Great Holiday Recipe shared by BWL author Anita Davison

A Holiday Recipe by Anita Davison Posted: 07 Nov 2017 02:46 AM PST The winter holiday season in England begins after Bonfire Night on November 5th when thoughts turn to Christmas food. A majority of my family don't like Christmas pudding, so I came up with this alternative which has become something of a tradition. It's made by the melting method, thus the mixture is thin and warm when it goes into the tin. If you are not accustomed to this it might seem strange but it works perfectly and shouldn't be baked in too hot an oven to prevent the top going crusty. Soft and moist is the byword for this cake which is almost a pudding. Sticky Ginger Cake Ingredients 225g Self Raising Flour 115g Butter 115g Light Muscovado Sugar 115g Black Treacle 115g Golden Syrup 250ml Semi skimmed Milk 1 large egg 25g cornflour 85g stem ginger - chopped 85g fresh ginger - peeled and finely grated 1 rounded teaspoon ground cinnamon 1 teaspoon baking powder [7g] 18cm diameter deep cake tin with base and sides lined with greaseproof paper - this prevents not only sticking but keeps a soft surface to the cake. Method: 1.   Combine flour, cornflour, baking powder, ginger and cinnamon together 2.   Melt butter and brown sugar, syrup, treacle and milk together in a saucepan       until smooth and warm but not hot. 3.   Slowly stir the dry ingredients into the liquid mix until smooth 4.   Fold in the beaten egg 5.   Pour mixture into cake tin 6.   Bake for 50 min - 1 hour at 160 Deg in a fan oven [170 Deg non-fan] 7.  When cool, decorate by dribbling thin royal icing mixture over the top and sprinkle with chopped stem ginger. This cake is great served warm with whipped cream as a dessert, but also superb cold with coffee. The longer it's kept in an airtight tin, the more moist and sticky it becomes. Not that it's ever lasted more than 48 hours in my family, so I cannot confirm that statement. Envy the Wind - A story about Prince Edward Island in 1905 Scheduled for release Summer 2018 The Woulfes of Loxsbeare Series

New Releases from Books We Love

Holiday shopping time is already upon us, and if you're looking for some fantastic ideas, look no further than Books We Love where you'll find books in every genre, to satisfy every reading desire.  Ebooks and print books, series books and stand alones, novels and novellas, we at BWL Publishing do Books Very Well.  Take a look at the wonderful selection featured below.  And don't forget to check out our Canadian Historical Brides series, featuring one historical fiction novel from every province and territory in Canada. These are stories set around real events and locales, but told with all the charm and creative talent of our best historical fiction authors.  So far we have 7 books released, with one releasing December 1st, and the remainder in 2018.  A wonderful gift that will delight those hard to buy for family members. A history of Canada told in the style of James Michener, fictional characters in real life situations in living history.  Click the blog banner to learn more about this exciting new Collection

CLICK TO VISIT BRIDES BLOG

									Visit our Brides Blog Click the Label

CLICK THE BOOK COVERS FOR AUTHOR INFORMATION AND TO PURCHASE

Rosemary Morris - Thoughts About Writing a Novel - Plot

 

      A plot, with a conclusion which satisfies the reader arises from interlinked actions and reactions that are a result of the main characters’ situations.

Before I finish a book, I think about the plot for my next novel while cooking, doing housework and gardening etc., but not while driving the car because it would be dangerous. 

According to Ronald B. Tobias there are only twenty plots which he explores in his book Twenty Master Plots and How to Build Them. 

Plot is the framework a novel depends on in the same way that builders depend on scaffolding when they erect an office block.

Some novelists plan every detail of their plot before they write the first word. I choose a plot, approach it from a new angle. E.g. Suppose Little Red Riding Hood murdered a charming wolf in sheep’s clothing.

I write historical fiction, so my plots often arise through reading non-fiction.

Before I write the first word of a novel, I choose the principal characters’ names, which must be appropriate for the era in which the book is set. Next, I complete a detailed character profile for each of the main protagonists. By the time I finish it, they are as real to me as either a member of my family or a close friend.

To plot or not to plot in detail? After I choose one I allow my characters to surprise me. I have a rough idea of the end of their fictional journey will be, but not of the route they take during which there will be major and minor conflicts, crises and questions which tempt the reader to turn the pages until the end.

I enjoy writing romantic historical fact fiction because I enjoy charting a journey through unique eras in which I create a story that brings past times to life. When I work on character profiles for major and minor protagonists I ensure they are not 21^st century people dressed in costume. To bring believable fictional men and women to life, I plot how they look in period clothes, what they think, how they speak and act. To give authenticity to my novels, among other subjects, I study economics, etiquette, politics, religious beliefs and social history, all of which play a part in plotting.

When I finish the first draft of a novel I read it to make sure the plot is clear and that there are no inconsistencies.

* * *

Four of my novels set in the Regency era, Heroines born on Different days of the Week, have been published, and I am now writing Thursday’s Child.

 

After I wrote Sunday’s Child, I decided to write six more novels with titles taken from A children’s poem.

“Monday’s child is fair of face, Tuesday’s child is full of grace, Wednesday’s child is full of woe, Thursday’s Child has far to go, Friday’s Child is loving and giving, Saturday’s Child works hard for a living, And the child that is born on the Sabbath day, is loving and blithe, good and gay.” Anonymous.

 

Books by Rosemary Morris  - Plots

Regency Novels

 

Sunday’s Child Marriage of Convenience Monday’s Child Triangle (Two Beaux) Tuesday’s Child Suspense and Romance Wednesday’s Child Poor Little Rich Girl

 

Early 18^th Century novels

Tangled Love Rags to Riches. Far Beyond Rubies Quest for Justice  The Captain and The Countess Courtship.

Mediaeval Novel

Yvonne Lady of Cassio. The Lovages of Cassio Book One  Forbidden Love

* * *

The plots in my romantic historical fact fiction are ones with which modern day readers can identify with. In Wednesday’s Child, the young heroine comes to terms with loss, comes to terms with her situation and finds happiness and peace of mind.

 

Wednesday’s Child

Extract

“Amelia, promise not to grieve when I take my last breath. After so much pain, my old bones will welcome death,” Mrs Bettismore whispered from her large four-poster bed. The heavy scarlet silk curtains embroidered with gold thread shadowed her pallid face. “I look forward to eternal peace with my Maker.”

Amelia squeezed her eyes shut to prevent tears spilling down her cheeks. She could no more accept her grandmother’s words than she could accept Doctor Cray’s prognosis. “Grandmamma, please don’t say that. We will consult another doctor who will cure you.”

“My dear child, please accept that I am dying,” Mrs Bettismore said speaking with increasing difficulty. “It’s time for us to be honest. I admit that I’ve failed you.”

“Never! Even when you chastised me, it was for my own good.” From her chair Amelia reached out to clasp her grandmother’s thin hand.

“I apologise for being too strict.” A few tears trickled down her cheeks. “But please believe I’ve loved you since the day you were born, even when I applied the cane if I considered it necessary.”

“Grandmamma, I love you too. Please don’t trouble yourself. There is no need to say more.”

Her grandmother ignored her interruption. “I overindulged you. I should have insisted you marry a gentleman, who would protect you.” Her face a contorted mask of pain, Mrs Bettismore closed her eyes.

“I wish I could do something to ease your suffering.”

The faded blue eyes opened. “So much to explain. So little time left to me. Pay attention, child. You’ll inherit the cotton factory in Lancashire my first husband, Mr Belcher, God rest his soul, bequeathed to me,” she rambled with pauses between each phrase. “Sell it,” she murmured. “Better for you to be a landowner. You’re only accepted by the ton due to my wealth and your paternal grandfather’s rank.”

Even on her death bed Grandmamma concentrated on her property and ambition. “No need to speak of these matters now. You need nourishment. Shall I send for your gruel?”

Mrs Bettismore tried to raise her hand. “No, stop trying to fatten me up like a Christmas goose and listen. After I die don’t allow any of my husbands’ relatives or your future father-in-law to hang onto your coat sleeves.”

Amelia thought of Sir Bartholomew, her maternal grandfather, who bequeathed all his considerable property to Grandmamma, which Amelia did not want to inherit if it meant death. Tears down rolled down her cheeks. She wiped them away.

“Amelia.” Her grandmother struggled to breathe, her pale, sunken cheeks suddenly poppy-red but she managed to whisper. “I loved Mr Bettismore, not my other husbands.”

“Yes, I know. Please be quiet. I don’t want you to exhaust yourself.” She poured a glass of wine then held it to her grandmother’s dry lips. “Sip this.”

With an unexpected burst of strength, Mrs Bettismore pushed the glass aside. The ruby red wine pooled on the gold silk counterpane.

“I’ll send for a maid to change the bed covers.”

“No, don’t fuss, child,” her grandmother said with sudden energy. “There’s more important things than spilt wine. I’ve safeguarded you in my will, and given instructions to my secretary. He’s an honest man. You may trust him.” Her head lolled on the pile of lace-trimmed linen pillows. “There’s something very important I should have told you-” She broke off. Her breath rattled in her throat.

“Grandmamma, what do you want to tell me?” Amelia trembled. She stared into the half-open eyes shining with love. At first, she did not realise they were sightless.

When she understood her grandmother had left her body, she covered her face with her hands and sobbed.

 

* * *

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                              I like the way Mrs Bettisnore’s strong personality weaved throughout the novel, providing conflict. Like Daphne Du Maurier’s Rebecca, even dead, she’s a great character.

 

Katherine Pym, Author of Erasmus T. Muddiman: A tale of Publick Disorder; Pillars of Avalon (with Jude Pitman) Canadian Brides Book 5, and other historical novels.

 

www.rosemarymorris.co.uk

http://bookswelove.net/authors/morris-rosemary

 

 

Have You Entered The Books We Love Holiday Magic Contest

Don't miss this great opportunity to win an Alcatel 30 Tablet and six of your favorite Books We Love Holiday novels.

VISIT THE BWL PUBLISHING INC. HOLIDAY MAGIC PAGE CLICK HERE - WIN THIS ALCATEL 30 TABLE

 

Read the rest of this entry »

 

Under the Northern Lights by J. S. Marlo

J. S. Marlo BWL Author Page

Hello, everyone!

I’m JS Marlo, but my hubby calls me Marlo, which is why I chose that pen name. “Voted Out”, my first novel with BWL,  was released two weeks ago, and it’s my first time on this blog, so I’m not too sure what I’m doing. I can’t believe my publisher gave me access to all those buttons in the blog. Trust me, it doesn’t matter if it’s supposed to be fool proof, I could manage to derail a train, any trains, even one that is docked at a railway station. My publisher is brave…

I was born in Quebec, but I've lived all across Canada. Two words: military wife. Nowadays, when someone asks me “Where do you live?”, I answer “Northern Alberta”. Quite often that person will say “Oh, Edmonton”, and I will reply “No, no. Keep driving from Edmonton, keep driving north for another five hours, and don’t forget to fill up on gas. That are no gas stations in the last 200 kms. Then you’ll find  me—under the Northern Lights.”

Someone asks me once to describe the northern lights, but I couldn’t. The first time I saw them, I just stood there in the cold, staring in awe at the night sky. It’s almost like looking at the ocean and seeing waves roll in at twilight, but not quite. One moment the sky is dark, then seconds later, an invisible hand streaks the heaven with colorful waves, and then the waves waltz for a few seconds, a few minutes, a few hours. Most of the northern lights I’ve seen were light blue, green or turquoise, but I recall two magical instances when I was transfixed by the sky’s ethereal beauty.

Many years ago, hubby and I were driving back from visiting our daughter in university at the end of September. We were on that long stretch of road in the middle of the forest (the 200 kms without gas station, or any other structures) around 2am, when suddenly the sky lit up. Waves upon waves of bright turquoise, rich purple, and striking red dance above our heads. We were driving straight north, but the northern lights played havoc with the compass on our SUV. The compass twirled around. N, NW, SW, S, SE, N, SW… We stopped alongside the road. And watched. I can’t remember how long we stayed there, but I remember the beauty of it.

The second instance was a few weeks back. When I checked to make sure my back door was locked, I looked outside. When you can see the northern lights through the window, you know they are bright, so I stepped onto the deck. Despite the streetlamps, I saw pink and purple peeking at the edge of the turquoise. We’ve been spoiled this fall as Mother Nature has given us many amazing nightly shows. Maybe it’ll continue throughout the winter.

Many of my friends want to come visit me so they can see them, but I can’t promise that the sky will light up any more than I can promise a cloudless night will await them weeks ahead of time.

Some say in the silence of the night, you can hear the northern lights sing. Maybe one day I will hear them.

JS

J. S. Marlo's Website