

Victoria Chatham

  AT BOOKS WE LOVE

Sunday, March 5, 2023

The Cinderella Princess The Future Queen Anne Stuart Part Three By Rosemary Morris

 


To explore more of Rosemary's work please click on the cover.


Author’s Note. At heart I am a historian. Before I begin writing a #classi#historical#omance I research the background. I hope you will enjoy this month’s insider blog based on my notes.




Twelve year old Sarah Jennings, daughter of a landed gentleman who would play such a crucial role Princess Anne’s life, was appointed as one of her attendants. Years later Sara wrote: We had used to play together when she was a child and she even then expressed a particular fondness for me. The motherless princess living in the shadow of her older, cleverer sister, Mary, and her governess’s daughters became deeply attached to Sarah.

Anne was pretty with plump features, red-brown hair, and her mother’s elegant hands, which she was immensely proud of. A shy, easily ignored child she was aware of her short-comings – her poor education did nothing to boost her confidence. Sarah said years later:  Your Majesty has had the misfortune to be misinformed in general things even from twelve years old.  There was no reason to provide Anne and her sister with  better education because it was probable the Queen would bear an heir to the throne. During Anne’s life  few women could read and write. Little more than dancing, drawing, French, and music were required to prepare Anne for life at court. Her general education was neglected but her religious education was rigorous and laid the foundation for her lifelong adherence to the Anglican faith.

Anne and Mary lived apart from the court at Whitehall, their indulgent Roman Catholic father and stepmother.  Expected to be virtuous, the sisters must have been aware of the licentiousness at their uncle’s court and their uncle, the king, and their father acknowledged illegitimate children.

King Charles II was interested in Anne, who would be one of the best guitar players at court. Her voice was pleasing so he ordered the actress, Mrs Barry, to give his nieces elocution lessons. They benefitted Anne when she took part in masques and plays popular at court and, as queen, when she addressed parliament.

Anne and Mary grew up in the company of clerics and women, secluded from Whitehall with little to entertain them. They suffered boring conversations, stifling small rooms, and endless card games. Sarah declared:  I wished myself out of Court as much as I had desired to come into it before I knew what it was. Despite tedium and whatever storms lay ahead, Anne loved her sister. So much that when Mary married her Dutch cousin, William of Orange, in 1677, while Anne had smallpox, her father ordered that she should not be told her sister had departed for the Continent.

While Anne’s tutor fretted in case her fanatical Roman Catholic nurse influenced her when Anne was ill,  she recovered, Anne had to cope with the death of her governess. Fortunately, she still had Sarah’s  companionship and they enjoyed the vast grounds of Richmond Palace, leased by the king for his nieces.  This tranquillity. It is reasonable to suppose her mind was  occupied with thoughts of who she would marry.

 * * *

Rosemary Morris’ #classic#historical#romance novels set in Queen Anne Stuart’s reign – 1702-1714

 

Far Beyond Rubies

Tangled Love

The Captain and The Countess

The Viscount and The Orphan

 

https://bwlpublishing.ca/morris-rosemary

 

www.rosemarymorris.co.uk


Thursday, February 23, 2023

Colour in Winter by Victoria Chatham

 


AVAILABLE HERE


I am not a winter person. Never have been, never will be. When my children were small, and an English winter produced enough snow, their dad took them sledding and snowballing. I stayed home making cookies and hot chocolate for when they returned. Jump forward many years, and here I am in Canada, a move my children still cannot fathom as there is so much winter here. What can I say? It was all for love.

But it’s snowing again. Rather than ponder on the bleak view beyond the window, I have happy memories of sunshine and colour in Mexico. Here are a few photographs which I hope brighten up your day too.

Most of my Mexican vacations have been in and around Puerto Vallarta.  I'm fascinated by the wonderful sculptures along the Malecon, especially these surreal figures found on the corner of Aldama and the Malecon. The dozen or so sculptures form The Rotunda of the Sea by Alejandro Colunga from Guadalajara. The bronze chairs have been worn smooth by the many tourists who either take a rest or pose to have their photograph taken.

 

Farther along the coast from Puerto Vallarta is the village of La Penita, with its colourful and crowded market.The first thing that caught my eye were these beautiful rugs. I would have been very happy to have brought one home, but thought if I ever had one I would want to go to Oaxaca where they were produced and buy it there. Oaxaca is well known for its lively arts and crafts scene but was too far away for us to fit into this particular trip.


It wasn't just the rugs that caught my eye, but this very busy ceramics shop. There was so much to look at, the vibrant colours alone made me smile.  Mindful of what I had to pack in my suitcase, I bought only one small piece, a dish which now holds paperclips.



Many of the buildings were as colourful as the wares they housed, but no one could miss this striking apartment building in Rincon de Guayabitos.



One of my favourite places to visit is the Botanical Gardens a handy bus ride south of Puerto Vallarta. It is easy to spend the day browsing through the tropical gardens and lush jungle, take the walk down to the river, and enjoy the restaurant when you return. The bright spot for me is the orchid house, but these massive datura blooms also caught my eye.


 

So now, after having whined about the wintery view beyond my window, it has stopped snowing, the cloud cover has cleared, and the sun is shining. As it is only twenty-eight days to spring, I guess I can handle it.



Victoria Chatham











Sunday, December 25, 2022

Season's Greetings

 


 https://bookswelove.net/martin-paula/ 

Season’s Greetings

Greetings to all who celebrate Christmas. I hope you have a wonderful time, and enjoy meeting up with family and friends during the festive season.

By the time you read this, I will be about 10,000 miles away from my home in the UK, and enjoying Christmas and the New Year in Australia with my daughter and her partner who live near Brisbane. They emigrated in the summer of 2019 with every hope that they could return to visit us the following year. Then, as we all know, Covid struck in early 2020. Flights were restricted and Australia closed its borders until earlier this year. To begin with, Australia was not as badly affected as the UK, but my daughter worried as she watched the news from the UK, with several lockdowns and tragically huge statistics of infections and deaths. Although Covid did eventually reach Australia, they seem to have been more prepared to deal with it quickly and decisively.

Hopefully, we are now over the worst. Even though Covid is still around, we now have the benefit of vaccinations and boosters to protect us. So, in September, I took a deep breath and booked my flights to Australia.

As I have severe mobility problems due to arthritis in both hips, I’ve requested ‘meet and greet’ and wheelchair assistance at airports. I’m also flying business class – admittedly the cost is eye-watering, but at least it means I will have a seat that converts into a bed for the 13-hour flight to Singapore, followed by the 8-hour flight from there to Brisbane.

I can’t say I am looking forward to such long flights, but I have been sorting out my Kindle and now have 36 books in my ‘to be read’ folder – more than enough to keep me occupied, I think!

My daughter has also booked us on a 5-day cruise from Brisbane to Sydney which will be my first experience of ‘large ship’ cruising. She is hiring a wheelchair for me which will make getting around the ship easier. I am looking forward to my first view of the famous Harbour Bridge and the Opera House.

I’m also looking forward to seeing kangaroos jumping along the road and koalas hugging trees, but hopefully no large spiders or snakes!

Next month I’ll tell you some of the highlights of my visit, but meanwhile my very best wishes to you all during the festive season.


Find me on Facebook: www.facebook.com/paulamartinromances

Link to my Amazon author page:  author.to/PMamazon  

Friday, November 25, 2022

Remembrance Day

  https://bookswelove.net/martin-paula/ 


Remembrance Day

 Earlier this month, Remembrance Day was observed in the UK and in many Commonwealth countries. It commemorates the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month – 11am on November 11th 1918 – when the guns fell silent along the Western and Eastern fronts in Europe. An armistice had been signed, and the Great War had ended, after over four years of the bloodiest warfare ever.

There is an almost cruel irony in the fact that the first and also some of the last shots of the war were fired within fifty metres of each other in a small village called Casteau near the Belgian town of Mons which I visited several years ago.

On August 22nd 1914, a British cavalry troop, the 4th Dragoon Guards, were involved in the first skirmish with the Germans at Casteau. During this short battle, Captain E Thomas fired at the enemy, and killed a German cavalry officer.

Over 4 years of conflict later, on the morning of November 11th, 1918, a Canadian Infantry Battalion were on the trail of retreating German soldiers, and after firing their final shots, they stopped firing at 11 o’clock at the village of Casteau.

In between those first and last shots in this small Belgian village, hundreds of thousands lives had been lost in the trenches and battlefields on the Western and Eastern fronts.

                                                                         1914 Dragoon Guards Memorial           1918 Canadian Memorial

In 1915 Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, a Canadian medical officer, wrote a poem after presiding over the funeral of a friend who died in the Second Battle of Ypres:

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row, 
That mark our place; and in the sky 
The larks, still bravely singing, fly 
Scarce heard amid the guns below. 

The reference to the red poppies that grew over the graves of fallen soldiers in France and Belgium led to the poppy becoming one of the world's most recognized memorial symbols for soldiers who have died in conflicts.


In Britain, a Festival of Remembrance is held at the Royal Albert Hall in London on the Saturday nearest to November 11th. It commemorates all who have lost their lives in conflicts. Part concert, part memorial service, it concludes with a parade of representatives of all the armed forces as well as the uniformed volunteer organisations. Once they are all in place in the large arena, there is a two minute silence, and thousands of poppy petals are released from the roof. It is said there is one poppy petal for each person who has died in conflicts during and since the First World War.

The following morning, a memorial service is held at the Cenotaph in London’s Whitehall, and at the same time, similar services are held at hundreds of war memorials in every part of the country, and also wherever British troops are serving overseas.

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years contemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.

(Lawrence Binyon)

Find me on Facebook: www.facebook.com/paulamartinromances

Link to my Amazon author page:  author.to/PMamazon  

 

Wednesday, November 23, 2022

On Writing Historical Fiction by Victoria Chatham

 


AVAILABLE HERE


I was recently asked why I  chose to write historical novels, and I needed to think about the answer. The truth is, I was not too fond of history when I was in school. Other than the Norman invasion of England in 1066 and Columbus sailing the ocean blue in 1492, dates meant nothing to me. I don’t think I once correctly listed the succession of kings starting with Edward 1. Nor could I tell you the dates of the Wars of the Roses or the Great Fire of London. As for the English Civil War, without resorting to Google, I can only tell you that the combatants were the Parliamentarians, or Roundheads, led by Oliver Cromwell, on one side and the Royalists, or Cavaliers, who supported Charles 1, on the other.

The first historical novel I remember reading was The Sun in Splendour by Jean Plaidy, and, for

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once, history came alive. After that, I started looking more closely at historical fiction and found that history was not just about dates. It was about people who had lived in different eras, whether they were rich, privileged people at the top of the tree, or the lowly commoner. Catherine Cookson set most of her novels in Northeast England. Georgette Heyer’s characters populated London and wherever their country seats might be, while several had adventures in France or Spain. I enjoyed C.S. Forester’s Horatio Hornblower, who served in His Majesty’s Royal Navy and then the adventures of Bernard Cornwall’s British soldier, Sharpe.  

In writing my historical novels, I have envied colleagues who still have family papers, whether letters or diaries. In my family, very little of our history survives. Thanks to dedicated cousins on my mother’s and father’s sides of my family, I know something of it now. As much as I enjoy research, building family trees was never something I wanted to get into, possibly because of all those dates of births, marriages, and deaths, or hatches, matches and despatches, as my maternal grandmother used to say.

History may seem like a thing of the past, but the truth is we live in history all the time, and what we know today may make dusty reading for some teenagers in the future. While we hark back to the Regency or Victorian eras, more recent histories set during WWII are still popular. I won’t apologize for referencing English history because that is what I know best, but history happens everywhere. Ancient Egypt was the setting for several novels by Pauline Gedge and Wilbur Smith, the latter giving a vivid depiction of South Africa in many more of his novels.

History can be fascinating whether you enjoy it in fiction or non-fiction, movies or television series. Wherever you find it, I hope you enjoy it too.




Victoria Chatham

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