Best historical of 2023; read an excerpt, by Diane Scott Lewis

 

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I'm so thrilled my WWII novel won best historical of 2023. I hope you enjoy the excerpt, which changes Norah's journey as she's trapped in France after the Germans invaded.

At the sound of a boot scraping over stone, Norah peeked around the tall rock. Her pulse spiked. The Commandant stood a couple of feet away, straight as a steel beam, arrogant, gazing out over the Atlantic. His Nazi uniform was a terrible mockery to the village of Saint Guénolé.

She’d thought herself secluded here. Why had she taken the chance? She hunkered down and should slip away, since she could be apprehended for spying on the German officer. Though that’s not why she was there. Loathing coated with fear rippled through her.

Almost frozen with inaction, she slid down a little more into the cove of the rocks’ shadows. She glanced at her drawing book. The sketch of the Atlantic Puffin, delicate in its lines traced in colored pencils. The orange legs and strong red and black beak on a body of black, pale gray, and a white underside shimmered on the page. In profile, its eye shone with life, and the puffin looked about to take flight.

A gust of wind tossed her hair into her face, a thick sweep of strawberry-blonde in the scent of brine from the sea.

Did she hear his boots scrape closer? What if he peered over the rocks? Swiping her tresses aside, she shrank deeper into a cleft and glared over the ocean, longing for her home in Yorkshire, angry and upset at being stranded. But she must pretend to be calm, in control.

The Southern Finistère coast, with its rugged, rocky outline, was a buttress against the forceful ocean waves that slapped the stone slope two yards below her toes. The dark indigo of the Bay of Biscay reflected a blue spring sky. Spray filtered through the air, a mist that refreshed her skin—except today. If she could only sneak to the north coast and be capable of swimming the channel.

Inching to the side, Norah crept, head down, out from the semi-circle of tall rocks on the opposite side from the Commandant. Thankful she wore trousers and not a skirt, plus sturdy Oxford shoes, she brushed off her backside. She hurried past the monolithic-like stones with golden lichen clinging to their bases, across an open area of grass and into the bushes then woods. Her pencils rattled in the canvas bag. Her legs grazed against the orange and yellow wildflowers.

A sentry or two always patrolled this area. She tried to remain inconspicuous, but more soldiers had arrived in the last few weeks. The Germans had started to build ports somewhere along here and a special one, heavily guarded, right below the village. She must be more careful.

As she pushed her way through gorse bushes and scratchy plants, sharply fragrant, she pondered the German officer’s reasons for standing at the cliff, which he did often—but never so close to her cove. Was he waiting for reinforcements by sea? Or coveting England across the channel? But that view was on the northern coast of this peninsula that stuck like a fat finger out into the Atlantic.

The Nazis’ bombing raids had already decimated so much in London in the Blitz. They’d also dropped bombs on York, but with minimal damage so far. Her country had been attacked by German planes from September ’40 to last month—the worst raid ever on London. She groaned. Now June, would it start again?

Since last year, Hitler planned an invasion of England, but he had failed to land any troops.

Her stomach clenched with more anger she needed to temper. She increased her stride, sucking in the fresh air. Rustling behind her, footsteps—too close. Someone panting then a hand grabbed her shoulder.

Norah flinched and swung around. A baby-faced soldier in Nazi greenish-gray scowled at her. “What are you doing here?” he demanded in heavily accented, terrible French, two of his teeth jagged like a weasel.

She straightened, chin high, the pad pressed to her stomach. Inside, she trembled. “I live nearby. I was enjoying a walk. I draw birds.” Her French was passable after the year entrenched with her cousin, and her schoolgirl lessons from a decade ago. Her arrival happened only five weeks before the Germans invaded France. A desperate year because of that and for anguished, personal reasons.

The young man pointed at her book and bag, then shouted over his shoulder in German.

Was he alerting his superior? “Please, I’ve done nothing wrong.” She had no desire to come face to face with the Commandant. “You can search me…if you want.” She cringed at that idea.

“I have no choice but to report you.” The soldier shouted again. The officer’s heavy footsteps thudded closer.

He burst through the bushes, tall and broad-shouldered, his expression stern. The two Germans spoke in their guttural language.

Norah wanted to collapse to the ground but refused to show intimidation. Her spine nearly crackled as she held it firm.

The Commandant confronted her, his blue eyes penetrating. “What is your purpose out here at the shore?” He had distinct cheekbones, a handsome face, his lips full; a man of about forty. An iron cross hung at his high collar. “You don’t care to take instruction from we Philistines. Civilians are restricted.”

“I apologize,” she tried to keep the revulsion from her tone, though his near-teasing words —or perhaps a taunt—put her off-balance even more, “I was out for a walk and…I used to walk by the shore. Before—” Before you damned Germans arrived.


Diane lives in Western Pennsylvania with her husband and one naughty dachshund.

From Big to Little by Joan Donaldson-Yarmey

 

https://www.bookswelove.com/donaldson-yarmey-joan/

https://books2read.com/Romancing-the-Klondike

https://books2read.com/Rushing-the-Klondike

https://www.bookswelove.com/authors/canadian-historical-mysteries/

I am a Canadian writer and all my mystery, historical, romance, and young adult novels are set in Canada. Canada is the second largest country in the world and home to a wide variety of rocks, plants, and animals. Here are some of the oldest, largest, and smallest examples.

Canada’s largest tree is a western red cedar called the Cheewhat Giant. It is in the Pacific Rim National Park on Vancouver Island. It is 56m (182 ft) tall and has trunk diameter of 6m (20ft). The Cheewhat Giant is also the biggest western red cedar in the world.

Canada’s tallest tree is a Sitka spruce in the Carmanah Valley on Vancouver Island. It stands 95m (312ft) high.

Canada has the oldest exposed bedrock on earth and it is the oldest section of our planet’s early crust. It is known as the Nuvvuagittuq greenstone belt and is in Northern Quebec on the eastern shore of the Hudson Bay. It has been analyzed by geologists and they have determined that the rock samples range from 3.8 to 4.28 billion years old. The earth its 4.6 billion years old and there are very few remnants of its early crust, since most of it has been rotated back into the Earth’s interior by the movement of the large tectonic plates over billions of years.

 The Banff Springs Snail isn’t the smallest snail in the world; that is held by the Augustopila psammion species found in a cave in Vietnam and four of them fit inside a grain of sand. However, the only place in the world where the Banff Springs Snail is found is in a handful of thermal springs in Banff National Park in the province of Alberta. The snail was first discovered in 1926 and the largest of the snails are about the size of a small fingernail.

The world’s largest colony of Lesser Snow Geese can be found on the Great Plain of the Koukdjuak on the western side of Baffin Island in the territory of Nunavut, Canada. Beginning in late May as many as two million snow geese migrate there to breed and when the young hatch, they and their parents go further inland to feed. By early September the young are large enough to head south for the winter.

The Cinderella Princess. Anne Stuart Future Queen of England 1702-1714 Part Two by Rosemary Morris

 

To find out more about Rosemary's stories 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.

Princess Anne was six years old when her mother died in 1671. Her father, James, Duke of York, had taken the unpopular decision to become a Roman Catholic. Her uncle, the childless King Charles II, knew politics demanded his heirs, Anne and her elder sister, Mary, were Protestants. He appointed Lady Frances Villiers, a committed Anglican, as their governess and leased Richmond Palace, where his nieces would live, to Frances and her husband.

The princesses benefited from country air and were privileged to live by the Thames at a time when, due to bad roads, the river was important.

Anne’s indulgent father visited his daughters regularly, showered them with gifts and often stayed for several nights at Richmond Palace. Yet all was not well with the family. In 1673, the Test Act excluded anyone who did not take communion in the Anglican Church from public office, James was forced to resign as Lord High Admiral and give up his other official positions. In an era with fervent religious allegiances, I wonder what effect religious controversy had on Anne, a stubborn child.

What did she think when her father married fifteen year old Mary of Braganza? History relates James was captivated by his bride. Looking at a copy of her portrait, I’m not surprised. She was tall with a good figure, jet black hair, a fair skin, and large eyes her contemporaries at court described as ‘full of sweetness and light’. The proud bridegroom introduced his new wife to his daughters as a ‘playmate’. Anne formed a bond, not with her stepmother, whose children would be raised in the Roman Catholic faith, but with vivacious Sarah Churchill, who would have a profound influence on Anne.

Granddaughter of tragic King Charles 1 how would her life develop?

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

 

Far Beyond Rubies

Tangled Love

The Captain and The Countess

The Viscount and The Orphan

 With firmly closed bedroom doors, the reader can relish the details of emerging romances.

 

* * *

To purchase my novels choose an online click onto the book cover to choose an online bookstore at https:bwlpublishing.ca/morris-rosemary.

Unusual and Forbidden Love Stories, by Diane Scott Lewis

 

Miss Grey's Shady Lover
Diane Scott Lewis has crafted a witty, short parody that made me titter at the author's pointed euphemisms and veiled sexual overtones. The characterization of Anya and Libidinous is spot-on for the time period. What an amusing romp ensues as this tale unfolds! (warning, quite erotic)
              ~ Angie Just Read for The Romance Reviews

The Defiant Lady Pencavel
"Readers should not take this story too seriously as with every line, Ms Scott Lewis pokes fun at late eighteenth century society and men in general. There is also a cheeky Cornish maid with an over the top accent who adds colour and humour. A very fun romp to help blow the cobwebs away." - Historical Novel Review

Buy HERE

I thought for fun I'd write two parodies, but many didn't understand that they were parodies and I wasn't trying to write serious stories. One on Fifty Shades, set in the 18th c., and the other, also 18th c., is a parody on historical romance novels. I still enjoyed the process.

I like the idea of forbidden love, a shy maid and her arrogant master, and two disparate people, betrothed but totally unsuitable for one another. They both want their freedom for different reasons. Could they ever find love? 

I poke fun at every trope there is.

In my current work in progress, Outcast Artist in Bretagne, I take it to a higher level. It's World War II, and a young Englishwoman-with a tragic secret-is stranded in France after the Germans invade. Her activities, sketching near the coast, brings her under the scrutiny of the German Commandant. 

A strange attraction ensues, an impossible situation, but August von Gottlieb is not the Nazi Norah fears he is. He, too, detests what Hitler is doing to Europe.

On the rocky shores of Brittany, a dangerous liaison develops, two people caught up in war, intrigue, and passion. 

She's shunned and threatened by the villagers. He is in danger of losing his position before he can accomplish what he needs to.

Sabotage, a secret weapon, and forged documents will threaten them and everyone around them in a fight for their lives.

Another tale of forbidden love, set back in history, my favorite genre. Due out in August 2023.

Diane lives in Western Pennsylvania with her husband and one naughty dachshund.

To find out more about her books: DianeScottLewis 

How Far to Stretch the Truth in Your Writing, by Diane Scott Lewis

 

“A rich plot with building suspense, the writing is perfect and flows well. I loved this story.”   ~History and Women~

Purchase Ghost Point: Ghost Point

To purchase my novels and other BWL books: BWL

In the beginning of my writing career I was certain you couldn't move events around to suit your story. But then I read a note in a Sharon Kay Penman novel where she said she moved a battle up six months for dramatic purposes. Then I knew if you listed your 'changes' you should get away with it.

Years ago I wrote a novel that takes place on Saint Helena during Napoleon's final exile. But I wanted a twist at the end where he slips away to America. This was the farthest I've stretched the truth, or changed events, though others have hinted at the possibility, or (later on) written fictional accounts of an escape. Now I've come across a few other novels in which the French Emperor escapes his island prison. I tried to write it to where it made perfect sense and it could have actually happened. Agents at the time were horrified that I would even attempt it. No imagination!

Years later, I reviewed a novel not listed as a fantasy set in the fourteenth century where the heroine is eating tomatoes in England. Tomatoes weren't discovered by Europeans until the New World of the Americas were explored a century later. I asked the author about it. She laughed it off and said she knew.

But no author note? I mentioned in my review that she purposely had anachronisms in her novel.

Could a man survive a ship explosion in the eighteenth century and be lost for years? And the Admiralty determined there were no survivors? Well, you need to make it plausible for the reader. And you're not changing history, only stretching the likelihood that this is possible. Check out my novel, Hostage to the Revolution to find out if you agree. But to get the full story, start with Escape the Revolution.

In my recent novel Ghost Point, I do change history by combining three years of the Oyster Wars over the Potomac River into one season. I needed the drama, the murder, that happened later to enrich my plot. I made certain to mention that events were compressed for dramatic purposes.

In Rose's Precarious Quest, a novel about a woman who strives to be a doctor in the 18th c., but discovers disturbing secrets in her new village, I throw in a touch of magic near the end, though most of the novel is grounded in reality. What powers does that stone ring contain? Did the ring glow that fateful night when the villain chased after Rose's sister, or was it the protagonist's overwrought imagination?

If you want to stretch the truth, or move events around, annotate it in your author notes for readers to see. Make it as plausible as possible.

Diane lives in Western Pennsylvania with her husband and one naughty dachshund.

To find out more about her and her books:  DianeScottLewis

My First and Only Stage Play By Joan Donaldson-Yarmey

 

 

 https://www.bookswelove.com/donaldson-yarmey-joan/

Over my writing career I have written non fiction travel books, and mystery, historical, and holiday romance novels. One year, after taking a two day, play writing course, I wrote a stage play. I entered my play in the Fringe held in the small town where I lived. It was accepted and then came the hard part: finding actors and props, producing, and directing it.

      I needed a male and a female lead actor and I asked two people who had been in plays in our local theatre before. They agreed and I gave them each a copy of the play. We met and had a run through with us discussing how we each saw the characters. Their interpretation of their character's actions and attitude were sometimes different from mine, but, other than a few places where I felt a certain delivery was needed, I let them decide how to play the part. Through our many rehearsals with the props, which my husband, Mike, was in charge of, the characters evolved and took shape as we discovered better ways for them move, react, and relate.

      I also needed actors for a party scene and I approached people I knew and/or worked with in my quest. Even though I told them that they would only be on stage for less than five minutes, that all they had to do was listen to the male actor beak off about how good he was, and that they had no lines, many gave a flat no, explaining that they could never get up on stage in front of an audience. Some agreed so I gave them the times of our next two rehearsals. Most of them never showed up. I kept asking people: my cats' vet, the owner of a new store in town, the person who donated some props. But I only had the same two people show up for any of the rehearsals and it looked like Mike and I would be making our acting debut. I was beginning to worry. Maybe I would have to drag up some of the audience members.

      On the evening of the first presentation, two of the three who had attended rehearsals, two actors in another play and I made up the attendees of the party. For the Saturday matinee the partiers were, one of my three regulars along with two members of my dragon boat team, the two actors from the other play, a theatre volunteer, and myself.

      One thing I did learn was that for something like the Fringe where plays are being presented one after the other, having a lot of props is not a good idea. Because I was showing a story instead of telling a story, I had over forty props, some large ones being: fridge, stove, desk, computer, sewing machine, two chairs, table; smaller ones being: duster, broom, envelope, paper, boxes, material, pens, wine bottle and glasses, and many more. The play after me had only two tables, two chairs, a laundry basket and some beer bottles. Another play I watched had some tea cups and teddy bears.

      On the first evening there were going to be four separate plays, mine being the first. That was perfect because it gave us time to set up our scene. However, at the end, we had to get our props off stage so that the next play could set theirs up before their showing. Our actors became stage hands and things disappeared in a hurry. The same happened on Saturday afternoon.

      The important thing I learned was that while I had written the words, I was at the mercy of the actors to show up for the rehearsals, learn their lines, and speak those words on stage. My female lead was off book (I did get to know some of the lingo) quickly, but the male lead found it harder to remember his lines. He also missed some of the rehearsals.

      Putting on a stage play isn't like making a movie. You don't get to go back and redo a scene. When asked, the way I put it is, opening night did not go as rehearsed. To be honest, it wasn't even close. The male character kept forgetting his lines or changing them which threw the female character off, as well as the lighting guy and Mike who had to operate a smoke machine.

     The Saturday afternoon presentation went better. He still missed many of his lines but the audience laughed when they were supposed to and they understood, and laughed at, the twisted ending. I was elated and hearing that laughter made the whole process worthwhile. And I do believe I will try another play for next year, but I will keep the props to a minimum and have the actors tell the story instead of show the story.

      While there were many mishaps and problems getting my play to the stage, the most memorable is about our wine bottle. We needed a wine bottle for the opening scene, so I rinsed one out and filled it with water. We used it for our first on stage rehearsal and left it along with our other props for our full dress rehearsal the next evening. When I went to find it for that rehearsal, it was gone. We searched everywhere and couldn’t find it, so we used a beer bottle in its place. We laughed and hoped that the person hadn't decided to take it as a hostess gift to some fancy dinner. I found another wine bottle for our opening night. At the end of the evening I discovered our first bottle by the back door, empty. That person must have thought it was the weakest, worst tasting wine ever made.

The Mysterious Derec Pritchard by Diane Scott Lewis

For my Revolutionary War adventure, Her Vanquished Land, my main male character is a Welshman with a dark past. Let's find out more about Derec Pritchard with a Character Interview:

 

 

Derec, the Welsh don't care much fore the English, why do you spy for their cause?

The tall, lanky man took a chair. "Aye, I needed money, and to leave Wales after an...incident with my step-father, a horrible man."

An incident?

"He used his fists on my mum." His black eyes above sharp cheekbones burned fiercely. "I had to stab him, not to death mind. But scared him off. Now I send her money to keep her from being evicted."

I see. That was awful for you and your mother. What are your duties is the spying business?

"Code breaking. Stopping messengers, taking their satchels." He pushed back his three-cornered hat. "Sending the information to the British generals."

Is that how you met Miss Marsh?

"Not exactly. She's a hoyden, that one." A smile creased his face. "Dressed as a boy, said her name was Rowland. But I found out it's Rowena."

What did you think of Rowena?

"Thought her in the way at first. But then she was able to decode the new code in ancient Greek from the rebels." He nodded slowly. "An asset."

Are you attracted to her?
"Wasn't." Derec shifted in the wooden chair. "Never bothered with a lasting relationship with a woman, and she was still a girl. Barely eighteen."
But she grew on you...?
"Aye, I must admit, her bravery and stubbornness impressed me. I still resisted. I didn't want to be tied down."
Did she convince you to start a relationship?
"That's not her way. No flirt, that one. Besides, I don't want to settle down in one place. Women want that."
So you'll--
"I must continue my duties to the Crown." He squared his shoulders in his dark frock coat. "The rebels grow stronger, winning more battles. The British troops are stretched thin." His voice softened. "Rowena has left with her family to find safety."

Then there's no happy ending?

"We will see. First, I must join the fight, which could be the death of me." Derec stood and strode from the room.

 



  

Purchase from BWL site.

For more information on me and my books, visit my website: Diane Scott Lewis

 

Diane Scott Lewis grew up in California, traveled the world with the navy, edited for an on-line publisher, and wrote book reviews for the Historical Novel Society. She lives with her husband and one naughty puppy in Western Pennsylvania.

 

A Woman who Fights Against the Tide by Diane Scott Lewis

A young woman torn apart by war. My upcoming historical novel, Her Vanquished Land, (September release) explores the American Revolution from the Loyalists' side--the people who stayed loyal to King George III--as seen through the eyes of a young lady. The rebels, or revolutionaries, punished these Loyalists, confiscating their property, and in some cases even hanging them. No one was allowed to stay neutral. They had to pick a side.

Rowena Marsh lives an upper middle-class life in Easton, Pennsylvania, north of Philadelphia. Her father, a lawyer until chased from town by the rebels, is a staunch Loyalist. She believes what he does, that these rabble-rousers who want independence will never be able to win against the mighty British army.
Rowena is nearly eighteen, she has lost her mother to illness, and she's a tomboy, or hoyden in 18th century terms. She can't understand why her world is crumbling around her and wants to join in the fight.

Her brothers are serving in the British army, her irascible cousin sneaks off to clandestine meetings, and she feels she must do her part. Her life in constant danger, she follows her cousin to Philadelphia, a hotbed of rebel turmoil. But a mysterious Welshman, a cohort of her cousin, seems to be stalking her.

I got the idea to write of the Loyalists while researching my Canadian Brides novel, On a Stormy Primeval Shore.
But, I must admit, for an American it's not popular to write of the British side. How do I make my characters sympathetic? Giving Rowena confusion over which side is right as time goes on is one way to appeal to others.

Her Vanquished Land blurb:

In 1780, Loyalist Rowena Marsh insists on spying for the British during the American Revolution. As a girl, she must dress as a boy, plus endure devastation and murder as she decodes messages for a mysterious Welshman. The tide has turned in the rebels’ favor. General George Washington appears to be winning. The loyalists are bombarded by threats and lost battles. Rowena stays determined to aid the British cause and preserve her family as they’re chased from their Pennsylvania home.

She struggles with possible defeat and permanent exile, plus her growing love for the Welshman who may have little need for affection. Will the war destroy both their lives?

For further information on me and my books, please visit my website: www.dianescottlewis.org

 

Or perfuse my BWL author page: BWL

 

Diane Scott Lewis grew up in California, traveled the world with the navy, edited for magazines and an on-line publisher. She lives with her husband in Pennsylvania.