Thursday, January 28, 2021
Romance in Bloom--The Art of Perfuming by Connie Vines
Saturday, December 19, 2020
Lights Aglow by Helen Henderson
Windmaster Legend by Helen Henderson |
For the upteenth time, I'm changing my mind about this month's post. I wanted something dealing with traditions, but everything I came up with has changed. There are the unofficial traditions such as raking leaves before Thanksgiving dinner, or watching the Tournament of Roses or Macy's Thanksgiving parades. Football games on television or at the local high school field fulfilled those interests; while some of us preferred the National Dog Show. My Scotch blood cheered when the Scottish Deerhound won best in show even as my sentimenal side had rooted for the collie to win.
In disclosure: Bumps was not an award-winning collie, but he did have a way of herding sheep and children on my childhood farm. After hours of brushing, there are no burrs in his coat. |
The gatherings of 20 people from our various family households were reduced to those who live under the one roof. During those larger gatherings, I was in charge of the children's table. And yes, it was a table set aside just for the younger members who ranged in age from 18 months or so to teens. A rite of passage was when you got to go from the picnic table and low benches to a real chair at the adult table.
Not saying things haven't changed before 2020. Locations for the holiday gatherings varied depending on the family's situation at the time. If someone had a newborn or young children, they were given the option to host or visit, whichever they thought was easiest for them. Other times we gathered at the home of the oldest member so that they wouldn't have to travel. Then when the time came, to avoid adding to the holiday emotions with those raised by an empty chair, we would gather up those who could no longer drive and take them with us. Over the years, seating has been on living room couches, around dining room tables (after we filled our plates buffet style in the kitchen ) or sitting on the steps leading to the upper floor. All meals were potluck with everyone contributing their specialty. And if someone couldn't cook anymore we made sure they felt like they were contributing even if they only brought the dinner rolls or a plate of cheese and crackers to nibble while visiting. However, for the majority of the years, the host household was chosen based on one thing-- who had the most room.
Image by Vuong Viet from Pixabay |
The Windmaster Legend festival has several traditions related to it. Local residents wrote note on the lantern itself. Some were thanks for a profitable year, while others were prayers for the one to come. Many were poignant remembrances of loved ones who had passed beyond the veil. The lanterns were sent aloft from the decks of ships just offshore so that the breezes could take the lights skyward. A necessary item because a lantern that caught fire before reaching the clouds would never be fulfilled.
On a lighter note the lantern rising had another pertinent connection to one of our world's winter holiday tradition -- a stolen kiss beneath the mistletoe. In the land of the Windmaster Novels, whether onboard a ship out on Botunn Loghes or watching from the shore, when lanterns fill the sky, a man—or woman can claim a kiss from anyone they chose.
You’ll have to read Windmaster Legend to see if the tradition was followed … and which of the two men in Pelra's life was the recipient.
To purchase the Windmaster Novels: BWL
As this is my last post of the year, a special wish. In the upcoming year may your dreams come true, and you once again fall in love with reading. Helen
Find out more about me and my novels at Journey to Worlds of Imagination.
Follow me online at Facebook, Goodreads, Twitter.
Helen Henderson lives in western Tennessee with her husband. While she doesn’t have any pets in residence at the moment, she often visits a husky and a retriever who have adopted her as one of their pack.
Saturday, April 25, 2020
The Manuscript and the Stock Car Race by A.M.Westerling
If you’ve been following my blog posts over the past months, you’ll know I’ve been posting excerpts from my latest manuscript, ‘Sophie’s Choice’, Book One of The Ladies of Harrington House. Well, I’m thrilled and proud to announce Sophie’s Choice was released earlier this month! You can find it at your favourite online store HERE.
I know what you’re thinking. How can there possibly be any connection between writing a manuscript for a Regency romance and running a NASCAR race? I’m sure you’re also thinking I’ve spent way too much time at the keyboard! However, like writing a book, running a race has its stages.
The first stage, the beginning of the race. The cars are bright, shiny, unscratched, not dented. The drivers are fresh, cute and full of energy. There are the driver introductions, the fanfare, the invocation, the flyover, all building up to those fabled words: “Drivers, start your engines.” The motors roar to life, fans are on their feet, the cars roll around the track for the warm-up laps until the green flag drops and the race begins!
The first few laps are amazing. The growl of the engines rumbles in your chest, the speed of the cars is dizzying, the jostling for the lead exciting. You settle in to watch, convinced the next two hundred and fifty laps are going to whiz by as fast as the cars flying past on the track.
The first stage of a manuscript is similar. It’s your new baby. The characters are engaging, the ideas shiny and different, the plot brilliant. You sit down at the computer and your hands scoot across the keys as page after page of absolutely the most dazzling book ever appears beneath your oh so nimble fingers. The first fifty pages come together as if by magic. This is it, you think, this is the book to end all books. This is going to land me on the NYT Best Seller list.
Then hits the middle stage. Quite frankly, the race has become rather ho hum as the excitement has worn off. It’s hot, you’re thirsty. You check the score board and realize only eighty laps are down and you have to sit there for at least another three hours. Your favourite driver is somewhere in the middle of the pack and nowhere to be seen. The drivers settle in and peel off the laps, regularly going in for pit stops for fuel and tires and whatever minor repairs are needed. Someone might make a mistake, a tire might blow, there may be a crash. There will be caution laps. But really, there’s not much at stake as the finish line still seems so far away. All the drivers can do is circle the track, counting down the laps.
For a manuscript, it’s the dreaded saggy middle. Now your manuscript is absolutely the worst thing you’ve ever produced. The characters have become limp, the plot has fizzled. But you need to do it. You need to have the middle because otherwise how would you get to the end? This is where you take your pit stops and take a step back to replenish the well. You may very well have your plot crashes where you’ve written yourself into a corner. Like an extra long pit stop, or even a trip behind the wall to the dreaded garage, you may need to back track and tweak something to keep the engine/muse going. But you will do it. You need to do the laps.
In the last stage, the race picks up again. The last fifty laps become racy as drivers and crews know the elusive finish line isn’t so elusive anymore. It becomes important for the drivers to stay close to the front so they can make a move to finish first. Teams become aggressive because they know the chance to win is small but in order to even have a chance, they must be positioned properly.
With a manuscript, it’s the point in the story where you realize exactly how it’s going to finish and how many scenes have to be written. You’ve done your time and worked your way through the middle. The end is in sight and enthusiastic, you’re back at the keyboard pounding away. Your excitement builds again. For me in Sophie’s Choice, it was around Chapter Fifteen, when Sophie discovered the pages in Bryce’s library that could mean he was involved in smuggling. From there I knew what had to happen to complete the book.
Finally, the race is over! The winning car crosses the finish line to the frantic flap of the checker flag. Fans cheer, the driver circles the track carrying the checkered flag and spins doughnuts in a cloud of smoke and dust before heading to the winner’s circle for a few minutes of glory and media attention. Then it’s back to work. One race is only one race in a long season. Load up the semi trailer trucks and move on to the next track.
A writer’s finish line excitement is typing “THE END”! It’s when you can stand up and do the happy dance, congratulating yourself on a job well done or treat yourself to a lovely glass of wine. It’s been a long haul but your baby is finished. You read it over a few times and marvel at your skill. It’s your sure ticket into the hearts of thousands of adoring fans. You did it. You finished the manuscript.
Now it’s time for business. Time to send it to your publisher for final edits and it’s time to start the next book. For it too, will be your new baby, shiny and fresh and ready to run the next race. I’ve already started my new baby – it’s Book Two of The Ladies of Harrington House series, Leah’s Surrender. You’ll find an excerpt in the back of Sophie’s Choice for a sneak peek of the adventures in store for Leah.
Wednesday, March 25, 2020
More Tidbits on Cornwall by A.M.Westerling
Tuesday, February 25, 2020
The Vikings in Cornwall by A.M.Westerling
Photo of the Tamar River By Tony Atkin, CC BY-SA 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=12499850 |
Monday, November 25, 2019
Cornwall Continued by A.M.Westerling
Haha, I know, a medieval knight hasn't got much to do with 1805 Cornwall but I love this eye catching cover! You can find it at your favourite online store HERE.
In my blog post last month, I talked a bit about Cornwall and the large part smuggling played in its history. Research is actually one of the reasons why I enjoy writing historical romance as much as I do. It’s always interesting to see what curious bits I can find and in today’s post I thought I’d share a few of the anecdotes that caught my fancy.
Once smuggled goods were dropped off on shore, the contraband made its way to inns and hostelries such as Jamaica Inn on Bodmin Moor. This inn is the inspiration for Daphne Du Maurier’s novel which now is on my to be read list. Then there’s the quick-witted landlady who hid a keg of spirits beneath her skirts during an unexpected search by the revenue men. Hmm, I don't think I'd have the nerve to do that. And it’s rumoured some villages had so much illegal gin the villages washed their windows with it! Why not, glass cleaner contains alcohol although not of the drinking variety. *wink*
Finally, signals were needed so smugglers knew when it was safe to land their cargo on shore. A local farmer used a white horse – if the men saw a white horse parading up and down the coast, they knew it was safe to land. If there was danger, the farmer would simply ride his horse home.
Of course there are many other examples but I have a Grey Cup party to go to this afternoon so am keeping this post short. Haha, yes, I am a master of procrastination…😊
I’m finishing off with the next excerpt from Sophie, Book 1 of The Ladies of Harrington House series coming soon. This is scene number four. Enjoy!
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