Showing posts with label Eileen Charbonneau. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Eileen Charbonneau. Show all posts

Friday, October 13, 2023

Why Salem?

 In our research for our upcoming Canadian Mystery Spectral Evidence, co-writer Jude Pittman and I faced a confounding question:


Why did the witch hunt hysteria of 1692 take over Salem and the New England colonies and not their neighbors and trading partners in Newfoundland?




Newfoundland of the seventeenth century a multicultural society of indentured servants, planters (year-round settlers), merchants and their servants (some of whom were enslaved Africans) and seasonal fisherfolk from England's west country, Ireland, France the Basque region of Spain, and the Netherlands. Joining them were the Mi'kmaq and Beothuk people who had been living on Newfoundland for hundreds of years. All of these cultures had traditions of witchcraft.

Seventeenth century New England was dominated by a society of puritans. Their religion dominated government, ministry, education. The "other" was suspect, whether it be Quakers or Catholics, another country of origin, or another culture. Both Native Americans and the French were looked upon as "devils," especially after devastating raids that were the result of English incursions into lands claimed by the French or Wabanacki Confederacy.



Mix this with territorial disputes among neighbors, children suffering from the trauma of warfare violence, a bad harvest's hunger. The match was lit for neighbors accusing neighbors of witchcraft. Spectral evidence (actions and torments only the accusers could see) was used to hang devout grandmothers, homeless women, neighboring farmers, even one of Salem's former ministers. The accused included a four year old child.

Only when the governor of Massachusetts Bay Colony's wife was accused, did the fever that was the Salem Witch hunt break. 

Why Salem? It's a question that's been asked ever since. Jude and I hope to contribute to the debate in our storytelling. 

Thursday, November 7, 2019

The Two Eileens Strike Again! by Eileen O'Finlan

                                                       Click here for purchase information
                                                       Click here to visit Eileen O'Finlan's website


It was my great pleasure to once again team up with fellow BWL author, Eileen Charbonneau for a couple of library talks and book signings. As some of you may already know, Eileen Charbonneau and I have the same name. (O'Finlan is a pen name. My real last name is Charbonneau). We didn't know it until about a year ago, but we are distant cousins. Maybe our shared DNA is what makes us such a great team. Whatever, the reason, I'm grateful for it as it is sheer joy to work with Eileen. We've created a presentation in two parts with Eileen doing the first part and me picking up where she leaves off. It flows seamlessly and seems to be greatly appreciated by every audience for whom we've presented.

This time around we spoke at two libraries in Massachusetts – the Shrewsbury Public Library and the Worcester Public Library. After each talk, we opened it up for Q&A. Eileen and I were quite gratified by the interest and knowledge of the audiences at both libraries. Attendees asked thoughtful questions, made insightful comments, and (bless them!) gave us kind compliments. I've had wonderfully responsive audiences when I've spoken solo, but there's something about the two of us together that really stimulates those who attend. Perhaps it's because Eileen and I manage to play off each other so well. Often we're able to add to each other's comments, which offers a deeper, more meaningful answer to a question. Whatever it is, folks who came to our two talks were certainly animated. Questions kept coming from every direction. If the librarian at the Worcester Public Library hadn't stepped in, we might still be there. These audiences were knowledgeable, as well. We learned as much from them as they did from us. The give and take is invaluable!

Eileen Charbonneau at Worcester Public Library

Eileen O'Finlan at Worcester Public Library
On the days between our scheduled appearances we had the opportunity to have a little fun. We shopped in some unique places, visited the Worcester Art Museum, and even got in a little research for the sequel to Kelegeen which will be set in Worcester in the 1850s. Eileen was game for playing the part of research assistant, so we visited the Salisbury Mansion and the Worcester Historical Museum. What a treasure trove of information we found at both places!

Eileen Charbonneau makes some great finds at Ed Hyder's Mediterranean Marketplace


The Two Eileens having some fun at the Worcester Art Museum
(That helmuet was HEAVY!)

The Salisbury Mansion built in 1772

Sewing Machine one of my characters would have used
Worcester Historical Museum
Map of Worcester in 1851
Worcester Historical Museum
If you're an author planning to give talks my advice is if you can find a partner to present with, do it. It's fun for the authors and their audiences. You don't have to have the same name, but somehow it seems to help.









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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