A Regency Christmas by A.M. Westerling

 First off, I would like to wish all our American friends a Happy Thanksgiving! Hope everyone is enjoying a wonderful turkey dinner with loved ones with perhaps a dish of NFL football on the side. 

And what comes after Thanksgiving? Christmas! During the Regency era, Christmas was referred to as Christmastide. It spanned the period from Christmas Eve to January 6, or Twelfth Night, which marked the official end of Christmastide.

On Christmas Eve, families brought greenery indoors, but not before then as it was considered bad luck. Traditional decorations included holly, rosemary, bay, laurel and mistletoe. Evergreens were considered either symbols of eternal life or fertility symbols. Also brought in was the Yule log. It was kept burning as long as possible, at least to the end of Christmas Day and perhaps even until Twelfth Night. Splinters were set aside and used to light the log the following year.

The decorations were taken down and burned once Twelfth Night was over as leaving them up past that date might bring bad luck. Even today, some people take down their decorations before January 6. We do that although I never knew that was the reason!

Christmas Day was a national holiday. It was mostly a religious festival and included charity to the poor. Gifts weren’t usually exchanged although small gifts might be given to children. People went to church and returned home for a splendid Christmas dinner with friends.  Personally, I love decorating the dinner table for Christmas dinner. (As an aside, Christmas trees did not become popular until later in the 19th century so were not part of the Regency era.)

Usually a goose or turkey was served, or for the gentry, venison. Another popular dish was boar’s head, a kid of potted meat dish. This was followed by plum pudding, so called because one of the main ingredients were plums or prunes. These puddings were doused with brandy and set aflame, a key entertainment of the season.

Food played an important part throughout the season as there were a lot of parties and dishes that could be prepared ahead of time and served cold were popular. The wassail bowl was a common drink. Similar to punch, or mulled wine, it was prepared from spiced and sweetened wine or brandy. Apples garnished the bowl from which it was served. Mince meat pies, made from dried fruit, chopped meat, sugar and spices, were also considered staples of a Christmas feast.

St. Stephen’s Day, the day after Christmas, was a day for charity. The gentry gave their servants “Christmas Boxes” which might contain food, old clothing and other castoff items. Often, the staff would be given the day off. Churches collected money and distributed it to those in need. This is how the term “Boxing Day” originated. Also, this was a traditional day for fox hunting and the start of festivities for the remainder of Christmastide.

From the ceiling hung kissing balls and boughs made from twigs, greenery and decorated with seasonal fruit such as apples and of course, mistle toe. No lady could refuse a kiss beneath these. A mistletoe berry was picked for every stolen kiss and once the berries were gone, the practice was over. During the Regency, Christmas carols weren’t popular other than hymns sung in church.

Twelfth Night signaled the end of the season and was marked by another party. Activities during these parties included games such as hoodman blind, hot cockles, snap dragon and bob apple as well as more drinking, eating and dancing. Sugared cakes were part of Twelfth Night and these were the precursor to today’s Christmas cake. Traditionally a slice was given to all household members.  

Sadly, this extended Christmas season came to an end shortly after the Regency period due to the disappearance of the rural way of life and also the Industrial Revolution and the need for workers to continue working through out that season.

It seems only proper to give the closing words to Jane Austen: “I wish you a cheerful and at times even a Merry Christmas”.

*****

You might enjoy my Regency era Christmas novella, Evelyn's Beau:

 As a favour to the local vicar, Lady Evelyn Kendall agrees to organize a Christmas pageant involving disadvantaged children, never realizing it would lead to disaster for both her and Lord Oliver Harrington, the man she loves. 

The ebook is available at your favourite online store HERE. A print version would make an ideal gift! Available on Amazon in both the United States and Canada. 

Find all my books on the BWL Publishing website HERE.

My Poetry Moment by Joan Donaldson-Yarmey

https://www.bookswelove.com/donaldson-yarmey-joan/

My Poetry Moment

      Over my writing career I have had articles, short stories, travel books, and mystery, young adult, and science fiction novels published. And one poem. When that one poem was accepted for publication, I felt I had taken my writing to another level. I decided, though, that my contribution was going to be different, that I was going to take the poetry community by storm. I wanted to make my mark, to stand out in the poetry world. And to do that I came up with a new poetry sub-genre that I called Script Poetry. Just like a movie script I set up the scene and the tone for the poem and give some background of the story in the poem by using a script layout. It made the whole poem more visual and that way I could get right to the meat of what I wanted to say. 

     I enthusiastically sent out my script poems and waited for the accolades to come in.

    Surprisingly, the publishers were not as galvanized about this new style of poetry as I was. No one accepted them for publication. 

     But never underestimate the power of a script poet scorned. At the same time as I was planning my burst onto the poetry stage, I was writing my mystery novel "The Only Shadow In The House," the second book of The Travelling Detective Series. I gave one of my characters the career of a poet and her specialty was Script Poetry. Needless to say the publishers and critics in my fictional world were highly impressed with the poems. The poetry was very popular with the reading public and the poetress won many awards. 

     To quote from my book: One critic wrote that her poems have an innovative, revolutionary style that is shaking the foundations of the conventionally staid poetry community, while another critic called them insightful and powerful. 

     I have taken one of the script poems from that novel for you to judge for yourself.

 

Fade In
Act One
Exterior-Farm House-Night.
There is snow on the ground. Stars twinkle in the clear, night sky. A vehicle pulls into the yard and a woman climbs out. She stares at the house then takes a deep breath. She releases it in a vapour. With slow tread she climbs up the steps and enters the darkened house. Inside, she stops and listens.

 

There is no noise in my house, it is dark and silent.
Today, I buried you. Is this what it is like in your grave,
total quiet, total darkness?
I flip on the light and wander the house
looking at the possessions that
represented a life that never existed,
except in my own mind.
This has been our home for nineteen years
but it now feels alien to me.
Because from now on I know that mine
will be the only shadow in the house.
I must leave here soon.

 

End Act One
Fade Out

 

Fade In
Act Two
Interior-Farm House- Night.
All the lights are on in the house. The woman is in the kitchen. She pushes over the shelving holding plant seedlings and pots. She heads to the dining room and goes to a china cabinet with no doors. All the shelves hold figurines and dishes and knick knacks. They crash to the floor with a sweep of her hand. The ones that don’t break, disintegrate under her foot.

 

“Damn you, Ben. Damned you to hell!” I yell.
I want you to hear. I want you to know
the sorrow and the pain you have brought me.
I go from room to room, expunging.
I spray your shaving cream on the walls.
I dump your aftershave in the tub.
I grab a knife and shred your clothes.
Finally, there is nothing of yours left.
I feel some satisfaction.
You destroyed my life and now I have
destroyed everything that represented yours.
“There you bastard,” I say. “Rot in hell.”

 

Fade Out
End Act Two

 

Fade In
Act Three
Interior-Farm House- Night
The woman is standing in front of a picture on the living room wall. The furniture and floor are littered with debris. She takes the picture off the hook and stares at it a long time.

 

I find our wedding photograph on the wall.
I’d had it enlarged for our tenth anniversary
as my loving gift to you.
Were you as pleased as you said you were
or was that just a sham?
I smash the glass against the corner of the table.
I cut my finger removing the shards.
I look at you smiling back at me.
Were you an impostor in our marriage?
For now I wonder how many other
women did you see over our nineteen years.
I slash the picture with the knife. How symbolic.

 

End Act Three
Fade Out

The Baddies in My Books by Victoria Chatham

 

AVAILABLE HERE

I always have trouble creating evil characters. I would say that most have mine have been flawed in some way rather than truly evil. Except for, maybe, Sir Peregrine Styles in my first Regency romance, His Dark Enchantress. Sir Peregrine was very much a depraved character, particularly in the satisfaction he derived from causing pain or trouble to others. He was a narcissist, manipulator, and opportunist all rolled into one character but none of that was greatly surprising given the era and strata of society he grew up in.

People being people, and our characters are people if only in our minds and books, good and bad can

come from anywhere. The best of families could have one bad apple. A family in the poorest area of town may have a dad with a heart of gold and a mum who will do anything for her children first and her neighbours after that.

People can and do change and here Rose of Sharon in Steinbeck’s Grapes of Wrath springs to mind. Circumstances can mould a person. Disappointment after disappointment may eventually turn a happy, positive person bitter and cause them to seek revenge against those he or she believes responsible. Being brought up in an abusive household may produce another abuser or someone who would never lift a finger against another person.

As authors, building the backstory for a flawed or evil character is as intriguing and circuitous as those of our main characters and, dare I say, might take a bit more of a psychological twist. Writing historical fiction means dipping into the social history of the era whether, in my case, it is the Regency or Edwardian eras. The class structure was pretty much adhered to. People ‘knew their place.’ But within that structure, the mores of the Regency became stricter through the Victorian era and began to ease again in the Edwardian era, especially the La Belle Epoch era in Europe which dated from the early 1870s up until the outbreak of World War 1.

Regency characters who held ambitions to rise above their place in society might be referred to as ‘mushrooms.’ The term ‘nabob,’ originally denoting an official under the Mughal Empire, came to be used somewhat derisively for a pretentious person, especially one growing his own wealth rather than inheriting it.

My current ‘baddie’ is one Ruby Baker in Phoebe Fisher, the third book in my series Those Regency Belles. Ruby is a barmaid with took my hero’s promises to heart. In a drunken moment as an eighteen-year-old and about to embark on his first voyage, Andrew promised to bring her jewels from India. Ten years later, Ruby arrives on his doorstep to collect them. However, now Andrew has inherited a title and gained a wife. What will Ruby do? I’m still working on that. 

Victoria Chatham

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Married Protagonists? by DeanHovey

 

Although it's hard to top Dashiell Hammett's "The Thin Man" characters, Nick and Nora Charles, the prospect of using a husband and wife team as co-protagonists was intriguing. Not that I planned it. 

I've probably explained my somewhat chaotic writing process. Ideas bounce around inside my head until they start to form patterns. At that point, I dive in and write an opening chapter. Following that, I create a rough outline (that I may or may not consult as I write), then I write an ending. That's the organized part of the process. Then the characters take over. When the dialogue flows, the plot and story go in unexpected directions. 

I was on a mystery conference writer's panel discussion with Monica Ferris (Crewel World and A Stitch in Time). Monica explained that her characters had taken over a manuscript. To regain control, she'd shredded 100 pages, then had a stern discussion with her protagonist about who was the writer and who was the character.

At the time I thought Monica, who is a flamboyant character in her own right, had a screw loose. Over the years, I've learned to listen to the voices of my characters. They often have an interesting twist, revealed through their dialogue, that wasn't part of the outline. Those twists take my often linear outlines, adding branches, subplots, and sometimes adding characters who add richness to the story.

So it was with the Doug Fletcher mystery series. In Stolen Past, Doug, a retired detective, is working as a part-time National Park Service ranger. He's drafted by his supervisor to initiate a murder investigation when the FBI declines to pursue it. Doug's female superintendent, happily leaves him free rein to pursue the investigation, asking only for a daily update so she can answer her boss's questions. Their professional interaction grows into professional respect and friendship. I had no intention of carrying Superintendent Jill Rickowski beyond the first book. Then Jill started talking to me. She pointed out that her comfortable friendship with Doug Fletcher offered me me the opportunity to take the Washed Away plot in ways I hadn't envisioned.

Did I want married protagonists? Not really. Do I enjoy writing about my married protagonists? Yes, immensely. Although one of my proofreaders says I write better mystery than romance, the chemistry between my protagonists is warm and their wry banter is fun.

One of the Doug Fletcher Mysteries fans sent me an email that summed up the comfortable relationship between the main characters. "Doug and Jill are people I'd like to invite over for a beer and discussion." Another reader put it differently, "I wish Doug and Jill were my relatives."

In Grave Survey (BWL Publishing, January 2022) their unique and individual skill sets play off each other when the Fletchers are thrown into the foreign southwest Florida environment. In a place where police are mistrusted, and federal officers (like National Park Service Rangers) are hated, they're assigned the task of finding two missing surveyors who've been platting oil drilling leases in Big Cypress National Preserve. Fletchers find themselves seeking answers in a place where the local residents often show open contempt when questioned.

What would you do if a homeowner met you at the door with a shotgun? You'll see Doug and Jill's response in Grave Survey.

bookswelove.net/hovey-dean/

Dare I write about a troubling incident in recent memory, by Diane Scott Lewis

 

To purchase Ghost Point: Ghost Point

To purchase my novels and other BWL books: BWL

When I worked at the Dahlgren Naval Base, Virginia, in the 90s, a woman told me tales from the little beach town where she lived about a half hour away. Colonial Beach, Virginia, had been a huge tourist destination in the early twentieth century, when boatloads of steamships came down from Washington, D.C. to visit the beach every summer. 

Amusement Pier Colonial Beach 1912

But in the late nineteenth century it was the scene of murder of boat crews; I blogged about this previously.

Fishing Pier Colonial Beach

My friend told me the true story of the Potomac Oyster Wars, which took place in the 1950s. Her boyfriend lost a brother in that fraught time, and he hesitated to speak of it. But I was able to talk to him and he showed me photos of the friends he had who were involved. Many who lost loved ones were still skitterish about this history.

But my friend insisted I had to write the story. 

Since colonial times, Maryland owned the Potomac and policed the waters where Virginia fisherman plied their trade. Since the end of WWII, times were lean, and the Oystermen snuck out at night to rake "dredge" up oysters. This process destroyed the beds but brought in a larger catch. Tonging for oysters was the approved manner.

Well known people in the town got involved, and a prominent man was killed by the dreaded Maryland Oyster Police. His relatives still reside in the community. Would I step on their toes?

Me with my friend in Colonial Beach

I published my novel, Ghost Point, on this era and tentatively put the info on a FB page called "Memories of Colonial Beach." I thought people would be upset about me, a non native, writing about their history. Instead, they were thrilled, and one woman said she knew the niece of the man who was murdered. They were happy to purchase my novel and speak of those events.

A very generous community. My main characters are fictional, but I used several actual residents of the town.

I plan to do a book signing next year at the Colonial Beach Museum. It seems the younger generation is anxious to learn about this era.

Colonial Beach Museum,
drawn by Christine Valenti

Sunset on Monroe Bay, Colonial Beach

To find out more about me and my books, please visit my website: DianeScottLewis

Diane lives in Western Pennsylvania with her husband and one naughty dachshund.

Thanksgiving Day in the USA and Nine Other Countries #BWLPublishing #Thanksgiving

Arranging a Dream: A Memoir by J. Q. Rose

Click here to find more books by J.Q.

at BWL Publishing

🦃Hello and welcome to the BWL Authors Insider Blog!🦃

Thanksgiving Day in the USA and Nine Other Countries

Happy Turkey Day!

Looking forward to that turkey meal on November 25, 2021? Or in the case of my vegan friend, a tofu meal. Turkey is the traditional dish to serve in most American households to remind us of the Pilgrims' first Thanksgiving. Although, they probably ate other birds and lots of fish at their celebration.

According to  Yahoo Finance, other countries observe days of thanksgiving. Canada, Liberia, and a small island east of Australia, Norfolk Island, have customs similar to the USA with traditions that include celebrating the autumn harvest and giving thanks. 

Germany's celebration is known as Erntedankfest to celebrate the harvest. Not exactly the same as Thanksgiving Day in the US, Germans know how to party with parades, dancing, music and fireworks.

In Grenada, formal celebrations for giving thanks are held in mostly urban areas. 

China's Thanksgiving day began about 2500 years ago. No pumpkin pie for dessert, but rather baked Moon Pie made of sesame seeds, ground lotus seeds, and duck eggs.

Japan centers its day, known as Labor Thanksgiving Day, around giving thanks for workers' rights.

South Koreans spend their day similarly feasting as we do in the US while honoring their ancestors. 

Vietnamese celebrations, much like China, include giving thanks and celebrating the harvest. According to Vietnamese folklore, the day was spent making amends to their children for being neglected during the busy harvest time.

No matter where we are in the world, giving thanks is uplifting for folks who take time to express gratitude. The thanks need not be for anything huge. Appreciating the warm sun on your face, someone who opens the door for you or helps you carry your grocery bags to the car, and even a spouse or partner getting the coffee ready at night for an early morning cup--all are worthy of a thank you.

What three things are you grateful for today?

Wishing you a fabulous day of Thanksgiving 

for the big things as well as the small!

🦃🦃🦃🦃

Click here to connect online with J.Q. Rose.

Author of mysteries and memoir, J. Q. Rose

Fall Into Autumn by Helen Henderson

Windmaster by Helen Henderson

Click the cover for purchase information

Normally at this time of year, posts tend to reflect the holidays. However, I already revealed holiday traditions, both mine and those of the world of Windmaster, in other posts. There are still a couple of months in the year so it is too early to do a year in review.  I went another route. A line in last month's post inspired this one. There I mentioned that sometimes an author sets a story in a land where they want to go. This time, I'm writing about places I actually have been. This waterfall is a favorite place for pictures. And the next mountain over was a favorite place to spend many holidays and summer weekends.

Waterfall, Pocono Mountains, Pennsylvania

While I have been across the Pacific Ocean, I'm not a world traveler. Vacations were camping  a day or two or three day's drive from home. The settings were woods alongside scenic rivers, at the ocean, or with views of beautiful mountains. All seasons were experienced. My favorite is autumn with its glorious colors, warm days, and cool nights for sleeping.  Cool is not always a given temperature. One night in the White Mountains of New Hampshire was so cold, the sleeping bags weren't enough and we pulled every blanket and cover out of the car to supplement it. We found out why the next morning when woke up to a layer of ice on the windshield. 

When visiting California I crossed border for a day visit with the neighbor to the south. We took advantage during a trip to Niagra Falls, New York to cross over into Canada. My longest (or farthest adventure) was driving the northern route from California to New Jersey and going up Mount Washington by car. The car was at the summit so we declined the opportunity to walk down.

Beautiful colors of Arizona

Overseas excursions were a few school class trips (with appropriate security) while living on the island of Luzon  in the Philippines, and a harrowing taxi ride during a lay-over in Tachikawa, Japan. A more pleasurable (at least less frightening) Japanese experience was the traditional hotel we stayed in. Sleeping on the tatami floor and walking in my barefeet was quite comfortable. Shoes were left at the door. Tatami is a type of mat used as a flooring material in traditional Japanese-style rooms. The mats are made from rush and cloth where the rush is woven in, and cloth is used to cover the woven ends.

A writing note. You might notice the title. That is because the rule in school that fall is not a season was repeated and repeated until we did not use "fall" for "autumn." Enjoy the season for winter is a'coming.

Red leaves of autumn
in the Pocono Mountains

A backyard donning
her autumn colors

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

To purchase the Windmaster Novels: BWL

~Until next month, stay safe and read. Helen

Find out more about me and my novels at Journey to Worlds of Imagination. Follow me online at Facebook, Goodreads or Twitter.

Helen Henderson lives in western Tennessee with her husband. While she doesn’t have any pets in residence at the moment, she often visits a husky who have adopted her as one the pack. 

First Times by Nancy M Bell

 

To learn more about Nancy's books click on the cover above.

First times and last times. If we knew we were going to do something for the last time, would we do anything differently? 

As I approach my 65th birthday- dear heavens how did I ever get that old?-  I start to remember all the firsts in my life. 

I remember the  first time I rode a horse a Bowmanville Zoo. I was very young, but I can still remember the feel of the horse moving under me, and see the sunlight through the trees on the brown earth between his ears. I remember the last time I rode. It was in 2006, a year to the day after my accident that effectively ended my riding career. It felt good and it felt right and I never thought it would be the last time I threw a leg over a horse. Actually, that day it was more like I crawled unto her back, but that's a moot point. Had I known it was the last time, would I have put up with the pain and ridden her longer, held onto that joy. Held unto that magical connection between horse and rider when it seems like I see through her eyes and we think together. 

I don't know. Perhaps some day I will have the joy of sitting on a horse again, I hold onto that thought, it helps balance me and keep my sane. 

I think every girl remembers her first kiss. That special step from childhood into young adulthood, although we don't realize it at the time. I remember the date of course. August 15th, 1970. It was the summer I'd just graduated from grade school and looking back it was the last summer of my childhood. We had a cottage on Davis Lake in Haliburton County in Ontario. My heart still goes there in memory to visit. There were four of us girls, my sister, Elaine my friend, and Abby who worked at the little store at the end of the lake. And of course there were four boys. Local brothers and their cousin who lived on the Buller Road. Doug was my first boyfriend, and the first boy I ever kissed. At the top of our cottage driveway, under the maples in the magic darkness that lies under the canopy of trees. I took the first step into womanhood, although that transition was still years away. I guess a corner of every girl's heart will always hold a special place for that boy who gave her that first kiss.

For me,  my first horse was a huge milestone in my life. Horses are, and always have been a huge part of who I am. Brandy was my first and even knowing how and when it would end, I wouldn't change a single thing. He was my rock and my safe place as I manouevered through the uncertain waters of being a teenager in the 1970's. 

So many firsts, and so many last times. The last time I spoke to my dad, the night before he died. The last time I saw his face. It's been 13 years and it still brings tears to my eyes. 

Life is a  journey, full of firsts and lasts, I guess the best we can do is ride the joy of the peaks and persevere through the valleys of uncertainty. November always seems to be a month of introspection for me. This year is no different. On November 11 I think of my grandfather who lived with us when I was young. Shaving and picking shrapnel out of his face and neck years after the war was ended. He taught me so much and most of all to honour all life. When I was really young he showed my how to catch a bee in a kleenex and set if free when it was trapped on the window pane frantically trying to get out. That memory has stuck with me my whole life.

Wishing you joy and peace as the days draw in and we wait to turn our faces to the light at Winter Solstice. The magic mid-winter night when the after the longest night that light pushes back the dark once more.

Until next month, be well, be happy.