WRITER ROOTS

What makes a writer? There are said to be a lot of ways to get into this particular form of insanity, but I can only speak for myself. Personally, I believe writers are born, not made.

I’ve just returned from a small visit to an old friend. We reconnected through our 50^th HS reunion, which is a little odd, as I didn’t graduate from that school, but from a grammar school in Barbados. My friend and I hadn’t spoken or written since the 9^th grade. That summer, my mother fled an abusive marriage and went to see old friends in the UK. She thought she and Dad were taking a break; he knew that the marriage was over, although he didn't say so . When I left home that summer, I expected to return to the US by Christmas. My father, however, already had a woman waiting in the wings. Instead an eventual reunion, there was an ugly long distance divorce.  My school friends soon stopped answering my sad letters. In the '50's, a divorce sent you into social exile.

Over time, I’d set the past aside. "Lost and gone forever" and "stiff upper lip" were the lessons. Imagine my surprise upon receiving an out-of-the-blue note last summer from this long-lost BFF! Apparently, one of our old classmates was with the FBI. For the fiftieth reunion, he’d pulled out all the stops, and located everybody even remotely associated with his graduating class.

So what made this old friend so special?   Well, Gemma was a co-conspirator in the great game of acting out the stories that filled my head. Her Mom sent her to ballet class and they had a wonderful costume box, too, something that every well-equipped home possessed in those days. I wanted to retell the stories I'd read, and sometimes to rewrite them—what is now called “fan fic” -- but mostly, in those days, we shared a desire to act them out.

As we approached our teens, Gemma was among the few who would still engage in the make-believe which remained the center of my world. I was the story-teller, the director. Gemma intuitively understood the world of theater. She created dances and she had a fantastic sense of design, so she did costuming and make-up. Her house was large; her parents indulgent. We could stay up late, until our projects were complete.  Favorites came from history and Greek myths--the gorier, the better. Cleopatra and the asp, Iphigenia on the altar, the Princes in the Tower, Aida and Radames buried alive! We always had musical accompaniment, too, so there was Beethoven, Schumann and Smetana’s The Moldau and all of Tchaikovsky's ballets. We had Grand Opera, too. Puccini and Verdi wrote music full of high drama, and their librettos reliably ended with someone tragically expiring.

In our late sixties now, we reminisce, discussing marriages and schools, children and grandchildren, parents and trips abroad. Gemma became a college professor. I became (finally) a writer. Her job was a wiser choice, but I still can’t quit those old habits of falling in love with passionate characters, the kind whose stories I've just got to tell.
       

~~ Juliet Waldron~~

Historical Novels 

Mozart's Wife

Roan Rose

Genesee

and many more

http://www.julietwaldron.com

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Would you recognize an immortal on the street?

Find it on Amazon HERE

I love to suspend the reader's beliefs. What if? What if there were angels walking among us? What if the immortals described in legends actually existed? What if angels did mate with human females, as the Bible says, and produced long-lived hybrid beings who look like us and walk this earth, some fighting for good, others for evil? What then?

I like to think I could recognize one in the street. Could you? What would make them different from us? A glowing aura of goodness? A disturbing sense of evil? Probably none of the above.

Still, there should be a way to recognize an immortal, an angel, or a fae walking among us. Here are a few pointers:

Real angels do not have wings. Only in the tenth century did Western Christianity start representing angels with wings. But in the ancient biblical texts, they never had any, except for a specific category of angels described with three pairs of wings and four heads. According to ancient texts, the divine messengers we call angels looked human. How else would they have passed for humans when they visited Loth in the story of Sodom and Gomorrah? They are described in the scriptures as beautiful young men. So beautiful that the debauched inhabitants of the ancient city wanted to purchase them for sexual favors.

Immortals are very beautiful, that's a given. Angels are always gorgeous according to the scriptures. Besides, if you don't age and have supernatural genes, then you should be flawless and irresistible. This is especially convenient in romantic novels. We love our gorgeous immortals. Even the evil ones, like Lucifer, or the bloodiest of vampires, are said to have an irresistible charm.

There is a special light in their eyes. If eyes are the windows of the soul, then much of their good or evil nature should filter through the eyes of immortals, angels, Fae and other supernatural beings. Movies have gone so far as to represent evil beings with blazing red eyes. That would be a hoot and a half... and very scary, late at night on a street corner.

Immortals can be killed. That's why witches and sorcerers were burned at the stake. In Highlander, they can only be killed when you sever their head. In the Curse of the Lost Isle, my immortal ladies fear holy water and death by fire. Many methods are used to kill vampires. I've never heard of a way to kill an angel, but I'm sure there is somewhere a secret book of spells that teaches exactly that. Shame on the angel killers.

In the Curse of the Lost Isle medieval series, my ladies are Fae and considered immortal, or very long-lived. They are related to Morgane the Fay and their ancestors were angels fallen to earth and left behind, some good, some bad. They mated with mortals and their children had extraordinary powers. But as you will realize reading the series, such gifts in a Christian society can be a curse...

From history shrouded in myths, emerges a family of immortal Celtic Ladies, who roam the medieval world in search of salvation from a curse. For centuries, imbued with hereditary gifts, they hide their deadly secret, stirring passions in their wake as they fight the Viking hordes, send the first knights to the Holy Land, give birth to kings and emperors... but if the Church ever suspects what they really are, they will be hunted, tortured, and burned at the stake.

5 stars on Amazon "Edgy Medieval!"

Find out more about Vijaya and her books at: http://www.vijayaschartz.com 
Find all her books on Amazon HERE 

HAPPY READING 

Tricia McGill on Friends and Lovers

Ah sweet love!

Love comes in many guises. In my life I’ve known three forms of abiding love. The kind that comes with always having a loving family around you—the kind that comes with a long and comfortable marriage with a steady, dependable man—and what is known as the “Grand Passion”. Hopefully everyone gets to experience this last one at least once in their life. My late husband was my best friend. He knew things about me no one else did, even my family.

            Each love brings a certain amount of heartache and has varying degrees of laughter and tears attached. I know I’ve been blessed, as some people know no love at all in their entire barren lifetime.

            Let’s face it, love as sung about in most songs, is a fleeting and fragile thing. Where would Country and Western singers have enough to write about without the heartache brought on by losing a lover. I likely chose romance as my choice of genre because of my smugness in having known great love. True enduring love as experienced by two people of whatever gender is a wonderful thing. Fate, Destiny, My Guardian Angel, call her what you will, has been more than kind to me. She’s always guided me to take the best and most rewarding fork in the road as I meander through the pathways that is life. 

 

As for friends, I’ve been so lucky in my life as I’ve always had friends around me I can depend on. What is it they say? “A true friend is the one who will help you bury a body!” Well please let’s hope I never have to call on any of mine to do such a task. I have friends back home in England that I only hear from once a year (at Christmas) but these have been steady for over 50 years. Friends have come and gone in different stages of my life but some are constant. I have long-time friends who live interstate that I catch up with rarely but they still remain firm friends I can call on in an emergency (hopefully not one where a body is involved). I have a friend who has promised to care for my dogs should I die before them.

They say there is no such thing as a platonic friendship between a man and woman, but I think this not entirely true. Some of my best friends are male and truth be told I have always liked the company of these platonic ones. I like how men’s minds work (well the part that is understandable to a mere female). They have such a different way of looking at life to us females—more uncomplicated. And they take such pleasure in the simple things—such as absconding to their shed or workroom to potter about for hours doing who knows what. They don’t care if the dishes are left in the sink or if the bed is unmade at three in the afternoon, there’s more important things in life.

Then there’s my super cyber friends. Most of these live in far flung corners of the world and I will never get to meet them face to face. But they are also constant, some having been a guide and help to me through varying parts of my writing career, providing assistance and advice that helped me on the way to becoming better at my craft. I’ve always considered myself a simple story-teller, following my heart rather than my head, but without the advice gained via this wonderful world of the internet where would any of us be today.

Most of my characters have good friends to help them through their worst troubles. In Mystic Mountains Bella has Gracie who befriends her during the horrendous trip from England on the transport ship, then she has Thelma to watch over her when she arrives in the colony.

I love my family but…

 

You can find my books here: 

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Or on my web site:

www.triciamcgill.com

And here I am on Facebook

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The Soundtrack of my Soul by Jenna Byrnes

I listen to music when I write. Always have, probably always will. Once I get deep into writing mode, I can't say that I hear the music anymore, but it's always there.

Song lyrics have provided great inspiration for my stories, too. I have two different series which have song titles as the book titles. 

My Darkness on the Edge of Town series is based on songs by Bruce Springsteen. Dancing in the Dark, Born to Run and Hungry Heart are three of my favorite stories, and some of the first where the book has been written to fit the title. They're also about gay cops, which are hands down some of my favorite subjects. LOL

Jude Mason and I each wrote two books in our Slippery When Wet series, based on Bon Jovi songs. I wrote Wanted Dead or Alive and Never Say Goodbye, and Jude penned Livin' on a Prayer and I'd Die for You. They are also particular favorites, these are about ex-cons which was new for me but great fun to write. For the BWL boxed set we added another set of novellas Jude and I wrote, Willing and Able, about (you guessed it) gay cops. 

The advent of USB drives in cars has opened my music playlist to include all kinds of songs. With the availability of music on the internet, if I hear a song that I'd forgotten about, I'm able to get a copy and stick it in my playlist for posterity. This makes for some very random and unusual playlists. 

I'm basically into oldies from the 70's forward and recent country music. My current likes also include Train, Jason Mraz, and anything Billy Joel or Keith Urban. The guilty pleasure songs on my current playlist include 'Something Stupid' by Frank and Nancy Sinatra, "Silhouettes' by the Herman's Hermits, 'I Say a Little Prayer' by Dionne Warwick and 'Conquistador' by Procol Harum. I mentioned random, right?

My husband prefers solid gold oldies and hard rock like CCR and Janis Joplin. Today when I drove his car and punched on his media drive, 'The Night the Lights Went Out in Georgia' started playing. Not the classic Vicki Lawrence version, either, the Reba version. *sigh* I guess we all have our musical guilty pleasures!

What's the most unusual song on your current playlist? 

~ Jenna Byrnes

Page Scorching Erotic Romance

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Diane Scott Lewis: Undergarments Revealed-what did people wear under their clothes in the 18th century?

In my research for my eighteenth-century novels, the most difficult but interesting task was to find out what people wore under their layers of finery.

Starting in the seventeenth-century, people were desperate to throw off the plain, ugly garments of the Puritans, and now produced underclothes with a sexual allure.

A man’s shirt became ruffled and more visible, with puffed sleeves tied in ribbons, to show him off as a fine gentleman.

Women’s dresses became less rigid, and cut away in front to flaunt pretty petticoats. The petticoat, often several of them, was worn to give the outer gown a better shape. It was often of embroidered or ruffled material in bright, attractive colors.

Beneath their dresses, next to their skin, women wore chemises or smocks made of Holland, and heavily perfumed to diffuse body odors.

Sleeves were long and sometimes trimmed in lace. In the 1660’s dress sleeves were shortened to reveal the evocative chemise. Silk and linen were also popular materials because they harbored less vermin than wool.

With the extreme décolletage of the gowns, corsets or "stays" had no shoulder straps. The corset was heavily boned with a long busk in front and was laced tightly at the back.

Drawers, what we know today as underwear or knickers, were worn by French women, but there’s no evidence that Englishwomen wore such an item in this era. Although a country race where women ran to win a new smock said the girls wore half-shirts and drawers. So it is still a mystery.

In the eighteenth century the hoop came into fashion again, reminiscent of the farthingale of the sixteenth century. These pushed out dress skirts and the women walked holding them to one side like a bell to reveal their fancy under-petticoats, and the shape of their legs. This must have been dangerous considering the women wore no knickers. The hoop or pannier, especially in Court dress, pushed the sides of gowns out to ridiculous proportions where women had to walk sideways to fit through doors. Later in the century, panniers became narrower and the corset lighter, lacing in the front as well as back.

Men still revealed their fancy shirts by leaving their waistcoats unbuttoned to attract the ladies.

Men’s drawers are another mystery. Some reports have them wearing such items—a loose fitting garment that tied at the waist and on each leg—but other sources say that men wore long shirts that covered their privates in their breeches. Breeches had linings of detachable washable material, which no doubt served the purpose of drawers.

During the French Revolution after 1789 the classic style pervaded, and women discarded their corsets and confining gowns for simple, high-waisted Greek style chemises. Many women dampened these dresses to show off the fact they were naked beneath. It would take the stringent Victorian age to turn fashion to a more modest level and bring back restrictive undergarments.

Information garnered from my own research and The History of Underclothes, by C. Willett and Phillis Cunnington, 1992 edition.
To learn more about Diane Scott Lewis' novels: http://www.dianescottlewis.org