A Life Remembered...by Sheila Claydon

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When someone is ninety years old they have lived too much life for their story to be told in a few paragraphs, but often just a few years of that life are a story all on their own. That is the case with Imelda, a longtime neighbour and dear friend, who passed away peacefully in the early hours of this morning.

I saw her often and was frequently amazed by a new story about her life because, after many years of friendship, I thought I'd heard them all. But no, only last week she surprised me anew with a previously untold memory of how she and her husband drove across Africa with their son, then an 8 month old baby, more than 57 years ago. But this tribute to a truly redoubtable lady is not about that journey, it is about her childhood, about the time when she and two of her siblings were evacuated from Liverpool to Southern Ireland at the outbreak of WW2.

The youngest of 10, she was motherless but much loved and indulged by her widowed father and older siblings, and, until the war, roamed free in the streets of Liverpool, playing with friends or trailing her older brothers and sisters. In Ireland, however, she was left in the care of an elderly Victorian Aunt and Uncle who only allowed her and her brother to go for a sedate walk once a day. Fortunately, Barney, her uncle's Irish Water Spaniel, was allowed to go with them, and he made each walk a great deal more exciting.  First her brother had to wrap the leash around his hand and then Imelda had to hang onto his waist for grim death before they dared to open the door, and the story of their helter-skelter journey to the river where Barney dived in while they tried to avoid getting wet and thus into trouble, conjures a wonderful picture of two giggling, windblown children and a large and boisterous dog having the time of their lives.

There were other much darker things waiting for her though. She was sent to an Irish convent where every lesson was taught in Gaelic. As she only spoke English it was sometime before she mastered the language. Until then, she and the paddle (a paddle shaped board used for chastisement) saw a great deal of one another. In her words, school was horrendous, a terrible nightmare. Terrible it might have been, but before she left Ireland at the end of the war she won both a gold and a silver medal for Gaelic speaking, something that amazed the natives.

Better was each summer holiday when she and her brother were sent to another aunt and uncle who owned a farm. Although they went to help with the harvest and had to work hard, she loved it. Loved the outdoor life and the camaraderie, and loved especially the Irish dances that took place every night at the crossroads closest to whichever farm had brought in its harvest that day. All the farms worked together as a cooperative and Imelda had to help prepare food for 40 men every day, cooking in a big black caldron over an open fire. And twice a day she had to carry huge pails of tea for them, blowing a whistle as she went and then listening for an answering blast so she could locate them.

Only Fridays were different because then she and her brother had to harness up the donkey and cart and set off for the nearest town to deliver the butter her aunt had made that week. They were also tasked with bringing back sacks of flour and animal feed for many of the neighbours who lived along the route. Unfortunately, the donkey, who only had this one duty, hated it. He hated it so much that the outward journey was always a long slow plod. As soon as they turned for home, however, it was a different matter. Then, in her words, he went like the clappers and wouldn't stop, so they had to heave the various sacks out of the cart as they flew past farm gates and small holdings, hoping against hope that they had delivered the correct items to each customer.

The mother she couldn't remember was buried in her native Limerick and Imelda would visit her grave most weeks with a gift of wild flowers. The graveyard was next to what, in those days, was called The Asylum for the Insane. I don't know if it was a mental hospital or a prison, or maybe a bit of both, but whatever it was, soon some of the inmates noticed the little girl who visited the graveyard every week and began to call her. Feisty should have been her middle name because she quickly learned to scale the six foot wall using cracks in broken bricks for footholds, and sit atop it while the people below sang and danced for her. Then they would throw pennies over the wall and she would scramble down, collect them, and run across to the pub where she would buy jugs of ale. Using the local vernacular in what was now a thick Irish accent, she would ask for 'beer for the Eejits' and be served straight away. Then she would carefully deliver it back to her incarcerated friends.

What a difference from today's regulated, safety conscious and politically correct world. The only black cooking cauldron 21st Century children know is the one in the Harry Potter stories, and they play games on iPads and cell phones instead of cooking and delivering meals and tea to 40 sweating, hungry labourers.  Nor would they be set loose with a recalcitrant donkey unless they were wearing riding hats and boots and were accompanied by a responsible adult. Not that I'm saying we should go back to those days. Far from it. The language is kinder today, corporal punishment is forbidden in schools, and the exploitation of children is frowned upon...in the West at least. There are still many places across the world where children live a hard and a short life, but Imelda had an advantage. Whereas today children in poor countries are often short of food, if not starving, in neutral Southern Ireland during the war it was a time of plenty. Instead if wartime rationing there was an abundance of food, especially meat, cheese, milk, cream and butter, so despite her six years away from her Father and older siblings, Imelda grew up strong and healthy, fluent in two languages, independent and practical.

Those years stood her in good stead. At 90 she still loved her food, especially milk puddings, ate well and lived well, forever grateful for the benefits of modern life in a way that only those who have experienced something different can be.

In my book Remembering Rose there is a grandmother who is as old as Imelda. She is just as much a character and just as interesting. We must never forget that old people have a back story that is usually worth listening to. Today, as I collected some of Imelda's belongings for her son, and made sure her house was secure, I wasn't thinking about the old lady who had just died, bent and twisted with osteoporosis and arthritis. Instead I thought about the young girl she had been, carefree, sun-kissed, and full of life and laughter. Imelda I salute you for a long life well lived.

Cape Breton Island by Joan Donaldson-Yarmey

http://bwlpublishing.ca/authors/donaldson-yarmey-joan/

 

Cape Breton Island

 I started my writing career as a travel writer, researching and writing seven travel books about the attractions, sites, and history along the backroads of Alberta, British Columbia, the Yukon, and Alaska. While working on them I realized what a beautiful country I live in. Since then I have switched to writing fiction but I still love to travel. 2017 was Canada’s 150^th birthday and to celebrate it my husband and I travelled in a motorhome from our home on Vancouver Island on the Pacific Ocean to Newfoundland on the Atlantic Ocean. The round trip took us nine weeks and we were only able to see about half of the sites and attractions along the roads.

       I have decided to write about the scenery, attractions, and history of my country. This post is about Cape Breton Island.
       The Canso Causeway connects Cape Breton Island to the mainland of Nova Scotia. The rock-filled causeway is 1385 metres (4345 ft) long and has a depth of 65 metres (213 ft) which makes it the deepest causeway in the world.
       The Fortress of Louisbourg is situated on the east shore of the Cape Breton Island and well worth the visit.
       In 1713, the Treaty of Utrecht was signed and France ceded its claims to present day Newfoundland, the Hudson’s Bay territories in Rupert Land, and Acadia (Nova Scotia) to the English. France kept what is now Prince Edward Island, the small islands of Saint Pierre and Miquelon as well as Cape Breton Island. The settlement of Louisbourg was founded on the east side of Cape Breton Island in 1713, and between 1719 and 1745 the French built a fortified town. With its several thousand inhabitants it grew into a thriving and busy seaport in North America and was a key trading and military centre for the French in the New World. It was the base for the profitable cod fishery of the Grand Banks since salted and dried fish was an important food in Europe. The value of the settlement’s dried cod exports in 1737 was eight times higher than the value of the fur trade during the same period.

 

       In 1745, war was declared between France and Britain and the English launched an attack on Louisbourg. While the harbour was well defended, the low hills around the fortress provided cover for the attackers. The residents of the fortress held on for forty-six days before being captured. However, three years later the town was given back to the French by the Treaty of Aix-la-Chapelle.
       A second attack occurred in 1758. There was no strong French navy to defend the town against the 16,000 troops and 150 ships and after seven weeks it was again taken by the English. They occupied it until 1768. Eventually, they decided that it should never return to being a fortified French base and they destroyed the fortress.

       Although the site was officially commemorated more than a dozen times with monuments, plaques, and cairns, it remained mainly forgotten and neglected until the 1930s when a museum was built and some of the streets and ruins excavated. In 1961, reconstruction began on one quarter of the fortress aided by the Government of Canada. First the area was excavated with the ruins of more buildings and walls being found as well as millions of artifacts. Since then streets, buildings, and gardens have been recreated so it looks as it did in the 1740s.
       The Fortress of Louisbourg is the largest reconstruction project in North America.
       I took a tour bus from the parking lot to the fortress. I visited with the guard at the entrance and began my tour. I walked up and down the streets of the fortress and toured through the buildings seeing the household furniture and goods of the period. There was an ice house where ice was placed during the winter and used during the summer to keep food cold so it wouldn’t spoil. I watched the fife and drum escort the cannon firers up the hill to the cannon and watched it being fired. I listened to the soldiers talk about their daily lives. I checked out the gardens and watched women doing embroidery. Throughout the site were interpreters in period clothing able to answer all questions about the fortress and its history. There is a long list of activities to do such as firing a musket or cannon, sampling some rum, learning a dance, or being a prisoner of the day.

       For those who want something to eat there are restaurants serving 1700s fare and a bakery from which you can buy a loaf of bread.
       From Louisbourg we drove the Cabot Trail, a 300 km (186 mile) scenic highway that took us through lovely villages, beside the ocean, up into the hills, and through Cape Breton Highlands National Park. The trail was named after John Cabot, an Italian explorer who landed in what is now Canada in 1497, and was completed in 1932.

 

       Alexander Graham Bell had a summer residence Baddeck. Now there is the 10 hectare (25 acre) Alexander Graham Bell National Historic Site which includes the Alexander Graham Bell museum.

       In Dingwall we visited the Tartans and Treasures Shop to find the Donaldson tartan. They had the MacDonald tartans in skirts, ties, vests, and on mugs and glasses but not the Donaldson tartan. I read a write-up there about Henry Donaldson who was one of the garrison at Edinburgh Castle 1339 to 1340 so the name has been around for centuries.

       Though not on the trail we stopped at Glenora Distillery in Glenville which is North America’s first single malt whiskey distillery. The whiskey made there smells and tastes like scotch but cannot be called scotch. That name is reserved for whiskey made in Scotland.
       There is a restaurant and bar that offers half ounce samples of the whiskey and I had my first, and last, taste. Even though my heritage is Scot, scotch is not my drink.

Why Host a Book Launch?

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Last fall a writer friend asked me, "Is it worthwhile having a book launch?"

I immediately answered, "Yes." I'd hosted launches for my first two novels and planned to have one for my third release, To Catch a Fox. But my friend's question prompted me to ask myself: what is the value of a bookstore launch in this age of e-books and online sales?

So here are my Top Five reasons for hosting a book launch.

1. It is a gracious way to tell people about my new novel. Instead of a Facebook or email notice with a link to a sales site, I am inviting them to a launch party. Some will feel pleased that I included them in my special event. Most won't come to the launch, but they'll have enough details to buy the book online or at their favourite book store if they want, without my asking them to do it.

I'd recommend inviting everyone you come in contact with to your launch. I've given invitations to people in my gym class I'd barely spoken to before.

"You're a writer?" some asked, intrigued.

It started conversations and led to closer connections because I'd shared something personal about myself.

For my last book launch I designed an invitation postcard, but economized by printing invitations at my library

2. If you invite them, many will come. My first book launch drew close to 100 people, my second about 85. A fair number bought copies of the book. Admittedly my novels were both long awaited releases. I'd worked on the first book for years before finishing it and finding a publisher; the second wasn't published until 6 years later. Now with only a two year gap between my second and third launches, I don't expect friends and relatives to be as strongly supportive. But I'm hoping that newer friends and--dare I say it--fans will make up for some attrition and pack the room.

Don't forget the food and drink for your guests

The crowd gathers for my first book launch  

3. Local media is more inclined to focus on an event the public can attend than on a book release. The entertainment editor of my daily newspaper, the Calgary Herald, profiles an author most weeks. When he chooses a local writer, it's almost always someone with an upcoming book launch or major reading. He schedules the piece for the week leading up to the event. Other local print media, radio and television might be similarly event-focused. It's hard to get your books into any media, but a launch gives you a better chance. Independent bookstores also focus on events to draw customers and are likely to display your books and the launch announcement in the store window during the week leading up to the launch.

Owl's Nest Bookstore window in early March, 2017

4.  You might make your newspaper's local bestsellers' list. In its Saturday edition, the Calgary Herald publishes a local bestsellers' list, now called Book List. The tiny print at the bottom states the list is complied by information provided by Calgary's two or three independent book stores. Sales at these stores are so sadly low that any book that sells decently at a launch is almost guaranteed a spot on the Book List. Many newspaper readers look at the list for ideas of what to read. I know of other city newspapers that have this feature. It's worth checking out.

Calgary Herald Bestsellers' List two weeks after my last launch & profile the weekend before the launch  

5. And lastly, a launch is a celebration. You've worked hard on this book and deserve a party with family, friends and your devoted readers. Many venues are free or inexpensive. Food and drink might set you back $50-75, but aren't you, your book and your supporters worth it!

     

       

New Looks For Old Books by Karla Stover

                                 

                                                              New Looks For Old Books                                                         

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Late at night, when my husband and I don’t want to go to bed, we watch YouTube TV. That’s where I learned that old books could be hazardous to your health. The problems stem from dust, mold, bacteria, by-products of mold and bacteria, applied chemicals, and any by-products. Nevertheless, while clearing my parents’ estate, I swapped all my Anne of Green Gables books with Anne looking like a hippie on the cover for my mom’s old ones.

During my Downton Abbey days, I bought some books by English lady’s maids, cooks, housekeepers, etc. off Alibris because it’s hard to find old British memoirs in the States. How people lived and worked is endlessly fascinating to me. There are no warning labels about dust mites and mildew on these books.

But getting back to old books, when my chores are done and that includes time on my next book, I am addicted to Netflix’s Design Challenge where, occasionally, someone does something fun with a stack of books. (see above) However, my favorite is an old technique called Disappearing Fore Edge.

Here's the story as told by Wikipedia:

First: Disappearing Fore Edge is the art of painting something on the edge of book pages that can only be seen when they're fanned. "Supposedly, Charles II of England had a lady friend, a duchess, ( I'm guessing Barbara Castlemaine, first Duchess of Cleveland ) who often borrowed his books, sometimes forgetting to return them. So, the king commissioned the court painter, Sir Peter Lely, and the court bookbinder, Samuel Mearne, to devise a secret method by which his books could be identified. Between the two, they worked out the clever technique. Some weeks later, when the king was visiting the duchess, he spotted a familiar looking book on a shelf. Taking it down he said, “I’ll just take my book along with me.” “But sire,” the lady protested, “that book is mine.” “Oh?" The king raised his brows. Then, with a sly smile, he fanned out the pages and revealed what had been painted on them--the royal coat of arms. The gilding on the outer edges had completely hidden the identification. Acknowledging that Charles had outwitted her, the duchess sank in a deep curtsy before her king.

"The majority of extant examples of fore-edge painting date to the late 19th and early 20th centuries." Probably, now, it's a lost or barely-surviving art but I wrote a short story where Disappearing Fore Edge helped the sleuth solved the crime.  It's somewhere on a thumb drive.

 

Have a LOVE-ly Day

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                For many of us, it’s the middle of winter. I have over 2 feet of snow at the side of my house, but fortunately a wonderful nephew who plowed the drive and I could get to the store today. It only took 2 tries and a near miss with a snow bank to get back up the hill! So I decided it was a good day to snuggle down and work on my romance. As I look over my past novels, other than my Christmas stories, there’s only one that has major events happening in winter (SPINNING THROUGH TIME). I much prefer to write about spring and summer!

                And I love writing romance, so let's begin there. Romantic relationships can start from a long ago attraction (GAME OF LOVE and TENDERHEARTED COWBOY), a slow building desire (HOLD ON TO THE PAST and PROSPECTING FOR LOVE) and even from instant dislike (PRELUDE AND PROMISES and LOVE IN DISGUISE.) It’s fun to develop relationships between two disparate people as they find that although they have very different views about everything, the attraction between them overrides all obstacles. Not right away, of course, because there has to be things like misunderstandings and separations, but that’s the fun of any relationship.

                Yet a romance needs more to fill 200+ pages than just the relationship, although that is the foundation of the story. What do you like in a story – mystery, murder, adventure/jeopardy? I always like putting a little mystery in my stories, such as AN INTERLUDE, where mystery revolves around finding a diary written during the 1920s about a speakeasy. I would probably classify my time travels as adventure or woman in jeopardy, as there is certainly that element when you consider getting thrown back into another century.

                Another element of a romance, along with plot, is the setting. This includes not only the season of the story, but where it takes place. And that “where” includes not only the town/state/country, but also the century – is it contemporary, futuristic, historical? As I indicated, I like writing in seasons other than winter, and many of my stories are set in a particular season because of some element of the plot. For example, SPINNING THROUGH TIME had to culminate at the Kentucky Derby, which takes place in May. HOLD ON TO THE PAST takes place in September because it’s about the steamboat Arabia, which sank near Kansas City in September of 1856.

As to whether it is contemporary or historical, many times the plot and characters determine that. I always thought I liked writing historical because of the slower pace and the ability of the hero to “save the day” with his wits alone. Then I started having plot ideas where WIFI and cell phones were crucial (GAME OF LOVE). 

So while I say I write historical and contemporary romance, I can also say I write mystery, murder and adventure. Because I love to read a variety of different genres, I also love to write them. All the book titles in CAPS are my books available through Books We Love. I hope you take a look at my web site at http://www.authorsden.com/barbarajbaldwin, read the book descriptions and find one that piques your interest.

Now, to get back to my work in progress, which takes place in summer, so for awhile, I can forget the negative wind chill temperatures! Find a good romance and have a LOVE-ly day.

               

Have you thought about writing a book? by Rita Karnopp

Have you thought about writing a book?

There are so many people who have thought about writing a book.  The reason they haven’t?  They just don’t know how to begin.

Fiction writing has so many options that it seems impossible to know how to put it all together to create a page-turner, sometimes even to those who write it.  So, if you're just a beginning writer, it may take some self-convincing to get started.

I’m hoping to dispense that fear of starting for most beginning writers.  Bottom line – all you need to do is sit down in front of your screen (pad and paper if that’s your medium preference) and start.  It won’t be brilliant at first – no one – especially you – should expect it to be perfect.  I promise you – it won’t be. 

The Beginner Writer ~ My grandson is fourteen and has already started writing his first novel.  There are so many mistakes in writing format, spelling, and head-jumping – but he’s started – and I’m so proud of him.  At his young age he has all these scenes worked out in his mind and we discussed the biggie:  a beginning, a middle, and an end.

Surprising me, he already has major ideas for a second book.  Hey, don’t stifle that.  Yes, he should be learning the basics of writing and concentrate on his first book.  But never make the mistake of turning off a new idea – just because you’re in the middle of a work-in-progress.  90% of the time, I’ll get inspiration for my next book somewhere in the middle of writing a scene.   What do I do?

Easy.  I open a new page and type out the flood of information that strikes me.  Sometimes it’s a paragraph, sometimes it’s several pages.  Why do I take time to do this?  Many years ago, I was in that almost asleep – dream state – and the most incredible idea for a book came to me.  I felt the excitement of plotting take over.  It was such a fantastic idea – I KNEW I’d remember it in the morning.  I’m sorry to admit, that incredible story idea still hasn’t surfaced.  All I remember is that it was such an incredible plot and I was beyond excited about it.

Never let this happen to you.  Always keep a pad and pen plus a flashlight by your bedside.  If you’re like me – many inspirational plots occur to me either going into or coming out of sleep.  You will not remember them in the morning – unless you jot down the ideas right away.

One night I was in that almost asleep stage when a native man, wolf headdress framing his face, came to me.  He watched an eagle sweep down toward him and grasp him by the shoulders and fly away with him.  It went on and on … it was so real.  I got out of bed, turned on my computer, then started writing the scene I’d just observed.  It ended up being five pages long.  Two years later that exact scene fit perfectly into the book I was writing; WHISPERING SUN … my first and best-selling book to date.

My second bit of advice for beginner writers is to write consistently every day.  Where it be an hour and several.  Find the best time for you to write.  Do you need to get up an hour earlier than everyone to have that quiet time?  Or, are you like me?  I write best in the quiet hours of then night.  I won’t bore you with the number of times I’ve written until four or five am.  You have to find the time that works best for you … and then stick to it.  Self-discipline is key to becoming a writer.

Why, you might ask?  Well, it’s not easy to take yourself away from all the actions of day-to-day.  But a write must devote time to writing … and the more you write – the better you get at it.  Soon you’ll find the words come easier, the thoughts flow onto the pages easier, and you realize you’re not thinking about it … but you’re suddenly adding sounds, textures, odors, tastes, as well as conversations.  The more you write – you no longer have to work so hard on the basics – they become second nature.

Bottom line – if you want to be a writer – you must to write.  Period.

An important question I must ask.  Are you a reader?  The best writers are those who read voraciously.  It doesn’t matter what you read, just read.  I find I read the genre I’m writing.  If I’m writing 1860s … reading either novels or books on 1800s clothing, guns, language of time, or daily life in the 1860s only helps fodder those realistic images I need to add to my story. 

Have you considered bouncing your story idea off an established writer?  Sharing your work and getting their comments is a great way to improve your writing.  Just be willing to be open-minded.  If you take comments personally – then you won’t benefit from them – we learn by making misstates.  It’s all part of the process.  Always take time to think about a criticism … take it to-heart – then try to write better.  Believe it or not, in time you’ll receive more compliments than criticism.

 

Inspiration on a Plate by June Gadsby

Visit June Gadsby's BWL Author Page for information and buy links on all her booiks

Of all the books I have had published, The Raging Spirit is the only one set in a place I have never visited. In fact, not many people have set foot on the Archipelagus of St. Kilda off the north-west coast of Scotland, as wild a place as anyone would like to go. Indeed, not many people have even heard of it.[1]

 Some years ago, my husband had special permission to spend some time on the main island of Hirta with a group of ornithologists, hosted by the Royal Air Force who were, at that time, occupying the essentially uninhabitable piece of our planet, in order to track missiles sent from the island of Benbeccula. 

The islands are famous for their sea birds – hence my husband and his group with their cameras, who had been given permission to camp [2]

and take their own food, but the ornithologists were well looked after, especially with alcohol at the Naaffi,  who were making the most of their short spells. While they were there a submarine arrived and the submariners came onto the island in shifts and had to be carried back to the sub because they were so drunk.

The only other people on Hirta were a group of volunteers from the National Trust who were renovating the old stone houses. The island had been uninhabited since 1930 when the 36 remaining inhabitants were forced to leave.  It is now a nature reserve, the island having been bequeathed to the National Trust for Scotland in 1957 and was designated as Scotland's first World Heritage Site in 1987. It is now possible to visit the island. [3]

Brian’s photographs and the stories he told me of this wild adventure planted the seed of the most exciting novel I had written up to that point. Even now, I feel as though I had been there and the magic of the place will be for ever in my imagination. Writing it as a historic, romantic suspense was no trouble at all, since nothing much had changed since the original population had been evacuated. These hardy people spent their lives climbing the sheer rock faces of the islands, gathering sea birds – in particular the Fulmar, which was their main diet. They had one boat and supplies were brought no more than once or twice from the mainland, as long as the raging sea would allow the boats to approach.

‘THE RAGING SPIRIT’ BLURB: For a woman in 1890 the journey to the wild archipelago off the coast of Scotland, is hazardous. Undeterred, Meredick accompanies her naturalist father on his expedition to the islands, knowing she may have to endure a long stay. But then she meets the renowned Professor Fergus Macaulay and soon has cause to fear him more than the elements. As their boat flounders in savage seas, Meredick is jettisoned overboard. However, she is saved by a young man called Logan, who bears an uncanny resemblance to Professor Macaulay..and Logan’s dark and terrible past is slowly revealed – at great cost to them all.

REVIEWS:

Mr Terence Jennings

5.0 out of 5 stars

This is yet another wonderful book by June

Format: Kindle EditionVerified Purchase

This is yet another wonderful book by June, this is my 3rd, so far, and the picture she paints, really makes you feel you are there with the characters, am so glad Meredith got her man in the end, took me just 3 days to read this, just wanted to keep going to see what happened.

Roberta Grieve

5.0 out of 5 stars

When Meredith accompanies her naturalist father on an expedition to ...

Format: Hardcover

When Meredith accompanies her naturalist father on an expedition to the remote island of St Kilda in 1890 she knows that life will be harsh with few amenities. She is also nervous of her father's employer, the forbidding Professor Macaulay. As the boat nears the island it founders and she is by Logan, a man with a dark past. June Gadsby's descriptions of the island and its dour inhabitants paint a vivid picture of a community cut off from civilization. Tensions build among the islanders and the expedition members and Meredith senses a mystery surrounding Logan. This was book I read almost in one sitting so anxious was I to find out what would happen to Meredith.

At the time when Brian was on St. Kilda only specially invited people were allowed on, but I believe that tourism has now reached these wild and isolated islands. I will never set foot on those rocky shores, but I can still feel the magic of them and the inspiration for The Raging Spirit that was passed to me by my husband.

Going Away to Write

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March 1, 2019 will mark the first anniversary of the release of my debut novel, Kelegeen.  Much of this year has been spent on a very steep learning curve, one that included educating myself on the publishing industry and, even more so, on marketing. It was obvious I didn’t know what I was doing, so I hired a marketing firm to guide me.  They’ve been extremely helpful, but I still had to do the work of putting my book and myself out there.  It’s been a great experience, one that is ongoing, as I’ve only skimmed the surface.  The problem is it hasn’t left me with much time to write.  My 9:00 – 5:00 day job, teaching online courses for the University of Dayton, and caring for my 92 year old mom who lives with me along  with various other responsibilities and obligations on top of my new marketing tasks has eaten up what little free time I had before this adventure ever began.

When it comes to my writing, the most common question I’m asked these days is, “when will the sequel be out?”  My answer is usually a non-committal “working on it.”  It seems I’ve been in the historical research phase forever.  That’s not just because there’s a large amount of research to be done, but because I’m not finding the time to do it.  I knew something had to give.  An overwhelming desire to get away from every distraction and ensconce myself somewhere that would allow me to laser focus on the sequel drove me to find a solution.

Enter my cousin, Patty.  Patty is retired, her children grown, and her mate fully capable of taking care of their dogs on his own for a week.  Patty is also very fond of my mom and lately has been repeatedly expressing a desire to visit her.  So, in one of my hair-pulling moments of frustration at not having time to research or write, Patty’s genial, smiling face flashed into my mind. 

I texted Patty, laying out my plan before her.  If she could come down for a week (she lives in Vermont) and stay with my mom, I could use some of my vacation time from work and go away to write.  She loved the idea.  Mom loved the idea.  I’m head-over-heels in love with the idea.  It didn’t take long to find a time that worked for all of us, so I quickly booked a weeklong stay at a studio suite in a local hotel. 

Before this month is over, I will have spent a week doing nothing but research and writing.  That entire week will be all sequel, sequel, sequel.  No distractions, no other responsibilities.  No, I won’t be able to write an entire novel in a week, but I do expect to make serious inroads on both the research and the writing.  Once I get that fully underway, I hope to be able to run with it from there on out.

Though I’m all too well versed in Murphy’s Law and the best laid plans of mice and writers, I am hopeful.  As long as all goes according to plan, or at least close to it, my post next month should be all about what an awesome, productive week I had.

A Perfect Day For A....Suicide?

                     

 

 

It is a Saturday February morning, 8:30 AM, and the crisp cobalt blue sky announces another perfect day for iceboating.

So, reader, I can see that quizzical look on your face: iceboating? Yes. Iceboating is the sport, some say the disease, of sailing at indecent speeds on ice in a wooden fuselage 12 feet long equipped with three steel blades called runners, and propelled by the wind alone.
My friends and I have spent the day before whizzing around on Lake St. Louis, near Pointe Claire, Quebec on ice of mirror-like quality, and I’m hungry for more.

But this morning, I must first check the ice, not so much for thickness but for cracks, as they can develop overnight and catch an unsuspecting sailor’s  front runner blade,  with ensuing disastrous consequences.

As I get out of my car near the lake on Cartier avenue, I zip up my black parka and don my brown fur hat, grab my crowbar  and start out onto the foot- thick ice. A dusting of snow covers the surface and sparkles into a myriad of diamonds in the morning sun.

I’m about 500 yards out and I find a crack, which has refrozen. I begin digging into the crack to see how thick it is with my crowbar when I hear the mournful toll of the bells of St. Joseph’s Church, off to my right.I turn to see pallbearers transferring a coffin from a hearse to a dolly, about to wheel it into the church.

I resume my digging, and shortly thereafter, satisfied the crack is safe, I head back to my car. I stop at one of the local bakeries for hot croissants and head home. After a hearty breakfast, I get my gear together and head back out back towards the launch site, where my friends and I have left our iceboats overnight.

I drive down Lakeshore Road, and moments later I’m about to turn onto Cartier avenue again towards the ice when a police woman signals me to stop. I notice there’s a strip of yellow police tape blocking off Cartier. I lower my window and ask: “What’s the problem?”

“You can’t pass,” says the petite officer.

“Why, what happened?”

“There’s been an accident. Please continue.” She waves me on.

“But I have my iceboat down there. I…”

“No one is allowed to pass.”

“Listen, just let me get my iceboat and I’ll be on my way. It will take me just a few minutes to load it onto my van.”

She seems doubtful at first, but since I look insistent, she grabs her VHF and calls her superior. After a brief exchange, she says: “okay. But make it quick.”She goes to the sidewalk, unfastens the yellow tape and waves me through.

I start driving , arrive at the end of Cartier near the lake, and my jaw drops. Alongside the pier near the ice, there are two fire trucks, one ambulance and three police cars, red and blue lights flashing. A policeman is giving orders to two firefighters, who are busy removing a ladder from their fire truck. Two medics have taken a dolly from the rear of the ambulance and are lifting its sides into place. I look towards the ice and see two firefighters next to a fiberglass toboggan at the edge of the ice. A diver in a wetsuit is standing by, and his oxygen tanks are about to get loaded onto the toboggan by another firefighter.  A policeman is standing by overlooking the whole operation.

I get out of my van and walk up to the policeman: “what’s this about? What’s happening?”

“You’ll have to ask the captain.” He turns and points to a tall man wearing a cap and giving orders to two other officers who have started unrolling a roll of yellow tape.
I walk up to the captain, who looks at me unsympathetically and says: “Oui?”
“I’ve come to pick up my iceboat” I say, pointing to my craft on the ice. What’s all this about?”

He leans over conspiratorially and says solemnly: “ C’est un suicide.”

“What?”

“Yes, a suicide,” he says, pointing out towards the frozen lake.

“But that ice is over a foot thick. And how do you know it’s a suicide?”
“Well, you see, there was a funeral this morning, and the pallbearers saw this guy out there on the ice, digging, digging… and…”

Omygod  I think, as I start to put the pieces of the puzzle together.
“..and when they came back out after the mass, he wasn’t there, so they called us.”

Oboy. “Tell me Capt., did they describe him?” I venture to ask.

“ Yes.  He was wearing a black parka, black pants and…” he stares at me intently,… “and a brown fur hat.” The captain’s brow creases into a frown as he exclaims: “ Oh ! ben tabarnak !!

(For those of you whose French is a little rusty, I assure you these are not words of endearment.)

“I was just checking the ice…” I say, almost apologetically.

Moments later, he’s barking orders at the firefighters and other policemen, and they all retreat towards their respective vehicles, pack up their gear and leave. I try to look sympathetic and not burst out laughing as the captain gets into his car, slams the door and drives off.

It turned out to be a perfect day for…. iceboating.

 

www.andrekbaby.com

 

For those of you interested in finding out more about iceboating, try googling:

 

Montreal Iceboating Association, Facebook page

New England Ice Yacht Racing Association

International DN Ice Yacht Racing Association

Ham House near Richmond Surrey by Rosemary Morris

Click on the cover to discover more about The Captain and the Countess.

Built in 1610 for Sir Thomas Vavasour, Knight Marshal to James 1st, and subsequently owned by the Duke and Duchess of Lauderdale, Ham House is now owned by the National Trust.
During my visit, I imagined the hero, Captain Howard, and the heroine, Kate, Countess of Sinclair, in my novel, The Captain and The Countess, taking the air in the magnificent formal gardens, which stretch down towards the River Thames, and treading the floors of Ham House.
I also imagined them in small rooms called closets. There are six closets at Ham House, which are more intimate than the larger ones such as the North Drawing room. One is ‘The Green Closet’ the walls hung with green damask and furnished with display cabinets that contain exquisite miniatures. Another is ‘The Private Closet’ which contains lacquered furniture, where the Duchess of Lauderdale, who inherited Ham House, kept books, tea and valuables.

www.nationaltrust.org.uk/hamhouse

Extract from The Captain and The Countess

Kate, Countess of Sinclair, attired in a pretty nightgown, sat by the fireside in her closet, where she kept money and jewelry in a strong box. Before settling down to work, she glanced around the small room crowded with chairs, a desk, sofa, bookshelves, and her sewing basket, the contents of which she occupied herself on rare occasions.
With impatient fingers, Kate sorted her correspondence: a sheaf of bills, invitations, begging letters, and other communications. After arranging them in four groups, she rose and placed them on her desk, a pretty piece of red-lacquered furniture from China inlaid with mother of pearl.

Five Star Review by N.N. Light

From the moment Captain Edward Howard lays eyes on Kate, Countess of Sinclair, he realizes he must do everything in his power to make her happy. There’s pain behind Kate’s façade and he’s determined to help her in any way he can.
Kate likes Captain Howard immediately, even when he’s forward with her and seems to disregard propriety in search of the truth. The attraction scares her, and she guards her heart against the young Captain’s desire. Her past comes calling and she must choose between what her heart wants and what society expects of her. Will she and Edward have a future or will her past continue to haunt her?
This is the first book I’ve read from Morris and I really enjoyed it. Morris is a historian at heart, and it shows in her writing. I kept pinching myself, to make sure I wasn’t in 18th century England. Every detail, from English customs to costume and speech was historically accurate. The dialogue was spot-on, and I found myself caught up in the emotional tension between the characters.
If you’re a fan of historical romance (especially Pre-Regency), you’re in for a treat with The Captain and the Countess. The writing style of Rosemary Morris is reminiscent of Edith Wharton (The Age of Innocence) and I look forward to reading more from her.

Favorite Character: Kate. I loved everything about her, from the way she carried herself in society to the way she cared for her children to the way she fell in love with Edward. She’s a victim of an abusive husband yet that didn’t stop her from living life to the fullest. A woman after my own heart.

Favorite Quote: “She was a lady without comparison, beautiful, mysterious, and vivacious. After he dined, he would take the air in Hyde Park in the hope of encountering her.”

Rosemary Morris
Best-Selling Novelist

There is a gigantic canvas for a historical novelist to choose from. My novels are set in the early 14th century during the reign of Edward II, in that of Charles II’s niece, Queen Anne Stuart, who reigned from 1702 to 1714, and the ever-popular Regency era.
I chose those periods because each of them affected the course of history. world. If Edward II had won the Battle of Bannockburn, it is feasible that he would have conquered Scotland and, perhaps he would not have been deposed. Had the Duke of Marlborough lost The War of Spanish Succession, and The Duke of Wellington had been defeated by Napoleon at The Battle of Waterloo, the history of Britain and that of Europe would be different. Defeat would also have had far-reaching consequences for the rest of the world.
The more I read about my chosen eras the more fascinated I become, and the more aware of the gulf between the past and present. Those who lived in the past shared the same emotions as we do, but their attitudes and way of life were in many ways very different to ours. One of the most striking examples was the social position of women and children in in bygone ages.
My characters are of their time, not men, women and children dressed in costume who behave like 21st century people.
Research of my chosen eras sparks my imagination. The seeds of my novels are sown, and from them sprout the characters and events which will shape their lives.



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. Friday’s Child to be published in June 2019

Mediaeval Novel Yvonne Lady of Cassio. The Lovages of Cassio Book One

www.rosemarymorris.co.uk
http://bookswelove.net/authors/morris-rosemary