Showing posts with label American history. Show all posts
Showing posts with label American history. Show all posts

Saturday, March 7, 2020

Thinking Ahead by Eileen O'Finlan


One hundred years ago women won the right to vote in the United States. It’s hard to believe we couldn’t vote until 1920, but that’s the fact. It was a long, hard fought battle, one for which American women owe gratitude to the suffragettes who made it happen.

For several years an idea has been simmering in my brain for a novel set during the struggle for American women’s voting rights. As with many of the yet-to-be-written multitude of novels floating around in my head, scenes from this one play themselves out in my mind every so often. I don’t think this will be the next novel I write (after Erin’s Children, my novel in progress, and sequel to Kelegeen), but certainly it is in the top three currently germinating in my imagination.

As with all good historical fiction, there will be lots of research before and during the writing. Though I may not start the actual writing for a while, when a research opportunity pops up I’m certainly not going to ignore it.

This afternoon I will be attending an event at the Worcester Historical Museum entitled “Suffragist Tea with History At Play”. The play, “How Long Must We Wait?” is a “multi-modal performance art piece detailing the struggle for women’s right to vote and equality” according to the Worcester Historical Museum’s website.

Despite being way ahead of my schedule regarding research for my future novel, I’m not about to pass it up. Something like this might not be available when I’m “officially” ready to start my research. Notes can be kept, memories held, videos replayed (History At Play’s website appears to have videos of many past performances). As an author of historical fiction, research is a high priority. When an opportunity comes my way, I’ll grab it while I can. No need to wait!



Wednesday, November 13, 2019

Photo Shoot


Recently I had the delightful experience of visiting my local photographer Ana for a photo shoot at her studio for some new author photos.  

First stop: my favorite hair dresser Joanna's Glamorama for a styling.  Then, cross the street to Ana. (I love small town life in Vermont!) 

Ana also runs Anastasia's Closet a wonderfully curated vintage clothing store, so our session became a great dress up afternoon as well.  What fun!

First, Ana helped me get comfortable by channeling my inner Mary Poppins...



Then we got started on head shots. Only afterward did I realize that the dominant colors of both clothing and backgrounds were red, white and blue...fitting for an author of American historical novels, isn't it?

Then came the job of choosing among many expressions. For that I enlisted my readers on Facebook.  I was delighted with the result...everyone had an opinion, it seemed! Can you guess which of these was the favorite for my new official photo?

The reds....
 


 The Whites...

 The Blues...



Feel free to cast your own vote!

The winner.............

This one!



Sunday, April 7, 2019

Seven Aprils - My Favorite New BWL Release by Eileen O'Finlan
















Click here for purchase information


American women serving on the front lines in wartime is not as new as one might think. Remember Molly Pitcher (most likely Mary Ludwig Hays McCauley) who took over for her husband when he fell at the Battle of Monmouth.  Or what about Deborah Sampson, the young farmwoman who disguised herself as a man and joined the Continental Army to fight in the American Revolution.  An article on the American Battlefield Trust website entitled “Female Soldiers in the Civil War” claims a conservative estimate of between 400 and 750 disguised female soldiers fighting on both sides.  A few also served as spies.  According to the article women had a variety of reasons for taking on the hardships of camp life and risking injury or death including patriotism, the desire to remain with loved ones, a sense of adventure, and the promise of a reliable income.

Eileen Charbonneau’s new release, Seven Aprils, draws the reader into the life of one young woman who disguises herself as a man to serve in the Union’s newly formed medical unit for reasons quite different and even more compelling than those listed above.  To save her own life, Tess becomes Tom Boyde, assistant to Dr. Ryder Cole, and later takes on a third role as Diana, Dr. Cole’s prostitute lover.  How she manages to keep all her personas separate, adroitly recover and tend to the wounded even in the midst of frontline battle, and just as skillfully satisfy Dr. Cole’s lust for her makes for an adventurous, addictive tale.

Charbonneau’s adept handling of the changes from Tess to Tom to Diana never leave the reader confused.  The story, thoroughly engaging and totally believable, is filled with heart stopping adventure and smokin' hot romance. If you’re looking for a fresh take on a Civil War novel, Seven Aprils more that fits the bill!

In this excerpt from Seven Aprils Tess, who has become Tom, now becomes Diana:

    Tess turned. Madame Lanier stood in one of the room’s three doorways. Dress and hoops gone, she was still imposing in her silk dressing down. Tess felt more trapped inside her uniform than when the boys first teased her for not joining them at the swimming hole.
    “Would you loosen my corset strings, love?”
     Tess swallowed. “Sure.”
     Madame Lanier’s dressing gown sang as it slid off her shoulders and to the ground. Tess released the back tie that held in the cinch at Madame Lanier’s waist. She watched the ties slip through their grommets as she waited the space of a few of the woman’s deep breaths. “Is that all right?”
    “Perfect.”
    Tess secured the ties in the new position.,”
    “You have done that many times before, cheri," Madame Lanier said. “Now. Would you not like to do the same?”
    “Ma’am?”
    “Shed your uniform for one night? Remember who you are underneath those handsome shades of blue?” The woman eased Tess down before the dressing table with a gentle press at her shoulders. “They suit you, the blues. Did you wear the color in your other life?”
    Tess took in a careful breath. “Wore mostly homespun, back then. Browns from walnut casings, yellows from onion skins. A little green cloth from sage.” She was babbling. The truth, of course, and in detail. “I do admire the shade of blue. Made a mix of milk and blue pokeberry for my sleeping place in the loft once. Never got to paint it, though.”
    “Why not?”
    “My pa said I was putting on airs. Said plain board’s good enough for the menfolk of the family, and it was good enough…for—for…”
    “For you?”
    “Yes, Ma’am, for me.”
    What was she doing, talking like a magpie to this woman, and almost giving herself clean away besides? She heard Ryder Cole’s laugh from the room beside Madame Lanier’s. Her head hurt. If they discovered her a woman, would the army think he knew all along? Would they blame him?
    “You are a chemist, Private Boyde, with the making of your paints! Perhaps you’d like to investigate my beauty concoctions?” Madame Lanier gave out a short, throaty laugh. “Purely in the interest of scientific study, of course?”
    “I’d like that fine, Ma’am,” Tess said, turning her attention to the lace-covered table.
    “Good. Sit.”
    She reached over Tess’s shoulder and picked up a brush with an ivory handle as fine as those on Doctor Cole’s French-made surgical instruments. “We will do only what you like tonight, I promise.”
    “Thank you,” Tess whispered, hearing the relieved crack in her voice’s low tone.
    “Your hair has a lovely natural curl. May I?”
    “Uh… all right.”
    The hostess began her task. Tess tried to lose herself in the cut glass bottles leaking their scents, but the deep massage of her scalp was too wonderful not to revel in. Her mother had brushed her hair like this, so long ago. She closed her eyes, remembering.
    “You have never seen yourself as beautiful, have you?”
    Her eyes opened. Tess stared at the reflection of a stranger. Slicked down, always-pulled-behind-the-ears strands were now soft waves framing a round, flushed face, a nose off-kilter since Laban let the handle on the pump up too fast when she was eight and broke it.
    “Beautiful?” Her laugh sounded like dry leaves before a storm. “What would the point of that be, Ma’am?”
    Madame Lanier’s brows slanted in amusement. “Well, it’s been the point of my own existence for as long as I remember.”
    “Oh. ‘Course. Beg pardon, Ma’am.”
    The light, throaty laugh came again. It was true. This woman was not going to force her to do anything. She was not full of meanness like the few predatory men that Ryder, Joe and Davy shielded her from at camp. Maybe Ryder was right, maybe everything would be all right if she could just relax in this strange, gaudy place.
    Madame Lanier laid down her brush. She swiped three fingers full of a substance that looked like butter from the lilac-scented jewel bottle. She brought it to Tess’s temple and began kneading it in, counterbalancing the throbbing there.
    “Better?” she whispered.
    “Yes.”
    The skilled hands anchored her jaw now, and continued the gentle massage of her cheekbone, sliding across the bridge of her imperfect nose. The massage continued around her ear, down her throat. Is this how Madame Lanier started with the men? Those jealous men who were angry at the lady’s choice of partner-of-the-evening? It’s a wonder this woman didn’t live in a castle with those men at her feet, Tess thought.
    “Can you see it yet?” Madame Lanier asked softly.
    Tess stared at their reflections. “See, Ma’am?”
    She kissed Tess’s cheek. “That every woman with the fire of purpose is beautiful.”
    “Woman?”
    “And I see your purpose as well as I see the affection you carry for your captain.” She frowned. “As if you haven’t got enough burdens, my darling girl.”
    Suddenly, the weight of the day crashed down, turning the bottles blurry as Tess struggled to take in gulps of air. The woman’s long, strong fingers unbuttoned, then lifted off coat, vest and blouse until she found Tess’s own corset: plain boned muslin, tied towards a different purpose. She loosened the strings.
    “Breathe easy now. I will not add to your burdens. You’re safe here. You’ll always be safe here, do you understand?”
    Tess looked up at the woman’s reflection. “Will I?” she whispered
    “Yes. Now, let’s get that uniform tucked away for a few hours, shall we? Then how about a few of my night-off girls and I help you into some silks and finery?”
    Soon Tess had what she’d always wanted, though she’d never known it before that moment—seven sisters dousing her in lilac water, powdering her shoulders, pulling her waist tight under corset ties. They graced her neck with amethysts, found ear bobs, painted her lips and cheeks. She shyly pulled her braid from its secret pocket for them to marvel at. Then they combed her shorn hair back and pinned the cascading fall to it, even planting silk flowers where they attached it.
   As her transformation continued, they told her about picnics along the Potomac on their days off, and going to the theater where goddesses on a gold chariot were pulled by a great mechanical lion with real smoke coming out of his nostrils. Encouraged, Tess told them about her mountains back home, and how cool they kept the evening breezes even at this summer time of year, and the white birch trees with mushrooms growing in their shade—mushrooms big enough to fry up like a steak.
    When the girl in the cinnamon colored dressing gown asked about Ryder and his scar, Tess even told them about the first time she’d laid eyes on her captain, his doomed horse and the panther. When she got to the panther’s death throes, the girl let out a shriek, followed by mad giggles from others to hush up.
    The door to the adjoining room swung open.
    Tess felt Madame Lanier’s hand take her shoulder in an iron grip. She looked up into the mirror and caught sight of Ryder Cole standing in the door frame. His eyes darted around for an instant, then landed square on her face.
    “Diana?”

    It was her turn to shriek.



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