Thursday, November 8, 2018

The Jealous Land by June Gadsby



    When I decided to try my hand at a story much further back in time than I had previously done, i.e. the 1850’s, it was the biggest writing challenge I’d had to date. I had never researched the 1800’s, knew nothing about the history thereof. As usual, I planned to take my characters across the world to Africa. I had already visited South Africa and years later I spent some time in Kenya with my second husband, Brian, naturalist and wildlife photographer.
    The inspiration for the book, which I called THE JEALOUS LAND was all there, handed to me on a plate – only I had to take it back to the days when the young Queen Victoria was on the throne, the days of The Great Exhibition at the Crystal Palace in London, early train travel, great white hunters and early photography to be carried out by the hero Daniel, adventurer and wildlife photographer.
As I have said, many times, the research was enormous and filled more pages than the book itself. It also took longer to do than the actual writing, but it gave me a taste for writing the historic novel more than ever before. It was new and exciting for me as a writer and animal lover. And being married to a serious photographer was also a great help. I had seen the places I was writing about; experienced getting up close to the beauty and the danger of the wildlife that hadn’t changed.

5* Review by Rosemary Morris:
  
    I congratulate Gadsby on her historical research. The description of Sophie and Thomas Brixby’s journey by train from Newcastle to London is excellent. So is the description of Daniel’s camera “the latest daguerreotype camera from France, together with the necessary glass plates and chemicals required for his trip.” Gadsby handles a large cast of characters in this unusual novel filled with searing emotion and prejudice. The more I read the more I wanted to find out what happened in the end, and despite tragedies before I reached it, I was satisfied.

BLURB:
     Following the death of her parents, Sophie is sent to live with relatives in London, where she is treated like a servant. Later, her chance to escape an imposed life of hardship comes in the form of Daniel Clayton – a formidable explorer and photographer. Sophie agrees to his proposal of a loveless marriage, but this union plunges her into the midst of a family feud. She faces unforeseen treachery, a terrible secret in her husband’s past and her greatest dilemma yet.
There’s plenty of emotion, mystery, murder, danger and romance – and a baby elephant called Billy that will steal your heart.

Here is an extract from the book – though it may make some of you hold your breath and some of you cry. I must admit that I shed a tear or two while I wrote this section:



South Africa, 1853:
  
    Daniel felt a surge of excitement as the big bull elephant moved slowly towards the watering hole. This lumbering giant was followed by a smaller female and a varying entourage, from tusked adults to the tiniest of hair-covered babies. [1]
     From his makeshift hide in the lower branches of a broad-girthed baobab tree, Daniel slowly removed his wide-brimmed hat, and wiped his sweating forehead with his shirtsleeve.  He dived again beneath the black Hessian hood that shut out the light, and placed a patient eye against the viewfinder of his camera.  His movements were minimal so as not to alert or alarm the group of pachyderms.
This was the moment he had waited for and his patience had been happily rewarded.  Yesterday, the elephants had been nervous because of a pack of hunting lionesses [2] near the hole. Today, they seemed calm and relaxed as they drank and the young ones played beneath the heavy torsos of their parents.  As he watched with baited breath, Daniel smiled to himself as one after the other, the females lowered themselves into the cooling water and mud with almost human sighs of relief.
     The big male, however, though he showed no sign of uneasiness, remained standing, as if guarding his troop.
   Daniel had the animal squarely in the viewfinder. He was finally getting accustomed to the smoky grey and black images that were totally inverted. His finger hovered over the cable release.  It was the perfect shot.  Not many of the wild animals of Africa stayed still as long as the elephants, though he wished he could get closer to his subject.  As it was, he was so close he could hear the gruntings and the murmurings and could smell the creatures well enough.  Getting too close to them would provoke an attack.  Only last week he had seen a young native boy trampled to death.
   ‘Hold it, hold it, hold it!’ Daniel whispered under his breath as the bull elephant stood rock solid fifty feet away from the tree, not moving a muscle.  ‘Got you!’
     Daniel depressed the button and started counting the requisite number of seconds for the picture to take.   There was a moment when all was still, then the old bull lifted his head and trumpeted loudly.  The herd, as one, rose and stood dripping and steaming nervously, large ears flapping.
     ‘Damn!’
     Daniel swore loudly as the big male elephant swung around, its trunk feeling the air, its small beady eyes searching.  He could have sworn that the animal met his gaze.  One great foot pawed the dry savannah and the red dust rose in a cloud. It drifted like a hot mist over the other elephants that were slowly coming out of their morning bath. They arranged themselves prudently behind their leader and protectively around the youngsters of the group.
     They were going, disturbed by something only they could sense.  He had waited all morning in the roasting heat of the flat African veldt, and had managed only one image. There would be other days, other opportunities, thank heavens.  This was a favourite watering hole, one of the few that retained its life-giving liquid all year round.  At this time of the year water was scarce.  The land was dry and was crying out for rain.
     ‘Massa!’ 
     A thin streak of brown arm shot over Daniel’s shoulder.  In his exhilaration, he had forgotten the presence of his guide, Josiah. The old Bantu was anxiously pointing to the far side of the watering hole.
     ‘What is it, Josiah?  What can you see?’
     Daniel squinted through the heat haze.  The scene before him dissolved like a watercolour painting in the rain, shimmering and distorting before his eyes.  He wiped his hand across his face, blinked stinging droplets of perspiration from his eyelashes and followed the direction of Josiah’s pointing finger.
     The Bantu was shading his eyes, shaking his head.  His black eyes started fearfully from their sockets. He did not move, but became one with the tree.
     ‘What the…?’  Daniel could see more clearly now, could see the spreading confusion within the ranks of the elephant herd.  ‘I don’t believe it!  No! Dear God, no!’
     Daniel’s words left his mouth in a loud, angry explosion as he made out the moving shapes that slowly surrounded the elephant herd.  Tall, dark, semi-naked figures, chanting and ritualistically thrusting long spears in a menacing attitude.
     But it wasn’t the Bantu that induced such dismay in Daniel’s breast.  There were other figures among them and it was to them he waved his arms and shouted, though Josiah tried in vain to hold him back.
     It was not so unexpected after all, Daniel thought, to find his brother, Nick, at the head of the group of white hunters with long rifles at the ready.  Even through the dust clouds he could see the bloodthirsty lust on their faces.
     ‘Nick!  Go back!  Get away from there, you idiot!’
     Daniel’s warning shout went unheeded, even though he knew he had been heard.  The bull elephant threw back his head and trumpeted, then stood, ears wafting, head shaking, feet stomping the dry earth.  The poor animal knew it was trapped long before the shots rang out. 
     As Daniel jumped to the ground, preparing to save himself from a possible charge, he felt the earth beneath his feet vibrate as one by one the animals did not run, but fell where they stood, mortally wounded by the constant barrage of bullets and native spears.
     ‘No!’ he cried out again and again as he witnessed the scene of devastation and slaughter that played out in front of him.
     The hunters had not missed a shot.  All but the smallest of the herd were dead or dying.  The calf, miraculously untouched, stood by its slaughtered mother, swaying gently and crying.  It was the most heart-breaking sound Daniel had ever heard.
     There was a rush of feet as Nick led his party forward, stopping to admire their handiwork in the muddy waters of the watering hole, now gleaming blood red in the late afternoon sun. 
     ‘Oh, yes! Yes!’
     Daniel heard his brother’s exultation. His jaw set rigidly.  He moved to the edge of the pool and looked on as the hunters went from animal to animal, inspecting them, measuring them, arguing about which bits would fetch the most money at the market place.
     ‘Why, Nick?  How can you get so much joy out of creating such carnage? We came out here to explore – not to kill.’
     Nick looked up, aware of Daniel for the first time.  His eyes were wild and glassy and it wasn’t the first time that Daniel had been afraid for his younger brother.  Nick liked the killing more than the thrill of the chase. 
     ‘Hey, Daniel!  Come on, grab your camera and let’s have a record of all this.  Just think how envious they’ll be back in England.’
     ‘Did you have to kill all of them?’ Daniel demanded, through tightly clenched teeth.  ‘Could you not have spared the ones without ivory, at least?’
     Nick looked genuinely surprised.
‘What?  Pass up the chance of making good money?’ he said. ‘There’s a fellow in Cape Town who’ll take all the elephant feet and tails I can provide him with.  This beats stalking any day.’
     Daniel shook his head in disgust. ‘It’s a shoddy business,’ he said. ‘Totally amoral – like you!’
Nick threw back his head and laughed lustily.  ‘Oh, my poor dear brother,’ he said, his eyes gleaming.       ‘If you don’t have the stomach for life out here in Africa, you should have stayed back in Northumberland and photographed your cows and your sheep.  Come on, man!  I want some images of this.’
     He ploughed out of the sucking mud and ran to where the bull elephant lay twitching in the last throes of death.  Leaping on to its side, he posed, one foot on its shoulder, the other on its head.  With a triumphant smile, he brandished his rifle in the air and threw a challenging smile at Daniel.
     ‘No!’ Daniel shook his head, his refusal adamant.
     ‘Josiah!’  Nick snapped his fingers, the sound echoing cleanly through the now silent air.  ‘Here, boy!  Camera!  Give Masser Daniel his camera.’
     Josiah edged silently to Daniel’s side and proffered the camera, which he had brought down from the hide in the baobab tree.  Daniel no more than glanced at the apparatus before swiping it viciously from the African’s hands.  The old man looked shocked and bent to retrieve the shattered pieces, but   Daniel stopped him with a gentle pressure of his hand to the shiny, ebony shoulder.
     ‘No, Josiah.  Leave it.’
     ‘I sorry, Masser Daniel!’
     Josiah’s whispered words filled Daniel with remorse, pushing aside, momentarily, the anger directed towards his brother and his friends.  Josiah was a simple man, a good guide and a valued servant.  They spent many a long hour together in the evenings when they weren’t trekking the veldt looking for subjects that Daniel could sketch or photograph. In halting English, learned from missionaries, Josiah would relate the stories of his village and his people. He was old, but he was tireless and he was devoted to his Masser Daniel.
     ‘It’s all right, Josiah.  It’s not your fault.’
    Daniel was relieved to see the fear leave the old man’s eyes.
    ‘Camera break, Masser.’
    ‘Yes.  Camera break, Josiah.’ 
     Daniel stared in disbelief at the camera pieces scattered at his feet.  What stupidity.  Why on earth had he done such a thing?  As he looked up again in time to see Nick levelling his rifle in the direction of the grieving calf, he knew the answer to his question.  He had smashed the camera, because if he had not done so, he would have ended up killing his own brother with his bare hands.
     ‘Nick!  Enough!’
     Nick raised his eye from the rifle sight. 
     ‘You trying to spoil your little brother’s fun, eh?’ he said.
     Daniel swallowed with difficulty, for his throat was tight and dry.  He glared at his brother and felt his fists clench.  There was too much distance between them.  Before he had time to travel two yards, Nick could pull the trigger and the baby elephant would be dead, like the others.
     ‘What challenge is there, Nick,’ he said quickly, ‘in killing something so small and defenceless?  It’s hardly heroic enough to impress your important friends.’
     The friends in question were hovering in the background, pretending not to hear this exchange between the Clayton brothers.  Daniel knew them all.  They were cronies of their host here in South Africa. Reverend Henry Noble, disciple of God, was better known as one of a new breed of explorers – the “great white hunters”. Henry was more interested in earning money from the animals he killed than preaching the Gospel.
     ‘Leave it, Nick!’  It was Noble who now called out from the tight cluster of white men, still glassy-eyed with exhilaration.  ‘Let the boys get on with the butchering.   We have business back at camp.’
     There was a ripple of subdued laughter.  Daniel knew what Noble meant by ‘business’.  They had brought out crates of alcohol, which they drank from liberally after every killing.  They would be inebriated out of their minds long before the sun slipped down behind the black horizon.
      ‘Ach, you’re right, Henry.  I’ll wait until this one gets his tusks before I come after him.’
     And by then, dear brother, thought Daniel, I hope to have you safely back in England or die in the attempt.




[Images by June Gadsby]


Wednesday, November 7, 2018

Holiday Specials from BWL Publishing


 Holiday Specials
Click covers to purchase from your favorite Online Bookstore
Ebook only $2.99 USD

   
   

Don't forget to visit the BWL website and enter our Holiday contest where you have a chance to win some great prizes including either a Kindle or a Kobo Ebook Reader

Tuesday, November 6, 2018

Ten questions to André K. Baby

Tuesday, November 6, 2018



TEN QUESTIONS TO ANDRÉ K. BABY
In this month’s blog, I have tried to convey a few personal aspects of my work as author in the form on an interview. Here are ten questions from AndrĂ© Baby the interviewer, to AndrĂ© Baby the author.

1. You are a francophone yet you write in English. How come?

As a kid, I spent a lot of my leisure time reading thrillers, and in French, the authors in this genre were not legion. Apart from George Simenon and a few others, there was no francophone  thriller tradition yet. But in the Anglo –Saxon world, Erskine Childers, Graham Greene, Ian Fleming, Somerset Maugham, Lawrence Durrell and later Grisham, Brown, Berry , Le CarrĂ©, Ludlum and others filled my imagination and enhanced my vocabulary, hence the ease for me to write in English.

2.  How did you come up with the character of your protagonist Thierry Dulac?

 Inspector Thierry Dulac grew out of my first story’s plot in Dead Bishops Don’t Lie, which involves a series of crimes committed in different countries.  I needed a policeman with cross-border authority and investigative powers in many jurisdictions, unimpeded by the geographical limitations of local police. Enter Interpol’s Dulac, with his baggage of faults, bad habits and sometimes questionable methods, but who gets results. It followed naturally that Dulac found himself in the heat of the action in The Chimera Sanction, another multi-locale story, and later  in Jaws of the Tiger, where his services are needed to aid Scotland Yard’s Harry Wade.


3. What are some of the technical aspects of your research for your latest thriller Jaws of the Tiger?

One of the challenges was simultaneously coordinating the different time zones of England, the hijacked ship and the US Coast guard, and making sure that the events happening on the ship, in England and in the US were being reported accurately in each time zone.

Another aspect of my research centered on the inner workings of Scotland Yard, with whom Dulac has to work with during his investigation. It was fascinating to learn how the Yard has improved investigative techniques with the use of super- computers such as HOLMES 3.



4.  Has your career as a lawyer helped you in your writing?

At ThrillerFest a couple of summers ago in New York City, I happened to attend a conference given by Steve Berry, best-selling author and “reformed lawyer”, as he calls himself.  As an introductory remark, he asked: "all right, how many lawyers out there?"  A forest of hands shot up in the air, to the amusement of all.  I was surprised to see the large number of lawyers- turned-crime writers. Natural affinity? Perhaps, but I think a lawyer has advantages and disadvantages when it comes to writing a good thriller.  Training in logical thinking, especially when piecing together the various aspects of the story, is certainly a plus. Also we lawyers are taught to be concise, and that every word counts. Authors should emulate this.  On the negative side, the conveying of emotions to the characters is rendered more difficult, as lawyers tend to suppress their emotions. It took me awhile to think about and put down on paper what my novel’s characters actually felt.


5.  How is Jaws of the Tiger different from other thrillers in the genre?

I think the main difference is that Jaws of the Tiger starts off as an action thriller, then morphs into a police procedural. In an earlier version, the full story was all action, but I felt the reader was left in the cold as to an important aspect of the plot, ie, finding out who was actually  behind the meticulously- planned hijacking. After that, I came  to believe writers should follow the story, and not try to fit it into the constraints of a specific genre. 


6. Why do you write?

For the intellectual challenge. Also, writing crime novels for me is a form of escapism from some of the brutal realities of our time.


7. Care to you share with us your writing habits?

 I’d like to think my writing habits are slowly improving with experience and time. I used to write sporadically but now I try to fix a weekly schedule yet invariably  life manages to get in the way. Still, I try to organize my time more or less evenly between writing and extracurricular activities.

 8.  How do you go from the idea of the book to the finished manuscript? Do you draft outlines?

When undertaking a new project, at first I try to take a synoptic view of what I’ll be writing about: choice of protagonist, type of crime, locations, and primary antagonist. At this moment, I have nothing more than a vague idea of the ending.  Initially, I tried making outlines, but they changed so much during the course of writing that finally I gave up. At best, I’ll draft a few lines and bits of dialogue to give direction to the next few chapters. 

My first draft is invariably a skeleton, usually in the form of dialogue. My only goal at this time is to get the story down on paper: a bare minimum of setting and description holds the skeleton together.  During the next five or six revisions, I’ll have fleshed out my characters, added narration, descriptions of settings, made my dialogues  more vivid, punchy and  credible. I’ll have cut out extraneous bits, rendered the story more fluid, and connected the scenes. With any luck, my manuscript can then be submitted to the publisher. 


 9.   What are your thoughts on the latest publishing industry developments, mainly the rise of self-publishing? 

I am both traditionally published and self- published. I self- pubbed “Dead Bishops Don’t Lie” with CreateSpace, and The Chimera Sanction was published by Robert Hale Books. The French versions of both those thrillers are traditionally published.

Also, I was delighted when BWL Publishing accepted to publish “Jaws of the Tiger”.

Although I enjoyed the process of self-publishing with Amazon's CreateSpace, I rapidly found myself facing the biggest hurdle of all self -publishers,  namely  a limited scope of distribution to bookstores. Due to the problem of returns, one can only hope to place one’s novel within a small geographical circle from one’s home. To market the book outside that circle quickly becomes economically unjustifiable. Another disadvantage of self pubbing is that one must rely entirely on oneself to edit, market and promote the book.  In contrast, a traditional publisher has a country-wide distribution network, offers the support of an editing team and a marketing team. 

Although I believe there is room for both traditional and self-publishing, as far as I’m concerned the advantages of the former far outweigh the ones of the latter. 


10.  What is your greatest disappointment as a writer? What is your greatest satisfaction ? 

What I found most disappointing in the publishing world is the rejection process, to be more precise sometimes the lack of basic civility in the form of an acknowledgement on the part of the recipient, following an author’s query. Even a form letter is better than a total lack of response.  As to satisfaction, there is no greater gratification for a writer, I think, that to open one's computer and to find an e-mail from a reader saying how much she/ he enjoyed my book. That invariably makes my day.

Monday, November 5, 2018

Queen Anne Stuart- Part One- The Princess Bride by Rosemary Morris


For more information on Tangled Love please click here.



About Rosemary Morris

Every day my daily routine begins at six a.m. when I make a cup of herbal tea. After I drink it, I turn on the laptop. With time out to have breakfast I write – my goal is to write a minimum of 1,000 words a day – and deal with ‘writerly’ business, such as checking my emails, until 10 a.m.
Apart from the daily chores, housework, shopping, washing clothes etc., I am a keen organic gardener. During this month I plant out hardy cyclamen, pansies, primulas and wallflowers to provide winter colour, and bulbs to flower in late winter and spring. I also pot up bulbs and bring potted plants into the greenhouse to shelter from frost.
Autumn is the ‘season of mellow fruitfulness’ when I enjoy apples and pears from my organic garden where I also grow soft fruit, herbs, vegetables and ornamental shrubs and flowers.
After lunch I usually work for an hour on the laptop before I read fiction, or historical non-fiction to research my novels.
At around four p.m. I resume ‘writerly’ activities until eight p.m. unless I am otherwise engaged as I will be this evening when guys are burned, bonfires are lit, and fireworks spangle the night sky to celebrate Guy Fawkes Day.

Queen Anne Stuart
Part One
The Cinderella Princess

My novel, Tangled Love, is set in the reign of Queen Anne Stuart, who reigned from 1702 to 1714, a ‘Cinderella’ princess of little importance during her childhood.
When she was born, neither her uncle, Charles II, nor his younger brother, her father, James, Duke of York, could have foretold that she would become the last of the Stuart monarchs. Charles’ seven bastards proved his virility so there was every reason to believe he and his queen of three years would have legitimate heirs to the throne. In the unlikely event of their not producing one, his brother and sister-in-law, James and Anne, had produced an older brother and sister for the latest addition to their nursery, baby Anne.
In those days infant mortality was high. Anne and her older sister, Mary, survived the Great Plague which broke out in the year of Anne’s birth. The little princesses grew up in their nursery but their brother James, another brother and two little sisters died. One can imagine the effects of these deaths on ‘Cinderella’, a small girl with poor health whose weak eyes watered constantly.
With the king’s consent to have her eyes treated in France, her parents sent four-year-old Anne to her grandmother, widow of the executed Charles I.
As I write, I have before me a portrait of Anne as a small girl painted at the French court by an unknown artist. She is plump and adorable, dressed in brocade, playing with a King Charles spaniel. Her eyes are wary set in an oval face with a mouth shaped in a perfect cupid’s bow.
In 1699, after Anne’s grandmother died, the little girl passed into the care of her father’s sister, Henrietta Maria, Duchess of Orleans, whom Anne’s uncle, the King of England doted on. One year later, five-year-old ‘Cinderella’ had to cope with yet another death, this time that of her aunt, whose husband, younger brother of the French king, was suspected of poisoning her. Anne returned to England, her eyes only slightly improved. By then her mother was unpopular because she had converted to the Church of Rome. Anne’s father gave serious consideration to his salvation. He took Holy Communion from a papist priest. The decisions ‘Cinderella’s parents’ made would have a long-term effect on the young Princess Anne’s future.

Extract from Tangled Love
Prologue – 1693

Author’s Note The heroine is another Cinderella who goes from riches to rags.

“Nine-year-old Richelda Shaw sat on the floor in her nursery. She pulled a quilt over her head to block out the thunder pealing outside the ancient manor house, while an even fiercer storm raged deep within. Eyes closed, she remained as motionless as a marble statue.
Elsie, her mother’s personal maid, removed the quilt from her head. “Stand up child, there’s nothing to be frightened of. Come, your father’s waiting for you.
Richelda trembled. Until now Father’s short visits from France meant gifts and laughter. This one made Mother cry while servants spoke in hushed tones.
Followed by Elsie, Richelda hurried down the broad oak stairs. For a moment, she paused to admire Lilies of the Valley in a Delft bowl. Only yesterday, she had picked the flowers to welcome Father home, and then arranged them with tender care. Now, the bowl stood on a chest, beneath a pair of crossed broadswords hanging on the wall.
Elsie opened the massive door of the great hall where Father waited at one side of an enormous hearth. Richelda hesitated. Her eyes searched for her mother before she walked across the floor, spread her skirts wide, and knelt before him.
Father placed his right hand on her bent head. “Bless you, daughter; may God keep you safe.”
He smiled. “Stand up, child. Upon my word, sweetheart, your hair reminds me of a golden rose. How glad I am to see roses bloom in these troubled times.”
Richelda stood but dared not speak, for she did not know him well.
Putting an arm round her waist, he drew her to him. “Come, do not be nervous of your father, child. Tell me if you know King James II holds court in France while his daughter, Mary, and William, his son-in-law, rule, after seizing his throne?”
“Yes, Mother told me we are well rid of King James and his Papist wife,” she piped up, proud of her knowledge.
With a sigh, Father lifted her onto his knee. “Richelda, I must follow His Majesty, for I swore an oath of allegiance to him. Tell me, child, while King James lives, how can I with honour swear allegiance to his disloyal daughter and her husband?” Unable to think of a reply, she lowered her head, breathing in his spicy perfume.
Father held her closer. “Your mother pleads with me to declare myself for William and Mary. She begs me not to return to France, but I am obliged to serve King James. Do you understand?”
As she nodded, her cheek brushed against his velvet coat. “Yes, I understand, my tutor told me why many gentlemen will not serve the new king and queen.”
“If you remain in England, you will be safe. Bellemont is part of your mother’s dowry, so I doubt it will be confiscated.”
If she remained in England! Startled, she stared at him.

Five Star Review of Tangled Love

Rosemary Morris has crafted a superb novel set in the Queen Anne time-period in London. The historical details are accurately researched and artfully presented, making excellent use of vivid sensory details. Further, the characters spring to life, each fully moulded into his or her unique personality.
Bound by a childhood promise made to her father, protagonist Richelda faces tough challenges nearly a decade later. Poor and now orphaned, she dreams of a better future with all the trappings of the good life. But, to keep her promise, she must regain the ancestral home, Field House, which is said to contain hidden treasure. Her vow to her father is sealed by a ruby ring that she wears on a chain around her neck--a constant reminder of her promise.
Dudley, her childhood sweetheart, plus the charismatic Viscount Lord Chesney, her suitor in an arranged marriage by her wealthy aunt, set the stage for Rachelda's doubts and uncertainties. Dudley won her heart years earlier, but is he all that he appears to be? Chesney, on the other hand, is the owner of Field House and could offer her the life she dreams about in her ancestral home. Further, Aunt Isobel has promised to make Richelda her heiress on the condition she does indeed marry Lord Chesney. Yet are her push-pull feelings for Chesney strong enough to merit a marriage vow? Throughout the story, Richelda never disappoints. She is spirited, fiercely independent, sweet, and loving--truly a three-dimensional character.
Author Rosemary Morris takes her readers gently by the hand and leads them down a highly entertaining pathway filled with love, intrigue, deceit, and mystery. Highly recommended. A winner!

Sil.

Novels by Rosemary Morris

Early 18th Century novels: Tangled Love, Far Beyond Rubies, The Captain and The Countess
Regency Novels False Pretences, Sunday’s Child, Monday’s Child, Tuesday’s Child, Wednesday’s Child and Thursday’s Child.
Mediaeval Novel Yvonne Lady of Cassio. The Lovages of Cassio Book One
www.rosemarymorris.co.uk
http://bookswelove.net/authors/morris-rosemary

Sunday, November 4, 2018

Ding-dang Ruthless Justice by Katherine Pym





~*~*~*~

Cromwell's Death Mask
Over the centuries, public executions were entertainment. Crowds gathered en masse to watch these events. They brought their children and baskets of food. They picnicked and laughed.



Justice would not allow a guilty person to escape his sentence. One such fellow condemned to be hanged found a way to escape when brought to the gallows.



As the magistrates hauled the poor fellow to the hanging tree, his legs shackled, the condemned man dodged a guard and scampered away. The crowd impeded the goalers from catching him. He ran down the hill and jumped into the river. The weight his restraints pulled him under and he drowned.



Not content to have the prisoner die before being properly hanged, the authorities hauled him sopping wet and completely dead, back to the noose, and there hanged him with his fellow prisoners. They did this during the French Revolution, too, threw a dead person in the tumbril to suffer the same fate as those around him. Guillotined, the most humane way to go, or so it is reported.

Enter Oliver Cromwell, who succumbed to what experts feel was malarial fever on the proverbial dark and stormy night in Whitehall, Sept 3rd, 1658. His enemies described the storm as the devil dragging the great saint to hell.


John Bradshaw
Cromwell’s men wanted a sumptuous funeral that would rival King James I’s. They gutted and embalmed him, his coffin filled with spices, but for some reason his body rapidly decayed. It was reportedly so putrid that the body ruptured, leaving a horrendous miasma which leaked through the seams of the coffin.


Henry Ireton
This left no opportunity for Cromwell to lay in state or be paraded through the city. He was buried quickly in Westminster Abbey alongside England’s kings and queens. Later, to appease the populace, an effigy replaced the body for viewing. An empty coffin was hauled through the city streets.

In 1660, King Charles II returned from exile. He did not seek utter reprisal, but he could not let those who killed his father escape without some sort of comment.


Tyburn Gallows


Of the 59 regicides who signed the death warrant, 39 were alive at the Restoration. Of these, several were in self-exile, a few exonerated. Of those executed, some met a grisly end.



Really horrible so I won’t bother telling the details but I’ll tell you the following:



Three high on the list to meet justice were Oliver Cromwell, Henry Ireton, & John Bradshaw, all dead and buried in Westminster Abbey. Their bodies were ordered exhumed, hanged and beheaded.


King Charles I at his trial
January 30th, 1661 (Gregorian calendar), they were pulled from their resting places and dragged to Tyburn. Since Cromwell’s burial had been so regal, his body wrapped in a thick shroud, it took several strikes of the axe to behead him. The three dead men swung from the gallows, then beheaded, their bodies shoved in unmarked graves beneath Tyburn. Their heads were impaled on pikes and set on the roof of the Westminster, where they remained for 20-30 years. One night, during another dark and stormy night, Cromwell’s head was struck by lightning, which fell to the ground and was spirited away.



There are several stories about where the head bounced. 
In the ensuing years, Cromwell’s head was considered a conversation piece put on display. Men of knowledge considered the head more than likely genuine. It is rumored someone finally put it in a biscuit tin and buried it. One source states it was interred in 1960 in Cromwell’s old college chapel, its exact location concealed. 

~*~*~*~

Many thanks to Wikicommons, Public domain &



















Friday, November 2, 2018

Writing Styles by J. S. Marlo


Planner vs Pantser. These two different types of writers are more than likely familiar to you. A planner is a writer who plans her entire story from start to endthe key plot, the subplots, the characters, the settings, etcbefore writing the first word. At the other end of the writing spectrum is the pantser who develops her story as she writesshe flies by the seat of her pants, therefore pantser. I'll admit I started as a true pantser, but after writing myself in a corner on one too many occasions,  I
began thinking ahead. I grew into an hybrid. A Plantser. Before I start writing a new novel, I plan my key plot and major characters, then the magic of writing takes over. These characters introduce me to my minor characters and create their own subplots. I know what you're thinking. They are all figments of my imagination, except they are not. As the story progresses, these characters take a mind of their own.  After 15,000 words or so, they stop dancing to my tune. They will object if I make them do something that is out of character. Very frustrating!

Regardless of how much planning you did, or didn't do, you will eventually start writing. Most writers will write following some sort of chronological order—first scene first, second scene second...last scene last—while others may decide to write farther or random scenes when creativity strikes them. I did that once. I wrote a scene that was stuck in my head but wouldn't occur until two chapters later. Well, by the time I arrive at that part of the story, my characters had taken a left turn and the pre-written scene no longer fitted the story. From then on, I kept things linear, though I found myself going back and adding in-between scenes.

Now, let's get down to writing a scene. Some write by layers. First, they put the skeleton of the scene down on paper (or computer)—basic dialogues and basic descriptions. Once they finish, they go back, extend the dialogue and added more physical details"I visited my grandmother." becomes "I visited my grandmother Edna. She's eight-five years old but doesn't look a day older than sixty-five".They  sat in a coffee shop. becomes Seated on plastic yellow chairs at the local coffee shop, they sipped on their latte while catching up. Once they finished writing that second layer, they go back at the beginning again and add a third layer (like what or how the characters feel), and a fourth layer (like what their other senses pick up...a smell, an unusual sound...), until the scene is complete. Some writers extend the layer technique to the story, not just the scene. They write the skeleton of the entire story first. Go back and write the first layer until they reach the end. Go back again and add another layer...They don't waste time trying to pack everything in and everything right at the same time.

Some argue that writing in layers is more efficient than trying to write full sentence packed with all the details on the first attempt. They may have a point, but some writers need the full weight of the previous scenes in order to move to the next one. I'm one of them. I visualize each scene, so everything I see in my mind must be included in my scene before I can write the next one. I need to know the house is red, and not a TBD (To Be Determined) color. It also means I can stay stuck on a single sentence for half an hour if i don't feel I got it right. The advantage of packing everything in one shot is that my first draft will closely resemble my finish product. I will still make some changes as I reread it a second, fourth, and fifth time, but those changes will be minor.
 As you can see, there are no magical formulas when it comes to writing. Every writer has her/his unique way of writing. There are no wrong ways, just many different ways. The trick is to find the one that is right for you.

Happy plotting & writing!
JS


Thursday, November 1, 2018

November New Releases and Books We Love Updates

Have you entered our winter contest yet? 

It's very simple to enter, just visit our website, tell us how you found BWL Publishing Inc. and submit your entry form.  The prizes are fantastic and the chances to win are great as we only promote our contests to book enthusiasts, readers and authors.  Click the poster to be taken directly to our website where you can enter now.

http://bookswelove.net



First prize - a Kobo or Kindle Ebook reader

Second prize - SIX BWL Author eBooks of your choice

Third - a print copy of the first book in our Canadian Historical Brides series, Brides of Banff Springs (featuring the ghost brides from the world famous Fairmont Banff Spring Hotel in the Canadian Rockies)

The contest entry form is on our main web page - just scroll down the page and fill out the easy submission form  http://bwlpublishing.ca/


November's new releases include the following - each book is linked to the Author's BWL webpage, and buy links from your favorite bookstore will be added as soon as the books release.



http://bookswelove.net/authors/ashtakala-mohan-fantasy/       http://bookswelove.net/authors/walters-janet-lane-romance-fantasy-suspense-medical/http://bookswelove.net/authors/baldwin-barbara-romance/             http://bookswelove.net/authors/duke-renee-ya-time-travel-historical/

For those of you with your own Blogs, we highly recommend that super supportive marketing gurus at Feedspot.  We use them to spread the word about our BWL Insider Blog and they're doing a great job.  Click the link below, visit their website and see if you don't agree with us this is one great place to list your Blog.  While you're there, please be sure and add the BWL Insider Blog to your list of favorites.



Dade Tanner and his old flame, Kerrah, have some serious unfinished business between them - a five-year love affair that came to an abrupt halt one terrible night. Now it’s ten years later and she’s back – but the rules have changed, dramatically. She is not welcome on the ranch, accused of an ulterior motive to return since the family patriarch, Buck Tanner’s bout with ill health. Nevertheless she fights to stay in the one place that has ever felt like home.

However the Tanners have locked horns in a power play, and Dade’s older brother, Virgil, is a sinister force that threatens not only Kerrah, but the very future of the JW Tanner Ranch. Who will survive Virgil’s private game of greed and vengeance?  Click the link below to purchase from your favorite retailer
The Shipton history is—well—complicated. Some families have a guardian angel. The Shiptons have a guardian ancestor, one who jumps right in, boots first, whenever one of her girls has a problem. Of course, Mother Shipton’s girls aren’t always limited by blood ties. They’re connected by power, shared and used wisely.

That power needs to get busy, too, or Katherine’s oilman fiancĂ© is going to disappear for good in the Gulf of Mexico, Katherine’s best friend Sylvia is never going to reconnect with her childhood soul mate, and Irene’s world champion saddle bronc rider fiancĂ© Matt Dillon (yep, that’s his real name) might end up under the hooves of one of those bucking broncos. It’s a good thing Mother has back-up in the form of Lillian Shipton, this era’s family troubleshooter. The spider-web of trouble stretching between these three modern Sisters of Prophecy might be too much for even a time-traveling guardian like Mother Shipton to handle on her own!    http://books2read.com/Sisters-of-Prophecy
Marina Standen, a celebrated pianist, comes to the small town of Otter Lake to live with her sister, Rochelle, to recover from a near-drowning after her car plunged through the ice of a frozen lake. The accident left her comatose for several months and now she suffers from amnesia and the haunting danger of suicide her doctors warned her about. She refuses to believe them.

Trent Vargason’s seven-year-old daughter, Sophie, is blind following an accident that killed her mother and baby brother, three years previously. The child’s selective mutism is the result of the trauma she endured.Trent moves to Otter Lake so that Sophie can be near her maternal grandparents.

On Christmas Day Marina accompanies her sister to church. She has to refuse the pastor’s invitation to play for the service but eventually sits at the organ. Music springs from under her fingers, although she doesn’t know what she is playing. Her memory is just a blank.  On hearing the music, Sophie speaks for the first time since the accident, but immediately lapses into silence again. Marina agrees to give the little girl piano lessons, partly in the hope of relearning her own music. Sophie forms a close bond with Rochelle’s dog Kimnik.

Life in a small northern Prairie town is filled with human drama. Marina struggles to recover her memory. Trent,who harbors overpowering guilt over his wife’s death, vowed to remain faithful to her memory but is captivated by Marina. When Marina suggests that Sophie has some vision, life is turned upside down. An unpleasant and traumatic incident unlocks Sophie’s self-inflicted punishment. She had believed she was responsible for her mother and brother’s deaths. 
https://books2read.com/The-Magic-of-Music



Madeleine Shaw is desperate - desperate enough to pawn the precious locket left to her by her beloved grandmother. Her father has died suddenly leaving enormous debts and his former business partner, Ralph Newman, is demanding payment. If she marries him the debt will be wiped out – a perfect solution thinks her ailing mother. But Madeleine will not marry for money. Besides, she has fallen in love with Naval Lieutenant Stephen Harker, a friend of her late brother, who rescues her from a would-be thief.

However, Stephen will be off to sea again soon and Madeleine determines to put him out of her mind and concentrate on solving her family’s financial problems. Women in the early 20th century were not supposed to start up their own business – that was men’s work. But Madeleine will not let anything stand in the way of her enterprise.  http://books2read.com/Madeleines-Enterprise


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