Romance of the everyday

When it comes to writing romance, I am in love with the everyday. Again and again, I actively seek out fiction and romance that deals with so-called ‘ordinary’ people.

Why?

Because to me a hero or heroine is more striving and heroic if they win through after many trials and adventures with their own skills, wit and effort, not because they happen to be born into a class or position.

Because a hero is more beautiful to me if he is not massively handsome but that feeling, true emotion for the heroine, makes him ‘pretty’. (I also like this theme the other way round – I love the part in Jane Eyre where the heroine goes down to breakfast after accepting Mr Rochester’s proposal and she looks, even to herself, glowing and pretty, ‘truly pretty’ as Mr R tells her.)

Because if the hero or heroine has tons of money or special powers that they can use at the snap of their languid fingers, where is the tension?

Skill impresses me and has a poetry of its own. Watch anyone who is really good at something – a potter with a wheel, a farrier, a shepherd, a dustman dealing with wheelie bins – and there is an elegance, a romance. I love to celebrate skill in the romances I write and I always have my warrior have a gentler skill as well as their fighting. (I don’t admire a fighter who can do nothing but battle, because how can such a person create a life and a relationship if they only destroy?) A warrior as strong protector, yes, a warrior fighting for kudos, OK, but a warrior who is a glory-junkie and no more? No thanks.

We live in a complex world and I like to write romances that reflect this and celebrate whose who heal, who create, who build, who make.

So I write about knights but mainly younger sons, who have to make their own way and who don’t have everything handed to them – I do this in A Knight's Enchantment and A Knight's Captive - and knights who are scarred or grieving and must find another path to live their lives  - I do this in  To Touch the Knight, A Knight's Vow and The Snow Bride.

I write about foresters and dairy maids (Midsummer Maid), slave girls and scribes (Flavia's Secret), serfs and peasants (To Touch the Knight, The Lord and Eleanor) bull-leapers and kings of small, rural kingdoms where the king helps with the harvest and is also a healer (Bronze Lightning).

In all these, I try to weave the everyday into the stories, those special everyday moments – the first kiss, the ‘I love you’ time, the recognition that this person is ‘the one’, the moment when my hero and heroine meet again, feeling a happy glow, even if they’ve only been apart for a moment. 

We all have times when the world shimmers about us and we feel apart from the hurly-burly, when we step into our own magic world with those we care about.

Everyday but special. That’s what I love to write about and read about.

Lindsay
http://www.lindsaytownsend.net
http://www.twitter.com/lindsayromantic

Bought as a bed slave from the slave market

Blurb: Bought as a bed slave from the slave market in Dublin, Emer hasn't a clue what to expect from her new master. She doesn't know if she will survive the night, but she isn't about to give in with a struggle....

Excerpt:

Emer looked round. All he said was true. Thick, square pillars of golden wood rose up to meet the rafters, and the roof sloped down to meet the walls at the height of a tall man. Unbleached linen hid the lower portion of walls free of sleeping platforms, and someone’s clever needle had sketched mythical animals around it in coloured wool.

“It is a fair hall,” she agreed. “But it is not home.”

Flane sat on the bed, grasped her shoulders and pulled her back to lie on the mattress beside him. He laughed into her wide, shocked eyes. His lips dived to the skin beneath her jaw and nuzzled towards the neckline split in her chemise while his fingers untied the knot that held the strings closed. He parted the fabric and his mouth slid down towards the newly revealed curve of her breast. His bristles rasped against her skin and Emer fended him off with both hands.

“Don’t! Don’t!”

He braced one hand to either side of her shoulders and loomed over her. “What’s wrong?”

Emer gulped. “It isn’t right,” she muttered, unable to meet his steady gaze. She looked across the hall, where children ran about, getting in the way of their elders, and a dog barked as it leapt crazily about his newly returned master. The rest of the world seemed to be going on as normal, and here she was fighting for her virtue. No one cared.

No one had even noticed.

Flane chuckled, and she faced him suspiciously. “I can’t think of anything better,” he said. “What’s not right?”

At his tone, some of her anxiety dispersed. She focussed on his leather jerkin and a part of her brain registered that someone had dressed the leather very well indeed, and threaded small tassels through the shoulder seam. She admired the pale shade, which so nearly matched his hair.

“Be brave,” he said. “Tell me.”

He taunted her now. Emer saw the mischief in his eyes, and caution vanished. “I cannot be happy in a place where we are on public view.” She opened her eyes wide and words, unheeded, shot out of her mouth. “And we should be married before you bed me!” Her breath came and went as if she’d been running and warm blood rushed beneath the skin of her throat and face.

“Really?” His voice betrayed nothing, but his silver brows drew down in a frown. “And how would marriage change anything?”

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B008COC94Q will take you to the Review/Buy page.

Jen Black.

http://jenblackauthor.blogspot.com, @speckledbirds

New Release: A Baron in Her Bed

Available in print and Kindle. Amazon UK Buy Link: http://www.amazon.co.uk/Baron-Her-Bed-Spies-Mayfair/dp/1908483342/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1343609367&sr=1-1
Blurb: London, 1816. A handsome baron. A faux betrothal. And Horatia's plan to join the London literary set takes a dangerous turn. Now that the war with France has ended, Baron Guy Fortescue arrives in England to claim his inheritance, abandoned over thirty years ago when his father fled to France after killing a man in a duel. When Guy is set upon by footpads in London, a stranger, Lord Strathairn, rescues and befriends him. But while travelling to his country estate, Guy is again attacked. He escapes only to knock himself out on a tree branch.

Aspiring poet Horatia Cavendish has taken to riding her father's stallion, "The General", around the countryside of Digswell dressed as a groom. She has become bored of her country life and longs to escape to London to pursue her desire to become part of the London literary set. When she discovers Guy lying unconscious on the road, the two are forced to take shelter for the night in a hunting lodge. After Guy discovers her ruse, a friendship develops between them. Guy suspects his relative, Eustace Fennimore is behind the attacks on his life. He has been ensconced in Rosecroft Hall during the family's exile and will become the heir should Guy die. Horatia refuses to believe her godfather, Eustace, is responsible. But when Guy proposes a faux betrothal to give him more time to discover the truth, she agrees. Secure in the knowledge that his daughter will finally wed, Horatia's father allows her to visit her blue-stocking aunt in London. But Horatia's time spent in London proves to be anything but a literary feast, for a dangerous foe plots Guy's demise. She is determined to keep alive her handsome fiance, who has proven more than willing to play the part of her lover even as he resists her attempts to save him.

Excerpt: The stables were empty and satisfactorily gloomy. The General whinnied a greeting. Simon had gone off to the village apothecary to fetch her father’s medicine. That was the only excuse she could think of, but as he would soon be in need of it, the order caused no comment. She patted The General’s nose and fed him an apple. By the time the last of it had disappeared, she heard the clip of a horse’s hooves on the gravel drive. She peeped out of the barn door and saw the baron, tall in the saddle, riding towards the house.
 
Horatia stepped out and beckoned him.

He caught sight of her and rode towards the stables then dismounted and led the horse inside. “Sorry, my lord,” Horatia said, adopting Simon’s gruff voice. “We have no footman here. No under-groom neither. I’ll stable your horse.”

A Hidden City - Medieval Bath. Lindsay Townsend

The city of Bath in Somerset, south west England is a world heritage site, famous for its Roman baths and its Regency architecture. I drew on the Roman city of Aquae Sulis and its baths for my historical romance Flavia’s Secret. There is also a hidden city at Bath, the medieval city, parts of which remain even after much has been built over, adapted, added to or superseded by the Regency makeover the city underwent in the eighteenth century.

            We can see the medieval city in John Speed’s 1610 map of Bath. It’s small and walled, with towers and gates. The thermal baths are there, and there are orchards, churches and hospitals. The Abbey is also shown, smaller than in the early Middle Ages when it was extensively added to by Bishop John, who wished to make Bath the seat of his bishopric. This Abbey church was wrecked by fire in 1137 and the whole monastery complex declined, especially after the Black Death in 1439. Later, the rebuilt church occupied only the nave-space of the former Norman cathedral.

            Other medieval buildings of Bath, such as St Catherine’s hospital on Bilbury Lane, the church of St Mary of Stalls and Alsi’s bath have long disappeared, their foundations hidden beneath the later expansion of the city. However aspects of medieval Bath do survive. A section of city walls still stands in Upper Borough and is now protected. Part of one of the ancient gates, the East Gate, remains, close to Robert Adam’s Pulteney Bridge. Many of the Georgian-fronted buildings turn out to have hidden medieval timber frames and structures behind the palladian facades, such as was discovered behind the front of 21-22 High Street. There are medieval cellars, too, such as one in Abbey Church House. The ancient healing place of the Hospital of St John the Baptist, ‘the hospital of the baths’ still partly fulfils its original medieval function.

            I have recreated the medieval city and its baths in my forthcoming historical mystery, An Older Evil, the first of a series featuring Alyson, a widow of Bath.

Lindsay Townsend  http://www.lindsaytownsend.net 

Review of Ruby Red by Kirstin Geir

I don’t normally read YA Literature but this book was a gift – so I read it with the proviso that if it didn’t grab me, I wouldn’t persevere.  The opening chapter was pretty odd, all telling and dialogue which didn’t make much sense. However, the next chapter was better, and I was surprised at how Gwyneth grabbed my attention as the concept of the story started to be explained.  Seeing everything through Gwyneth’s unique perspective was funny and charming in places – however, I pictured her in my head at about eleven, when in fact it turns out she’s sixteen!

Gwyneth Shepherd's sophisticated, beautiful cousin Charlotte, not only gets A+ grades in all her school assignments, but she is also being groomed by her family to travel through time. Charlotte has apparently inherited the Montrose family gene which, once mature, can be harnessed and directed to complete the great mission of the time travellers.

Gwyneth and Charlotte live in a house of women, her Grandmother Lady Arista Aunt Glenda, Great Aunt Maddy and her visions, Gwyneth’s younger sister Caroline – and brother Nick. Poor boy, with all these batty women going on about waiting for Charlotte’s dizzy spells to throw her through time, no wonder he’s so flummoxed and gets chewing gum stuck in his hair.

The problem is, it’s not Charlotte who does the travelling – but Gwyneth, and she doesn’t have the benefit of ten years training that Charlotte has. To complicate things further, and frustrate Gwyneth, who certainly never asked for this, no one but Grace, Gwyneth’s Mum, and her friend Lesley, believes her.

Her veracity in question, Gwyneth is checked by ‘The Temple’ to confirm that what she says is happening to her actually is – they have ways.  Gwyneth is then presented with a few problems to solve – other than making sure she doesn’t get run over by a horse-drawn carriage when she appears in the middle of the road in 1850 that is – or being chased through her own house when the servants think she’s an intruder a hundred years before.

Why would Grace lie about Gwyneth’s birth date, and what happened to her cousin Lucy after she allegedly stole the first chronograph?  Then there is Gideon, a time traveller from another gifted family, the de Villiers, who thought he was to travel through time with Charlotte, but now has to make do with Gwyneth instead. 

You cannot help empathising with Gwyneth, who is part of a fatherless family with her two siblings and her mother consigned to the servants’ quarters of their rambling, three story mansion located just behind Selfridges in Oxford Street – which would put its value at around the £5 million mark.  Not a three bed semi then, and yet Gwyneth seems at first to be not welcome but tolerated.

Gwyneth grows into her role as the family great white hope and starts to make demands on the matriarchs who bully her secretive mother. Even in time-travelling families there are conflicts, feuds and secrets.

The philosophy of the historical tradition of time travel was beautifully written, and I became fascinated with the poems and writings of St Germain as if they were real.  It’s well thought out and quite logical – and the precincts of ‘The Temple’ conjured all the mysteries and magic of Hogwarts.

This story would make a great film – and also makes me want to investigate the next two books in the trilogy – Sapphire Blue and Emerald Green. My only criticism is for the English translation from original German they have changed this beautiful cover!

Renaissance Weddings

Marriage was rarely about love, but generally about money, land, estates, politics or power. Henry IV knew that France was in a parlous state, and much as he might wish to marry Henriette d’Entragues, his mistress, he must do his duty and marry an Italian Princess, Marie de Medici. Henriette dubbed her ‘The fat banker.’

Marie de Medici arriving at Marseilles

To any marriage, the bride was expected to bring a dowry and a bridal trousseau. ‘The marriage arrangements have been successfully concluded.’ Ferdinando I, Grand Duke of Tuscany, beamed exultantly upon his niece. ‘In return I have agreed to release France from its indebtedness, the balance to be given in cash to a total sum of 600,000 crowns, which will represent your dowry. Poor Marie. She was but a pawn in a game of politics.

A daughter of the bourgeoisie might have brought linen, household goods, pewter plates, candlesticks, or even livestock. Marie brought jewels in addition to the vast sum paid by her uncle. But then she was a royal princess.

This property was not hers to keep. On marriage it passed into the possession of her husband, as did she herself. If the marriage was annulled, as in the case of Marguerite de Valois, Henry’s first wife, then the bridal dowry would be returned, and sometimes too her dower estates. Except in Margot’s case she had to fight for the return of hers, and until the finances were agreed between herself and Henry, she refused to grant him the divorce he craved to marry Marie de Medici.

Royal brides often went through a proxy marriage first, as the intended husband was more than likely thousands of miles away, and she would not be allowed to embark on such a journey without that security. It was as binding as the true marriage ceremony, which followed when the bride and groom actually met.

For Marie’s proxy wedding, The Duc de Bellegarde, Grand Equerry of France, together with an entourage of forty nobles, reached Livorno on the 20th of September. Seven days later he entered Florence, and on 6 October 1600, the proxy wedding took place, the Grand Duke Ferdinando himself standing in for the absent husband. His Eminence made his entry on horseback beneath a canopy held high by eight young Florentine nobles, preceded by all the ecclesiastical and secular bodies, sixteen prelates, and fifty gentlemen bearing halberds.

The baroque

Afterwards would come the celebrations with a ball and banquet, hunting-parties, jousts, races, tilting at the ring and other sports, while the nights would be filled with dancing, plays, masques and ballets. The bride would then set out to go to her husband, a journey across land and sea which might take weeks or even months. And often within a day of meeting, the ceremony proper would take place.

Marie de Medici's Wedding

Dressed in a gown of crimson, blue and gold, fashioned in the Italian style and glittering with jewels that represented a goodly portion of her dowry, she looked a queen in every respect, even one not yet crowned. About her neck she wore the valuable pearl necklace, given to her by the King, but the most magnificent ornament consisted of an octagonal diamond brooch. Worn on her stomacher it was framed by several smaller stones, each enclosing a portrait in enamel of one of the princes of her house, beneath which hung three large teardrop pearls. It became known as the Queen’s Brilliant.

And so the bride would be wedded and bedded to a perfect stranger, stripped of her possessions, her ladies-in-waiting often returned whence they came, and a whole new way of life in a foreign land would begin. Within days of Marie de Medici’s marriage, Henry returned to Henriette.

Henriette d'Entragues

Henriette d'Entragues isn't satisfied with simply being the mistress of Henry IV of France, she wants a crown too. Despite his promises to marry her, the King is obliged by political necessity to ally himself with Marie de Medici, an Italian princess who will bring riches to the treasury. But Henriette isn’t for giving up easily. She has a written promise of marriage which she intends to use to declare the royal marriage illegal. All she has to do to achieve her ambition is to give Henry a son, then whatever it takes through intrigue and conspiracy to set him on the throne.

The Queen and the Courtesan can be found as a paperback or ebook here:

Amazon

The Renaissance Betrothal

Popular since the Middle Ages, betrothal ceremonies frequently involved some sort of ceremony or symbolic act. This is believed to date back to the time of ancient Rome. In Anglo-Saxon England the joining of hands to seal the betrothal was common as we know from the term ‘handfasting’ to signify a betrothal. In fourteenth and fifteenth century Italy, the betrothal was sealed by a handshake between the parents, or at best the father of the bride and the prospective groom.

In sixteenth century France this ritual was known as les accords. There would be the giving of a ring, often a gimmel ring which was in two parts, one to be worn by the prospective groom, the other by the bride, the two joined together to form the wedding ring. Records indicate the drinking of wine to toast the agreement, or taking part in a sumptuous feast ‘in the name of marriage’, or simply be sealed with a kiss.

The betrothal ceremony confirmed that these two people promised to marry one another, an agreement which could be considered more legally binding than the marriage ceremony itself. Once betrothed, if a couple had sexual intercourse, then they were considered married. And a betrothal contract could only be broken if both parties agreed.

Not that the young woman concerned had much say in the matter. Marriage was less about love and more about wealth, position and power, which meant, as we romantic novelists know, plenty of opportunity for extra-curricular activity in the way of affairs. Henry IV is reputed to have enjoyed at least 60 mistresses with whom he sired numerous illegitimate children, and three or four maîtresse-en-titre.

But with Henriette de’Entragues he perhaps took on more than he’d bargained for she had set her sights on nothing less than marriage, and with it a crown. She therefore insisted upon a promesse de matrimonio before agreeing to surrender her maidenhead, allegedly still intact, and becoming his mistress. In a weak moment of overwhelming desire, Henry agreed that if she could give him a son, then he would marry her. A decision which was to create untold problems in the years ahead, and leave Henriette fighting a battle for what she perceived to be her rights, at whatever the cost.


Next came the fiançailles when the bans were published. The parents, bride and bridegroom would visit the curé together to attend to this important matter. Then came the Epousailles which of course took place in church. The bridegroom was not allowed to enter without giving a considerable sum in alms, and guests were chosen to attend the wedding breakfast with an eye to the money they’d be likely to give. A bowl was handed round at dinner into which donations for a ‘nest-egg’ for the couple could be dropped.

Henry left such traditions to the bourgeoisie, but provided well for all his children, whatever their status, and was a loving father. Those he had with Henriette shared the royal nursery with the legitimate heirs he had with his queen, Marie de Medici, much to that lady’s displeasure. But Henry loved to play with them, and it was so much more practical to keep them all together in one place. The people of Paris were highly entertained by the fact that his mistress and queen were often enceinte at the same time.

The Queen and the Courtesan, published 29 June, can be found as a paperback or ebook here: 

Amazon

The Calendar of the French Revolution

Happy Bastille Day, all. Vive la France!

The French Revolution in 1789 was supposed to create a new order in France. Out with aristocratic tyranny, in with republican democracy! Liberté, égalité, fraternité!

Well, not quite. As part of the process of ousting monarchy, the French Revolution swept away many of the trappings of the Ancien Régime, or attempted to. One of the things they changed was the calendar.

Various versions of the revolutionary calendar existed from 1789 until 1792. But the dates were confusing. What was the start date, January 1, 1789, or July 14, 1789 (the storming of the Bastille)? Since financial transactions especially suffered from this confusion, the legislature made a final decision in 1792 when the French Republic was established. By naming 1792 Year One, the Calendar of the Revolution is in reality the Calendar of the Republic. In France, the same calendar is known as both calendrier républicain as well as the calendrier révolutionnaire.

The Calendar of the Revolution consisted of twelve months of thirty days each and started at the autumnal equinox. The months received new names derived from nature, the nature mainly the weather around Paris. The years are written in Roman numerals.

From Wikipedia:

Autumn:
Vendémiaire in French (from Latin vindemia, "grape harvest"), starting 22, 23 or 24 September
Brumaire (from French brume, "fog"), starting 22, 23 or 24 October
Frimaire (From French frimas, "frost"), starting 21, 22 or 23 November

Winter:
Nivôse (from Latin nivosus, "snowy"), starting 21, 22 or 23 December
Pluviôse (from Latin pluvius, "rainy"), starting 20, 21 or 22 January
Ventôse (from Latin ventosus, "windy"), starting 19, 20 or 21 February

Spring:
Germinal (from Latin germen, "germination"), starting 20 or 21 March
Floréal (from Latin flos, "flower"), starting 20 or 21 April
Prairial (from French prairie, "pasture"), starting 20 or 21 May

Summer:
Messidor (from Latin messis, "harvest"), starting 19 or 20 June
Thermidor (or Fervidor) (from Greek thermon, "summer heat"), starting 19 or 20 July
Fructidor (from Latin fructus, "fruit"), starting 18 or 19 August

The calendar changes didn't end with the months. Within each month were three weeks of ten days apiece, called décades.

The year ended with five extra days to fill in the discrepancy between the order of the French calendar and the disorder of the physical year, which refused to use less than 365 days (or 366 days in leap years).

In the French Calendar of the Revolution, today, July 14, 2012 is 25 Messidor CCXX. A Gregorian-Revolutionary Calendar converter is here. (use Internet Explorer).

The adoption of the final form of the new calendar didn't end France's calendar woes. The French still had to communicate with the outside world which used the Gregorian calendar. The onus of translating between two calendars added another level of tedium and confusion to the dating of events.

The Calendar of the Revolution came to an end some thirteen years after its adoption, when Napoleon declared the day after 10 Nivôse An XIV as January 1, 1806.

Thank you all,
Linda
Linda Banche
Welcome to My World of Historical Hilarity!
http://www.lindabanche.com

Picture is the Calendrier républicain de 1794 from Wikipedia

Vikings and Christians

Far After Gold by Jen Black is up on Amazon Kindle at a very low price!
Amazon 

The paperback has been lying forgotten on my shelves for a couple of years since Quaestor ceased trading in 2010 due to the owner's ill-health. The book had just over a year of life as a viable paperback, and I suddenly thought - why waste all that effort? why not put it up on Amazon Kindle?

Checking my pc, I didn't have a file for it. None of my USB sticks held a copy. The thought of re-typing it all from the paperback, or scanning it, was not encouraging. Finally I found a copy on an old hard disc, which reminded me How Things Have Changed in a few years!

So I began with an old computer version. I put it into text to take out all the Quaestor formatting, and then began the laborious task of putting all the punctuation back in again. It takes time. As I inserted paragraphs and suchlike, I began tweaking the words themselves; a word here, a deletion there, but soon, I was taking out and rewriting whole chunks. All I can say is I wrote FAG, as I call it, about six or seven years ago, and I've learned a lot since then.

So, it's now a smart, sexy, romantic tale of a young Christian girl bought as a slave by a young Viking warrior.

Here's an excerpt:

“Come with me.”

 Emer stood rooted to the deck. Flane reached the gangplank, turned and beckoned.

 Emer scowled and did not move.

 Flane clicked his fingers. Astounded, Emer lifted her chin, turned her head and stared pointedly out to sea. From the corner of her eye she saw one sailor nudge another and both stopped what they were doing to watch what would happen next. Memories of the overseer and his cane flashed through her mind, and she decided moving might be her wisest choice even though he treated her like his favourite hound. Pride stiffened her spine as she halted before him.

 “My name is Flane.” He tapped his chest and repeated the words, as if she were stupid, and then sighed. “Trust me to pick a girl who doesn’t understand the language.” He drew his dagger, and the fierce blade flashed silver in the sunlight.

 Emer’s heart leapt into her throat. Would he kill her because she could not speak his language? What other reason could he have? Should she speak now, before it was too late? She met his blue glance for an instant even as she took a swift step back, ready to run, heedlessly, in any direction.

 He caught her wrist and dragged her in close.

 Her heart thudded wildly at the sudden contact of chest, hip and thigh. Mesmerised by his steady blue gaze, she stood there in the thin sunlight with the sound of water lapping against the ship and the smell of seawater and seaweed in her nostrils. She drew a swift, choked breath of air. Her last moment in the world had arrived, and she could not free her tongue to speak. Dear God…. She shut her eyes, awaiting the bite of cold steel at her throat. Dear Lord, accept my soul this day…

 He hooked one finger under her leather slave collar. Surprised, she opened her eyes and flinched at the sight of the steel blade flashing wickedly in the sunlight.

“Steady, steady,” he murmured, as if to a nervous animal. “I thought you’d rather be free of this.” He gave a couple of gentle tugs on the leather collar at her neck, and before she grasped his intention, the steel sliced through the hated thing. She never even felt the coldness of the blade.

 He dangled the strip of leather with its attendant piece of rope in front of her. “Do you want to keep it?”

                                         *********************************

Visit Jen's blog today and learn fascinating facts about castles -
http://jenblackauthor.blogspot.com

Furious at being frightened and then gentled like a nervous horse, Emer seized the hated collar and hurled it far out over the loch.

4 star review from RT Book Reviews for Hostage to Fortune

 E-book & Print. BUY: http://www.amazon.com/Hostage-to-Fortune-ebook/dp/B006GQFCE6/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1340417377&sr=8-2&keywords=hostage+to+fortune

HOSTAGE TO FORTUNE
by Maggi Andersen
Genre: Historical Romance, E-book, England, France
Sensuality: HOT
Setting: 1792 England and France

RT Rating

This is an adventure not to be missed. The excitement mounts as danger appears around every corner. The devastation of the French Revolution is a backdrop to the well-executed plot. Love is in the air for three couples, but will they survive to realize their dreams?

Verity is an actress whose father is in a French dungeon. To free him she must deliver Anthony Beaumont in trade. She travels to London to seduce Anthony into following her to France. She doesn’t plan on falling in love. Then, he hares off on his own to France to locate his brother-in-law. Verity follows him, reluctantly taking along his daughter who refuses to be left behind. Unfortunately, they just miss joining Anthony, as soldiers of the Revolution reach their destination ahead of them and capture him and his brother-in-law. Will everyone finally be reunited, or will they face the guillotine? (MAGGIANDERSENAUTHOR.COM

Turning Historical Fact into Fiction

Sebastian Faulks has described himself as a novelist whose books happen to be set in the past. ‘For me,’ he said, ‘the use of historical settings is to cast the present in a more interesting and broader light.’ People are clearly more important to him than circumstantial detail. Some novels are so deeply researched they seem like non-fiction in disguise. In a romance too much information can kill the story dead by boring the reader. Even so, we must do our research and set the scene as accurately as we can. We can take some liberties, for the sake of the story, but if we veer too far from the facts as we know them, the reader may feel cheated and lose faith in the work. If a mistake crops up, an anachronism, this will jar the reader, and jerk them out of the story back to the present.

It’s wise to avoid controversy or anything doubtful which has a hint of being anachronistic. It hasn’t so much to be correct as to feel correct. E.g: Soldiers did play baseball in the American Civil War. I believe they also played in a Jane Austen novel too. But the reader may found that hard to accept.


Societies traditions, moral mores and customs help to build the picture, but this is where even the most fanatical historian can come unstuck. Many time periods, such as the Regency, have become so stylised that you may actually be considered to have written an historically inaccurate book if you do not follow the “popular perceptions” of the period. Presenting a realistic, complex view of Society during a specific era can be the thing that makes the difference between a passable yarn and a gripping story.

Marie de Medici

It’s surely about striking the right balance. The story is the most important thing, but it must be firmly rooted in its world. It must not simply be a costume drama. I certainly needed to conduct a great deal of research for a trilogy set in Sixteenth Century France. The past must be made as relevant as the present. The problems are the same, human emotion, conflict and behaviour. Falling in love and losing that love are just as painful. Bernard Cornwell said: ‘Essentially the background has to be right because it’s the detail of the background that pins down the fiction in the foreground.’

The Queen and the Courtesan is what might be called biographical fiction, in that I have fictionalised the facts. Marie fell in love with Henry IV, to her misfortune, as it embittered her in a way. Rejection was something she could not deal with, because of experiences she'd suffered as a child. I think the hardest part of writing historical fiction based on fact, is that you can’t simply let your imagination run loose. I usually write character-driven relationship sagas but with this trilogy I had to search out every detail. It was almost like being a detective, finding out what these people were really like, the intrigues they were involved in, and what their motivation was. Fascinating, but scary too at times as I needed to read widely to gain every viewpoint before I could write with any confidence.

Henriette d’Entragues isn’t satisfied with simply being the mistress of Henry IV of France, she wants a crown too. Despite his promises to marry her, the King is obliged by political necessity to ally himself with Marie de Medici, an Italian princess who will bring riches to the treasury. But Henriette isn’t for giving up easily. She has a written promise of marriage which she intends to use to declare the royal marriage illegal. All she has to do to achieve her ambition is to give Henry a son, then whatever it takes through intrigue and conspiracy to set him on the throne.

The Queen and the Courtesan, published 29 June by Severn House, can be found as a paperback or ebook here: 

Amazon

The Gentle Wind's Caress released

My historical novel, The Gentle Wind's Caress, has been released in paperback and in digital formats. Yay!

The Blurb:Halifax, 1876. On the death of her mother and sister, Isabelle Gibson is left to fend for herself and her brother in a privately-run workhouse. After the matron's son attempts to rape her, Isabelle decides to escape him and a life of drudgery by agreeing to marry a moorland farmer she has never met. But this man, Farrell, is a drunkard and a bully in constant feud with his landlord, Ethan Harrington. When Farrell bungles a robbery and deserts her, Isabelle and Ethan are thrown together as she struggles to save the farm. Both are married and must hide their growing love. But despite the secrecy, Isabelle draws strength from Ethan as faces from the past return to haunt her and a tragedy is set to strike that will change all of their lives forever.

The except:‘He’ll be here soon.’ Hughie sat by the fire darning a sock. ‘The snow has likely held him up.’
‘What keeps him out night after night?’ She stamped her foot in frustration. ‘He drinks more than a sailor does on his first day back at port!’
 Hughie grinned.The sound of scratching made Isabelle frown. The snowstorm grew in intensity. She could no longer see the outbuildings. The scratching sounded again. ‘What is that?’
Hughie shrugged. ‘The trees on the window upstairs?’
Isabelle stepped away from the window, nibbling her fingertips. There would be no market day today. She went to walk into the scullery when a thump hit the back door. She opened it and cried out as Farrell landed at her feet.
Hughie dashed to her side and together they stared at her husband’s bloody form.‘Heaven’s above!’ Isabelle bent to touch him. He stirred and moaned. ‘Help me bring him inside, Hughie.’
They grabbed him under the arms and dragged him down the step and onto the kitchen floor. His coat was missing and his wet woollen vest cloaked him like another skin.
Farrell opened and closed his eyes. ‘Isabelle…’
‘What happened to you?’ She took a dishcloth from the table and knelt to wipe the blood oozing from a cut in his forehead. She gestured to Hughie. ‘Get me some blankets off the bed and a pillow too. He’s too heavy to lift, so I’ll have to make a bed in here for him.
’As Hughie ran to do as she bid, Isabelle quickly made him a cup of sweet tea and held his head up to pour a little into his mouth. Next, she rubbed Farrell’s cold hands between her own. Hughie ran into the room with the items she asked for, and Isabelle placed the pillow under Farrell’s head. ‘Heat a warming pan, Hughie.’
Farrell’s eyes fluttered, he moaned between blue lips.
Isabelle ran into the scullery and found an old pair of gloves. She returned and tugged them onto his icy hands. ‘Lord, what have you done to yourself?’
He murmured and opened his eyes. She tucked the blanket around him more securely. ‘Lie still.’
‘No…’She put the cup to his lips again. ‘Drink this now. You need to get warm.’
He slowly eased himself up onto one elbow. ‘Got to hide.’ He wheezed and then coughed. His split lip began to bleed freely again.
‘Hide?’ She frowned. ‘Why?’
‘They’ll find me here!’ He tried to get up, but she pushed him back down. 
‘Who?’
‘Had to run…’
Hughie knelt down beside them. ‘Has he lost his mind?’
‘Heaven knows, silly man. It’d be hardly surprising if he has, being out in this weather all night.’ She made Farrell drink again. ‘Take his boots off, Hughie.’
‘No!’ Farrell reared up. ‘I must hide.’ He gripped Isabelle’s arms until they hurt. His eyes were wide and frightened. ‘I can’t hide here. They’ll find me.’
In a panic, Isabelle glanced up at the door as though the riders from Hell would burst through it any moment. She flung away his hands, alarmed. ‘What have you done?’ Her voice sounded high to her ears.
‘They nearly caught me. Had to run.’ Farrell panted, throwing off the blanket, struggling to sit up. ‘They saw my face. I must go!’
Isabelle stood and hugged herself, fighting rising terror. ‘Tell me,’ she whispered.

To Purchase:
Amazon USA
http://www.amazon.com/Gentle-Winds-Caress-Anne-Brear/dp/1908483326/ref=sr_1_5?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1338918193&sr=1-5
Amazon UK
http://www.amazon.co.uk/-/e/B00705A120

Not Quite Regency

This is probably a good time to tell you about my new book Reluctance, released on 6th April. It is my first release for MuseItUp, and I'm really proud of this book. Writing it was a good experience, not least because I got to describe the countryside around my home!

There’s a National Trust property called Gibside http://www.nationaltrust.org.uk/gibside/

not far from me, where George Bowes made immense wealth from the coal trade. We often walk by his house and the orangery, which are roofless shells now, but the stables and the Palladian chapel are probably just as they were in his day. He had no sons to follow him, so his daughter inherited everything and was reputed to be the richest heiress in the country. She made a most unfortunate marriage which scandalised society at the time. So much is true.

 I thought I could use the basic thread, and the setting, and make a very good story out of it. The reasons people married then, as now, are many and varied, and I wanted to explore why a woman might give up her wealth, independence and property to a scoundrel.

 My heroine, Frances, was the character who initially formed in my mind. Well educated, and with an aversion to marital duties after her first marriage, she had absolutely no incentive to marry again. Yet she would do so. What was it that changed her mind? That’s the question that intrigued me.

 I think the best thing about the hero/heroine is that they are first and foremost friends. From that, comes everything else. He, for different reasons, is also against marriage, but to say more would give away the plot. There's a villain, and he is very keen on marriage - but for all the wrong reasons! 1803 is an important year in my heroine's life and nothing will be the same once it is over.

 I’ve always lived within forty miles of where I am now in the Tyne Valley, Northumberland. The only continent I haven’t visited is South America – and I’ve no plans to do so! With a degree in English/History and recently retired from library management, I write almost every day – usually historical adventures. I’m currently writing about a male protagonist in sixteenth century France, and have at last got him back to Scotland where both he and I feel more at home.

I aim to write my blog three times a week and you can visit it here: http://jenblackauthor.blogspot.com

I send the odd missive to Facebook and Twitter (@speckledbirds) and that’s about it.

Read Reluctance and let me know what you think of Frances and Jack. Here are the links:

http://museituppublishing.com

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Reluctance-ebook/dp/B007ROL46Q

Happy reading!

Jen Black

Free novel: The House of Women

Free historical novel: The House of Women is available for free on Amazon Kindle USA and UK from Friday 27 until Sunday 29th April.

http://www.amazon.co.uk/The-House-of-Women-ebook/dp/B00557VUN4/ref=ntt_at_ep_dpt_5

A Sprig of Broom

A Sprig of Broom was the first novel I had published - way back in l978. I re-published the novel just before Christmas. Why did I write this book in the first place? Well funnily enough I was inspired by a day trip my late husband, John and I took in l977.

It was a lovely sunny day in midsummer. We decided to go to the Yorkshire Dales, and tootled here and there, rested by beautiful rivers and by some odd quirk ended up in Middleham. When you arrive at Middleham you think you are in a village but actually it is a town, albeit very small. It has wonderful, lovely Georgian cottages, a smattering of welcoming pubs and all dominated by this romantic castle.

I discovered that the castle was once the home of King Richard the Third; I didn't know much about him but I was tremendously moved by a potent atmosphere in his castle. It was so quiet and peaceful, open to the skies but there was not even the sound of birds. It's a lot more commercial now but then there was just this lovely lady at the office. John and I fell in love with Middleham and the castle. I went onto research King Richard and found much to admire. Here was a man very far removed from Shakespeare's version.

John and I often went back to Middleham. We would rent a cottage and I would spend a good deal of time wandering the castle. Wenslydale itself is gorgeous, there were lots of lovely walks that we enjoyed.

I did write my book A Sprig of Broom, oddly set not in Middleham but in Wales (another favourite place but more of that at some other time) however, I did manage to, in my opinion, put the matter straight regarding the kind of man Richard was.

Just one other amusing anecdote that illustrates horses for courses (excuse the pun folks). When we arrived home I phoned my parents. I was talking to my Dad and he asked where we had been. "A little place called Middleham," I said, expecting to have to explain exactly where that was.

"Oh," says dad, an avid horse racing follower. "Mark Johnson trains there."

So I discovered two things about Middleham - Richard the Third and horse racing stables - both came to fascinate John and I on our visits. There was something so medieval about seeing those horses thunder across Middleham Moor. I have so many happy memories of Middleham and what a stroke of luck ending up there one lovely sunny Saturday afternoon.