Books We Love Insider Blog

A reader asked me, "Why have two amateur sleuths when you could have had one?" That was a good question, but apart from the flip response of "Why not?" I admit my characters came about because I so enjoyed Dashiell Hammett's Nick and Nora Charles stories. OK, so that dates me, but I don't mind. Hammett is probably best known for The Maltese Falcon but wrote many detective novels and short stories, some of them no doubt prompted by his years working for the Pinkerton Agency.

Nick and Nora first appeared in the novel The Thin Man, published in 1934. Nick is a retired private eye, and Nora is a wealthy socialite. They both like to drink and have a good deal of flirtatious banter between them. They also had a dog, Asta, who was a Miniature Schnauzer in the novels but was played by Skippy, a Wire-Haired Fox Terrier, on screen. The Nick and Nora characters, played by William Powell and Myrna Loy, appeared in films from 1934 to 1947, had a radio show from 1941 to 1950, and a TV series from 1957 to 1959.

Later, another couple created by Sydney Sheldon caught my attention. The TV show Hart to Hart starred Robert Wagner as Jonathan Hart and Stephanie Powers as his wife, Jennifer. They also had a dog, a Lowchen named Freeway. The series began in 1979 and ran for five seasons until 1984, followed by eight made-for-TV movies.

Apart from Nick and Nora and the Harts, Agatha Christie penned the Tommy and Tuppence novels, the first of which was released in 1922. Tommy and Tuppence were childhood friends who later married. Tommy is known for his common sense, while Tuppence has a daring streak. His cautiousness is matched by her curiosity. There were five Tommy and Tuppence books, the last published in 1973, so we see Tommy and Tuppence grow from childhood friends to an elderly couple.

My characters, Lord Randolph Buxton and his wife Lady Serena, grew out of these stories, but I set them firmly in the Edwardian era for no reason other than liking the fashions. The first book was published as Always A Lady, but after a couple of questions from readers, I decided to rework it as Cold Gold and add more to their story. Cold Gold is set in 1907. The next book, On Borrowed Time, is set in 1913 and answers a reader's question about what happened to the Pinkerton agent character from Cold Gold. Shell Shocked is set at the end of WWI in 1918 and, as all three were novellas, were published in one volume as The Buxton Chronicles.

So, not only two for one but also three for one. Enjoy.

Victoria Chatham

Monday, September 23, 2024

Changing Horses by Victoria Chatham

After writing ten historical romance novels and three contemporary western romances, I am itching to try my hand at writing a cozy mystery.

So why change horses in mid-stream? Much sage advice has been written about whether an author should change genres. Although I have enjoyed every bored lord and feisty heroine in my historical romances and sexy ranchers and their ladies in my contemporary westerns, my go-to reading for light relief has always been mysteries and, more recently, cozy mysteries.

Part of building an author brand is promising your readers sure-fire content and delivering it, so for an author, changing genres might be the kiss of death as there is a chance of losing readers. In the past, it was almost a must-do to have a pen name for a separate genre—think Nora Roberts writing mysteries as J.D. Robb—which might mean a workload that would daunt many authors. Two names might require two websites, newsletters, e-mail addresses or whatever media platform the author prefers.

However, this isn’t always the case. Jude Devereux writes historical romance with a side of paranormal and mystery under her name. Carolyn Brown and Alyssa Cole both write historical and contemporary romances. In these instances, and I’m sure there are many more, the author is the brand. If readers like your work, I think they will follow you out of curiosity, if nothing else.

Whether romance, paranormal, YA, sci-fi and more, every story contains the who, what, why, where, and when writing principle of journalism, which carries over into all fiction. Who are the leading characters? What are they doing, specifically what is being done to whom? Why is it being done? Where does that old road lead, or where will the spaceship land? When did XYZ become a vampire, or did ABC know FGH was a werewolf?

The classic cozy mystery format is that a body is found, often on the first page but usually in the first chapter, an amateur sleuth investigates and reveals the murderer.

clipartix.com

It sounds simple, but starting with the problem is like working backwards compared to my previous books. What I like most about cozy mysteries is that there is no bloody description of gunshot or knife wounds or other causes of death. Sometimes, there is no description at all, only the information that someone has been found dead. This cuts out much research into weapons and the feasible wounds they produce—likewise, any police or legal protocols. A cozy mystery is not a police procedural, so there is little need for more than a detective on hand or a detective inspector and his sergeant, as in the Midsomer Murders TV series.

I have several more historical romances that I could write, but thankfully, my publisher has accepted my proposal for three cozy mysteries. I have my characters, the victims, and the plots, and I've created the village where all the stories take place. Now, I'm ready to start writing. It remains to be seen if my readers will enjoy them. I could lose some, but on the other hand, I could gain a new following. Time will tell.

Victoria Chatham

Thursday, August 29, 2024

Story From a Small Kingdom

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Why after 500 years would anyone care about an August battle which ended a 423 year-long line of Plantagenet Kings? When Richard III died, so, in a manner of speaking, did the medieval world.

Of course, I didn't think of things that way when I was ten after reading The Daughter Of Time by Josephine Tey. As my mom was a passionate Anglophile, taking up this (then) obscure interest was a great way to please her and to amuse the academic adults in my life. English history was the most important European history to a young colonial brought up in the 1950's U.S. (Glad that's over!)

While my elders drank their afternoon cocktail and indulged me, I would passionately argue the case of "who murdered the princes in the Tower." If you don't know, well, these were the sons of Richard's brother, King Edward IV, the ones who vanished while in Richard's keeping. Richard, until then a faithful younger brother, had been appointed "Protector" because Edward's sons were minors. I soon read many more Ricardian histories (so-called for those books that dealt with the very short reign of Ricard III) and became a kind of young lobbyist for this (then) little known late medieval King.

If you know Shakespeare's Tudor propaganda piece, you know that Richard III was the original wicked uncle, as well as a murderer of just about every other kinsman/royal who ever crossed his path. He was "crook-back," his physical deformity matching his wicked mind. God sent Henry Tudor to defeat him and deliver England from a tyrant.(!)

Richard III

History, however, isn't quite so cut and dried. Richard of York was slain by a man whose claim to the English throne was supported--not by God--but by the treachery of power-hungry noblemen and women, and it rested upon an extremely tenuous claim through an illegitimate line. Henry VII, as he became, was "The Godfather" of the next murdering, famous/infamous English dynasty. His reign set a kind of record for beheadings of kinsmen and those he believed were rivals. He set up an organized program of legally extorting the high nobility, in order to break their power. These actions he took evenhandedly, not sparing those who'd betrayed Richard to support him. He had something of a record for judicial murder--at least, until the reign of his son, Henry VIII.

No saints here, whether of the White Rose Party or the Red! Check out the feudal history of any country in the world, and you'll see the same story, universally. Looking back dispassionately, something I can do after many, many more years of reading world history, all I see is one gang of vain, self-serving, murderous, paranoid, grasping 1%ers succeeding another. It's just "human beings being human," only in the worst possible way.

Henry VII

Despite all "older and wiser caveats," I wrote Roan Rose, because this was a story I "owed" my childhood obsession, Richard. Besides, take away the aristocratic, medieval window dressing, and here's a story worthy of an opera--or a series TV show, like Succession. Family feuds, vast wealth, sibling rivalry, hubris, greed, addiction, betrayals by the score, and unions made with passion and unions made for gain, are similarly on display.

This, however, is more of a "downstairs" story, which allows me to explore what the life of ordinary people was like during this turbulent civil war period. A personal "body servant" was privy to all manner of royal secrets. Faithful Rose loves both her mistress and her master, who are, by the accident of birth, both placed loftily, high above her. They can hardly see her, this couple whose hearts she can never truly possess. "Loyaulté me lie," ("Loyalty Binds me") was Richard's chosen motto. Perhaps it's even more true of this fictional commoner who remains so dear to my heart, Roan Rose.

http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B004HIX4GS

"Juliet Waldron's grasp of time and period history is superb and detailed. Her characters were well developed and sympathetic."
"One of the better Richard III books..."

(Amazon reviews)

~~Juliet Waldron

Juliet Waldron

I am in the grandma zone, a long time writer and poet, posting at Crone Henge and BWL these days just because. Wish I could travel, and last year I was lucky enough to get back to the UK, specifically to Avebury to reconnect with the ancient temple. Hiking, camping, lover of solitude, cats, moons and gardens.

Friday, August 23, 2024

Which Book and Why? by Victoria Chatham

https://bookswelove.net/chatham-victoria/

I was recently asked which of my books I enjoyed writing the most and why. I had to think about that as each has a place in my heart. My first Regency romance, His Dark Enchantress, was followed by His Ocean Vixen and His Unexpected Muse because my large cast of characters wanted to tell their stories.

The same happened with my second Regency series, Those Regency Belles: Hester Dymock, Charlotte Gray, and Phoebe Fisher. My Edwardian series, The Buxton Chronicles, started with the story of Lord Randolph and Lady Serena Buxton in the novella Cold Gold, followed by On Borrowed Time and Shell Shocked. When I began writing contemporary Western romance, I only intended to write one stand-alone title. Still, there are now three: Loving That Cowboy, Legacy of Love, and Loving Georgia Caldwell.

Each has brought me joy and given me grief. Characters have wandered on stage in scenes where they didn't belong. They were intrusive, nosey, and noisy until I listened to what they were telling me. That might sound strange to non-writers, but any writer will tell you it happens. Sometimes, the only way to further a plot is to sit quietly and let the characters tell their story. Then, it is up to me, the author, to fit all the puzzle pieces together.

Part of that puzzle is the research that each book requires. Even though I had read many Regencies, and still do, when it came to writing my own, I researched each element as it occurred, whether it was the fabric for a lady's dress, a gentleman's cologne, an ornate hot chocolate cup, or the stagecoach timetable from London to Bristol. I did the same for all my books, but Brides of Banff Springs was the one I enjoyed writing the most, as Tilly McCormack was the gutsy kind of heroine I like. I also collaborated on Envy the Wind in the Canadian Historical Brides Collection. The premise for the Collection was that the stories had to be historically accurate and must contain a bride and a sweet romance suitable for readers of age thirteen and upwards.

I made many trips to Banff to delve into the archives in the Whyte Museum, spend time at the hotel, which is now the Fairmont Springs Hotel, and browse the Banff public library shelves. I talked to as many people as I could about the town's history to bring the story of Tilly McCormack to life. I recently discovered that my accountant, a distant relative of one of the real-life characters in the book, has read it several times.

And that, after all, is what matters. However much I might enjoy my characters and the situations I may put them in, it is always so satisfying to know they matter to the readers, too. You can find all my books here:

Scroll down the page, click on the cover, and choose your market source. Happy reading!

Victoria Chatham

MY WEBSITE

Tuesday, July 23, 2024

Serendipitous Serenity by Victoria Chatham

Serendipitous: Lucky in making unexpected and fortunate discoveries.

Serenity: State of calmness, quietness, stillness, peace.

I don’t know about you, but I have always found cemeteries interesting. From ancient moss-covered and mostly unreadable headstones in old English churchyards to the Gothic splendour of Highgate Cemetery in London, the resting place amongst other notables of singer George Michael and Karl Marx, author of The Communist Manifesto, cemeteries can be places of calmness, quietness, stillness, and peace. I make no apologies for the use of a bit of alliteration in the title, as the two brief definitions perfectly describe my recent visit to cemeteries in Victoria, Vancouver Island, British Columbia.

Ross Bay Cemetery

I have visited Victoria several times, and this trip finally made it to Christ Church Cathedral, which deserves its own post. Beside the Cathedral is the Old Burying Ground, and my friend and I picked up a cemetery map showing the various memorials. We toured through the cemetery, stopping at the Historical Marker installed in 1958 to commemorate the centennial of the Fraser River Gold Rush, which has the history of the Old Burying Ground carved onto it.

As fascinating as each tomb and obelisk was, we were both impressed with the Tombstone Group. The City of Victoria cleared the Old Burying Ground in 1908, leaving some stones in place. One tomb still standing is for Hannah Estes, a black woman born into slavery in Missouri who died in Victoria in 1868. My friend and I were intrigued by Hannah’s story.

Hannah's headstone

A quick internet search found that Hannah was married to Howard Estes, also an enslaved person. At that time, it was common practice for enslaved people to take their owner’s name, in this instance, Scotsman Tom Estes. Hannah and their three children lived apart from Howard, who managed to buy his freedom from Tom Estes for $1,000, but it cost him the enormous sum of $4,000 for his family. They made their way to Canada and eventually settled on Salt Spring Island.

Smooth sailing

We were on a mission to find Howard’s resting place, so we took the ferry to Salt Spring Island. The day was perfect as we drove from Fulford Harbour through the town of Ganges to the cemetery. We weren’t sure what we would find, but we didn’t expect so much history. Yes, we did find Howard’s grave. Although his name is misspelled, it does not detract from the fact that this man did so much to keep his family intact.

Howard's headstone

There was so much more in this calm, quiet, peaceful place. It was well worth the trip. If you want to know more about Hannah and Howard, I have included the links below. Serendipitous serenity indeed.

Victoria Chatham

https://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/british-columbia/salt-spring-island-estes-stark-1.7115501

Images from the author's collection.

Links for more information on Hannah and Howard Estes.

https://www.saltspringarchives.com/Estes_Stark_Family/

Thursday, July 18, 2024

Learning to Live Without You by Nancy M Bell

To find more of Nancy's books click on the cover

Emily, Shady, Max

Emily

Guapo

Spook, Colleen, Phil, Sunny, Emily in the east pasture

As we age there are transitions in our lives. The biggest, and latest one, in mine is that I no longer own a horse. That's not entirely a true statement, I never 'owned' a horse, they more aptly owned me. My earliest memory is of riding a pony and being led around under a shady tree at the Bowmanville Zoo in Ontario. My childhood is filled with wishing for horses, it was a part of me was missing until I started working at Rouge Hill Stables (Highway 2 and Shepherd Ave). While I didn't own those school horses, I loved them and took care of them I spent every moment I could at the barn. Most weekends I led trail rides from 8 in the morning until 8 or 9 at night. I went to school for a break LOL.

I got my first horse when I was 17. I loved that horse, still do. He was the horse of my youth, probably the only reason I made it through my teens. Tags was the horse of my middle age and Emily was the horse of my old age. There are countless other horses who have touched my life, and I adore all of them. I remember all of them. If I work at it I can recall the order of the stalls in the school barn at the Rouge, even though the horses sometimes changed.

I spent my highschool years on horseback in the magical Rouge Valley which is now a park. The first gallop on the sandy trail beside the river, crossing at the Durnford Crossing, then down the tree shadowed Mosquito Alley past the Fairy Pool at the end. Then the rest area, then either over the river again and through the apple orchard and up the steep Spy Glass Hill where you could look out over the valley and see the Glen Eagles Hotel perched on the edge of cliff to the west. The hotel is long gone now, but it lingers in my memory. If you went the other way you went up and then along the top of ridge where trilliums and lady's slippers bloomed.

And through everything there were horses. Always Horses.

Now, I'm learning to live without them. A part of my heart is missing. I suppose as we grow older we lose things. People, animals, beloved locations become paved over or plowed under. And yet, as long as we remember them, they are never really lost. But the place they occupy in my heart is bit less shiny and new.

I suppose everyone of us has things from our youth and lives that we leave behind as we move forward. For me, it is the privilege of caring for horses. But life moves on and we must therefore move with it. The alternative is to stop living and be engulfed by the past. Tempting as that is at times, I'm not ready to do that yet. There are still windmills I need to go tilting after. And books yet to write.

Until next month, be well , be happy.

My first horse show. Chum (Cherokee's Luck) I was 16

Guapo

Max

Miley

Gibbie

Emily, Phil, Big Bird

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

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

Monday, October 23, 2023

A Picture Is Worth A Thousand Words by Victoria Chatham

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