Wednesday, March 20, 2024

The book I still haven't written...by Sheila Claydon




I got the idea for my book Remembering Rose from two old photographs in my mother-in-law's family album. I thoroughly enjoyed researching the history that would enable Rachel, the heroine, to travel back in time, and it eventually turned out to be the first book of my Mapleby Memories trilogy. What's more, although the story is entirely fictional, there are snippets of her family history hidden in it, things that mean long dead family members are not forgotten. 

There is, however, another book that I really should write but somehow don't seem able to start, and that's the story of my own grandfather. When he died, aged 72, in 1910, he must have felt sure that the truth of his birth would never be discovered. 
 
According to family legend, his parents were scions of English nobility whose love affair had been thwarted, it was assumed by their parents. He had thus been born in secrecy, fostered until he was old enough to be educated, and later apprenticed in a trade that would ensure he had a well remunerated life. So far, so fairy-tale ending! But who were his parents? By the time I was intrigued enough to want to know, all the next generation were dead and there was no one to ask any more.  
 
Looking at his photo, I still wondered. Long face, high smooth forehead, amazing cheekbones, a luxuriant moustache; definitely a  Lord of the Manor lookalike. So for years I dined out on possibly being the granddaughter of a baronet, duke or earl…I didn’t go quite as far as prince. Then the Internet arrived and I realised I could track him down.
 
But where to start? A birth certificate, except I didn’t know where he was born, so a wedding certificate. My grandmother’s name would prove I had found the correct William. Determined, I contacted the General Register Office and…wow! He and my grandmother, Elizabeth, were married in St Margaret’s Church, Westminster in May 1884. Built next to Westminster Abbey, it has a long and imposing history as well as being the parish church of the House of Commons. Samuel Pepys was married there, and the poet John Milton. Winston Churchill was too. 
 
I discovered that Elizabeth lived in Kent so, instead of marrying locally, a wedding in  Westminster must have been a deliberate choice. Was it because her father was a Professor of Music who had previously been a Band Master in The Royal Hussars and had influence, or was it something more mundane?
 
The certificate also said William had a father, George! George (deceased) was a builder. What? There was something mysterious hidden amongst those statements and signatures. 
 
Fired up, I sent for birth certificates. Elizabeth’s was exemplary but William’s told a whole new story. I found him in Norfolk, born to Sarah. No father. I started trawling the censuses and there he was, in 1861, aged 3, LIVING WITH HIS GRANDPARENTS and, shock on shock, his older brother Joseph, also illegitimate. William was still there in 1871, aged 13. His grandfather was a bricklayer who owned a brickyard. Sarah lived and worked away as a maid. Also living there was his Uncle George, a builder. George never married and remained in the family home until his early death.
 
I’ve been to Norfolk now and seen where they all lived; the corner house with a yard behind it, the big double gates wide enough for a cart full of bricks to be pulled through by a horse. His grandfather, my great-grandfather, was always employed and apparently earning enough to keep both  his illegitimate grandsons in education until the school leaving age of 14, not very common in those long-ago days. He probably paid for their apprenticeships too.
 
I don’t know if the family tales of William having to sleep under the counter during his apprenticeship as a draper are true or just another embellishment to make his life seem more exciting. 
 
I learned nothing more about him until I found him, at the age of 22, living and working in Knightsbridge, where St Margaret’s Westminster would have been his parish church, so getting married there wasn't special after all.
 
How he met Elizabeth is also a mystery because everything I’ve learned about her family indicates that she moved in much more rarefied circles than a Draper from Norfolk. Surely they didn’t bond over a bolt of cloth while she was choosing material for a dress! 
 
However, by the time William and Elizabeth married, the stars were aligned. His mother, both his grandparents and his uncle George were all dead, so who was going to find him out if he sanitised his past by claiming George as his father?  In 1884 the Internet wasn’t even a concept. 
 
Was he a young man ashamed of his birth or a young man who saw an opportunity to better himself? Or did he lie to persuade Elizabeth's parents that he was worthy of their daughter?While I’ll never know the answer, I do wish my father and his brothers and sisters had known about their grandparents. Known, too, that they had cousins and aunts and uncles in Norfolk.  Was he ashamed of them? Did he disown his brother too? Did he lose his Norfolk accent? I certainly never heard that he had one. In fact nobody ever mentioned Norfolk at all, so I guess they all bought the nobility story. Nor do I know when the story of his supposedly noble illegitimacy became part of family legend and he ditched his uncle George. After his in-laws died I would imagine!

I have never been able to track down his father either, so Sarah’s secret will remain with her. William, however, has been well and truly found out! 
 
Am I shocked by his lies and subterfuge? Not really because I’ll never know what drove him to behave as he did, and when I look at that photo I have to admit that he still looks distinguished, a proper Victorian gentleman, so maybe he achieved his ambition to better himself. I don’t think I’m imagining the hint of a knowing smile beneath that luxuriant moustache either, so maybe it was worth it.
 
 
 

Tuesday, March 19, 2024

It Is Fun ... Until It Isn't by Helen Henderson

 


Fire and Redemption by Helen Henderson
Click the title for purchase information




The post title came about while doing the marketing plan for Fire and Redemption. And here is why. Promotion is usually the final step in what can be a series of ups and down. Something being fun until it isn't is a sentiment that can also relate to most of our lives.

There is the excitement of a new project. Often followed by the blind staring at a blank sheet of paper (or computer screen) when the words needed to go from point A to point B refuse to coalesce.

After surviving the rapids of being in the writing zone interspersed with portage around slow spots (aka plot holes,) you reach the three-quarter mark. The characters have taken over and you are no longer the creator, but the scribe. Hurray, you are almost done.

New project ... It's is Coming Along ... Almost there
 


 

 

 

 

 

 

For many authors I know, if they could, they would avoid editing. A major, "It isn't fun," moment. Even if we enjoy the mechanical review and polish (which can be fun when you smooth out a rough spot in the prose,) there is a more personal element. Putting your hard work out for critical review can give anyone pause. Even though I have worked as an editor in some of my "day" jobs, the panic never goes away.

Editing is done, triple-quadruple checked. Excitement is at an all time high. Your finger hovers over the "Send" button, then you take the plunge. Great, the worst is out of your hands. It can be fun again. You can play with pretty graphics. But you also have to beg for reviews. The fun disappears.

Some authors love the in-person events, to get out there and meet the readers. Others, prefer to stay behind the scenes. Glad-handing is not fun, until someone who stops by your table who you can really engage. I will be finding out in two weeks whether BookStock 2024 is fun or not. Visitors from three states to the only event within a four-hour drive should make it interesting.

The writing life can be fun ... until it isn't. But it can surprise and delight when it becomes fun again. Stories come and go, characters drop into our lives and leave their mark. For me as an author, I have a responsibility to keep writing for the special readers who come into our lives.

To get Fire and RedemptionPreOrder.

Or to purchase Fire and Amulet or any of the Windmaster Novels: BWL

 ~Until next month, stay safe and read.   Helen


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 who have adopted her as one the pack. Find out more about her and her novels on her BWL author page.




Monday, March 18, 2024

Wild Horse Rescue by Nancy M. Bell

 



 

Wild Horse Rescue 

The Alberta Adventures ~ Book One 

 

By Nancy M Bell 

Dedication 

 

 

To all horses and beasts of burden, both wild and domestic, may you live in Peace as the Universe intended 

 

Wherever man has left his footprint in the long ascent from barbarism to civilization we will find the hoofprint of the horse beside it.  John Moore 

 

 

Wild Horse Rescue 

The Alberta Adventures ~ Book One 

 

By Nancy M Bell 

Dedication 

 

 

To all horses and beasts of burden, both wild and domestic, may you live in Peace as the Universe intended 

 

Wherever man has left his footprint in the long ascent from barbarism to civilization we will find the hoofprint of the horse beside it.  John Moore 

 

 

Wild Horse Rescue 

The Alberta Adventures ~ Book One 

 

By Nancy M Bell 

Dedication 

 

 

To all horses and beasts of burden, both wild and domestic, may you live in Peace as the Universe intended 

 

Wherever man has left his footprint in the long ascent from barbarism to civilization we will find the hoofprint of the horse beside it.  John Moore 

 

Sunday, March 17, 2024

St. Patrick's Day - A bit late

 

This is my one book with a real Irishman in the story. The hero is based on a neighbor who always charmed me with his accent. I miss seeing him and his wife and being charmed by their accents.

St. Patrick's Day is well celebrated in Rockland County with a parade and many activities. Dance competitions and of course food, singing, too.

While I can claim an Irish heritage, it's not a green one but an orange one. Never bothered me when I was younger but often received comments, some not so nice. I had an orange jumper I wore on St. Patrick's Day. Wore it to Duquesne U located on a hill over looking Pittsburgh. Mt English class contained most of the basketball tea,, a powerhouse in those day. I recieved laughter and the shaking of heads but also an invite for coffee. With seven escorts the day was great.

I also had the chance to visit the town where my Irish ancestor left to come to the un Bellenahinch. I'm sure I've spelled this worng. A town built on a hill but pretty.

Saturday, March 16, 2024

Post-surgery sillies, by J.C. Kavanagh

 

The award-winning Twisted Climb series. Click here for purchase options.
https://www.bookswelove.net/kavanagh-j-c/

If you've ever been sedated for surgery, or been with someone after surgery, you'll know what I'm talking about.

Post-surgery sillies.

My partner, Ian, was scheduled for root canal surgery a couple of weeks ago. Due to the deterioration of the back molar, the oral surgeon mentioned that he may have to remove the tooth. Either way, he recommended full sedation.

First, a little background. Ian hates going to the dentist. I mean, HATES it. Not the dentist or the hygienists, no. It's reclining in a chair, mouth open to the point of splitting, and helpless to whatever they want to do. The vulnerability of it!

But back to the oral surgeon. We arrived early and they ushered him in immediately. I sat in their comfortable waiting room, waiting. And waiting. After two hours, the door opens and there's Ian, hanging on to the dental surgeon. He wobbled toward me like a drunken Popeye, feet moving forward like cement slugs. Ian's face was pale and his lips cracked. His eyes kept crossing and closing, unable to focus. If the surgeon wasn't propping him up, he would have fallen to the floor with a silly, lopsided grin. 

"Hey babe," I greeted him.

"They did it," he slurred.

"Did what?"

"They chopped up a whole bunch of ostriches and stuffed them in my mouth."

The surgeon tried not to smile. I put my arm around Ian and together with the surgeon, we propelled him out the door and into the car. 

I strapped him into the passenger seat and stood back.

"Are you OK?"

He shook his head, eyes glazed.

"Look," he slurred and opened his mouth, pointing into gaping bloody hole that once held a tooth. "They gave me a hippo mouth."

Then I had to laugh. Ian appeared insulted. "It's true," he insisted. Then he leaned back and passed out.

Poor Ian. But oh, how I wish I'd filmed this delightful silliness!

Keep smiling, and make sure you tell the ones you love that you love them :)


Ian being silly, pre-surgery.


GREAT NEWS!

The Simcoe County Museum is hosting a month-long author exhibition and I am honoured to be part of it! There are 17 authors in total, representing 17 areas of Simcoe County. Readers will know that I live within Simcoe County and in fact, The Twisted Climb series takes place within the New Tecumseth area of Simcoe County. The Museum is located at 1151 Hwy. 26 in Minesing, Ontario L9X 0Z7. Come on by!






J.C. Kavanagh, author of
The Twisted Climb - A Bright Darkness (Book 3), Best Young Adult Book 2022 FINALIST at Critters Readers Poll
and
The Twisted Climb - Darkness Descends (Book 2) voted BEST YA Book 2018, Critters Readers Poll, and Best YA Book FINALIST at The Word Guild, Canada
AND
The Twisted Climb,
voted BEST YA Book 2016, P&E Readers Poll
Voted Best Local Author, Simcoe County, Ontario, 2021
Novels for teens, young adults and adults young at heart
Email: author.j.c.kavanagh@gmail.com
www.facebook.com/J.C.Kavanagh
www.amazon.com/author/jckavanagh
Twitter @JCKavanagh1 (Author J.C. Kavanagh)
Instagram @authorjckavanagh


Popular Posts

Books We Love Insider Blog

Blog Archive