A Lit Interrogation of My Co-Author by Vanessa C. Hawkins

 

 

 Vanessa Hawkins Author Page

      My bad. I forgot to post last month. But I have good news! I've finally gotten around to interviewing my co-author: Tara Woodworth! You know... that *other* name on a few of my book covers? She's real! And after a few libations, what started as an interrogation ended in a character development and shenanigans that somehow mapped out book 3...

Are you curious? Of course you are! So without further ado, here is our interview, which she may or may not remember having... 

 1. When did you first realize you wanted to be a writer, Tara? (This is a boring arse question, I know, but bear with me, it gets better)!

Tara: When my friend Vanessa sent me a text message saying that we should write a book. 

*interviewers footnote* We used to write together back and forth. Some call it RP. Some of it was crap. The bulk of Shad and Scarlet was pretty good.

2. How long does it take you to write a book?

Tara: *she blinks and tries to ask me the same question. I tell her it is not I who is being interviewed* About a year depending on how often we write, which is about two or three days a week for a few hours per session. Right?

*interviewers footnote* This is correct.

3. What would you say is your interesting writing quirk? 

Tara: Sometimes I lay awake at night thinking about a conversation between characters or how a scene will play out until I fall asleep. 

4. What does your family think of your writing? 

Tara: They think it's great, but they also don't think of me as a real writer because I'm writing fiction/fantasy

*interviewers footnote* Cries** So true...

5. Do you have plans to ever write a book on your own or with another author besides me?

Tara: *She is of course thinking: No way! Vanessa is the best there is! How could I possibly think of writing with anyone other than this amazing genius of fiction and fantasy?* 

What she says: I mi-i-i-ight write a book on my own eventually, but I have no plans to write anything with any other authors. I won't talk about my idea though, or I'll lose my gumption to write on my own, so don't ask about it!

6. Hardest thing about writing with Vanessa C. Hawkins (if any :D) Did I ever frustrate you to no end?

Tara: Vanessa spells pajamas weird and uses weird colloquillisms that I edit out when she isn't looking...

*interviewers footnote* Yeah well, I edit all your adverbs out. Tara is an adverb queen. Also, it's spelled pyjamas. *sticks out tongue*   

7.If you could meet any character in Ballroom Riot which one would it be? 

Tara: Shad. Coz he's a dragon. 

8. Let's talk about Shad. If he could, for whatever reason, only keep one thing from his hoard, what would it be and why? 

Tara: Shad would be so heartbroken that I can't even picture how he would react. He probably has a dragon bug out bag that contains his most precious treasures. So... like, a necklace with the most expensive diamonds, or something with a giant gemstone. Whatever it was with the most monetary value. But if he is thinking of Scarlet as part of his hoard, then he'd take her...

*interviewers footnote* and probably whine about it later...

9. How would Shad break up with someone? 

Tara: He wouldn't. He'd always be the person who was broken up with. Maybe... maybe he would ghost a person... maybe... 

10. Would Shad think fart noises were funny?

Tara: What? Omg. No... if Scarlet tooted he wouldn't say anything, he'd probably just pretend it didn't happen. Scarlet probably would though... she's that kind of woman, and if Shad farted she'd tease him endlessly... if she wasn't blown away by noxious dragon gas.

11.  What would Shad think was the most annoying thing about Scarlet? 

Tara: When Scarlet gets mad at him, she walks too fast on purpose so he has to hobble to keep up. That's annoying... but also, despite being a graceful and loving person, she'll take out something with packaging, open it, use it, and leave the packaging wherever in the hell is convienent for her! She doesn't throw it out! Done using these clothes? Wham! Thrown on the back of the couch! Can't find an ashtray? Cigarette butt in the fruit bowl! 

*interviewers footnote* I think we've hit a nerve here...

Well, Tara, thank you for the interview! Before we end though, is there anything else you'd like to say?

Tara (who may or may not have actually said this): Book three is in the works! Hoping for a release of next year or so, but be sure to keep an eye out on the Books We Love webpage or Vanessa's blog for updates! We promise, it won't take ten years for us to write it... we aren't buttheads like... 

Till next time, folks!
 

Accidental Deaths by J. S. Marlo

  

Wounded Hearts

"Love & Sacrifice #2"

is now available  

click here 

 

 

  

J. S. Marlo's BWL Books

I write murder/mystery/romance novels. As such, someone will be injured or die by the end of the book, and my perpetrators will go to great length to deflect or cover their crime.

In average, 15,000 people die every year following an accident in Canada. Accidents are the 1st leading cause of death in people under the age of 45, and the 4th overall in all age groups after Cancer, Heart Diseases, and Covid-19. Interestingly, if we separate the statistics by gender, accidents are the 3rd leading cause of death in men but the 5th in women.

Since accidents are relatively common, one way to cover a murder is to make it look like an accident. Here are the six major causes of accidental deaths:

- Motor Vehicle Accidents (1st cause in both men & women): one of my perpetrators tampered with a car...

- Fall (2nd in both men & women): it's fairly easy to push someone down the stairs, but the problem is when the victim survives the fall and can identify the perpetrator...

- Drowning (3rd in men, 6th in women): forcing someone to drown without leaving signs of struggle behind is not as easy as it looks...

- Fire (4th in men, 3rd women): fire tends to destroy everything, except what started the fire...

- Suffocation (5th in men, 4th women): pillows come to mind here...

- Poisoning (6th in men, 5th women): the perpetrators in historical novels could get away with poisoning their victims, but nowadays only a handful of substances will not show up during an autopsy, and these few undetectable substances aren't readily available.

My perpetrators won't stop trying to hide their crimes, but they won't get away with it LOL

Enjoy the small blessings that life brings every day & stay safe!

JS

 

 

J. S. Marlo's Website

 

Sometimes Inspiration has Fur by Eileen O'Finlan

 

Click here for purchase information

Click here to visit Eileen O'Finlan's website

I am delighted to announce that my next book, All the Furs and Feathers: Book 1 in the Cat Tales series will be released by BWL Publishing on April 1, 2023. Unlike my first two books, Kelegeen and Erin's Children, All the Furs and Feathers is not historical fiction. Instead it is humorous animal fantasy.

If you wonder what brought on such a deviation from my normal writing fare, it was occasioned by an illness and two cats.

About five years ago as I was recovering from major surgery after a long bout of chronic diverticulitis, I was watching my two cats, Smokey and Autumn Amelia, interact with each other - always an entertaining show. I started wondering what they would be like if they were human. Before long, a story began to form in my mind. As with most stories, I couldn't let it linger there for very long and started writing it. I made Smokey, my sleek Russian Blue, an architect at Fluffington ArCATecture and Autumn Amelia, my food-loving calico Maine Coon, a chef and baker savant.

When Smokey lands the account of her dreams, her boss, Abigail Fluffington, says that if she's successful, she'll become a partner and inherit the business when Abigail retires. This may seem like a dream come true, but there's a problem. The land for the proposed park is adjacent to Rodent Way. Activist Jerome J. Rately quickly organizes R.A.T. (Rodent Action Task Force) and stages a protest.

Meanwhile, quirky, but loveable, Autumn Amelia is busy dishing up meals too delicious for any fur or feather to resist and wandering into the kitchens of local restaurants to improve their recipes.

Together with their furred and feathered friends, Smokey and Autumn Amelia must find a way to make the proposed park a reality if only they can figure out how to abolish the long-standing animosity between felines and rodents.

When I began, I was only writing this story to amuse myself and pass the time while I was stuck at home recuperating. Before long, I had several chapters and it was flowing in a way that nothing I've ever written before or since has ever done. Even after I was fully recovered and back to work, I kept returning to it. By then I was completely hooked. I was working on Erin's Children at the same time so I didn't give it my full attention, but once that manuscript was completed, I returned to it until I could finally write "The End." 

But that's when I realized it wasn't really the end. So many more ideas for the characters filled my head, I knew it would have to be a series.

If you're wondering how I picture the cats, here's my Smokey and Autumn Amelia as they might look in All the Furs and Feathers:

       

              Smokey                                                  Autumn Amelia

How the beauty of my surroundings contrasts with the darkness and evil in my story by Jay Lang

 

The Cove

Jay Lang

Click this link to purchase

http://bookswelove.net/lang-jay/

Chapter One

   My inspiration for writing this chapter was to utilize the beauty of my surroundings, the Pacific Northwest, and then contrast that beauty by writing a scene that has darkness and evil.

 Awoken by scuffling sounds on the path only feet from where I was lying, I watched motionless from the thick brush as the two men walked past. The moonlight illuminated the trail that led to the giant fir. I had seen them up here before, smoking pot and laughing. However, that night, there was a different energy between them. Neither one of them was talking when they stopped at the clearing. When the shorter man of the two leaned against the tree, he disappeared into the shadows. The taller man stood in front of the other, lit a smoke and kicked the dirt with his feet. 

The man in the shadows spoke, “Couldn’t you just talk to me at your place?”

“No, not about this,” answered the taller one.

“Well? Spit it out. I’ve got shit to do.”

The tall man pulled his cigarette out of his mouth and threw it to the ground, crushing it under his foot. I saw him reach under the back of his jacket and pull something out. As soon as his hand passed through the moonlight, I saw the shimmer off the long blade. 

“What the hell is that?” The man sprung from the shadows into the light. His face looked sallow and anxious. 

The taller man flicked his thumb across the blade and said, “You need to make a decision, Tony. Either you tell me where you put the cash, or I gut you like a pig.”

“You can’t be serious,” said the shorter man—Tony. “You’re threatening me after all I’ve done for you?”

“Time is wasting, and my patience is, too. Are you going to tell me or should we get on with this?”

“Ok. Ok. I’ll tell you. The cash is in the black case in my car, under the driver’s seat. I’ll take you to it.”

The tall man nodded slowly and smiled. “Thanks. That makes me very happy. There’s only one more thing I need to deal with first.”

“What’s that?”

The tall man lunged forward and sunk the long blade into Tony’s stomach.

I heard a deep groan as Tony slumped over. I gasped and quickly covered my mouth with my shaking hands. My heart was racing. I wanted to crawl out of my sleeping bag and run but I was too terrified to move.

“Please, you don’t have to do this,” pleaded Tony.

“You’re probably right,” the tall man said. “But to tell you the truth, I’m kind of enjoying it.”

“Listen to me, man. I’ll do whatever you want, ok? If it’s money you want, I know how to get a lot more of it, just let me go.”

The tall man seemed to be listening as he looked down at his victim. The hand that was holding the knife relaxed and fell to his side. After a few moments, he said, “Ok, Tony. You win. Let’s go get the money.” Then he reached out a hand and in the process of helping Tony up, I saw him grip the knife firmly.

In the ending to this chapter, I wanted to show the witness, a homeless man who had nothing, become an important key to the story. He now holds power.

Baroness Orczy by Rosemary Morris

 

To learn more about Rosemary's work please click the cover.

 Baroness Orczy

 

I am a fan of Baroness Orczy, who is remembered for her novels about Sir Percy Blakeney, baronet, aka the Scarlet Pimpernel. Curious about her life and times I wrote this blog, which I hope you will enjoy.

 

     Baroness Orczy was born in Tarna Ors, Hungary, on September twenty-third, eighteen hundred and sixty-five to Countess Emma Wass and her husband Baron Felix Orczy. Her parents frequented the magnificent court of the Austrian Hungarian Empire where the baron was well known as a composer, conductor, and friend of famous composers, among others, Liszt, and Wagner.

Until the age of five, when a mob of peasants fired the barn, stables and fields destroying the crops, Emma Magdolna Rozália Mária Jozefa Borbála “Emmuska” Orczy, enjoyed luxury in her father’s magnificent, ancestral chateau. Later she described it as a rambling farmhouse on the banks of the River Tarna. She and her family lived there in magnificent ‘medieval style.’  Throughout her life the exuberant parties, the dancing and the haunting gypsy music lived on in her memory.

After leaving Tarna Ors forever, the Orczys went to Budapest. Subsequently, afraid of a national uprising, the baron moved his family from Hungary to Belgium.

Emmuska attended convent schools in Brussels and Paris until eighteen hundred and eighty when her the baron settled his family in Wimpole Street, London.

 In six months, fifteen-year-old Emmuska learned English for which she won a special prize. Afterward, she attended the West London School of Art and then Heatherby’s School of Art. Baron Orczy tried hard to develop his daughter’s musical talent, but Emmuska chose art, and had the satisfaction of her work being exhibited at The Royal Academy. Subsequently, she became an author.

She fell in love with England and regarded it as her spiritual birthplace, her true home. When people referred to her as a foreigner, she said there was nothing English about her, and that her love was all English, for she loved the country

In eighteen hundred and ninety-four Emmuska married Montague Barstow, an illustrator, whom she met had net at Heatherby’s. In her own words, their marriage was happy and joyful.

The newlyweds enjoyed opera, art exhibitions, concerts, and the theatre.

Emmuska’s bridegroom encouraged her to write. In eighteen hundred and ninety-five her translations of Old Hungarian Fairy Tales: The Enchanted Cat, Fairyland’s Beauty, and Uletka and The White Lizard, edited with Montague’s help, were published.

Inspired by thrillers she watched on stage, Emmuska wrote mystery and detective stories. The first featured The Old Man in the Corner. For the generous payment of sixty pounds the Royal Magazine published it in 1901. Her stories were an instant hit. Yet, although the public could not get enough of them, she remained dissatisfied.

In her autobiography Emmuska wrote, I felt inside my heart a kind of stirring that the writing of sensational stuff for magazines would not and should not, be the end and aim of my ambition. I wanted to do something more than that. Something big.

Montague and Emmuska spent nineteen hundred in Paris that, in her ears, echoed with the violence of the French Revolution. Surely, she had found the setting for a magnificent hero to champion the victims of “The Terror.” Unexpectedly, after she and her husband returned to England, while waiting for a train, Emmuska saw her most famous hero, Sir Percival Blakeney, dressed in exquisite clothes. She noted the monocle held up in his slender hand, heard his lazy drawl, and quaint laugh. Emmuska told her husband about the incident. In five weeks, she wrote The Scarlet Pimpernel. More than a dozen publishers rejected it. They wanted modern, true-life novels. Undeterred Emmuska and Montague turned the novel into a play. The critics did not care for it when it opened at the New Theatre, London in nineteen hundred and four, but the audiences loved it, and it ran for two thousand performances. The Scarlet Pimpernel was published and became the blockbuster of its era making it possible for Emmuska and Montague to live in an estate in Kent, have a bustling London home and buy a luxurious villa in Monte Carlo.

During the next thirty five years, Emmuska wrote sequels, among which are Lord Tony’s Wife, in nineteen hundred and seventeen, The League of The Scarlet Pimpernel in nineteen hundred and nineteen, and other historical and crime novels. Her loyal fans repaid her by flocking to the first of several films about her gallant hero. Released in nineteen hundred and thirty-five, it was produced by her compatriot, Alexander Korda, starred Lesley Howard as Percy, and Merle Oberon as Marguerite.

 Emmuska and Montague moved to Monte Carlo in the late nineteen hundred and tens where they remained during the Nazi occupation during the Second World War.

Montague died in nineteen hundred and forty-three leaving Emmuska bereft. She lived with her only son and divided her time between London and Monte Carlo. Her last novel Will-O’theWisp and her autobiography, Links in the Chain of Life were both published in nineteen hundred and forty-seven shortly before her death at the age of eight-two on November the twelfth, in the same year.

A lasting tribute to the baroness is the enduring affection the public still has for her brave, romantic hero, Sir Percival Blakeney, master of disguise.

 The links to online bookstores to buy Rosemary Morris’s   novels are at:

 https://bookswelove.net/morris-rosemary/

 The first three chapters of each novel may be read on my web site.

 www.rosemarymorris.co.uk

Julie Christen Says Hello Writers!

 

 Here I am, writers!

     It's taken a while, but I've finally stepped into this amazing author world. And I owe it to my passion for this boy, RainyDay, our other Nokota horses Red Eagle and Moon, and my husband for making me brave.

BWL Publishing Inc. New Releases November 2022

 November New Releases

Two days before Christmas the unthinkable happens when Snowflakes, the adorable toy poodle, is stolen from Cole Donahue’s pick-up truck in a supermarket parking lot.

Dog sitting for his soon to be ex-wife, Elsa Randolph, when the theft took place, Cole and Elsa temporarily set their differences aside and immediately begin their search with a poster and social media blitz.

Meanwhile, Snowflakes, forced to rely on the kindness of strangers, experiences her fair share of holiday season adventures. She even makes friends with Mr. Christmas himself.

Working together to find the missing poodle, will Cole and Elsa rekindle their love despite the seemingly insurmountable challenges that caused their break up? Will Snowflakes be reunited with her family in time for Christmas?

Introducing donalee Moulton as our newest BWL Mystery Author - Watch for the release of Hung out to Die

I recently – and wonderfully – completed my first mystery novel, then tentatively titled So, A Psychopath walked into a bar. I quickly discovered that the novel would not stand alone. A synopsis was required. As a freelance journalist and communications specialist, I’ve put together a lifetime of pitches and proposals. Still, I spent some time reading up on what makes a successful synopsis. Then I wrote my own.

My synopsis does not follow the traditional pattern, but most of the required elements are there. I wondered if this would pass muster. Overall, the people I shared the synopsis with liked it. One person didn’t like it at all and said it would never pass muster with publishers. I took a long hard look and, respectfully, disagreed.

This was nerve-wracking. I knew it would be easier to simply follow the path well taken, but I felt I needed to branch out. I entered a shorter version of my synopsis in the Synopsis Skirmish contest – and won. The judge (one of my favorite people) had this to say: The author’s handling of voice in this synopsis is so powerful, it made me want to read the novel right away. The synopsis is unusual and intriguing—a winning combination.

When the acquisitions editor at BWL (another of my favorite people) reached out to me requesting a full copy of my manuscript, she noted, “We were quite taken with your synopsis.”

The synopsis issue has driven home to me the need to listen to yourself, that inner voice that knows you better than anyone. At the same time, it has taught me more about flexibility and being open to feedback. There is nothing as helpful as constructive criticism (whether accepted or not) and editors are worth their weight in gold.

I thought I’d share my synopsis – my very first – with you. I’d love to know what you think.

 

Synopsis

So, A psychopath walked into a bar: A Riel Brava Mystery

By donalee Moulton

 

Let’s start with the obvious.

Meet Riel Brava. Attractive. Razor-sharp. Ambitious.

Riel, born and bred in Santa Barbara, California, has been transplanted to Nova Scotia where he is CEO of the Canadian Cannabis Corporation (CCC). It’s business as usual until Riel finds the company’s comptroller hanging by a thread. Actually, several threads. It doesn’t take the police long to determine all is not as it appears.

 

Let’s dive beneath the surface.

Meet Riel Brava. Observant. Cautious. Psychopathic.

Not the Dexter-Hannibal Lecter-Norman Bates kind of psychopath. The kind who live and work among us, mostly unnoticed, often successful, always on full alert their differences will be uncovered. Riel is personable, even charming. He’s keen to understand how the human mind works, so he’ll blend in. After all, his goal is to be president of the United States. (An aspiration that will feature in future books.)

 

Let’s talk plot.

So Norm Bedwell has apparently hanged himself in his office at CCC. Emphasis on apparently. It takes Detective Lin Raynes mere minutes to suspect the obvious is deceiving and what appears to be death by suicide is actually a murder. Over the course of 13 chapters (there is also an introductory chapter), he works to uncover and discover who would want Bedwell dead and how they could have pulled the murder off. 

He’s not alone. In an unusual pairing, Raynes and Riel work together to chase down leads – the bully who tortured Bedwell’s son at school, the mysterious orange truck that belongs to no CCC employee but was parked in the company lot the night Bedwell was murdered, the employee, who despite stringent security measures, has managed to steal weed from CCC and start a healthy little illegal business.

Raynes manages to engage Riel, albeit reluctantly, in the hunt for Bedwell’s killer, and in the process, the seeds of an unexpected and unusual friendship are sown. (These seeds will blossom in subsequent books.)

Various motives are explored through a number of suspects – revenge, fear, greed – but ultimately, it’s love that becomes the reason Norm Bedwell no longer lives. Unfortunately, the evidence is circumstantial. Raynes and Riel concoct a scheme to draw a confession out of the killer, but that plan is never put into place. Instead, Riel finds himself on the receiving end of a rifle in the ribs and a long drive to the middle of Nowhere, Nova Scotia. 

 

Let’s look at the core cast of returning characters. You’ll like them all.

Tiffany Brava. Riel’s wife and loyal supporter. Somewhere in the recesses of her mind, Tiffany knows Riel is not quite like everyone else – and why. For now, that door is closed. What’s openly obvious is her affection for her husband, her loyalty, and her acumen. Don’t count Tiffany out as the dumb blonde. Oh yes, she’s vegan. 

 

Franklin Raynes. The Halifax Police Department’s lead detective on this case is Black, quintessentially Nova Scotian, and a consummate charmer. He can read the room and respond accordingly. He takes a shine to Riel, and also realizes how helpful the psychopath can be in solving this case. (Yes, Lin Raynes is privy to Riel’s deepest secret, but he doesn’t admit it to his new friend – just yet.) Oh yeah, Raynes also does this thing with his left eyebrow.

Senator John Williams. Tiffany’s dad | Riel’s father-in-law is the Democratic Senator for District 19. A seasoned and senior politician, Williams is a co-owner of CCC, although it’s not an asset he talks about with constituents. He’s brusque, except where his daughter is concerned, and well connected, even in Canada.

Zahra Bashir. A practising Muslim and savvy TV reporter who’s always on the lookout for the inside scoop. Bashir makes many of the other characters very nervous despite her friendly demeanor.

David Clements. The recreational cannabis sector in Canada is heavily regulated. Clements is the federal DOJ’s contact for Riel. Their relationship is one of power and powerful expectations. Clements holds that power. A minor character, Clements plays an important role. He’s the first person to use a special word.

There are other characters introduced in this book who will also return but play a smaller role in this mystery.

 

Let’s look at the cast of characters in the book. You won’t like them all.

Faye Bedwell, distraught and disrespected wife of Norm Bedwell

Bran Bedwell, the Bedwell’s 12-year-old son who takes a liking to Riel. Good grief.

Thorne, media consultant and very protective of Riel

The bully and his parents.

The poor sod who owns the orange truck.

The killer.

 

What’s familiar about So, A psychopath walked into a bar to make mystery fans feel at home

·         It’s fast-paced.

·         It lays out a path of breadcrumbs that lead, ultimately, to the killer. First, of course, the path branches off in several misdirections.

·         It creates suspense.

·         It builds understanding and affection for key characters.

·         It leaves readers wanting more.  

 

What’s novel about the book to make the mystery stand apart and readers turning pages

·         It introduces a unique character that, ironically, we empathize with

·         It’s funny as hell

·         It’s written by an award-winning journalist who knows both how to tell a story and how to use words to maximum effect

 

 

Riel Brava: Vital Statistics

Height: 6’1

Weight: 165 pounds

Waist: 35 inches

Age: 37

Spouse: Tiffany, the vegan

Job: CEO, Canadian Cannabis Corp.

Location: Elmsdale, Nova Scotia, Canada

Ambition: President of the United States of America

Favorite food: Donairs (definitely not vegan)

Top personality trait:  Psychopath

Burning question: What the hell’s a chunderf**k

 

 

 

 

Counting the Beans by Priscilla Brown

 

 

Counting the Beans

by Priscilla Brown

  

https://wwwww.books2read.com/Class-Act 

 Gina's new boss is holding a secret she has a right to know. 

Will he spill the beans?

 In the vegetable aisle at my local supermarket, I came across the treasurer of a local organisation to which I belong. In this capacity as bean counter in chief, she has to know how many beans make five. And counting was exactly what she was doing, making hard work of putting runner beans one by one into her brown paper bag. Maybe she wanted to be sure each family member would receive a precise number. This bean counter completed her arithmetic, leaving the space for me to grab three handfuls which I knew from experience was the perfect amount for my kitchen.

 Any kind of grocery shopping is for me a fairly mindless occupation, and while continuing around the aisles I remembered how runner beans had figured in my childhood. My father grew them in what was known as the 'kitchen garden'. My mother used to send me as a young child to pick them, adding Mind you count them. Perhaps she really needed to know the exact number, or else she was encouraging me to use my number skills. In primary school, we grew beans in  jar as a science experiment. I don't remember, and probably never understood, why. As homework, I had to grow one in a jar and write up its progress. My mother was not impressed when I used one of her jars she reserved for jam  making. And probably my teacher was not impressed when my bean failed to do anything except shrivel up. Bottom of the class - again!

 

May you enjoy growing and/or eating beans. And, of course, enjoy reading . Best wishes, Priscilla.

https://bwlpublishing.ca

 https://prscillabrownauthor.com

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Famous Authors and Famous Words by Eden Monroe

 

Visit Eden Monroe's author page for book and purchase options

Famous authors and their famous words … and the unusual places in which they were written.

It was interesting to discover where some very well known authors chose to tap their genius, and a few might surprise you. From the confines of a coffin to a luxurious Victorian bathtub complete with fresh fruit, the jewels of their imagination were polished to perfection.

For most authors, famous or otherwise, the best place is the quietest place, while others find their muse in the midst of everyday commotion – some even seek it to start the flow of their creative juices. For me it was the silence and sweet smell of a summer haymow. That’s where I wrote my first novel, Dare To Inherit, and I was certainly not alone while there. Watching nearby with curious intent was a whole sisterhood of barn cats of various sizes and descriptions. However it could only ever be a short-lived writing space because when the fields begin to ripen the mow is quickly restocked - with no room for authors.

A café was the now famous choice of J K Rowling while creating a good portion of Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone. And Dame Edith Sitwell prepared for her day’s writing by lying, until inspired, in an actual coffin. And how about Sir Walter Scott? One of his most famous poems, Marmion: A Tale of Flodden Field, came about while riding horseback in the hills not far from Edinburgh, Scotland. Said the much-celebrated bard himself: “I had many a grand gallop among these braes when I was thinking of Marmion.”

As I Lay Dying is the epic Southern Gothic novel by one of the all-time greats, 1949 Nobel Prize in Literature winner, William Faulkner. It was written in a most surprising place, a power plant, where Faulkner was working as a supervisor during the night shift. And the incomparable Maya Angelou wrote in rented hotel rooms where she created her magnificent brand of magic. British spy novelist John le Carré often wrote while riding trains, while Gertrude Stein, American writer, poet and playwright, equally inspired by motion it seems, put pen and paper to good use in her Model T.

Charles Dickens usually chose a more traditional spot to write some of the best literature ever written, classic novels such as The Pickwick Papers, A Christmas Carol, David Copperfield and more, and that was while sitting at his desk. In fact his own desk and chair were so vital to his creative process that he’d have the pair shipped to him during extended absences from home. For Virginia Woolf, considered one of the foremost modernists of the Twentieth Century, it was a much-loved old armchair in a basement storage room, and Agatha Christie’s legendary mystery plots were sorted out while sitting in a large Victorian bathtub - eating fresh plump apples.

Stephen King is said to have used the laundry room in the family’s doublewide trailer during the early days of his writing career, at least that’s where Carrie was written on a makeshift desk wedged between the washer and dryer. And Charlotte Webb’s E. B. White often chose his own busy living room with his family around him to write his masterpieces, pointing out: “A writer who waits for ideal conditions under which to work will die without putting a word on paper.”

In addition to a particular space, there were also favourite writing times preferred by many famous authors. It’s said that Hemmingway was inspired by the first light of morning. For Mark Twain, who wrote every day, it was after tucking away a generous meal at the breakfast table that held him until it was time for dinner. During the intervening hours he wrote, and if his family should need him, “they would blow a loud horn and he would come.”

George Bernard Shaw also liked to write during the day and presumably only when the sun was shining. To accomplish that he chose a most unique setting to create his Pygmalion, a custom-made rotating hut in his backyard. The why of such a contraption is simple, Shaw liked to write while sitting in the direct path of the sun and the rotating hut accomplished that.

Every author knows what suits them best and they instinctively gravitate toward that. Personally I like to lose myself in the world I’m creating, and ideally with no interruptions. Unfortunately even one interruption can put the brakes on a delicious creative flow. Sometimes it stops it altogether if the interruption is prolonged, although it’s something that we as authors must routinely rise above. Other times of course nothing can stop the rush of a good story when all we can do is work at breakneck speed to capture it as quickly as it’s coming to us. I sometimes write in longhand and such was the case with Storms in the Valley, book two of the Emerald Valley Ranch series. That story told itself, I was just along for the ride. All I had to do was get it down on paper and I still remember my pen racing across the page, enjoying the story as it unfolded.

The sounds of nature, such as wind, birdsong, the hooting of an owl or the scream of seagulls, rain, thunder, a babbling brook, ocean waves breaking on a pebbled beach, and on and on, are not interruptions at all but rather an accompanying natural orchestra that can help set the scene. In some cases there can be a little too much nature, such as a young bear stretched out under the deck of my tiny cottage on a hot afternoon. That’s where I went to write, and as it turns out it’s also where the bear went to sleep, so I left quietly and so did the bear at some point.

I named my tiny cottage that sits by the side of a lake, Birch Petal, nestled as it is in a stand of handsome white and yellow birch trees. Michael created this space for me - a little think tank where I could write, and many years before that he’d actually built the beautiful three-acre lake itself. The view from the Birch Petal deck never failed to inspire me.

No matter where writers may write - or when, all authors aspire to be famous. It’s the storyteller in us, and the audience we seek to entertain. And no matter the level of our success, most authors write for that one special someone in their life. I wrote for my beloved Michael.   He will always be my inspiration, an enormous and integral part of my journey as an author. He was a knowledgeable resource, an indispensible critic and always, my greatest champion.

Windego, and other Monsters

Fly Away Snow Goose

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WINDEGO: An evil spirit of the northland, a monstrous creature who comes prowling in winter, hungry for human flesh; it is remorseless, pitiless. 

If the year was a lean one, winter was a hard time for the hunter/gatherers who lived in the NWT. The People would leave their summer camps in small groups and scatter into the vast emptiness, away from the lakes and rivers where they'd all come together as a tribe to trade and celebrate the fat season of summe. Our of necessity, they'd change their tribal, summer way of life to retreat to live in isolation, hunting and trapping the range around them, away from others who were now engaged in the same thing. Sometimes, it did not go well; the hunters were not lucky; the game was scarce or had changed from their accustomed paths of migration. 

Then, the spectre of starvation haunted the isolated camps, and sometimes people were driven to desperate measures in order to survive. A man who had eaten his family in order to stay alive, was said to have "gone  Windego." Such a primal sin was viewed with horror, so a monster was created to explain this counter-cultural behavior. A few of those stories came to be written down in early colonial times, but the oral versions were well known to those who were exposed to the fierce winters, who sometimes had experienced, first-hand, hunger and the awful struggle to survive. 

It is said the Windego eats his own lips and checks, so his skull is always partially visible, and he arrives surrounded by a stench so horrible that it even overpowers the bitter winter wind.  People, driven to this extremity, were believed to have been taken over by this dreadful being, and that was the reason they had committed the unholy crime of cannibalism.  In fact, during the 19th Century, early Canadian psychologists defined "going Windego" as a "culturally based" disorder.

(Thunderbird--well known to the Northern First Nations--

among the Tlicho, Thunderbird was referred to indirectly, as "Father."

He's one of the good guys.)

Today, the Windego is, in some quarters, viewed as a cryptid. Wikipeidia defines cryptids as "animals that cryptozoologists believe may exist somewhere in the wild, but are not believed to exist by mainstream science." Cryptozoology primarily looks at anecdotes and blurry photos, the sort of  claims rejected by the scientific community. These monsters now feature in YouTube videos in all manner of ghastly forms, but this vision of the Windego is of only passing interest to me.

"Windego" appears to me--not as a myth created by "superstitious 1st Nation's People," --but as an acutely observed form of human personality disorder. I didn't figure this out on my own, but by listening to Buffy Sainte Marie's song called "Priests of the Golden Bull." 

She makes a connection with the storied monster and the unfettered greed and disregard for the cooperative behavior which holds together our societies. Look around. The Dark Triad personality, (where a subject possesses a toxic combo of Narcissism, Michiavellianism and Psychopathy) is having a good run these days among CEO's, Tech Bros, politicians, and the sort of "religous" figures who live in gated mansions and always need their followers to send more money. 

In a world where it's considered smart to get rich while ignoring the human suffering or the irreparable harm pursuit of this quarter's profits causes a community -- or the arm done to the water, the air, or the planet -- Ms. Sainte Marie sees the ever-hungry, cannibalistic Windigo. The "Greed is Good," mentality is on display everywhere. 

Take a look at ever so many modern companies, their successes measured by how many jobs they've eliminated, or how they've stolen pension funds from retirees in the course of a merger, or how many rural communities they have destroyed, for instance, building a petrochemical refinery or an industrial pig farm next door to a small town which doesn't have the clout to fight back. 

"Gentrification" in cities raises rents until the essential workers--those who run the store checkouts, clean the buildings and streets, teach and/or care for children and seniors, can no longer afford to live close to where they are employed. Other casualties include small entrepreneurial businesses of all kinds, from restaurants and local bars, to independent bookshops and corner convenience stores.

Today's Windego doesn't just live in the deep woods. These days, he (or she) is seen as a "celebrity," on our television screens, and all over the internet and Twitter. Many are even elected to high public office. Worst of all, their "Not my brother's keeper" attitude is now held up to young people as the smart way to live. 

Instead of dwelling on psychos and cannibals, instead, let's take this time of All Hallows, All Saints and All Souls to find some peace and to give thanks: to remember our ancestors, our friends, mentors, and family who have passed beyond the veil. Let's also remember our honored dead, the kind of people who served and helped, rather than injured, the common folks of our communities and our country. 

~~Juliet Waldron 

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