The Lake (a/k/a Summer Magic) by Gail Roughton

A few years back, Alan Jackson sang of  "...an old plywood boat, with a 75 Johnson with electric choke". I love that song, love its poignant lyrics that hark back to childhood for all of us born in a far-away time warp when there was enough technology to make life pretty dang sweet but not so much that it'd taken over the world to the extent everybody posted pictures of their meals on Facebook.  There was no Facebook, there was no such thing as a smart phone, cause there was no such thing as the internet. Heck, there was no such thing as a cell phone, and texts as a means of communication were far in the distant future. Life was simpler then. Nobody had to tell kids to play an hour a day. Mothers hollered out the doors for us to "get in outta that hot sun a minute 'fore y'all fry alive!" But it was modern enough that suppers were cooked on electric or gas ranges rather than wood burning stoves and refrigerators had replaced iceboxes, even if folks still called them iceboxes and would continue to do so for years. Ice was plentiful to chill beverages even if came from ice trays and not ice makers and milk and diary products were actually delivered to your door should anyone so desire and most folks did.  Air conditioning wasn't yet a standard in homes but oscillating fans twirled overhead and in windows. There was a television set in almost every home even if it was only one, and even if it was still black and white and not technicolor, and America unwound in front of it every night. After Walter Cronkite advised us "That's the way it is...", we watched sitcoms with far more innocent humor than the sitcoms of today, cheered on heroes in white hats (or law enforcement hats or military helmets), and booed the villains, for whom no one had any sympathy at all, 'cause they were clearly villains and not victims of anybody's society. 

I grew up in the heart of Georgia, raised a country girl in the very center of the state. In Middle Georgia, when you say "the Lake", you mean Lake Sinclair, a man-made lake engineered by Georgia Power Company. It's a major, major source of hydroelectric power for the Middle Georgia region, has  roughly 400 miles of shoreline and spreads over 15,000 acres. Nothing compared to the Great Lakes, of course, but we'll take it. Its shores are lined with lake houses and boat houses and in my childhood, those houses were mostly little cottages, cabins or trailers used as summer or weekend houses, most of which were accessible only over a series of turns onto dirt road after dirt road. Nowadays, a high proportion of Sinclair Lake houses are extremely nice year round residences and I'm not sure if a dirt road even exists anymore in the general vicinity of the Lake.  

I don't remember how old I was when Daddy built his own old plywood boat (not that it was old at the time of construction, of course), around ten or eleven, I'd guess. Daddy was a master carpenter, so there wasn't anything half-done or half-finished about that boat. It was absolutely water-worthy, complete with steering wheel and windshield. I remember early morning fishing trips with Daddy and Mr. Emory, our next-door neighbor without whom no father-daughter excursion was complete. We didn't have a lake cabin ourselves, but the owner of the construction company Daddy worked for did, and as he was getting on up there in age and seldom, if ever, went to the Lake at all, we had full permission to use it at any time. We didn't, in fact, ever use the cabin proper, mostly because boarded up cabins have a very distinctive smell that's not all that pleasant, but we made frequent use of the property itself for family cookouts. That was pretty much standard Sunday afternoons, boat rides and cookouts at the Lake. Nothing fancy. Just good food, good company, good fun. Like I said, a simpler time and place.

Then "life"--whatever that means--got in the way, and before I knew it, it'd been a minimum of forty plus years since I'd been on any boat at all, let alone on Lake Sinclair, and just as many for my husband, who'd also spent the weekends of his teen years at the Lake, though he was more athletic (it doesn't take much to be more athletic than me) and had been a heck of a slalom skier.

I'm happy to say that situation's been rectified for us now. A few years back, my husband bought an older, used boat. He didn't get a lot of use out of it the first couple of years after its purchase, mostly because until this spring when I retired, I was too tired to even think spending a whole day of my two day weekend manhandling a boat in and out of the water even sounded good. This year, though? Ah, this year, we rented a boat slip at a lake marina right off the main road to the Lake, and put the boat in the water for the summer. It just sits right there and waits on us, and we're there at least once a week. It's great when we're with the kids and grandkids. Sinclair's a lake where you just jump right off the boat into the water (with life vest, of course).  You don't see too many folks skiing these days, the big thing's "tubing" and I admit, even I might be able to tube, though I haven't gotten up quite the nerve yet. So far I've left the jumping into the water and the tubing to the young folks. 

It's just as great when it's just us. We love riding up and down and exploring the lake but I confess I think my favorite's when hubby turns off the engine, sets up the trolling motor, and we just putt up and down the shoreline while he throws out his fishing line. Oh, he hasn't caught a thing yet, and we don't even go when it's actually a "good fishing time" so there's pretty much not even a chance he'll catch a fish, but that's not the point. I come from a long line of fishermen who don't fish to catch fish; i.e., my Daddy and Mr. Emory. They fished to enjoy the outdoors and the company they were in, and that sure works for me. I slather on the sunblock and sometimes I read (that Kindle App on the smartphone, don't you know?) and sometimes reading's just too much trouble. I just look at the shoreline, listen to the whooooossshhh of hubby's line as it swishes out into the water and the slow criiiiikcriiiiik of the reel as it comes back to the boat. I drink in the peace, the smell of the water, the sound of contentment. And I go back. Back to a simpler time and place.

I must have subconsciously missed the Lake more than I realized in the forty plus years I spent away from it, because it certainly plays a part in the one of the books written in my years away from it.  In fact, it's the scene where the heroes of said book take down their villain.  Okay, yes. I love, love, love the lake, it's idyllic and quiet and peaceful but some parts of it are pretty dang remote. Back in the day, they were even isolated, especially in the winter, and I ask you. What kind of writer would I be if I passed that up as a setting in a Southern Gothic horror story?

my name be Cain...and my color be Se'ben

Because evil never dies. It just--waits.

Gail Roughton on Amazon

Published by Books We Love,Ltd.

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Sandy Haber wins a copy of Sapphire Kisses by Joanie MacNeil.

Sandy, please email bookswelove@telus.net 

to claim your prize. 

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Hedy Lamarr, A Beauty & A Great Mind by Katherine Pym

Hedy Lamarr in 1930's

Hedy Lamarr (Hedwig Eva Maria Kiesler) as born 1914 in Vienna Austria to Jewish parents, both considered practicing Christians. Doors opened for her when she performed in a risqué Czech movie. In 1933, she married Fritz Mandl, a wealthy armaments merchant and munitions manufacturer who was in cahoots with the Nazis and sold armaments to Mussolini.

Fritz was not happy with Hedy’s acting career. To keep her occupied and away from the studio, he hosted lavish parties where Hitler and Mussolini were in attendance. He’d take Hedy to business meetings where she listened to wealthy manufacturers discuss how to jam an enemy’s radio frequencies, to locate and destroy their weapons.

Hedy was not stupid. She may have looked like a flower to be admired but not acknowledged. At those meetings, Hedy learned applied sciences.

The marriage was not a good one. Fritz was a controlling man, very jealous. In her autobiography, Hedy stated he kept her prisoner in their palatial mansion most of the time.

By 1937 as Hitler’s strength extended throughout Germany and Austria, as he prepared to spread his rancor throughout Europe, Hedy disappeared to Paris disguised as a maid. She took most of Mandl’s jewels with her. While in Paris, she met Louis B. Mayer, and the rest as they say is history.

Or maybe not...

Even as she was beautiful, Hedy possessed a brilliant mind. She was an inventor and a scientist. She created several items and obtained patents for them. She remembered those meetings Fritz had dragged her to and she loathed the Nazis. She did everything in her power to try and stop them.

George Antheil

By 1940, Hedy had moved to Hollywood. During a dinner party, she met George Antheil, a man of like mind. He was an avant-garde composer. They enjoyed each other’s company and talked of Hedy’s ideas. When the evening ended, Hedy wrote her phone number with lipstick on George’s windshield: Call me.

By this time, WW2 was in full swing. The loss of men at sea each day counted to the several thousands. Allied ships were being sunk by torpedoes from German U-boats.  

Hedy and George realized most of the weaponry during WW2 was radio controlled. They got together and invented a “Secret Communications System” (US Patent No. 2,292,387) what today is known as a “Spread Spectrum Transmission”. If their signals jammed German frequencies, the weaponry would be sent off course, their munitions rendered useless.

Hedy and George worked out a radio frequency called “frequency-hopping” that could not be deciphered or jammed. They set up a sequencer “that would rapidly jump both the control signal and its receiver through 88 random frequencies” similar to the 88 keys on a piano.

For explanation purposes on the patent material, they compared frequency-hopping to a player-piano where the dots on paper are interspersed at irregular intervals. If someone is trying to listen to you, the message will be jumbled, undecipherable as if you hop around indiscriminately rather than walk in a straight line. The sender and receiver know what these hopping intervals are and can communicate. Someone who does not know this system would not be able to understand.

Their idea bloomed into an actual process, then ‘Hedy Kiesler Markey and George Antheil’ sent their designs to the patent office. Their patent was accepted but the Navy never embraced it. One obtuse fellow considered it impractical to stick a player-piano into a torpedo. Their idea was shelved.

But not forgotten...

Hedy Lamarr in 1950's

In his 1945 autobiography, George Antheil gave Hedy Lamarr full credit for the idea. In the 1950’s private companies dug the patent out of the archives and began to use its science. A wireless technology called CDMA was developed (today’s WIFI & Bluetooth). In the 1960’s the Navy used frequency-hopping during the Cuba Missile Crisis.  In the late 1990’s the Electronic Frontier Foundation gave Hedy an award for her contribution to wireless communications.

Without Hedy Lamarr’s experiences with her first husband, her unbending dislike of the Nazi’s and her embracement of the Allied war effort, we would not have wireless communications. Oh, I know what you are thinking. Someone somewhere would have figured it out, but I say Hedy’s the girl, the one who spearheaded what we have, today.

Many thanks to:

Wikicommons, Public Domain

http://www.uh.edu/engines/epi435.htm

http://www.theatlantic.com/technology/archive/2010/09/celebrity-invention-hedy-lamarrs-secret-communications-system/62377/

http://www.women-inventors.com/Hedy-Lammar.asp

http://www.biography.com/people/hedy-lamarr-9542252#secret-communications-system

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hedy_Lamarr

http://www.wirelesscommunication.nl/reference/chaptr05/cdma/cdma.htm

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

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Getting Emotional in Writing

Yesterday I had a friend (who is also a fan!) tell me how much she loved my books except for one thing - they're too short! An avid reader, she went on to say how she got so caught up in my characters and the story that she couldn't put the book down and was disappointed when it ended.

Way back in a high school psychology class, I had to write a paper on the central nervous system versus the peripheral nervous system and used writing as an example of how to describe each. I use my brain, a part of the central nervous system, to create the work. When I re-read and edit, I use my peripheral nervous system since my hands sweat, my heart beats faster, and my body twitches in response to what I have read. This allows me to build a scene as though I am the character I've written and make the story more real to my readers.

As a writer, I also get caught up in the emotions of my scenes and characters. My palms would sweat when I wrote about Lucy and her ex-husband's relationship in The Mystery Lady as well about Katie's life with Maddox in The Bookstore Lady:

She’d never awakened in a motel room alone and naked before. Someone had always taken her home. Usually Maddox. She pushed that thought out of her head and splashed water on her face. In the mirror, her skin seemed almost green in the bad lighting. Someone had beaten her, probably Maddox, judging from the bruise on her cheek and the cut on her lower lip. Probably from the diamond he wore on his pinky.

Beside the toilet, bright blue fabric speckled with purple spots along the hem hung over the shower rod. Her favorite dress. The one she wore yesterday. At least she thought it was yesterday. She fingered the spots and fought off a wave of dizziness.

Blood stains. Whose blood?

 

In The Mystery Lady, Lucy becomes paranoid when she spots a car parked on her street for several days then strange men in her neighbourhood. Her concern for the well-being of she and her children actually left me a bit on edge and I found myself peering out the window a few times as well!

 Roger always said she’d make a good writer because she was such a drama queen, but maybe she was a drama queen because she was a writer. In truth, her mood was more about Roger and her deep down reluctance to let her kids go with him for the week. Normally, she’d probably have a hard time staying mad at someone like Clancy.

“Look, sweetheart.” He chuckled. “You go back to whatever it is you do all day and have fun with your kids. I’ll pad my tools with bubble wrap so you can relax.”

 “You are such a jerk.” She snapped.

“That’s quite an observation considering you just met me. Maybe you should give me a chance to actually be a jerk before you accuse me of such a heinous crime.” He toyed with a wrench.

Fondled? Stroked? Darn her writer’s brain. What was wrong with her? Lucy blew out a frustrated breath then rolled her eyes and stomped away. “Men.”

 

One of my favourite characters in the Wild Blue Mysteries series is Leo Blue. I find it easy to put myself in his place to see what he sees and think what he thinks. Leo looks at life a little differently than most, which makes him a lot of fun to write and  great foil for Danny since he will say and do pretty much whatever he wants.

The scenes with Leo and Christina in The Bakery Lady were some of my favourite (and steamiest!) to write. I allowed my emotions to run wild and tried to take inventory as I wrote to capture the moment as realistically as I could. In fact, one of the best ways for me to develop a scene, is to write a rough draft then go back and "feel" the emotions and "live" the scene in my head. Here's one example:

Leo clenched his hands at his sides to keep from reaching out to push back the damp hairs off her neck for a better view of the butterfly. “You’re right, she is cute. And funny.”

She spun around and knocked a steel bowl full of cookie cutters off the counter. The bowl clanged on the painted concrete floor and rolled toward the oven while the cookie cutters clattered to the white tile floor. Her freckled elfin face was dusted with flour, some of which rose off her lips as she huffed. When she glared at Clancy, her eyes reminded Leo of the slate gray-green Himalayan Mountains at sunset. Her red lips shone like the juicy flesh of a watermelon. He’d forgotten how much he liked watermelon.

 

 I find that the more I write, the more emotional my writing becomes as I become more connected to my characters and learn more about them. Currently, I am working on a new book in the series, The Painted Lady, which should be ready for release in 2017.

 All three of my Wild Blue Mysteries are available through Amazon & Books We Love as well as at Coles/Chapters/Indigo in Canada by special order!

WRITING GREAT HISTORICAL ROMANCE - MARGARET TANNER

HISTORICAL ROMANCE - DO'S AND DON'TS - MARGARET TANNER.

Why do I write historical romance: Because I love history.

The most important aspects are:

You must be passionate about your subject in a historical novel. You might get away

without this passion in a contemporary, but you won’t in a historical:

Historical Accuracy. Without that, your novel is doomed and so are you.

Write about an era that you are interested in.

I am not into Medieval or Regency, so it would be tedious trying to do the research required for this, and I wouldn’t have the passion about it, and I am sure this would show in my writing.

Research Options:

The internet (use with caution as you can’t be 100% sure that the person who posted knows what they are talking about).

Library reference books – a great place to start.

Museums

Cemeteries

Quizzing elderly relatives (depending, of course, which era you are writing about)

2^nd World War, Vietnam, Great Depression – all o.k. because they would have lived during these times.

Reading family diaries and/or letters.

Actually visiting places where you story takes place or somewhere similar.

e.g. I visited the old Melbourne jail for my novel, Daring Masquerade, set during the 1st World War,  because my heroine was jailed for being a spy. I wanted to see what it was like. The walls were solid bluestone, and cold, even on a warm day. The cell was small etc.

Settings:

Name towns: Know the area. What grows etc. I always set most of my stories in N.E. Victoria because I know the area well. Mention a few main towns, but I never be too specific, because you can get easily caught out.  I always make up a fake town near a main town or city.

In my novel, Allison’s War, set in 1916, I said the heroine lived at Dixon’s Siding (made up name) i.e The left the farm at Dixon’s Siding, and after an hours riding (horses) reached Wangaratta.

I PURPOSELY DID NOT SAY Dixon’s Siding was (10 miles west of Wangaratta on the Greta/Myrtleford Road, because I didn’t know for sure, that there wasn’t a giant lake there or a massive quarry at that time (1916).

QUIZ: WHAT IS WRONG WITH THESE STATEMENT?

Lauren’s Dilemma

1.30a.m. 25th April 1915. Gallipoli Peninsula, Turkey

Pte. Danny Williamson shivered in the chilly air as he waited on the deck of the troopship.

A.    0130 hrs – not 1.30a.m. No soldier would say 1.30a.m. The army always uses the 24 hour clock

My novel, A Wicked Deception is set in 1854.

On arrival at the homestead, Melanie unsaddled the mare and let her loose in the stockyards James had constructed from split logs. Surprising how neglected a house became after being left empty for a few days

Within 5 minutes she had dusted the kitchen and was sitting down having a cup of hot milky tea?

A.    Where did she get the milk? She would have had to milk the cow.  

Water would have to be boiled on wood stove? She would have had to light the stove, maybe even cut the wood for it. This would certainly take more than 5 minutes.

In Daring Masquerade 1916. The heroine goes to ring Colonel Andrew Smith. She punches in the telephone number and waits for him to pick up the phone? No.

A.   She rang the operator, dialled the exchange etc. And she certainly didn’t use her mobile phone.

On her wedding night, her nightgown was exquisite, a soft, white polyester, lavishly trimmed with lace.

A.    No polyester in those days.

Beware of modern language and slang.

A poor, uneducated person wouldn’t speak the same way as a rich, educated person.

So, as you can see there are many pitfalls to writing historical fiction, but if you have a genuine love of history it is a pleasure to write in this genre.

 DARING MASQUERADE

When Harriet Martin masquerades as a boy to help her shell-shocked brother in 1916, falling in love with her boss wasn’t part of the plan.

http://amzn.com/B0081CJECY

WHAT TIME IS IT? by Shirley Martin

Amazon

Hard to believe, but pocket watches date back to the 1400s.  Both men and women wore pocket watches, and these could be expensive when new.

How we tell time has changed dramatically throughout history.  In 3500 B.C.  Greeks and Egyptians used shadow clocks that depended on the movement and rotation of the sun.  The time of day was determined by the length of the shadow cast by the column as the sun passed from east to west.   The shadow cast by the markers around an obelisk calculated time and indicated morning or afternoon besides the summer and winter solstices.  Obviously, these shadow clocks were useless at night or on cloudy days.

Another method of telling time was the hourglass, believed to be invented by the Egyptians.  Two vertically aligned chambers are connected by a small opening, and grains of sand fall at a steady rate from one chamber to another when the hourglass is turned over.

By the end of the 9th century people used graduated candles to determine time at night.  King Alfred’s candle clocks measured 12 inches in height of uniform thickness and were made from 72 pennyweight of wax.  A mark illustrated every inch, each one denoting 20 minutes.  They burned for four hours inside glass boxes framed by wood to keep the flames alive.

Clock originally meant “bell.”  In the Middle Ages, religious institutions used bells to schedule daily prayers and work hours.  Christian monks became technically proficient and became the first clock makers.

Locksmiths’ and jewelers’ guilds gave rise to the first professional clockmakers.   The specialized craft slowly developed into a major industry in England and Europe.  In Germany the Black Forest focused on cuckoo clocks; carved wooden birds emerged and sang the time.

The English became renowned watchmakers and passed an act in 1698 that required watchmakers to place their names upon the watches they crafted.  When immigrants landed in the American colonies they brought their skills with them, but it was unusual for colonial watchmakers to sign their name, so we know little of their history.  Most of the watches sold in colonial America were imported from England.

In the colonies the affluent could purchase watches and clocks.   By 1750, newspapers advertised locally-made watches.

The first mechanical alarm clock, invented in 1787, could ring only at 4 a.m.  Eighty-nine years later, Seth P. Thomas patented a wind-up alarm clock able to be set for a wake-up time chosen by the owner.

Around 1850, with the beginning of the American system of manufacturing, Americans used automatic machines to mass produce watches with attractive interchangeable parts.  The watches were uncomplicated, reasonably-priced and of a better quality.

Women wore wristwatches at the beginning of the 20th century.  Men didn’t wear them until after World War I.  By war’s end, wristwatches had become fashionable.

The U.S.  National Bureau of Standards and Technology presented the atomic clock in 1999.  The most accurate timekeeping device recognized today, this clock is able to run for almost 20 million years without gaining or losing a second.  It’s used to define official world time, and modern life runs on the official measurement of time.

And speaking of time, we all know that the continental United States has four time zones–Eastern, Central, Mountain and Pacific.  Ever wonder how that came about?  The completion of the Intercontinental Railroad in 1869  prompted the designation of time zones.   By 1876, a wealthy man could travel from New York City to San Francisco in 83 hours.  (For a man of lesser means, the trip took ten days.)   So if a man left New York City at 9 a.m. and reached San Francisco 83 hours later, it could hardly still be 9 a.m.

We’ve come a long way from the shadow clocks of 3500 B.C.

Please check my website at www.shirleymartinauthor.com
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Time Traveling

by Kathy Fischer-Brown

For the past four years, fellow BWL historical author, Juliet Waldron, and I have taken a few days together to step back in time to an era we both love and love to write about. As many of you read in her post yesterday, this year we ventured into the past to relive the 1778 Battle of Monmouth. I won’t recap the events, as Juliet (as always) did a great job. Instead I will meander a bit…

Lean-to for three

 As a writer of historical-set novels, I strive to make each book an immersive experience, and, if I haven’t lived in the time—at least on some basic level—my readers will be deprived of the sights, smells, sounds, flavors, and tactile sensations that make the past come alive. Living in the 21^st century we tend to take many of our comforts for granted. Such things as plumbing and electricity, not to mention the internet, satellite weather forecasts, and streaming video. Even for the re-enactors themselves, going “home” to a hot shower and a real bed is always on the other side of a long weekend camping out without benefit of modern gear. It takes a bit of imagination to put oneself in the position of an actual denizen of the 18^th century, stuck there for life…and all that that entailed. (And except for Jamie Fraser, I can’t imagine what kept Claire of “Outlander” so long in 1740s Scotland.)

Hanging the Laundry

I don’t for a moment wax nostalgic over a past in which our ancestors lived and died (most likely too young and from conditions and afflictions that in this modern world might be considered no more than nuisances or inconveniences, or in worst cases could be treated so much more effectively today). In this sense, I strive to create a realistic picture of the mid-to-late1700s, warts and all, taking into consideration some of the ugly facts of these days of yore, some of which today seem barbaric, even stupid, especially when the 18^th century is known as “The Age of Enlightenment.” Women’s rights were barely the glimmer of a glimmer of a dream; sanitation and personal hygiene were practically nonexistent; and Draconian laws were often imposed for the slightest offenses. In cities, the poorest people often lived in squalid conditions without benefit of social services. Not to mention the existence of and dependence on slavery. 

Consideration of these facts often make me wonder why I love the period the way I do and choose to set stories in this time. That’s probably why a day or two at a re-enactment event can be so inspiring.

Doing the Wash

While the battles are fun to experience with all the senses and are well-orchestrated, I find the most interesting aspects of these events to be the daily lives and struggles of the people behind the scenes: the common soldiers hanging their wash to dry from makeshift lines and poles; women weaving baskets, cooking meals, mending clothes, and doing laundry; children being children (albeit without ipads and video games). The smells and the sounds, and the details of the clothing. The reminders that, despite the strangeness of the details, human nature remains unchanged.

Over the last few years I’ve developed a deep respect for the re-enactors of these events. They are passionate about what they do and are highly knowledgeable of the minutiae that governed the lives of the simple people they portray and are more than happy to share. 

And when the weekend ends, I look forward to returning to 2016, to my home in the suburbs of Central Connecticut, to my computer and cable TV, even if there’s an hour-and-a-half delay over the George Washington Bridge.

~*~

Kathy Fischer Brown is a BWL author of historical novels, Winter Fire, Lord Esterleigh's Daughter, Courting the Devil, The Partisan's Wife, and The Return of Tachlanad, her latest release, an epic fantasy adventure for young adult and adult readers. Check out her The Books WeLove Author page or visit her website. All of Kathy’s books are available in e-book and in paperback from Amazon and other online retailers.