Anon, Sir, Anon: I'll Sign My Name To It

DID you know that sometimes people fancy copies of books with a little scrawl inside them called an "autograph?" And sometimes people fancy them even more if they are acquainted with the author of said book. Well folks, I am here to tell you that autographed copies of Anon, Sir, Anon are now available for purchase from The Bookery! If you are interested in getting your copy of this charming mystery and would like an autographed version, send an email to theinkpenauthoress@gmail.com and I will be in touch with you. Cheers! I look forward to doing business with you, my dear readers.

And if you so choose to spread the word via sharing this link on Twitter or Facebook, you're a more than decent creature and I'd like to shake your hand.

Rummage-y Bits: Eccentric Places to Find Vivid Research Details

When I set out to write or read historical fiction, I am not content with merely hoping the plot (set in a certain era) will show well against the era. I want the era to be smashed into the plot like bananas into the peanut butter of a peanut-butter-banana sandwich. I don't actually know if I like peanut-butter-banana-sandwiches, but the image of smashing historic detail into your characters and scenes as you'd smash a banana into peanut butter (with a fork) was a little too tempting to deny. When have you ever known me to care about conventional associations? But sometimes it can be hard to actually find those historical tid-bits that will mix vividly with your setting. Obviously, one could cruise the back-pages of Google (frightening thought, that) for months and perhaps would finally settle on the Fountain of Youth of historical detail. On the other hand, many of us don't have months to cruise the back-pages of Google. I know I feel let down by modernity when I have to travel to Google's second page. It's like...an abyss. But we are good authors and we know when our details flop. The committed among us refuse to let our work accordion-fold with the half-baked historic flavor. So what's a well-meaning Peanut-Butter-Banana-Sandwich-Seeking author to do? Here are some of my favorite ways to find the Rummage-y Bits that make a setting pop:




1.) Check lyrical music of the era: when I want to know about 1930's pop-culture, what better place could I look for it than in a Broadway show like Anything Goes with lyrics by Cole Porter and, yes, P.G. Wodehouse? This musical happens to have been a contemporary show when it was written (1934), and has a song called "You're the Top" that basically swims with pop-culture references which makes it invaluable for knowing what sorts of things were being talked about in that raggedy, glamazon era:

"You're the top!

You're the Coliseum,

You're the top,

You're the Louvre Museum,

You're a melody

from a symphony by Strauss,

You're a Bendel bonnet,

a Shakespeare's sonnet

You're Mickey Mouse!

You're the Nile,

You're the tower of Pisa,

You're the smile

On the Mona Lisa,

I'm a worthless check,

a total wreck, a flop

but if Baby, I'm the bottom,

You're the top!

2.) Read memoirs: Not particularly memoirs by overly-famous people. I have found some of my favorite details for Anon, Sir, Anon through a a site for Northants who want to post memories of growing up in the 1930's in Northamptonshire. In fact, one of these memoirs is where the incredibly thick Northant fogs came up and gave me a cloaking-spell for the murder scene! Memoirs are different from biographies in that they are more than likely written by normal people of the era, and normal people remember normal things...normal for that time period, that is. And these normalcies can be the key to blowing readers' minds with a bit of historical writing.

3.) Pay attention to fashion: what were people wearing in that day and age? No one likes long, drawn-out descriptions of clothing, but it is true that people in the "old days" didn't dress like us, and a casual mention of a pair of gloves, the train of bustled skirt getting in someone's way, a hat being left on a train seat, or a certain perfume only enhances the reading experience.

4.) Check out newspaper ads: what were people selling? What were they buying? What advertisement jingles were thrusted into the consciousness of your characters? Say, "And what are you wearing, 'Jake from State Farm'?" today and most people will get the reference. Why not search for something in that vein that you could throw into your story-world?

5.) Look at artifacts from the period at a museum, if possible: find an artifact that captures your interest and make it a part of your plot. Perhaps it's a certain pipe on display at a WWII exhibit in one of the DC Smithsonians. Can you make that pipe belong to your MC's father? And if you want to be masochistic about it, can you have someone crush that pipe (on purpose) in your MC's presence later, further rubbing in the fact that his father was a Jew and killed on Kristallnacht? Or maybe you find a striking photo of an artifact buried on the ruins of Pompeii that wants to make its way into your Roman-seasoned fantasy novel. Swing it however you want, but use a tangible object to churn your inspiration. Your descriptions will ring true because they will be true. Some of the easiest writing I ever did was in The Windy Side of Care. Why? Because I had a tangible person on whom I based the character of Alisandra. Her personality was one thing I didn't have to fabricate.

6.) Substitute pop-culture for generalities: when I wrote certain lines in Anon, Sir, Anon, I often stopped a moment and chose a crimson reality as a replacement for the beige generality of which I had originally thought. Example? I mentioned something about Vivi's emotion-choked nerves rivalling a soprano's in pitch (or something. I forget exactly). Instead of leaving it as "a soprano," I did a quick Google search for the top ten famous sopranos in the 1930's and chose one on the list. Thus, "her nerves sang a higher pitch than a soprano," became something like, "her nerves sang a higher pitch than Lotte Schone," and what had been a graham-cracker sentence  tottering against a cardboard house suddenly had the banana smashed in.

However you find your details, commit to finding them. The readership does appreciate it. And if you have any "eccentric" ideas of your own for finding the Rummage-y Bits, please share them in a comment below! I'm always looking for new ways to bring my settings to life.

Snippets of the New Vivi & Farnham!

"Novelists who have struck a snag in the working-out of the plot are rather given to handing the problem over in this way to the clarifying action of the sub-conscious. Harriet's sub-conscious had other coffee to clear and refused quite definitely to deal with the matter..."

-Dorothy L. Sayers Have His Carcase

Most writers have periods where ill health or injury keeps them from much productivity. Most, however, don't gain said injuries from slamming the pad of their pointer finger in a metal post-office door. I have my finger bandaged up and finding that I actually can type because my pointer finger-nail is sufficiently strong and long to allow me to press the keys gingerly without intrenching on the split-open territory. I have officially begun Scotch'd The Snakes: the second Vivi & Farnham mystery. When I began Anon, Sir, Anon, I started by writing the finding-the-body sequence. This time around, I began with a letter. A letter documenting a plague of flies. It might not sound like an auspicious beginning, but it does work well, given the circumstances. I am still feeling my way into this story and haven't entirely tacked down the workings of the plot so I'm afraid you'll have to satisfy yourself with knowing that:
A.) This time it's a case of definitely-attempted-but-not-successful-murder
B.) Someone you'll love after reading Anon, Sir, Anon is a key suspect
C.) It has much to do with Scotland...after a fashion.
I've written only bits of things--none of which really have much at all to do with the actual mystery, but characters are vital so instead of actually telling you anything more about it, I've picked out some snippets of story I managed in September and I'm giving them to you today as a gift for this fine first day of October:

Dear Walter,

    The flies are horrible this time of year.

-Scotch'd The Snakes

Dear old uncle has a new play on. In times of yore, I would have thought that the same sort of thing as what Uncle Hugh meant when he said he had a new deal on. It’s not. It’s rather...well, it’s rather in the vein of feeling the approach of a sneeze and knowing a summer cold will soon follow.

-Scotch'd The Snakes

When childhood diseases came sweeping down London-town each year, Walter had always been one of the lucky few to escape the customary fortnight of bedrest. How well she remembered his impossibly healthy grin as he rode his bicycle round and round and round the garden in circles below the nursery window, and not from motives of entertaining his sick brother and girl-cousins who had all been tossed together in the sickroom like so many mismatched shoes in a car boot. No, the grin was triumphant and Walter Topham seemed to the captives a perfect bicycle-riding Alexander.

-Scotch'd The Snakes

“Considering who you are, Genevieve, you’re probably the last person I’d hit up for advice on wedded bliss.”

If he’d brought his fist into her teeth, it would have shocked her less. “That was low, Walter.” Her voice bent at the end like a twig snapped in two. “That was very low.”

Silence spread heavy wings and flapped a time or two, stirring the dim air of the chamber. Vivi dipped the cloth back into the basin and swished it in the herbed water. The tightness of being scorned knotted her breath, but quietly, deftly, Vivi wrung away the bitterness with the water and folded the cloth on the basin’s edge.

“You have been ill.” False cheer rattled the soul like bad news. “You are not yourself or you would not have said that.”

-Scotch'd The Snakes

A young woman, sturdy, free, and brazen-looking, continued her progress up the row. It did not seem to concern her that she found a stranger in her path.

It seemed the girl might pass without speaking, but Vivi smiled and addressed her: “How d’you do?”

Nipping off her pace, the young woman stopped. She bit free her glove and tucked a riding crop beneath her left arm. “Warmish day, isn’t it?” Her blue eyes seemed unafraid of raw manners as she poured curiosity over Vivi. “Sultana’s Rhombus nearly pitched me at Norton Bavant but I threw the balance forward and it ended nicely. Quite nicely. Wish there’d been an audience.”

-Scotch'd The Snakes

Could one feel a color? If so, Vivi felt quite sure she had turned a spirited shade of beet. “I’m his...cousin. Genevieve Langley.”

Delaney tossed her head in a confident laugh. “You really mustn’t mind me, darling. Walter used to dabble so, but that’s only because them other girls didn’t know how to bridle him. I do. Heaven’s gates, I do. And scarce a day goes by I don’t remind him of it. Bally men.” She took the crop from under her arm and touched the leather tassles to Vivi’s shoulder. The accompanying wink struck Vivi as friendly, which startled her. She had not thought Delaney Graham’s opinion of her very chummy. “Walk with me.”

-Scotch'd The Snakes

"Dash it all, Pelinor!" Or: Cursing In Literature

I love how topics, like fashion, recirculate every little while. I hope we've learned to drop the topic-version of harem-pants and tie-dyed tops, but there are some subjects that can stand a re-hashing. Back in June of this year, Abigail Hartman wrote a very well thought-out post on the subject of swearing in her novels. In Hartman's words:

When a word comes to mind as admirably suited to a piece of dialogue, do you go ahead and write it, or do you hurriedly shoo it out and substitute something that, let's be honest, is always rather stale by comparison?

-And-

Bad words are for bad things.  When your wife is murdered, when you come up against a blackmailer, when your rival's about to win the man you love, when you've just been played for a fool, "oh bother" is not the first thing that springs to your mind.  Maybe we as the authors don't condone it, but we don't have to sermonize about it (that's even worse than not using the word in the first place).  We ought to write with understanding and compassion for the nature of man in all his God-made glory - fallen glory, yes, but glory all the same.  That includes the imperfections and the red-blooded passion of the real world.

At the time, I was not terribly active on the blogs, being in the middle of finishing "final" edits for Anon, Sir, Anon and traveling all around the country, but I remember being in possession of a feeling akin that shared by Mrs. Banks:

"Oh George, you didn't jump into the river. How sensible of you!"

This post I am now writing is intended strictly for a discussion of language in literature. In my day-to-day life, I don't curse and barely even use words like "crap". This has more to do with the fact that I despise sounding common and I live in a town of rednecks who use those words in place of adjectives. Frankly, I think cursing makes one sound less intelligent. I am not making any statements as far as the morality of using "damn" or "hell". Those words are of a different ilk than the Famous Four-Letter Furies which, I believe strongly, you can do without. Those four-letter words are understood by everyone in everyplace to be used to intentionally hurt a person or, simply, to be crass.
But "hell" and "damn" are in the Bible and if you want to argue logic, "hell" and "damn" are both very effective curses. It is definitely wrong to say "damn you" or "go to hell" as directed toward a person, because that is a very serious invocation and God's word says that Jesus himself was not willing that any should perish. In cursing at someone, you are telling them you'd like them to be Satan's property forevermore and that is hideous. But likening the pain inflicted by stepping on a Lego in the dark to the pain inflicted by a lake brimming with fire is probably quite honest. I know that my human concept of ceaseless pain cannot get much worse. All the same, most people's minds don't dash to logical arguments when they hear a curse. When most people say, "Damn," they are just being sloppy, crass, or offensive. Therefore, I abstain.

As regards "hell" and "damn" in literature, however, I was conflicted for a long while. Was it terribly awful of me to include a word like that? Would I alienate readers? Would I do harm to someone's sensibilities? I've realized the answers to these questions are, in my experience: No, perhaps, and yes.

I will always do harm to someone's sensibilities in my writing. I cannot help it. That is the charm of being an author who can't possibly please everyone at the same time. I may write about the breeding habits of sardines and some reader somewhere would be displeased that I hadn't mentioned their aquarius habitat and natural coloring as well.

 As for alienating some readers, I had to go to war with this subject (friendly war, but war) when my editor went through Anon, Sir, Anon. She noticed the occasional language in the book, mentioned the fact that it might rub some readers the wrong way, and questioned my choice in using the hells and damns. The thing is, when I use "language" in my writing, it always serves a purpose. I don't drop the world "damn" in a Mark Twainian fashion (i.e. because the word 'very' is too weak), but I will use the word when it serves its purpose and forms a connexxion between the reader and the story world. If I truly believe that my job as a writer is to bring to life an existing world of a story, then that existing world will have evil people in it as well as good. It must, or you'd have no story. I must be true to those people--the evil and good--and portray them aright.

You might sit and frown that the d-word has slipped into the most heated argument of the novel, but perhaps you aren't quite perceiving the whole image. The character who used that words exists...and I am portraying him to you. What if, dear reader, I have censored a good deal of, say, Michael Maynor's language and left you with only a pale grey "damnation" out of the blackness of his brew? Surely I've dealt more fairly with you than with him? Real-life villains are assuredly not content with "Oh blow," or Farnham's "bang," and if you've any sort of fondness for reality, you'll realize the implications of cutting it away. Certain characters are meant to turn your stomach. I am not the author to turn to if you're looking for a villain who is only grossly misunderstood and not evil at all, really. My villains are villainous and come with their villainy partially intact.

"That's all very good and well, Rachel, but I heard Dr. Breen swear and I was really shocked. I thought he was a good guy."

Again with the characters. Dr. Breen, if you cared to notice his history, is a man who has lived a bachelor's existence and is really quite ill-learned in the art of behaving around women. He tries to modify his tone, his language, his actions around Vivi but the reality is that the doctor is a roughened-up, stout-hearted Catholic man with a fondness for his drink and his friends. He is neither as conscientious as Farnham, nor as level-headed. It is in his character to be blunt and with that bluntness comes the first words at hand. If Breen uses one of the duo currently under inspection, it is because Breen as a real man would also use them. (Also, can one of my British friends please tell me if "damn" is considered swearing in the UK? I have heard that it isn't and from its common usage in nearly every British classic I've read--old and new--I would nearly believe that rumor.) I would even venture to say that if Breen used "damn" quite cheerily, he'd still be playing true. But for the sake of some of my younger, gentler readers, I cut out some instances.

Someone or two advance-readers took exception to Farnham's habit of saying "bang" in place of a more common curse-word. I can only imagine what the few uses of "damn" did to them, but I'll address "bang" now. I am curious about whether the persons who objected to "bang" would also object to saying, "Blast," "Snap", "Crumbs", "Golly", "Shoot", "Fiddlesticks", "Crikey", "Darn", "What the heck", "Crud," "Criminitly", "Dash it all", "Oh my stars", "Great Scot" and any of the other phrases that so pepper my own speech. Do you never invoke anything at all, be it the revered name of chocolate pudding as Katie so memorably did? Farnham, of course, never does anything in the common vein so he invented his own expletive. Certainly he meant something stronger when he used "bang", but what do you mean when you say "Oh blast. The tip of my pencil broke."? I really am curious, not trying to mock you.

On the flip side, I had some readers say that once or twice, they thought "damn" would have fit better than "bang" in a moment and that my use of the milder term felt awkward. Of course it does. So does "blast", when you're trying quite hard not to let fly the realio-trulio yellow-eyed owl. Farnham's essence is awkward chivalry and he tries especially hard to be clean-cut in the presence of some particulars.

In laying out my views on the subject of cursing, I don't intend to argue anyone off their stance, or even defend my uses. Really, I am writing on this subject for conversation's sake. In fact, if you've thought out your opinions on the matter and want to do a post in response, I'd love to chat. (Or if you have no inclination but still want to chat, the comments sections is always receiving.) I was not as succinct, scholarly, or compact as Abigail in my post on questionable words but am I ever? Just as I am true to my characters, I'm true to myself. You'll get nothing but the real stuff from me.

Wallaby-Wise

You have probably heard via my Facebook page or Twitter, I finished editing Anon, Sir, Anon on Thursday morning. There is one scene yet to finish (the fencing scene. I have my "terminologist" looking it over.) but for the purpose of saying it, Anon, Sir, Anon is thoroughly edited. Thursday afternoon, swept into the glory of having finished the actual book, I sat down and finished my map of Whistlecreig. I am making attempts to get the map into the print copies of the book, but if it turns out too complex to shrink to size, I will content myself with giving it space on a page on The Inkpen Authoress for those readers who want a closer look at Whistlecreig Manor & Environs.

In other news about Anon, Sir, Anon, I am pleased to announce that the official cover-reveal date will be released this week and there are at least

Two new reviews: 

My Lady Bibliophile

The climax is spectacular. Surprising, deliciously suspenseful, and avoiding the common pitfalls that authors fall into. Rachel held just enough secrets from me so I could enjoy the suspense--and then, when the moment came for boldness, carried it off with aplomb. Bravo; well done!

(WARNING: one advanced reader left quite a lot of spoilers in the comments section so don't read comments unless you want to know everything about the book.

Vintage Novels

This little murder mystery bears all the things I've come to expect from Rachel's books: crackling wit, gloriously well-crafted prose, and quirky, lovable characters. On top of that, the plot was more tightly woven and credible, the character interactions flowed better, and the writing--though I was reading a version which had not yet been polished by an editor--is patently more colourful and compelling than in her other works. In addition, there's a streak of something a little darker in this book. From the plight of the victim, to the identity of the killer, Rachel Heffington proves herself ready to make hard authorial decisions.

Think you'd be interested in my mystery? Add the book on Goodreads and "Remember, remember the Fifth of November." I can't get over how helpful my subconscious was in choosing a release-date so memorable. ^.^ Thank you, latent brain of mine. And, because I'm nice that way and want to tempt you with bits of my "patently more colourful" writing, here are some of those snippets I promised an age ago:

Skirts and bicycles were certainly an invention of the devil’s wife. If it wasn’t the questionable modesty of hitching one’s skirt up to one’s thigh, it was the constant peril of being flipped stockings-over-collar off the front of the thing.

-Anon, Sir, Anon

“Bad things happen in bad weather.” Mr. Owens turned the hat he’d removed round and round and round in his hands and the mist dropped off in pewter slips.

-Anon, Sir, Anon

She took him in, studied him, turned him in her mind like a wooden doll to be examined at leisure.

-Anon, Sir, Anon

“The luggage...” Vivi pressed her fingers onto her eyelids to ease the headache that had advanced on her with the dusk. “Where on earth is it? It must be in the murderer’s possession.”

“High marks for effort, Harriet Vane, but you’re wrong.” He cast his still powerful frame into a chair and knocked on the table with his knuckles. “She left it at the station and said she’d send for it later. The police have it now.”

-Anon, Sir, Anon

Farnham drew his head back into the dining room and squinted at the pale moon-face of the grandfather clock. Eight thirty-ish. No, wait. Half-seven. He rubbed his eyes and glared at the stiff black hands. The last thing he wanted was spectacles.

-Anon, Sir, Anon

On the Kettering side of the road, the stream flowed their direction in blue kinks and ripples; on the left, it ran a few merry paces before hitting the mill-wheel and resigning itself with a peaceful sigh to a rest in the mill pond. Farnham felt a bit of that peace balm his soul. He could think. He could smoke. He would be all right, presently.

-Anon, Sir, Anon

Genevieve Langley, paragon of all things mannerly, was late.

-Anon, Sir, Anon

“Such a gorgeous morning for a ride.” Vivi’s smile was bright, hurried. “Weather so obliging. Barely needed my tweeds at all, which is nice because in London I’m always tweeding and one does get tired of looking like a graham biscuit.

-Anon, Sir, Anon

She drew the word out wallaby-wise and gestured with her little hand.

-Anon, Sir, Anon

Down the curve of her cheek strode a deep shade of rose. Girls could still blush! Fascinating. He’d thought it died out with modesty some years back.

-Anon, Sir, Anon

Success With a Third-Grade Diploma

"Success implies endeavor."

-Mr. Knightley

I got my hair cut this evening.
I got bangs.
Farnham would approve.
(If you got that reference, you're a peach.)

The reviews for Anon, Sir, Anon are beginning to roll in and I am pleasantly ... not surprised, per se, but definitely un-vaguely gratified that I have (seemingly) succeeded with it. One thing I will say is that if you are toying with a novel set in another area of the world, it helps to have people belonging to that culture to read through and tap you on the shoulder when you've misspoken. Ness, of course, was invaluable in Stage Uno, but my more recent friend, Suzannah Rowntree , has made herself most useful by sending in a list of British slip-ups I made in the draft. Thanks to her, readers in the UK and Down Under will not be upset by the wrong geometrical pattern of Vivi's scones and the fact that I misused "chuffed". Thanks, Suzannah!

I have been having the most wonderful time feeling unstressed about Anon, Sir, Anon and then realizing, by turns, that I have to apply all of Rachelle's edits this week because St. Rachel is to format after that, and then I've got to get the cover out for a reveal and then I have to start asking for interviews and guest posts and start writing those because soon I'll be helping plan a wedding. Oy. I can't help but be excited, though, and it is a wonderful feeling to be this close to finishing a project of which you are decidedly proud.

On a seemingly random note, elderly people can be the most amusing things. And not by virtue of being senile (most aren't), but simply because they're allowed to say what they jolly well want and many avail themselves of this privilege. At a graduation party I attended this past weekend, I was given the job of corralling all the chillens into the twelve-passenger van and carting them home (Mama and Dad were off celebrating their 26th anniversary). As I stood there trying to pick out my siblings from a crowd of half-a-hundred other people below four feet in height, an older gentleman sidled over. This man was the father of a South African woman with whom I have been pleased to be acquainted, and as I was looking for one or another of the kids, he said to me: "Young lady?"
"Yes?" I answered with a bright smile. His accent was enough to bring that on.
"Is that your truck?"
He gestured to our van and I laughed. "It is my van."
"You drive that truck?"
"Yes. And I learned to drive on one even bigger."
"Women and girls in this country drive such large vehicles," he said with a wry smile.
I then explained to him the story of the van (how it was gifted to us on our driveway in the middle of the night by some good fairies) and how it better fit our family's needs than driving two cars everyplace.
"Can I give you an address?" he asked with a wink, "In case anyone wants to give you another free vehicle and you'd rather send them to me."

Oh, I love accents and interesting people. In addition to my conversation with the South African gentleman, I was able to spend a lovely evening at my grandmother's house, Sunday. We discussed everything from actors of the 40's to Doc Martin, from Charlotte Bronte's life to funny things heard on the radio, from the most terrible series on television (Dance Moms) to education opportunities and the Metropolitan Museum of Art. As I've gotten older, I've realized that so much of my refined taste, my love of literature, elegance, art, and the like, comes from Grandmama. I never tire of hearing about her college experiences in NYC during the 1950's, nor of her exploits as a child in Norfolk, VA in the 30's and 40's.
As we discussed our annoyance with the lack of grammatical graces in most modern-day conversation (and one case in particular), I tried to excuse the person with: "But I am not sure what kind of education he had."
Grandmama raised her eyebrow (you've never experienced such disgrace as that felt by the person on the opposite end of the eyebrow), raised pointer finger, stuck her tongue in her cheek and said, with all the sass of an accomplished woman in her eighties: "That is NO excuse. My grandmother held national and regional offices in all the clubs of which she was a member. She memorized Robert's Rules of Order and chaired the meetings. She read all the classics and judged Flower Arranging shows at her Garden Club and taught herself Japanese floral art. She was smart as a whip and do you know what level of education she had?"
"I'm ... not sure," I said, feeling suitably impressed.
"Third-grade." Grandmama dropped her finger and tapped the wood of the table with her nail, just as she always had, the light catching in her amethyst ring, her mother's diamond engagement ring, her own wedding band, just as it always does. "And she educated herself because she cared. So none of this. Anyone can learn if they've a mind to."

Have I mentioned elderly people make me smile? And it's so true. Anyone can learn if they've a mind to. Your mind is a beautiful treasure and some people, like my grandmother's grandmother, have treasured it enough to hard-scrabble their way to wits. Please don't waste the opportunities you have been given. It's so much more inspiring to work your mind to the hilt.

Sell Him to the Gypsies for Half a Crown

utterly unrelated but lovely photo from Pinterest.
Because France.

When was the last time you read an absolutely smashing book? You know the kind ... they're rarer than we like to think but if you've read one, you know you've read one. I am so grateful to be able to say that I have read three amazing books this summer, and Wodehouse. Yes, Wodehouse is in a class entirely by himself. Plenilune by Jennifer Freitag, The Man Who Was Thursday by G.K. Chesterton, and Villette by Charlotte Bronte make up the trio of smashing books I've read recently.

I like each of them for different reasons.

Villette resonated with me because in a way, I've had similar experiences to those had by the main character, Lucy Snowe. I also enjoyed getting even more of Charlotte Bronte's ironic sense of humor. On my second or third re-read of Jane Eyre I caught some of it, but it comes out forcefully in Villette and I enjoyed that. Jenny remarked recently that if my tongue every comes out of my cheek, it'll be a modern medical miracle. Quite right.

When I bought The Man Who Was Thursday from the Focus on the Family bookstore during my trip to Colorado, I had thought I was in for a mystery. "Read Thursday," everyone kept telling me. "It's great." And it was ... but in an entirely different way than I expected. It's hardly a mystery in the general sense of the word; mysterious, yes. Dramatic? Definitely. But Chesterton and I share this in common: we can't keep away from writing absurd things and chuckling into our sleeves over it. I swear I caught it off of him. I found Thursday two parts allegory, one part mystery, one part nonsense and I loved it. The ending sequence at Sunday's home is quite heart-squeezing. You ought to read it.

Plenilune ... gosh. What to say about this that hasn't been said? I hope you have all marked down October 20th as the release date of this amazing novel. I am also going to do shameless things like direct you to my review of Plenilune so you'll want to read it, direct you to a post about the magic of Plenilune and how one non-fantasy-reader had an intelligent, gradual change of heart as regards the topic on some levels, and direct you to the blog of the author herself. All good things, all good things.

Also, me hearties (in case you missed it): the official release date of Anon, Sir, Anon is November 5th, 2014. Many thanks to Abigail for pointing out the unintentional wit of picking a memorable release date, and to my dear and invaluable Ness for her further explanation of the Fifth of November:

It’s like ... the fourth of July. But better. The day we stopped a terrible Catholic plot to blow up the houses of Parliament and our good King James and launch the country back into Catholic rule.

And so we hung, drew and quartered (and tortured) poor ol’Guy Fawkes and now celebrate with fireworks and bonfires. ‘Tis beautiful. In a really, really morbid way.

Ha. Said like a true Protestant, which makes me laugh. Also, no offense to any of my Catholic readers ... I'd rather not restart the English wars and I respect your denomination and the part it has played. Catholics and Protestants are rather a toss-up as to which has done more wretched or more wonderful things down the bloody banner of world history. Also, does anyone else see the irony in my dear little Brit thinking the Fifth of November is better than the Fourth of July? Lobsterback. Oh my. I could have wayyyy to much fun with this ...

If buttercups buzz'd after the bee

If boats were on land, churches on sea

If ponies rode men and if grass ate the cows

And cats should be chased into holes by the mouse

If the mamas sold their babies

To the Gypsies for half a crown

If summer were spring

And the other way 'round

Then all the world would be upside down!

Ciao, ciao, darlings. Add Plenilune to your calenders. Add Anon, Sir, Anon to your calenders. As soon as my designer gets back from vacation, you should be hearing more about the cover reveal and in just a few days I'll announce a winner for the Half-Dozen Giveaway so keep your entries rolling! I have actually had someone do a Winnie-the-Pooh quote and another has sent me drawings and many of you have written me poetry. Wow, this is fun for me. Oh, and for a final happy before leaving you, Anon, Sir, Anon got its first rating on Goodreads .... and it was a five-star beauty.

Welcome to Modernity: Vivi & Farnham Get a Goodreads Page

triumphant author selfie

I am now officially finished with rewrites for Anon, Sir, Anon. I am also living proof that if one puts her mind to anything, one can accomplish it. I work three and a half days every week and live in a very large family besides. If I wanted an excuse for not getting writing-related things done, I would have it. But with a little clever rearranging of schedules and, furthermore, a healthy respect for waking up when my alarm tells me to, I have actually done it! So happy with the novel I've created this time. <3

 I am sending the last four chapters to my editor tonight and will be sending the file to my advanced-copy readers as well. If you have not been selected for the post of advance reader for Anon, Sir, Anon but are a discerning reader/reviewer with a healthy blog following (so sorry to be mercenary), feel free to send an email to heirloomrosebud@gmail.com and apply! I would like to reach a little farther in more uncharted territory--perhaps even to blogs I have never visited!-- so if you would like to read Anon, Sir, Anon and review it for before the soon-to-be-confirmed release date of November 5th, let's talk.

I also wanted to let you know that Anon, Sir, Anon officially has a Goodreads page! Those of you who will be reading the book can post your reviews there and/or on your blogs and learn more about the book there. And, because I know I haven't been as succinct as possible in what this book is really about ... the cover blurb:

The 12:55 out of Darlington brought more than Orville Farnham's niece; murder was passenger.
In coming to Whistlecreig, Genevieve Langley expected to find an ailing uncle in need of gentle care. In reality, her charge is a cantankerous Shakespearean actor with a penchant for fencing and an affinity for placing impossible bets.When a body shows up in a field near Whistlecreig Manor and Vivi is the only one to recognize the victim, she is unceremoniously baptized into the art of crime-solving: a field in which first impressions are seldom lasting and personal interest knocks at the front door.Set against the russet backdrop of a Northamptonshire fog, Anon, Sir, Anon cuts a cozy path to a chilling crime

Why Can't the English?

One discovers the most astonishing things while rewriting. Since once again setting me foot on my native heath (and my name's MacGregor), I've been keeping busy with fitting rewrites for Anon, Sir, Anon into my workdays. I am terribly excited this evening because today was my last day of work this week which means that Tuesday night = Friday night = "a good half-day to think about this". (Did you catch my reference?) Steadily hath I plodded, doggedly, and I am actually nearing the finish line, added suspects and all. When this is finished, it shall go back to a couple beta-readers as well as to an actual editor. The cover is almost finished, waiting only for my back-cover blurb before actual completion. On that note, if you would like to be part of the cover-reveal as well as the release-date announcement and anything of that Release Excitement Co-op, would you please send a message to heirloomrosebud@gmail.com stating your interest. I will love you forever and a million red M&Ms (another reference.)

But I was saying one comes across astonishing things.

First of all is the fact that I have some rather good turns of phrase. I don't say that pridefully ... it's just that when a line I forgot about smacks me in the face and says, "Look at me! Aren't I lovely?" I have to notice. I really had forgotten about so many and I like them. They're as good as milestones to a marathon runner in her final quarter. Rewriting also gives one the opportunity of rephrasing things. I believe wholeheartedly that my skill has grown since the writing of Fly Away Home. I know The Windy Side of Care, while having its pacing constraints, was finer stuff than that, and Anon, Sir is going to be twice better. I love finding a rough gem of a line and playing with the rhythm of it. I think I've got this rhythm thing down .. a line can be drab and you just play around a bit with the cadence and you've suddenly got a good one. Here is an example:

"Her skirt brushed his pants leg and he jerked an inch to the side so that it would not catch in his wheels."

Sensible enough but it sort of drags out at the end. I tweaked it just now:

"Her skirt brushed his pants leg and; he jerked an inch to the side so {as to avoid catching it}that it would not catch in his wheels."

The sentence now reads:

"Her skirt brushed his pants leg; he jerked an inch to the side so as to avoid catching it in his wheels."

A much better sentence as a whole. I have been enjoying this process. It's like finally getting to use a small brush rather than a large one when finishing a painting. I hope my editor will not find terribly much to change about wording. I have also kept a better eye on descriptions and tried to turn phrases that will capture the imagination and say exactly what I want the reader to feel rather than stating the thing plain:

"That scar. She drew her eyes from it but they descended again and yet again until she felt peculiarly drowned in the guilty mark."

Of course one can't drown in a scar but one can feel drowned by a thing and that is the sensation felt by Genevieve Langley in this moment. I must admit that I have begun again to like rewriting. It panics me at first but just as I near the end, I always buck up and find myself having fun. Hurrah for forgotten magic. I shall do a snippets post at some point and catch you up on the stuff.
The second astonishing thing I have found is that the trio of Farnham, Doctor Breen, and Genevieve Langley unintentionally resembles that of Henry Higgins, Colonel Pickering, and Eliza Doolittle of My Fair Lady. In temperament and character; their relationships are entirely different. I can't tell you how astonished I was when watching My Fair Lady to recognize Farnham's demeanor in "Ordinary Man". Of course, Mr. Orville Farnham is not as chauvinistic as Higgins, but there is a bit of the "women have their place" in him as much as there is a "women have their place" in Vivi. (Catch you the distinction? There is one.) And Breen, dear Doctor and alkaline substance that he is, possesses Pickering's way of gallantry and smoothing the feathers of the cross old bear.

Also, can we take a moment to appreciate the fact that there has never been and probably will never be another actress as thoroughly lovable as Audrey Hepburn (Julie Andrews is a close runner-up)? She could play anything, I believe, and she was an inspiration in her personal life. And people waste time loving Marilyn Monroe who is most famous because she had an hourglass figure and a wart. Pshhh. (I do realize she was a fine actress. I am being hyperbolic.)

"She has such a bally fine profile, Jeeves."

I want to thank everyone who has supported my work by purchasing Fly Away Home (only $2.99 on Kindle. Shameless plug.) and The Windy Side of Care inside Five Glass Slippers. In order to be heard, an author must have readers and I treasure and applaud each of you for choosing me. Thanks a million. I pounce on each new review (low-ratings or otherwise) and thank you for taking the time to write them! They are an asset to me because through them I can learn what things I might consider changing in my up-and-coming work. Quite useful! I must say that it gratified me to have not one but several people come up to me at the camp at which I worked (there were 200 people there) and remark on the fact that I was wearing a black dress to the gala, and wouldn't Wade Barnett have disapproved? It was nice, being alluded to. Anyway, have a lovely night chaps and chapesses and I hope you'll leave a comment and say hello because I love youuuuuuuuur advice. (Another reference. First person to name them all, I'll send you an autographed copy of Fly Away Home. There ought to be ... five, not including the title. There.)

"In TECHNICOLOR."

It was inevitable because our Triumvirate (plus gobs) always ends up taking one another's ideas and it was only right that I'd come up with a vlog too. This is a thing I've been wanting to do for some time but a thing to which I'd never buckled down. Now I have. And here is the product. Not as nice a product as Jenny's, but I blame that on the fact that I don't have an iPhone and I don't know how to turn down the music's volume in the background of a video. HARUMPH. I will learn. This is the first of many, I hope, so enjoy. Also, if you've any questions about me or my writing, do please leave a comment below! I love to interact with you. Really and truly. :)

Ciao! 

"Mom, Farnham's in the kitchen and he won't get out!"

Yesterday, an acquaintance asked for my scone recipe because I mentioned on Facebook that after editing, I planned to make some scones and tea and sit on the porch reading Letters from P.G. Wodehouse. Always one to multitask, I decided to combine handing out the recipe with doing a blog post and (adding a third purpose) showing off a bit of Vivi & Farnham because I know you love them and don't hear enough about this pair. So, because there is an entire scone-making/murder-discussing scene in Anon, Sir, Anon, I decided to do the post here on the Inkpen Authoress. And really, darlings, even writers have to eat sometimes and you might as well know how to make something palatable. So I give to you:

Orange-Almond Scones

For Scones:

• 2 cups all-purpose flour
• 3 Tbs. brown sugar
• 1/2 tsp. salt
• 1/2 tsp. baking soda
• 1/4 c. butter
• 1 egg
• 1 cup sour cream or Greek yogurt
• Juice and zest of one orange

For Glaze:

• 1/2 c. powdered sugar
• 1/2 tsp. almond extract
• Splash of milk

Vivi squared her shoulders and rolled her eyes at him. "First you're a detective, then you have a telephone, now electricity. What next? Next you'll be telling me you run a prison in the secret passages beneath Whistlecreig and fill it with all the criminals you catch red-handed."
 “That was a neat pun,” Farnham said. “Red-handed.”

Her face fell and she cut butter into the flour in her bowl as if it was him under the blades.

1.) Combine flour, brown sugar, baking soda, salt, and orange zest in a bowl. Cut in the butter with two knives or a pastry cutter until it is in small crumbs.

 

Vivi dug in the icebox for some milk and sniffed it. “Just a bit sour. Perfect.”

She poured a creamy stream of liquid into her bowl, then mixed it with her hand. The dough clung to her slender fingers in clumps but she didn’t seem to mind. Farnham found himself transfixed by the repetitive motion of her hands as she flipped and mixed the dough. All at once, Vivi tipped the bowl upside down with a clank.

2.) Make a well in the center of the flour and add your wet ingredients: the egg, the sour cream, and the orange juice. Mix quickly and don't worry about incorporating all of the flour. When it begins to stick together, flip out onto the counter and knead six or eight times.

He watched Vivi pat the scone dough into a lumpy circle and slice the circle into six neat triangles. She arranged the wedges on a baking stone and slid them into the oven without speaking. Not that she wasn’t going to speak, Farnham thought, but she hadn’t quite decided what she was going to say.

3.) Pat the dough into a circle and slice in eight wedges. Arrange them on a baking stone and slide into an oven preheated to 400 degrees Fahrenheit. Bake for 12 minutes until a beautiful golden-brown.

 

 “The silent foot will tell,” he said at last.

Vivi turned and opened the oven. A beautiful smell of fresh scones flooded the kitchen and scooted aside every thought of the murder. Farnham’s stomach, even, was calmed by the buttery fragrance.

“What silent foot?” Vivi wrapped her apron around her palm and reached into the oven, pulling the hot stone out and setting it on the counter.

Farnham stared at the perfect golden scones and the steam curling in laurels above them. “‘The inaudible and noiseless foot of Time,’” he murmured, trancelike. “Alls Well That Ends Well, if you must know.”

4.) Mix together the powdered sugar, almond extract, and milk until you have a glaze of medium thickness. Spoon over warm scones and let set a moment before serving. Scones are best enjoyed warm.

She lifted the golden scones onto a plate, leaving moist, oily triangles against the stone where they had been and shook her head at him in a way half fond, have reproachful.

Farnham broke off the tip of a scone when Vivi wasn’t looking and popped it into his mouth. Well, he had health to look after. Self-preservation and all that.

Hope you have a darling day, luvs! And yeah, make up a batch of these scones. They are the perfect pairing for a spring afternoon. 

Fly Away Home Art!

I am busy busy busy with editing Anon, Sir, Anon, and cannot stop to say too terrible much. I did, however, want to share with you the most beautiful piece of art inspired by Fly Away Home. I literally gasped when I saw this pop up in my Facebook feed...it is so perfect. Those of you who have read Fly Away Home: is this how you saw Callie all spiffed up? It is remarkably like her, I think, and I am so glad artist Kendra Yoakum decided to draw her. Kendra's attention to detail as described in the book is crazy-good. I have always loved her drawings so you can imagine how it thrilled me to hear my character had inspired one:

Enjoy your hump-day, darlings! I am off to do more edits and hope it won't be long before Anon, Sir, Anon will be out to my beta-readers.

and the rain came down in streaks

Dear Everyone:
    I am writing to you from a quiet, rain-specked spot in a quiet, rain-specked farm-house in a quiet, rain-specked portion of North Carolina. Quite wonderfully, my hectic week of finishing the first draft of Anon, Sir, Anon and celebrating the release of my first novel with a party and dear friends ended with Abigail kidnapping me and whisking me away to the nether regions of the known world and her antebellum home.

I slept well and was awakened by a rooster. I took gobs of time fixing and eating breakfast. I sat down near a clicking, ticking wood-stove and spent the morning in the faraway realm of a book I have been on needles to read. It was been a glorious day so far. It is wonderful to be able to take time off and know there is nothing hanging about your ears that you are neglecting by doing so. Revisions for The Windy Side of Care have long since been in the possession of the staff at Rooglewood Press. The first draft of Anon, Sir, Anon is complete and hidden in my files for the time in a couple of weeks when I will deem it right to start the revisions. I am blessed. Also, there are three kittens to play with and three babies in the "little house". Cora is a cuddle-bug, Zach a powerhouse, and Tabitha a sunny, smiley infant. Cora and I had a few moments alone and looked at the rainy window and sang rainy songs. It was lovely and performed in company with a downy woodpecker.

I suppose those of you who don't follow me closely on Facebook  or Twitter will want  to know my final stats and all for Anon, Sir, Anon!

Final word-count for the first draft: 59,105 words (this will be somewhat beefed in revisions)
First word: "Times"
Last word: "Tomorrow"
Favorite one-line retort: “In my day,” Farnham offered, “there was a delightful practice called conversation. You ought to take lessons sometime--you’d enjoy it.”
Favorite one-line description: "Breen was such a mother’s favorite--he hardly ever bent the rules."

Of course those aren't exactly real favorites, because I found them in a rush and there are too many I love. I am so looking forward to the second draft. As a friend said today, since you know where you're going and what is happening, you can be more colorful and definite with everything you write. But I am giving myself a nice break of a week or two before beginning again. Sometime this week I will write up a post about the Fly Away Home debut party and let you see pictures and hear about how Haymitch pressed me into giving a speech and all of those details. For now, let me strike a pose and say: if you have read Fly Away Home, would you mind terribly giving it a review on Goodreads and Amazon and wherever else one reviews books. Well, I shall leave you now and pay heed to the baby at my side and the people all around!

Oh, and happy Saint Patrick's Day!

The Final Scene (plus cheesecake)

Hey luvs! I am quite busy this week and am currently drafting a stats sheet for all things Fly Away Home to be used at my book-debut party tomorrow night! We are having a Starbuck's-style coffee night and I'm making three cheesecakes and celebrating my debut as a professional author. It's going to be fun! Today, I'm making decorations (Wait till you see what I have planned for "Beyond the Sea") and cheesecakes and cleaning. Somewhere in there I want to finish Anon, Sir, Anon because I am so close to the end. Like...final scene close. We will see. Right now I'm madly scribbling stats and printing off Western Union telegrams and all sorts of jolly things. I will see you later!