Plans are made to be broken..by Sheila Claydon

At the moment the world is on tenterhooks because of the Coronavirus. Of all my books this is the only one where an unexpected illness strikes. Why? Well probably because nobody likes to think about illness unless they have to.

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As Woody Allan once said:  If you want to make God laugh, tell him about your plans. Not that any of my plans were desperate or that important in the scheme of things, but I was due to be cruising around Japan at the end of March on the very ship that is now quarantined in the port at Yokohama as more and more members of its crew and passengers contract the Coronavirus. 

On top of that, the British citizens who were flown out of Wuhan, the centre of the epidemic, have been quarantined in hospital property only 12 miles away from where I live. 

And then, of course, there is my daughter-in-law, who is Chinese. She and my little Eurasian granddaughter spent the Chinese New Year in China with family and friends. My son, who had to work, stayed at home in Hong Kong, which was just as well as he has been their only contact with the outside world for the past 14 days. Although they were very far away from the epicentre of the Coronavirus they were still required to self-quarantine when they returned home,  and my daughter-in-law has only today been allowed to return to work.

My granddaughter is still at home because her school has been closed since Christmas and will not reopen until 4 March at the earliest. Also most of her friends have either left Hong Kong for a perceived safety with family elsewhere, or have not returned from the Christmas holidays they were celebrating somewhere else in the world, so with no school and few friends to play with, it is fortunate that she loves to draw, write, make things, help cook, and also do the homework she receives every week by email.

From a different perspective, however, some of what is happening is very interesting. My son, who works in change management in businesses in Hong Kong, is having to adapt his own work practice whilst also helping other people to cope with working from home. Culturally, home working is not the norm in Hong Kong and this, together with the very limited size of its family apartments, means that the forced confinement is having a deep psychological effect on many people.  Apartments in Hong Kong are on average the smallest in the world (484 sq ft). Many of these are homes to more than three people. As a comparison, the average one-bed flat size in Manhattan, New York, is 716 sq ft while in London it is 550 sq ft. Because I regularly help edit his various presentations and papers, it means I am able to be part of the whole thinking around the effects of Coronavirus on business around the world...not something I would have chosen given how it is affecting and frightening so many people, but interesting nevertheless.

So here I am, living in a coastal village in the North West of England, miles away from any major centre, in a place of clean beaches and fresh, unpolluted air, and yet, because of globalisation, I am still caught up in the world-wide effects of the Coronavirus. It is a strange, strange world.

Now all I have to do is to send the medical face masks I've managed to buy in the UK over to my family in Hong Kong because there the shops have sold out altogether, and without a mask nobody goes out! In usual circumstances China makes 20 million face masks a day and Chinese people use them regularly both as a protection against traffic pollution and when they have a cold or cough which they don't want to pass onto other people. Now, however, production has fallen and people are panic buying. Fortunately we still have plenty in the UK where wearing them is not the norm at all. Who is to say when that will change, however. In the meantime we can spare some where they are needed most.

In my son's words at the end of his recent advisory leaflet to Hong Kong employees working from home for the first time: until it's over and we can all relax, work well and stay healthy.

Kindness Never Wasted

coming in April!

shortlisted for Laramie and Chatelaine Awards!

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Located in the middle of the St. Lawrence River lies the island Grosse Isle. It was once the main point of entry for immigrants coming to Canada. On the island was a quarantine station. The year 1847 (“Black ’47”) was the worst year of the Irish Great Hunger, brought in approximately 110,000 migrants to Canada. Nearly 90,000 landed at Grosse Isle. 

An Irish Farewell, 1840

About one out of every six migrants did not make it through that year. They died in the filthy holds of “coffin ships,” in crowded tents on the quarantine islands or in port cities. Most succumbed to typhus.

newspaper account

By year’s end, thousands of children had become orphans. No one is sure of the exact number as many were informally placed out and left no trace in the records. 

Over half the orphans were placed with French Canadian families, many in the countryside. Some were treated merely as farm hands. But some of the adoptive parents were self-sacrificing and expressed love and respect while they urged the children to keep their Irish surnames and preserve their Irish heritage. The descendants of these Irish Canadians have become accomplished in many walks of life. They include artists and musicians, politicians, writers and scientists.

memorial to the fallen on Grosse Isle

My friend Paulinus Healy, chaplain of the Toronto Airport, first told me the infinitely sad story of the fallen of Grosse Isle and the wonderfully redemptive one of the French Canadian families who took the orphans into their homes and hearts. “You’ll write about it some day, “ Paulinus predicted.  I have in my April 2020 historical novel, Mercies of the Fallen.  Sergeant Rowan Buckley is a Grosse Isle orphan taken in by three French Canadian sisters. When the American Civil War breaks out, he decides to head south with his neighbor, a former slave, to join the Union army.

I hope I have captured the character of fallen people, who, if shown kindness, return mercy to the world exponentially.

PS -- As February is romance month, Books We Love authors are offering excerpts from their contemporary romances, romantic suspense and paranormal romances on the BWL free reading club. Check it out and join today at https://www.facebook.com/groups/BooksWeLovebookclub/

I Embrace Winter - Sort Of

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This winter, I've had the opportunity to attend Winterlude in Ottawa, Canada, the seventh coldest capital city in the world, according to WorldAtlas. Rather than huddle indoors, Ottawa region residents embrace the season each year with a festival spanning three weekends in early February. The focal point is the world's largest skating rink, running 7.8 km. along the Rideau Canal from downtown to Dow's Lake recreational area.

My husband and I stayed near Dow's Lake. When the Skateway opened, we headed out to the lake, eager to glide along the ice. We hadn't skated in ten years. I laced up my skates, took a step  - and retreated to the bench. Ice is slippery. Skate blades are too thin the for support. I don't want to fall and break a bone. My skating career ended, I consoled myself with a Beavertail. These pastries, sold at shacks on the canal, are fried dough in the shape of Canada's national animal's tail topped with anything imaginable. I usually get the Killaloe Sunrise, with cinnamon, lemon and sugar that brings out the flavour of the dough. The calories keep you warm in winter.

Hazelnut spread, peanut butter and Reece's Pieces on a Beavertail. As a true Canadian, I want to try maple someday. 

  

Beavertails Mascot at dragon boat races

Other highlights of Winterlude include dragon boat races on the frozen lake, snow slides in a park on the Quebec side of the river, and an international ice carving contest. Ottawa's fickle winter weather played havoc with the sculptures this year. A mild spell a few days after the carving competition ruined the ice statues' delicate features.

A carver at work on downtown Sparks Street. 

Sound travel tunnel on Sparks Street.

When I wasn't outside 'doing' winter in Ottawa, I worked on my murder mystery novel-in-progress, set in winter in my home town of Calgary. My victims go for a walk on the coldest night of the year and are struck by a hit and run driver. The wife is killed and the husband is seriously injured. Was it an accident caused by icy roads or intentional? Paula, my sleuth, asks the husband why they were out on such a miserable night. He answers that they love the silence when no one else is around, the exercise in brisk air, and the shimmering street lights on snow and bare-limbed trees. But for him and his wife that night, embracing winter turned deadly.   

                                                                  Night view from my Ottawa bedroom

Song Lyrics & Grammar Goofs by Karla Stover

              


I mostly listen to talk radio while driving, but all too often something catches my interest and my brain goes off on a tangent. Recently, it was a program discussing the current lack of variety in music. I wouldn't know about that as far as contemporary music goes, but I do know a lot of lyrics have grammar errors, and when I hear or remember one of those songs, I try fixing it (mentally, of course) in order to see if the song would be radically changed.

"I can't get no satisfaction"comes to mind. Here's part of the second verse:

                            "When I'm drivin' in my car, and the man come on the radio
                            He's tellin' me more and more about some useless information"

Why not, "comes" instead of "come?" It changes nothing that matters. Also, "the man" isn't telling about useless information, he's providing useless info. Would the song convey the same feelings if the lyrics were"

                            I don't get any satisfaction.
                            When I'm driving in my car (and including mention of the car probably isn't necessary) and a man comes on the radio / He's giving me more and more useless information.

Hmmm. Not sure the editing works.

Lee Greenwood's "God Bless the USA" gets right off to a bad start. "I'm proud to be an American where at least I know I'm free."  Fixing the line to "live in America" changes nothing in the sentiment.

Does Eric Clapton's "Lay Down Sally" mean he's putting Sally on a bed or something? No. he's actually telling her to lie down. Bob Dylan did something similar with "Lay Lady Lay." Tsk, tsk, and he was given a Nobel Prize for literature.

James Brown's "I feel Good" should be "I feel well." And "Ain't no sunshine when you're gone" should, of course, be "isn't any." There's also Elvis's, "Love Me Tender" but "tenderly doesn't work with the beat.

And now, my brain has digressed. I always wanted Paul Anka or Prince Charles or someone to change the words of "Diana" to "You're so young and I'm so old . . ."  And does anyone else find the lyrics to George Harrison's "My Sweet Lord" tedious? Which brings me to the Harrison Ford movie, "Witness." He sings the Sam Cooke song, "Wonderful World." Golly, even if it was Harrison Ford professing his love to me, the fact that he was such a dunce in school and couldn't remember most of what he studied, I'd wonder if he was a low-life looking for a Sugar Mama.

When I was thinking about grammar errors in song lyrics I, of course, Googled and saw that most  of these songs appear on other people's lists so it's not an original idea, but I did think about it  and them before I Googled.

It’s 3 in the morning!

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                It had been a busy day. I baked bread, did laundry, watched a basketball game and did some research for my work in progress. I was tired.
                But the minute I climbed into bed, my brain started plotting and when I couldn’t sleep, I got up and here I am, back at the computer.
                Any writer will tell you the same story. Regardless of how tired you may be or where you are, you write when inspiration strikes and that’s not always when you sit down at your desk.
                I was once driving along on my way to somewhere and had to pull off on a side road, put on my hazard lights and start jotting a scene on various stick-it notes. I had two people pull over to see if I needed help. “Not unless you know another word for antiquated,” I thought.
                I wrote on the back of a wedding invitation as the ceremony took place. It was a beautiful ceremony and I wanted to remember the feel of the day.

And let’s not forget the shower – always the place for random scene generation.           

At least with today’s technology, I can dictate emails to myself on my phone while I drive, hands free.

                You would think I could remember these flashes of inspiration for a more appropriate time and place, but no. If I don’t write down at least some sketchy notes, the thought disappears like fog when the sun rises. That’s why my work notes are not neatly typed pages in chronological order. They’re register receipts, sticky notes or paper napkins. I do sometimes  manage to write in the small notebook I keep in my purse.
                Where is the oddest place you have had to stop and write? And on what? Have those cryptically written phrases found their way into your story in exactly the same way?

Here’s to happy writing…and reading.
Barbara Baldwin

http://www.authorsden.com/barbarajbaldwin

http://www.bookswelove.com/baldwin-barbara/

PS -- As February is romance month, Books We Love authors are offering excerpts from their contemporary romances, romantic suspense and paranormal romances on the BWL free reading club. Check it out and join today at https://www.facebook.com/groups/BooksWeLovebookclub/

I Read Canadian Day? by J. S. Marlo

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Every month I receive an email from my local library highlighting the events of the month. There are preschooler activities, story time, homework clubs, artist nights, senior bingo, movie nights, craft days, and many more.

For February,  the first event listed in the email was "I read Canadian Day" on Wednesday, February 19th, 2020.

It was the first time I heard of a "I read Canadian Day", but I loved the idea. I mean what's not to love? It promotes reading, it promotes Canadian authors, and who doesn't like a chance to win some prizes. It's a terrific idea!

My five-year-old granddaughter's book shelf is full of books. I'll pick the ones written by Canadian authors and we'll have a half an hour reading spree  before her swimming lessons in the morning. Then in the afternoon, I'll read another Canadian Historical Brides novel. Within minutes of reading the library email, I'd already planned my entire February 19th. Still, it puzzled me that I'd never heard of it until now. I guessed I missed the Press Release back in October.

I'm thrilled that my local library is taking it a step further by inviting everyone--young and young at heart--to read. I hope this becomes an annual event. For more info go to https://ireadcanadian.com/day/ 

I invite everyone to grab a book and escape on a new adventure with their favorite local author.

Happy reading!

JS

J. S. Marlo's Website

 

My Own Personal Research Historian by Eileen O'Finlan

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As any historical fiction author can attest, an enormous amount of research is necessary before and during the writing of an historical novel. That research can include reading primary and secondary sources, visiting historical sites, museums, and the location of the story’s setting. It may also include Internet searches and the use of digital archives. Speaking with experts, such as I’ve been fortunate enough to do while researching my forthcoming novel, is always of great value. It also tends to lead to more research as often the author is given more book titles and websites to peruse.

I consider myself especially fortunate in that I have tucked away in my pocket, so to speak, my own personal research historian. His name is Tom Kelleher. Tom is a professional Research Historian and Curator for Old Sturbridge Village, (OSV, aka the Village) a living history museum in Sturbridge, Massachusetts which portrays rural life in an 1830s New England town. 

I first met Tom when I worked for Old Sturbridge Village. I was a Museum Assistant in the Department of Research, Collections, and Library during the mid-1990s. My position entailed administrative duties to the Director of Historical Research as well as the all other research historians and curators. Along with the secretarial duties, I got to assist with research projects for books and museum exhibits as well as helping curators catalog the artifacts and reproductions. It was an amazing experience with a fantastic group of people.

Tom had already been working at OSV for many years by the time I started. He began as a costumed interpreter, mostly working in the Blacksmith shop and the saw and grist mills. Before long, he knew the whole village and its crafts well enough to fill in just about anywhere. With a Master’s Degree in History and a Bachelor’s in Education, he moved up the ranks to Historian and Curator.

Tom is one of the most brilliant people I’ve ever met in my life. He’s also one of the most capable and self-sufficient. He has a blacksmith shop at his own home. He also does his own coopering, making barrels, butter churns, pails, etc. for gifts or paying customers. He learned to do stone carving so that he could replace the headstones in the Village’s cemetery (not a real cemetery). He was also kind enough to make headstones for my beloved cats when they passed away and I buried them in my backyard. He is adept at tinsmithing, pottery, milling, and any number of 19^th century crafts. He’s sewn some of his own work costumes using his grandmother’s treadle sewing machine. I could go on, but you probably get the point.

Over the years, Tom has created and portrayed many 19^th century characters at Old Sturbridge Village including at dentist, a peddler, an itinerant preacher, and even a phrenologist (yes, he learned to read the bumps on people’s heads, just as the 19^th phrenologists did when it was all the rage.)

Tom’s abilities are a wonder to behold, but they don’t begin to compare with what’s in his head. The amount of knowledge he has in regards to history (and many other things, for that matter) is astounding. I sometimes wonder if he has an eidetic memory. He is especially well-versed in 19^th century American history for obvious reasons, but his Master’s Degree was in European History so he’s got a vast store of knowledge on that as well. In fact, I’m always amazed at what he knows about almost any time period and place.

Tom and I got to know each other very well during the three years I worked for Old Sturbridge Village. Actually, that’s an understatement. We started dating and continued for eight years. We got engaged, almost got married, broke up, and got back together as friends. Tom is probably my best friend in the world and, hopefully, always will be. He is a constant in my life. We were right not to marry, but we were also right to remain friends. Our relationship is stronger than ever today.

One lovely bonus of my deep friendship with Tom is that he is happy to act as my personal research historian. Countless times, I’ve needed an answer that would have taken precious time to look up, if I could find the answer at all. A quick text to Tom and I’ve got what I need in minutes. Here is a sample of some of the texts we’ve shared while I’ve been working on Erin’s Children, the sequel to Kelegeen.

ME: If one 19^th c. person is telling another one not to spend too much money is it okay if he says, “get what you need, just don’t break the bank”? According to Google, the expression goes back to the 1600s, but was it in common use in the 1850s?

TOM: That is fine. Lots of banks broke in 1837.

ME: Did people drink hot chocolate or hot cocoa in the 1850s?

TOM: Yes. Drinking chocolate was the most common way to consume it then. But not cocoa.

ME: Would the man of the house carve the Thanksgiving turkey at the table or is that more of a Norman Rockwell fiction?

TOM: The wife.

ME: Seriously? At the table? The husband led the blessing, though, right?

TOM: Yes to both.

ME: How much did it cost to rent a sleigh and horse for an hour or two in 1851?

TOM: I guess 25 cents is about right. With a driver, make it 50 cents.

ME: Could they have gone for a sleigh ride on a Sunday or would that be against the having too much fun on a Sunday law?

TOM: Not on a Sunday. Sorry. Go to sleep. (Okay, ‘cuz I sent that particular text at 11:00 p.m.)

ME: In what year did most northerners realize civil war [American Civil War] was probably inevitable? Was there a specific incident that made them feel that way? I mean before Fort Sumter.

TOM: Well, people had warned about it since the 1830s at least. But inevitable? No. Even when South Carolina left many thought they could be brought back. Jackson did as much in 1832. When six more deep south states left many thought it could be reversed. When the upper south left many on both sides thought it would be a quick war. The long blood bath surprised most. So no.

This is just a small sample, but it seems as though any history question I have, whether about huge events or the details of everyday life can be answered with a quick text to Tom.

To attest even further to this, when I was speaking with Holly Izard who is the Curator of Collections for the Worcester Historical Museum and a former research historian at Old Sturbridge Village, I happened to mention that I often text Tom with my questions. Holly, who knew Tom years ago when she worked at the Village, said to me, “There are times when I just can’t find an answer to an historical question. When that happens I email Tom. He never fails me. There are just some things I know for a fact only Tom will have the answer to.”

I hear that!

Historian, Curator, and Costumed Interpreter at Old Sturbridge Village,

Tom Kelleher