Coming Soon! Temptation by Shirley Martin (excerpt)

 

                                                                      TEMPTATION

                                                                     by Shirley Martin

 

    Jennifer stepped outside onto the brick patio, needing to escape the continual bragging of the stockbroker whose only subject was himself.  Closing the French doors behind her, she shut out most of the noise and laughter from the party inside, a welcome relief. Surprised she had the patio to herself, she rested her hand on the iron railing and inhaled the cool November air, her gaze absorbing the magnificent houses and lush foliage of this elegant Coral Gables neighborhood. Some day, she hoped to have a home of her own, but she knew she could never afford a spacious mansion such as this. Yet that was fine with her; a more modest home would suit her nicely, like the one she lived in now. 

    Alone with her thoughts, she considered how well things were going for her now. An only child, she'd been spoiled all her life. Things had gone so easily for her. Pretty and popular, she'd been a cheerleader in high school, dating the football players. Her grades in high school and college had been good. She wondered what would happen if she ever met a real challenge. How would she handle adversity, if it ever came to that?  And then she wondered what had prompted this introspection.

    The fragrance of night-blooming jasmine drifted her way, carried by a light easterly breeze.  She stared upward at the clear sky, where a sprinkling of stars and a couple of planets overcame the competition of bright city lights. She'd return to the party in a few minutes, but for now, she wanted time to herself. She'd had a rough week and wanted just a few moments alone.

    "A beautiful night, isn't it?"

    "Oh!"  She swung around to stare at the stranger.  "You scared me!  You shouldn't sneak up on a person like that. I didn't hear the doors close."  Dressed in a dark suit, white shirt and tie, he stood a few feet away, next to the doors. Tall, dark, and handsome.  The cliche slipped easily from her mind, yet it was true.  At least his hair was dark, but his skin was the palest she'd ever seen, as if he never got enough sunlight. On him, the combination was fascinating.  If Helen of Troy had a face that could launch a thousand ships, this man had the good looks to send a rocket to Mars.

    He smiled. "Sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you."  He nodded toward the party inside.  "It was getting much too noisy there." 

    She tilted her  head at him.  "I didn't see you there."

    "But I saw you across the room, and I wanted to meet you. I hope you don't mind."

    His dark eyes focused on her. Those eyes!  She could gladly sink into them and never come up for air. 

    Even here, she caught a faint trace of laughter form inside. "Normally, I like parties, but sometimes--"  She shrugged. "--sometimes I like to be by myself." 

    "I, also.  Present company excepted." He smiled and moved closer.

    Frowning, she backed away a few steps. 

    "I won't hurt you," he said, as if he could read her mind.

    "Well, I didn't think that for one minute."  She fussed with the buttons of her white silk blouse and shifted from one foot to another. She gave him a closer look in the darkness, his devilish gaze meeting hers. Devilish. Why did that word spring to her mind?  She admired his dark looks, but she'd learned long ago that looks meant nothing if a person was empty inside, or worse, harmful to others. Just look at Bruce, the scumbag. 

    "Do I meet with your approval?"

    Her face warmed, and she opened her mouth to say something, then thought better of it. 

    He inclined his head.  'Permit me to introduce myself.  My name is Varik Kruger."

    "Varik?  Never heard that name before."

    "I fear it's a long story."  He raised his eyebrows.  "And you are?"

    "Jennifer."  No point in telling him her last name. After tonight, she'd never see him again.  For some inexplicable reason, a rush of disappointment clutched at her stomach.

    'Jennifer, tell me about yourself."

    She shook her head.  "Not much to tell."

    "I want to hear it, anyway."

    She hesitated, licking her lips.

    "Jennifer?"

    She took a deep breath. "To begin with, I teach English at a local high school."

    "Literature?"

    "Literature and grammar, mostly."

    "Ah, yes.  And you're from Miami?"

    "Originally from Pittsburgh, a town called Fox Hollow."  She smiled.  "You find a lot of funny place names in Pennsylvania."

    He waved his hand. "Same all over the world."  A pause.  "Your family still lives in Pennsylvania?"

    "Yes, and I miss them very much."  Why was she telling him all of this?  There was something about him that made her want to tell him everything, to bare all her secrets, reveal all her hopes and dreams. And she'd only just met him." 

    "But you--"

    "Just wanted a change," she said, gripping the railing.  Never mind telling him the real reason, that she'd come to Miami to get away from an abusive boyfriend.  Jealous because she'd dated another man, he'd slapped her face so hard she'd suffered a bruise for days. That night, he'd said he'd never let her go.  Bruce was such a charmer at first. He'd sure charmed her mother, who saw no fault in him. 

    What if her mother gave Bruce her address?  Hell, no!  Jennifer knew too well she had to be more discriminating, not fall for every sweet talker who came her way.

    Trying to dismiss her dismal thoughts, she brought her mind back to Varik and smiled in his direction. "You're from this country?"

    "Why, yes," he said after a slight pause. "Why do you ask?"

    "Your speech sounds a bit different, kind of formal."

    "I spend a good deal of time in Europe," he said as if that explained everything.  Which it didn't.

    A period of silence followed. As if by mutual agreement, they both looked up at the night sky with its sprinkling of stars and a cloud that slid in front of the moon. A cool breeze picked up, fluttering her silk skirt around her knees and blowing a lock of hair across her face.  Hibiscus bushes on the spacious grounds rustled in the breeze. For the first time that evening, she felt at peace, and why, she couldn't say. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, thinking she really should go back inside. 

    His low voice snatched her attention. "Did you come by yourself?"

    She turned to look at him.  "Why, yes, I drove."

    He pressed his hand to his heart in mock sorrow. "You have deprived me of the opportunity to drive you home. But seriously, it would have been my pleasure to do just that, had you needed a ride."  He leaned her way, his voice cascading over her like a warm shower.  "I should like very much to see you again."

    "Thanks.  I appreciate your sentiments.  But I don't ride with strangers. And I'm real busy right now."  Aware of how abrupt she must seem, she smiled to take the sting from her words. "What's that expression about ships that pass in the night?"

    "Ah, yes, Shakespeare.  And very true, I'm afraid, except that this is a lovely moonlit patio."

    "Besides, I don't know a thing about you."

    He smiled lazily. "What if I told you I'm a vampire?"

    She laughed. "You're too late for Halloween and too early for April Fools Day."

    He laughed, too, a husky chuckle, as if they'd shared a huge joke.

    A wicked sense of danger stirred inside her. She knew she should leave, but something kept her glued to the spot, as if by her departure the world would stop spinning, the sun would turn to ashes.

    Sighing inwardly, she turned toward the door. "It's been nice meeting you, but I should get back inside."  She fluttered her fingers at him.  "See you."  How empty the night seemed now, all pleasure gone from the evening. And she'd never see him again. She wondered why that outcome should bother her so,and besides, she should know better. After Bruce, it would be just as well if she stayed away from all men.

    She turned away from him, a faint scent of floral perfume wafting in the air. 

    "Goodnight, Jennifer."  Varik admired her supple walk, her high heels clicking on the bricks, her dark skirt rippling around her knees. He liked the way her light brown hair bounced across her shoulders as she moved. Her fresh, clean looks captivated him, absolutely the most enchanting he'd ever seen. Was she aware of what a lovely image she presented, one that made him want to hold her and kiss her to drive them both breathless? 

    He wanted to see her again. He would see her again. By the time the party broke up, he'd approach the host, use his mesmerizing charm to discover Jennifer's address.  And see her again, this woman he couldn't drive from his mind.     

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

This is as yet unpublished. Any comments or crits are welcome.

 

http://bookswelove.net/martin.php

http://authorshirleymartin.blogspot.com

https://www.facebook.com/shirley.martin.716970?fref=nf

 

 

 

CREATURE FEATURES by Juliet Waldron

Several years ago I decided to begin to write a story centered around a creature. By doing that, I knew I was entering a crowded, expert field that had been successfully creating vampires and werewolves, witches, and all the rest of the occult cousinage for many, many years.

Wiki Commons Source

 

Still, why not? I had had a notion to write a sequel to Red Magic. Unlike the other novels I’ve written which are full-on historical fiction, Red Magic  was cross-genre in at least four ways, because there are elements of fantasy, history and adventure as well as the old-fashioned romance at the core. Moreover, if you end a story with the birth of fraternal twins-- in this case, a girl and a boy--there is an obligation to write a follow-up around them. It’s an ancient story-teller's convention, probably well-established by the time the Greeks dreamed up Apollo and Diana.   

 

Okay, so all well and good, but almost immediately I was stuck again. The tall, dark hero and his red-headed sister I already knew something about—their loves, loyalties and a few of their day-to-day human problems. The question remained: into exactly what sort of creature would my hero morph?

Personally, vampires alarm me. It seems to me there are enough scary people in the real world who fit into this category without making up fictional ones who are going to (somehow) become the love interest. On the other hand, I’ve always had a soft spot for werewolves, but there sure are a lot of them howling at the moon already.

I decided to step back a pace. Why not try something less limiting? Going after the all-encompassing “shape-shifter” idea seemed a way to make an unusual hero who wasn’t boxed into a particular set of conventions, such as drinking blood or only being active after dark. If the hero/creature could become different animals, his metamorphosis could be different every time, which would definitely give my imagination a work-out. Like the boy Wart in The Sword in the Stone, my hero could sometimes be a carnivore and sometimes a herbivore, sometimes four-legged, sometimes winged, as the need and/or inclination arose.

I'm nearing the completion of Black Magic now. If I can just keep my "fanny in the chair," it should be done within the next month and ready for a stern edit. For me, it's been quite an experience, a crazy road trip out of my usual historical writer's comfort zone. 

More about all my books at:

 

http://www.julietwaldron.com

http://www.facebook.com/jwhistfic

http://www.bookswelove.net/julietwaldron

 

    

 

Connie Vines was wondering, "Do fictional characters Pick-up the Habits of the Writer?"

Do Fictional Characters Pick-up the Habits of the Writer?

Saturday,  June 28, 2014

Years agoI located an article about Margaret Mitchell, the author of Gone with the Wind.  Apparently, there was a great deal of press about how she hid sections of her novel beneath couch cushions, this was her very first novel etc. All of these statements may have a ring of truth but Margaret Mitchell was a journalist. 

Whether you agree or disagree with the premise of the Pulitzer Prize winning book or the screenplay or the resulting Academy Award Winning Picture, you cannot argue the fact she created exceptionally real characters.   It has been nearly 80 years since the book was published and nearly everyone in the U.S. (and who knows how many other countries) recall ‘something’ about Scarlett and Rhett.

Interviews tell us that MM would sit in front of a mirror and watch how her earrings (earbobs) moved to help in her descriptions.  She said she had every detail in her mind before she sat down at the typewriter. She also had relatives who lived during the era of the Civil War.

In MM’s case this may have been true. Her character may have been pieces of herself and her life.

However, in my case, I’m not so sure this is the case. 

Yes, my heroines and I may have many of the same interests.  Rachel Scott, my heroine in Lynx, Rodeo Romance Book 1, has many of my physical attributes at her age.   Amberlynn Maddox, my heroine in Brede, Rodeo Romance Book 2, is knowledgeable about Native American works of art. 

(These are WIP that I plan to pitch to my wonderful publisher: Books We Love.  Surprise!)

However, in one of my current WIP, Here Today, Zombie Tomorrow, I seem to be picking up Meredith, my heroine’s habits.  I am beginning to wear disposable latex gloves when I wash my hair (why, I don’t know).  I keep a food diary online and I carry on conversations with Siri (which is very difficult to do).  And, lastly (I hope), I keep purchasing hand lotion.  Do I need all this hand lotion?  No I have a place to store extra hand lotion (besides my desk at my day gig)? No.  Will I keep purchasing hand lotion?  I hope not.

Now on to my anthology, Gumbo Ya Ya—for women who like romance Cajun & Men HOT & SPICY.  Five stores in one book.  Doesn’t this mean 5 times the crazy habits for me?  It would seem so.  Beignets and café au lait, should I be having these type of dreams?  Perfume, I’m obsessed with perfume and I’m worried about gators.  Seriously?  I live in SoCal.  I really don’t think the L.A. river is going to become infested with gators in the next, say . . .million years or so. Then there’s the heroine who works in day time TV.  Well, I do have the beginnings of a three-act play on my hard drive.

Anything else?  Time Travel to the 16^th century and werewolves (contemporary)--so far, nothing to report on those two topics. Which is good news to me.

Now, Rand Rodeo Romance Book 3, oh, boy—do I have stories to tell!

Thank you for stopping by to read my guest post to the Books We Love Blog.

Happy Reading,

Connie Vines

(Go to: About.me/ConnieVines ornovelsbyconnievines.com for more info)

A taste of the Middle Ages, by Vijaya Schartz

People in the Middle Ages seemed much closer to nature than we are today. Surrounded by forests, they bathed in rivers, or communal baths in castles before dining, in order to allow the guests to clean the dust of the roads and meet each other before the banquet. Did I mention that the baths were for both genders at the same time. Of course, that was in France, before the Catholic Church slammed down on public nudity... which later led to the spread of diseases.

This kind of research is fascinating. I had to visit the castles of Forez and speak with the curators of each museum to find out about all these details of early medieval life. Hope you enjoy discovering them in my latest release.

Here is an excerpt of Chatelaine of Forez, set in France in the eleventh Century, from the Curse of the Lost Isle medieval fantasy romantic series. The heroine is bathing in a sacred spring. Enjoy!

CHATELAINE OF FOREZ:

http://amzn.com/B00I3T9VYG

Only $2.99 in kindle 

Chapter One

March 1028 AD - Forez (now in central France)

Melusine stopped singing and shuddered in the cool water. Someone was coming. Fast approaching hooves trampled the underbrush. She straightened and gripped the well worn sides of the rectangular stone basin. Birds and insects had ceased their chirping. Through the trees, a single horseman on a black stallion galloped up the forested path to the sacred spring where she bathed.

How had he crossed the magic barrier she'd erected down the hill? Could he be an immortal like her?

She glanced at her blue robes, left in the middle of the clearing, at the foot of the tall, standing stone hugging the statue of the Great Goddess. Too far away. No time to step out of the catch basin and retrieve them. With a flurry of the hand, she wove a quick invisibility spell and willed the water around her to still.

Her heart stumbled for a beat or two. This could be the blessed day the Great Goddess had promised her. The day she finally met her former beloved... Sigefroi. Although, in his new incarnation, he wore another name.

The horseman emerged from the curtain of trees, impossibly tall, dark, muscular, in black leather gear, a crossbow across his back. A sword slapped his thigh, and a hunting knife adorned his belt. Half a dozen bloody hares hung from the back of his saddle. Definitely not her beloved Sigefroi. What now?

The stranger glanced at her, raised a dark brow and nodded a salute from the saddle. A restrained smile touched his lips. How could he possibly see her through the invisibility spell? But he'd already crossed her privacy barrier. Fae blood definitely coursed through his veins.

Melusine shrunk into her chilly bath, dreading to face him naked.

It could be worse. It could be the first Wednesday of the month, when the curse made her a serpent from the waist down. In this increasingly Christian land, discovery in ondine form could cost her to burn at the stake.

Since the local Christians avoided Pagan shrines, however, the stranger must be of the old faith.

She took a deep breath and made her voice as formidable and intimidating as she could. "Who dares violate the sacred spring of the Great One?"

"Count Artaud of Forez." The deep baritone rang loud and clear.

Melusine's heartbeat faltered. Not an immortal, but worse. "Artaud of Forez?"

"I own this land, and methinks you are the one trespassing." He dismounted with surprising agility for his size, sliding off the saddle like an acrobat.

Melusine scrutinized the young man. According to the Goddess, Artaud had inherited the soul of her late Sigefroi, but how could it be, when they looked like opposites. Where Sigefroi had been wiry and fair, with gold reddish hair and a clear gaze, Artaud had broad shoulders, straight black hair, a hale face, and a dark, brooding gaze, as deep as a lake on a moonless night. Both looked fearsome, but in different ways.

Count Artaud led his prancing stallion closer to the large rectangular basin where she bathed.

Dear Goddess! Heat crept up Melusine's cheeks. She gathered her legs and encircled her knees with her arms for modesty. "How dare you!"

"My horse is thirsty." His voice held a subtle challenge.

The black stallion snorted as its master freed him. The beast drank noisily from the far end of the long basin.

Count Artaud cast her a sidelong glance, his swarthy, square face unreadable. "The Great One would want to quench an animal's thirst."

"Only a Pagan would know the Great One respects all creatures as equal." Melusine kept her voice even, but anger gripped her insides. How could this Artaud hold the soul of her beloved? He was a cold, dark stranger, not her fiery knight of old.

His brow shot up. "I fear you have me at a disadvantage, my lady. I have never seen you at court or on my estates. Who might you be?"

Although she'd known they would soon meet, Melusine had no ready answer. An ondine? A cursed immortal? The woman you are destined to marry? The love of your past life? The enchantress who might bring your doom? She couldn't find words he might accept, even less understand. While she remembered their lifetime together, he did not.

No sympathy softened the neutral face as his dark stare pierced her. He removed his black leather gloves and sat on a jutting stone next to the well worn edge of the old basin. "Devil got your tongue?"

Visions of hellish creatures flashed upon Melusine's mind at his mention of the devil. Christians believed in the devil... and Christians wanted her dead.

"Melusine..." She cleared her choking voice. "My name is Melusine."

She fancied her first name innocuous enough. Better than Melusine the Fae, immortal, cursed by the Great One, excommunicated First Lady of Luxembourg, the love and the bane of your past existence.

"Lady Melusine..." He rolled the words on his tongue. His dark, liquid eyes softened and unfocused slightly. "An unusual name for an unusual woman."

"‘Tis an ancient name, my lord." Tempted to prod his mind and find out what he thought of her, she stopped herself. If he could see through her spells, and Fae blood coursed through his veins, like Sigefroi, he would be impervious to her magic... but not to her charms.

Changing tactic, she smiled and relaxed against the hollowed stone basin, exposing her submersed nudity through the clear water. "I hear you have done well, Lord Artaud. Your lands of Lyon and Forez thrive, and your people consider you a fair and wise ruler."

He cast her a sidelong glance, then shifted his gaze to the statue of the Great One dominating the clearing. The quenched black stallion walked away a few paces and grazed the luscious grass of the hillock.

Awe widened his eyes as he faced her again. "What else have you heard about me?"

Although Melusine had kept her promise not to spy on Artaud, she knew a few things about him. "The river gold makes you richer than any king. So does the trade on the pilgrimage road to St Jacques of Compostella. Travelers speak highly of your hospitality."

Bird trills and the chirping of insects had resumed, and the sweet scent of wild flowers filled the air with vibrant life.

"What you hear is true." He faced her but kept his gaze at eye level. "I'm also a Pagan count ruling over Christian barons. That alone can get you killed these days."

"Then we have much in common, my lord." Melusine smiled seductively. "Only a devout Pagan would visit the sacred spring and the shrine of the Great One. Why else would you come here?"

He barely cracked a thin smile. "To water my horse."

His jest bothered her. So did his cool response to her charms. Hard as she tried, Melusine could not see in this man any remnant of her past love.

Had she waited these few decades for naught? Had the Great One tricked her? No. The Great One never lied. Still, even though Melusine did not intend to share this stranger's fate, she should warn him of the dangers threatening his rule.

She trailed her fingers on the water surface, blurring it. "This hill is not just a sacred shrine from time immemorial, Lord Artaud."

His dark gaze alighted upon her with a new spark of interest. "State your meaning."

"‘Tis the site of your future castle of Montarcher."

Suspicion narrowed his eyes. "How do you know of my future designs?"

Melusine's heart skipped a beat. "The Great One sees and knows all, my lord. You must build your castle in haste to face the coming dangers."

A muscle in his square jaw jumped. "What dangers?"

"Your enemies are gathering." Melusine didn't know the future, only that Artaud would need help. "Many envy your riches, my lord. Others resent your faith. But from here, you can fend them off."

"Why here?" His tone held curiosity.

Melusine straightened and gazed in the distance. She was destined to protect him, but she felt naught for this stranger. "This is a sacred site, my lord. From here, the statue of the Great One will bless and protect all your lands."

His brow rose and his eyes softened but still stared at her. "Truly?"

Melusine shrank under his scrutiny, wishing she wore clothes. "Truly, my lord."

"Thank you for the warning, my lady." He rose and whistled. His stallion trotted up to him. In one light vault, Artaud landed in the saddle.

Melusine's heart jumped. Had she done right, or had she spoiled everything? In any case, she must speak with the Great One. There must be a mistake. She could never love this dark, brooding man. He was not her long lost love.

HAPPY READING.

Vijaya Schartz

Blasters, Swords, Romance with a Kick

http://www.vijayaschartz.com

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/author/vijayaschartz 

FB: https://www.facebook.com/vijaya.schartz
Twitter: https://twitter.com/Vijayaschartz  

Tricia McGill’s Other Passion

I have two major awards sitting on a shelf in my home. One is the Romance Writers of Australia’s Romantic Book of The Year which I won in 2003 for Traces of Dreams; now republished at Books We Love as Remnants of Dreams. The other award is The Family & Community Support Award I received in 2008. It was given in recognition of my “valuable contribution” to my local community.

My husband died suddenly just months before our 40^th year together. He was my staunchest supporter of my writing but sadly didn’t live to see my first book published. Only those who have lost a dear partner or husband will know the feeling of absolute wretched loneliness that engulfs you once the initial grieving period eases. It was then I looked for some interest outside my circle of friends and family and came upon the wonderful organisation I have volunteered with now for over 14 years.

So it is that my spare time away from my writing is taken up with my community work. We provide computer equipment and subsidised wireless internet connection at a very reasonable fee to disabled or housebound people on low-incomes. We help a wide range of people from all ages who have a variety of disabilities and illnesses. No matter what, they are an amazing and inspirational lot.

Just as an example we have one lady who is 92. Her husband was disabled by a massive stroke, but could type using one finger. Bert was a writer and over the years had penned many short stories and a few poems by hand. He would then painstakingly type them up using his one usable finger and his wife would edit them (after a fashion). That’s where I came in. I edited these amazing stories which told the story of his life mainly. In due course I collated his stories along with others from the people in our program and edited then published them. We eventually ended up with three books of their stories, comments and poems. Unfortunately Bert passed away some years ago but his wife still uses her computer and emails me regularly. 

 

             Find Tricia McGill’s books at Books We Love here:              

http://bookswelove.net/mcgill.php

Remnants of Dreams is available here on Kindle: 

 http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00IA1XZ94

 

Remnants of Dreams moves from the horrors of the 1914-1918 war to the 1990s, and paints an unforgettable picture of a changing world and of working class people in North London whose only riches are love and the knowledge that they did their best.

Alicia's indomitable spirit sustains her and her large family through two wars, illness, death and loss. From her mother's example Sara finds the courage to escape an intolerable situation and forge a new life in a new country. 

 

Mystic Mountains (Settlers book 1) available here on Kindle:

 http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00EFE5UL6

In the early 1800s the penal colony of Botany Bay was an unforgiving and harsh place. Isabella O'Shea is transported to New South Wales for wounding a member of the British aristocracy who raped her, so it is understandable that she loathes members of the upper class and the system that punished her; sentenced her to seven years transportation. 

Tiger Carstairs is rich, ambitious and English-so is it any wonder she is determined to hate her new master. Tiger dreams of making a new life beyond the aptly named Blue Mountains, so called because of the perpetual haze of blue surrounding them. 

Mystic Mountains is a story of courage and persistence-traits that were essential for the settlers who carved out a new life in a raw land where suffering and heartbreak were commonplace. 

Isabella and Tiger face tragedy and many hardships in their quest for a new life in this untamed land.

Distant Mountains (Settlers book 2) coming soon at Books We Love.

It's a Dirty Job...

By Jenna Byrnes

Research can be so tedious. Long hours spent on the computer, checking and double checking facts.

But I digress... which I do easily, when I'm researching online. It doesn't take much at all for me to wind up looking at pictures when I'm supposed to be checking facts. Not just those pictures. Lighthouses, inns, prisons, small towns, names -- I love looking through lists of names!

I think back to the olden days when a person had to go to the public library to look something up. I used to digress there, too, wandering up and down the aisles looking for titles that piqued my interest. I stumbled upon Go Ask Alice at the library, and I must have read it a dozen times or more. What that has to do with this post, I have no idea. My mind associates it with the library, I guess. I continue to digress, and yes, I like that word.

Before we had the library, most of my research was done in the set of encyclopedias my parents bought--or should I say, started to buy. The version in my house ended when JFK was president, so I had to guess about anything that happened after 1962-ish. The books were better than nothing, and I remember thinking my family was lucky to even have them.

The internet has made 'research' more accessible to the masses. Of course, you have to know what to believe (If it's on Wiki, it must be true?) And you have to know where to look. Occasionally when I get a little too technical with my keywords, I open up a whole 'nother world of stuff I might never have known existed. Sometimes, I use that back button on the browser and scoot right out of there. But sometimes, like a train wreck, I just have to look. Before I know it, my writing time is over, and not a lot has been accomplished.

Bottom line, research is not my favorite pastime. I do what I have to do, but try not to get mired down in the muck.

*sigh* 

-------------------

Catch my spicy "Hot Under the Collar" m/m boxed set of erotic romance on sale now for only $1.99. Seven complete novellas and one short story, no cliffhangers!

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00IP1NL3E

~ Jenna Byrnes, Page Scorching Erotic Romance

www.jennabyrnes.com

http://bookswelove.net/jennabyrnes.php

 

Diane Scott Lewis, the flummoxed author-on early women's rights!

On Women’s Rights, gasp, prior to the 20th century:

Back in my naïve days as a fledgling author, I joined critique groups to better polish my historical novels. My story, which took place in 1815, had a young woman who tried to stand up for herself in a typical male-dominated environment. I researched, and was surprised how many women advocated for "women’s rights" in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.

But the man in my group objected, saying women never asked for rights until the twentieth century. What did he think we were doing all those centuries when most of us had minds of our own?

I found many people shared this narrow view.

When I came across an actual treatise on a female who sought her due in the seventeenth century, a woman now forgotten by time, I had to blog about her.

Mary Astell, a school teacher from Newcastle upon Tyne, England, published Serious Proposal to the Ladies for the Advancement of their True and Greatest Interest, in 1694.

She was born in in 1666 to an upper middle-class family. Her father was a royalist Anglican who managed a coal company. As a woman, she received no formal education, as the culture of the time felt girls didn’t require any learning outside of the domestic realm. Fortunately for Mary, starting at the age of eight, she received an informal education from her uncle. Her uncle, an ex-clergyman, was affiliated with the Cambridge based philosophical school which based its teachings around radical philosophers such as Aristotle, Plato, and Pythagoras. Heady stuff for what was called, the feeble brains of women.

Mary’s father died when she was twelve, leaving her without a dowry. Her family’s limited finances were invested in her brother’s higher education and Mary and her mother were forced to move in with her aunt. After the death of her mother and aunt, Mary moved to Chelsea, London in 1688 where she was lucky enough to make the acquaintance of a circle of influential and literary women. These women helped Mary with the development and publication of her treatise.
Mary Astell was one of the first Englishwomen to advocate that women were as rational as men, and just as deserving of education. Her Serious Proposal presented a plan for an all-female college where women could pursue a life of the mind. In 1700, Mary published another work: Some Reflections upon Marriage. She warned, in witty prose, of the dangers to females "...of an ill Education and unequal Marriage." She urged women to make better matrimonial choices because a disparity in intelligence and character may lead to misery. Marriage should be based on lasting friendship rather than short-lived attraction.

She was known to debate freely with both men and women, and particularly for her groundbreaking methods of negotiating the position of women in society by engaging in philosophical debate rather than basing her arguments in historical evidence as had previously been attempted. One of her famous quotes stated: "If all Men are born Free, why are all Women born Slaves?"

Mary withdrew from public life in 1709 and founded a charity school for girls in Chelsea. She died in 1731, a few months after a mastectomy to remove a cancerous breast.
So when reviewers—or readers—criticize a novel for promoting a heroine who acts "before her time" remember that women have been seeking liberation for centuries.

Resources: "Astell, Mary." Encyclopedia of World Biography, 2011.

My current release, Ring of Stone, called a "true historical epic" depicts strong women in the eighteenth century, one who strives to become a physician before women were allowed, and uncovers shocking secrets in a small Cornish village.

Visit my website for information on my novels:

http://www.dianescottlewis.org