Words of Wisdom to Andrew Lincoln, George Clooney, and Russell Crowe from me...by Jamie Hill

There's been much hullabaloo this week over my favorite 'The Walking Dead' character Rick Grimes, actor Andrew Lincoln, shaving his beard in a recent episode of the hit cable series. The beard furor got me thinking, have I ever written a character with a beard? I write contemporary romance, and while I'm sure many heroes in historical romance had beards, I can't think of many in contemporary settings.

Most all of my heroes have what I like to call a 'three-day beard growth'.  This works great in fiction, but in real life it's impossible to maintain for longer than a couple of days (depending on the rate of beard growth of course.) Some mens' beards grow quickly and they end up looking like Gandalf or Santa Claus.

 

 

This was the fate of Andrew Lincoln's beard in The Walking Dead, I'm afraid. A touch too long there at the end. A clean-shaven Rick was a shock, though that shower scene was pretty hot for regular TV.

 

Which do you prefer of the many stages of Rick?

 

 

I have to admit, I still prefer the three-day growth look. But I like beards! I think George Clooney and Russell Crowe can also rock the beard and to me, they look better as they age.

I might consider giving my hero a beard in an upcoming novel. It'll have to be a fairly closely cropped, neat looking thing. No Duck Dynasty crumb catchers, just enough hair there to tickle.

What's your opinion? Barely there or totally bare? Do you dig beards? I have to admit I do. And if I could offer some words of advice to the actors above I'd say totally keep the beards. These guys know how to rock them.

Jamie Hill ~ Romantic Thrills ~ Suspenseful Chills

Find my beard-free titles at Books We Love: http://bookswelove.net/authors/hill-jamie/

or on my clean-shaven website: http://www.jamiehill.biz/

 

Follow my 'possibility of a beard in a book' writing progress on Facebook: 

https://www.facebook.com/pages/Jamie-Hill/135137799867321

Henry Hudson, an Englishman, by Katherine Pym

In the first decade of 17th century, Henry Hudson worked for several merchantmen companies, both in England and in Holland. His goal was to find the northern route to the Spice Islands in the South Pacific. 

He worked for the Moscuvy Company, England's East India Company, and the Dutch East India Company. These individual companies pooled their resources, made their captains sign extensive contracts, gave them long lists of rules and regulations, then sent them on their way to find the easiest, fastest passage to East Indie ports of call.

The route south through the Cape of Good Hope was fraught with danger, i.e., weeks of calm, scurvy, the bloody flux, pirates. Once into the Cape, there were added dangers of rogue waves that came from nowhere, swamping and sinking a ship to the depths of the sea. 

If it weren't for the ice that filled the northern regions, that route would be far easier to navigate. When men sailed north toward Greenland or west to Newfoundland, these intrepid explorers found a vast ocean so crowded with fish, they leaped into their boats rather than be netted. They brought home stories of ling cod, and whale meat/lard. Fishermen sent their ships to these waters, and the English dinner table began to find new foods that delighted the palate. 

Whaling

When Hudson worked for the Moscuvy Company, he did not find a Northwest Passage, but alerted his employers of a place where one could catch many whales. Hudson made a splash amongst these merchant companies. After the Dutch East India Company (VOC) had so many failures, when they heard of Hudson, they enlisted his services. 

Hudson promised better things. He was certain the passage could be found. All VOC's previous captains could not find the passage, and the directors wanted to know how he would go about it. 

Henry replied that he followed Petrus Plancius' theory. Plancius was one of the founders and cartographer of the VOC, so the directors nodded their approval. When Hudson offered this theory, Plancius was still alive. He could be consulted for authenticity. 

The theory was of a temperate, open sea in the North Pole not covered with ice. What Hudson professed was a mild climate above '74 degrees latitude - the point at which the Dutch ships had always found their path blocked by ice'. Hudson not only affirmed to have seen this, he raised the stakes higher by adding the depth of the sea was so great at this point, the swells could never freeze. In this temperate area, Hudson declared to have seen a new land with many animals, sweet grasses wherein the animals grazed. It was a veritable paradise. 

Hudson's Route & Final Destination

Hudson further added if he could go above '83 degrees latitude', he would sail west to the Pacific then south into the warmer seas of the East Indies. VOC demanded more proof, so Hudson sent for Petrus Plancius. The gentleman, an astronomer and clergyman, nodded his concurrence on Hudson's every point. He added the sun's long days and white nights during the summer kept the waters warm enough so that ice would not form. As a result, Henry was given the opportunity to seek a northern route to the South Seas.

Once aboard ship, Hudson disregarded all instructions by the VOC. He used his own maps and went northwest through bad weather. Finding the way too difficult, Hudson tootled south. He expected to find a waterway along the American coast he could travel to the Pacific. He did not find it, but did find a land rich in fisheries and game, trees so big they would make excellent ships. 

Hudson Arriving at Manhattan Island

Hudson had found Manhattan Island. The VOC was not impressed but other merchants were, which started the colonization of that area. 

In 1610, this time financed by the English merchants, Hudson tried again. He found his way into what is now the Hudson Bay. The seas were filled with ice. His crew turned surly, and one night mutinied. They grabbed hold of Henry Hudson and a few faithful crewmen, put them in a small boat without food, water, or warm clothing, and sent them adrift. 


Henry Hudson disappeared into the night, never to be seen again.

Hudson, Set Adrift

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Many thanks to the following bibliography:

Nathaniel's Nutmeg by Giles Milton, and Wikipedia (Hudson, Petrus Plancius)

Map of Hudson Bay is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 Unported license.

The Barbers, a story of science & medicine in the 17th century. https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B00I6KOKL6

 

Writer, heal thyself!

I love to do research. Sometimes it becomes an addiction on par with Candy Crush or Bejewelled and, as with any good novel, it always begins with a "what if?" Lately, I've had to do research I thought at first was unrelated to my Wild Blue Mysteries, but recently the information I've needed in my books has also dogged me in real life. I'm learning what it takes to be a strong, female lead then give some of that energy over to someone else to make life better.

Every good romance novel has a strong woman, who either needs or lets a man take care of her. While I don't write actual romance novels, my mysteries follow the same flow. All three of my Books We Love novels to date feature women who start off from a place of being either abused or dejected in some way. All three women: Katie Mullins (The Bookstore Lady), Lucy Stephen (The Mystery Lady), and Christina Davidson (The Bakery Lady), have to relearn how to trust and allow love to return to their lives while helping to solve the mysteries surrounding each of them.

Like Katie, Lucy, and Christina, I've become broken by trying to do it all for everyone else all the time - like any good mom would. Along the way, I've lost myself. It's been through my writing that I've found kinship and strength. Writing group members, Facebook allies, and others I have learned to reach out to for support have become a huge part of my circle. They not only give me encouragement, but also have allowed me to become the woman I am evolving into, both in my life and in my writing as I recover from health issues.

My research has led me to discover some interesting things that will appear in two upcoming novels. The Painted Lady will bring forth some art history and lessons while Christina rediscovers the passions she thought she'd long buried. The Crazy Lady will feature some technological gadgets used as spywear that will finally help Danny and Katie put an end to some serious trouble in Packham in a big way.

With every story I research, I learn.
With every book I write, I grow and develop - both as a writer and as a human being.
With every novel, I heal myself and, hopefully others.

Thank you for stopping by. You can find my books on Amazon at Diane Bator, Author.

A WHITE FEATHER - THE SYMBOL OF COWARDICE - MARGARET TANNER

THE ORDER OF THE WHITE FEATHER BY MARGARET TANNER

 For several hundred years the white feather was handed out as a symbol of cowardice. 

Who could forget the powerful movie, The Four Feathers, taken from a novel by A.E.W. Mason? It starred Heath Ledger and Kate Hudson? Set in 1884, against the background of the Sudan War. A British Officer, who resigned his post just before going into battle, is handed four white feathers. One is from his fiancée and the other three from his army friends.

In England, in August 1914, The Order of the White Feather was founded by Admiral Charles Fitzgerald, to shame men who would not enlist for the 1^st World War. Women mainly handed out these feathers to young men who were not in uniform. Sometimes they would stick the white feather in the lapel of the man’s coat.  Of course, these women didn’t know or obviously care, that many men who may have volunteered for the army had been rejected because of health reasons, or perhaps they had a vital job to perform in munitions etc.

Many men were persecuted or shamed into joining the army, sometimes with deadly results, or if the army would not take them, they were driven to suicide. The stigma of having been handed a white feather stayed with some men for a lifetime.

 

I am ashamed to admit this, but I had a great aunt who used to stand at the railway station hand out white feathers to young men during the 2nd world war. Her justification was that her son was in the army, so she felt that all other young men should be in the military also.

This short extract from my novel, Daring Masquerade, shows how unfair and cruel the act of handing out a white feather could be.

"Harry stared into the shop windows as they sauntered along the street. Poor Gil had pushed his stump into his pocket so no one could see his missing hand. Her heart bled for him.

 A small rotunda set amidst lawns and colorful flowerbeds, stood at the end of the main street.

“We need to support our soldiers after their valiant battles. They’re crying out for reinforcements,” a portly gentleman said. “What type of man would skulk around here while his fellow Australians are dying in the trenches?” 

“Here, here,” a well-dressed young woman cried out. “Conscript all the cowards who won’t enlist.”

“What are you doing here, young man? Aren’t you ashamed to be so cowardly as to let other men fight for you?” A middle-aged matron shoved a white feather into Gil’s hand.

“You old bitch,” Harry yelled, knocking her hand away, while Gil stood pale and shaking. “How dare you accuse my brother of cowardice?”

“Why doesn’t the coward enlist?” someone else called out.

“You despicable creatures!” Harry screamed back. “You should be arrested.”

Back and forth, Harry and several of the women hurled insults as more people milled around listening to the argument. Harry became so inflamed she didn’t care what came out of her mouth. “You parasites, living comfortably here while forcing someone else to die.”

“Your brother is a coward, ” the portly gentleman said. “He should enlist and do his bit for the Empire.”

“Here, here, Mayor,” someone endorsed his views.

“He’s done his bit,” she shouted. “You pompous, overstuffed pig. Show them, Gil, show them your arm.”

 She dragged Gil’s arm from his pocket and raised it high. “He’s given one hand to the war, isn’t that enough?”

Silence reigned, followed by embarrassed muttering."

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Doctor, I'm Sick," or Medical Practice in Eighteenth Century America By Shirley Martin

 

     Believe me, you wouldn't want to be sick in eighteenth century America.

    In my time travel romance, "Dream Weaver," the hero--Christian--is a doctor in 1762. In preparation for writing this romance, I read as much as possible about medicine in the eighteenth century.

    Let's start with a few basics. The average life span was thirty-five years, the death rate appalling. Very few people lived to the advanced age where cancer or heart disease manifested themselves. Only a very high birth rate allowed America to grow. The average married woman had seven children.

    Infection was the most common cause of death. Most doctors at this time recognized the value of cleanliness. Although those little, squiggly "animals" under a microscope were fascinating to watch, no one connected the bacteria with infection. The germ theory lay far in the future.

    In the eighteenth century, a pregnant woman was considered sick and indisposed for nine months. She was to avoid dancing and exercise, not to mention sex, for the duration.(One wonders how often this last proscription was observed.) Post childbirth infection was a feared complication of giving birth. Here again, cleanliness, or lack of it,was an important factor. Very few people in rural areas could afford doctors' fees, and someone other than a doctor performed delivery, often not bothering to wash their hands first.

    Since so many people couldn't afford doctors' fees, quacks abounded "like the locusts of Egypt." In colonial America, anyone who wanted to practice medicine could do so. Most doctors were trained as apprentices. However, American medical students considered the medical school in Edinburgh, Scotland, to be the premier source of a medical education. The courses there included anatomy, surgery, chemistry, pharmacy, and theory. American students in Edinburgh were conscientious scholars and spent long hours every day in the study and discussion of medicine. In 1765, the College of Philadelphia became the first medical school in America. Students had to give their thesis for a medical degree in Latin. Thereafter, America required a more stringent background for the practice of medicine.

    Amputations had a high mortality rate, and fractures of the vertebrae were considered fatal. We've all heard the term "bite the bullet."  It means to endure what you have to endure. More crudely, it means put up and shut up. If you've ever visited a historical fort and seen the bullets with the teeth marks, you might be able to imagine the agony of a patient having his leg sawed off without benefit of an anesthetic.

    Apothecaries in Europe and America sought Indian herbal medicine for many diseases. Sassafras tea was prescribed for infection and rheumatism, besides moths and bedbugs.

    Back then, many people who lived near poorly-drained areas suffered from the ague, what we now know as malaria. They believed that a miasma from the swamps caused this disease. It would be a long time before people realized that mosquitoes caused this malady. Yet strangely, the remedy then is the same as what is used today--Peruvian bark, today's source of quinine.

    Warfare has always advanced surgery. Gunpowder forever changed the strategy and tactics of warfare and also the problem of wound treatment. With gunpowder, casualties greatly increased. Most likely, because of the high casualty rate, doctors were forced to ignore advice on cleanliness. Sickness, not battlefield wounds, caused over 90% of the deaths in America during the Revolution. The conditions in the medical hospitals and field hospitals were appalling--dirty straw to lie on, lice, filth, wounds left untended for days. No wonder so many men died.

    The one great contribution of eighteenth century medicine was the development and practice of smallpox inoculation. In the early stages of this practice, many doctors and clergymen strongly opposed this practice, considering it against the will of God. Over time, the practice became accepted, and by the end of the Revolution, the entire American army had been inoculated. Thanks must go to George Washington for this for he recognized the value of smallpox inoculation.

    Inoculation was the first step in a process that virtually eliminated smallpox worldwide. Later, Edward Jenner developed smallpox vaccine, using the crusts from cowpox to prevent smallpox.

    In the latter part of the eighteenth century, a Virginia gentleman spent hours riding over his plantation, inspecting his property, marking trees and making notes. It was a cold, rainy and blustery December day. Later, he ate his evening meal without changing out of his wet clothes. Within a day, he developed a fever and a sore throat. A firm believer in bloodletting (a common remedy at the time), he asked his overseer to draw some blood. His condition worsened, and eventually three doctors attended him. They drew even more blood, until half of his blood was drawn. Besides that, the doctors purged him and gave him an emetic to induce vomiting. Finally, he asked them to just leave him alone. And shortly after, George Washington died quietly and at peace. 

 

Find Shirley Martin here: 

http://shirleymartinauthor.com/

http://bookswelove.net/authors/shirley-martin/

and find Dream Weaver at Amazon, B&N, and most ebook and print retailers

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B006HA3APY/

The Power of Emotion by Connie Vines

In my opinion, all successful/popular novels, no matter what genre, have one key element: emotion.  Emotion lies at the core of every character’s decision, action, reaction, and motivation.  All of which drive the story. A character’s personal journey does not exist without emotion—it would be pointless. The plot would be made up meaningless events that a reader would not invest any time to read.  Why?  Because above all else, the readers choose a novel to have an emotional experience.  Be it a wild roller coaster ride of pure terror in a horror novel; reliving the sweet courting experience of an inspirational romance; discovering a new unexplored, heart-pounding world of a sci-fi; the pleasure of solving a who-done-it; or, pure laughter and fun in a read-it-at one setting comedy—readers want to connect with your characters.  With this connection to characters, who provide entertainment and whose trials and experiences may, in turn, add meaning to their own life journeys.

We are emotional beings.  Feelings propel us. Drive us.  Define us. Moreover, while it may seem that most of those exchanges happen during conversation, studies show that 93% of all communication is nonverbal.  Even in instances where we try not to show our feelings, we are still telegraphing messages through body language.  Because of the, each of us is adept at reading others without a word being uttered.

           

    Readers have high expectations.  Long done are the long intros: “There was no possibility of taking a walk that day.  We had been wander, indeed, in the leafless shrubbery an hour in the morning; but since dinner (Mrs. Reed, when there was no company, dined early) the cold winter wind had brought with it clouds so somber, and a rain so penetrating”.  . . I am certain you recognize the first sentences of my favorite classic novel, Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte.  A delightful read, rich in detail and thick with emotion—but not a read easily consumed during a pause in a workday, or after getting toddlers off to bed.  Readers no longer wish to be told how a character feels; they want to experience the emotion for themselves.

               This leaves the writer with the challenge of ensuring that our characters express their emotions in ways that are both recognizable and compelling to read.  Personally, I find that less is more.  I am always aware of the pacing of my story.  Too many clues to describe a character’s feelings can dilute the reader’s emotion experience.  Backstory is only pepper in to allude to a ‘trigger’ emotion.  Example:  Marty, in the BACK TO THE FUTURE series of movies.  A cliché, but calling Marty ‘chicken’ worked every time—the viewer knew and expected ‘something’ to happen. Not that I have ever, I hope, have resorted to a cliché, but my characters have a ‘fatal flaw’.  I cannot divulge any that I have used because it would ruin the storylines.  But we all have our ‘trigger’ emotion.  If you have siblings, undoubtly, you were tormented with it on numerous occasionally.  Our ‘characters’ may or may not recognize a personal tigger emotion.  This is writer’s preference in relationship to plot and character development.

               One emotion that I find fun to watch (in young children) and it easy to work into a YA story is amazement.  To a toddler everything is new and amazing.  The child’s eyes widen.  The child becomes suddenly still.  May suck in a quick breath/hand covering one’s mouth. Stiffening posture.  Rapid blinking followed by open staring.  Reaching out and touching or taking a step back. I am certain you could add to the list my recalling your personal experices or observations.

               Now how would that young child feel, internally?  A heart would seem to freeze, the pound. Tingling skin. Adrenaline spikes. The mental reaction in the amazed person could be disorientation, momentarily forgetting all else, or wishing to share the experience with others.  Now say your character is a shy or too cool to give anything away.  How could this emotion be suppressed? Self-hugging, jerky, self-contained strides, Eyes widening a bit before control is asserted, mouth snapping shut.  The clues are always apparent. 

               I like to get to know my characters, savor my scenes, and always dig deeper for the right word. The right motivation.

               I enjoy the journey to discover my characters, their hopes and wishes.  I feel blessed to tell each one of their stories.  And I hope that my novels, in turn, bring hours of enjoyment into each of my readers’ lives.

               In closing I’d like to share a bit of my past.

               When my first YA historical novel was published, I was honored at a Red Nations Powwow.  The tribal elder, Jacques Condor, told me I was being honored as a StoryTeller.  We both knew this was a great-honor among the tribes. He reminded me, always, to be humble, because it is the Story who chooses the StoryTeller to bring it Life. 

               My mandella hangs my living room wall, and my hand-tooled silver ring is worn to remind me of both my gift and my duty.

               Thank you for taking the time to read my entry to my publisher’s daily blog.

               Fondly,

               Connie

Constantinople, the Gate to the Orient - by Vijaya Schartz

While researching Constantinople for my novel Beloved Crusader, Book 6 in the Curse of the Lost Isle series, I came upon some fascinating details, and decided to write for this blog a description of the ancient city as it must have appeared to the First Crusaders, when they reached the famed city in late December of 1096 AD. Enjoy.

From the vantage point of a hill, one could see over the ramparts in the distance, the seven hills, the imperial mound with its white palace, and the cupolas of the Hagia Sophia basilica. Constantinople, the jewel of the orient, shone like ivory and gold in its protective stone case. Red and yellow pennants, boasting the two-headed eagle of Byzantium, floated atop the massive, square watchtowers. The salty sea breeze carried the faint scent of spice and roasting lamb.

The front rampart walled the entire width of the peninsula, defending the city from an attack by land. The fortifications, almost as thick as they were tall, gleamed white in the bright sun. Elegant horizontal stripes of red and ochre bricks decorated the length and the edges. Square merlons crenellated the top, revealing the wide path atop the wall, where archers and soldiers in pointy helmets and short armor gathered, like an army of yellow and red ants, watching the legion from a distance.

The city gate, ensconced into the thick rampart, and protected on both sides by protruding walls, seemed impenetrable. The fortifications also surrounded the ancient metropolis on all sides, jutting out from the sea along the entire coast, forbidding invasion by an enemy fleet. Emperor Constantine the Great, seven centuries ago, had designed his fortress to be impregnable.

A wide open space fronted the fortifications. No doubt, past emperors had stripped bared this strategic area to gather and move their armies at will, and control the road in times of unrest. In case of enemy attack, it also provided an open battlefield, and a perfect killing ground, exposing the attackers.

Other, well traveled paths converged toward the city gate. A long line of carts and loaded camels, donkeys and bleating goats waited to be granted entry, alongside Bedouins in strange desert attire, with swaths of cloth covering their heads and most of their faces.

Above the gate, hung a monumental golden effigy of the two-headed eagle. The paved streets inside the city teemed with the traffic of merchants, horse carts and camels. Display tables, like an open market, overflowed with silks and spices from the orient, amphorae of wine or oil, and olives. Chattering monkeys stole fruit from the displays. The aroma of incense and perfume wafted in the air, along with so many enticing scents.

An enormous creature walked by, led by a turbaned man. An elephant. The beast trumpeted, causing the merchants to hold on to their wares, least they might fly away. A little farther, in a large bamboo cage, a big feline paced, tail twitching. A yellow-eyed tiger with black stripes. Close by, several alley cats feasted on the remains of the tiger's meal, a bloody pile of steaming entrails.

The calls of merchants in many languages mixed with animal sounds and smells, and the faraway toll of a church bell added to the strange music. The architecture of the city evoked the streets of ancient Rome, with colonnades, and balconies on the flat roofs of the two-story villas, so close together, they almost touched.


Varied people in colorful garb attested to the presence of many tribes from the confines of the known world. Some had flat, golden faces. Tribal women with shiny dark skin, wore scant clothing and many multicolored necklaces and bracelets... along with amulets and Shamanic symbols. Some had intricate markings on their hands and faces. Others hid their hair and body under long, silky veils, and black lines emphasized the contour of their eyes. Others yet wore anklets with tiny bells that jingled with each step like the tinkling chimes of a tambourine.

Further along, on a square, a large group of richly attired men surrounded a platform, where a few pale-skinned women stood, cowering as they attempted to hide their nudity. The sturdy blond man with a fur hat, who harangued his customers to examine them closely, looked like a Viking.

"Interested in some quality slaves from the land of the Russ?" The Viking trader winked at his customers from the height of the platform. "These beautiful Slavic girls and women, are all fertile and ready for hard work or pleasure."

The Egyptian obelisk still stands

Farther inland, stood a monumental theater of elongated shape. The hippodrome, used long ago for chariot races. The center strip was occupied by tall columns, statues of ancient Roman gods, unknown heroes and magnificent horses. An Egyptian obelisk, was mirrored by another square obelisk, covered with inscribed metal plaques that reflected the blinding rays of the afternoon sun. At the end of the central row of statues and obelisks, stood a disturbing pillar, entirely wrapped by the coils of a gigantic serpent. At the very top, the three heads of the serpent held a large golden vessel.

And crowning the hill, the white marble palace and the domes of the basilica, on a backdrop of deep blue sea.

Vijaya Schartz, fiction author
Blasters, Swords, Romance with a Kick
http://www.vijayaschartz.com
http://bookswelove.net/authors/vijaya-schartz/