Suzanne Bowditch's Blog, page 14
October 5, 2017
Author Tips on Writing Historical Fiction
Today I’ve selected authors’ tips on writing historical fiction from around the web.
From How to Write Historical Fiction: 7 Tips on Accuracy and Authenticity by Susanna Calkins author of A Murder at Rosamund’s Gate
Let the characters engage with the historical details – a variation on show don’t tell
Allow your characters to question and explore their place in society – doing so reveals the context of the times
Love the process, because readers will still find errors
From Seven Rules for Writing Historical Fiction by Elizabeth Crook author of The Night Journal: A Novel
Sweat the Small Stuff – small details allow readers to engage all senses in the past world you are building
Dump the Ballast – too much detail is a killer
10 Tips for Aspiring Historical Fiction Writers by Stephanie Dray author of Daughters of the Nile
Read historical fiction – sounds obvious doesn’t it but you…
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October 3, 2017
What do you always do? #Rituals #Editing #Writing #Editors #Authors #Bloggers
Last week I attended an online author chat with Louise Jensen and her Bookouture publicity manager, Kim Nash, over on Facebook. Louise is the bestselling author of three psychological thrillers,The Sister, The Gift, andThe Surrogate (click the links to buy your copies!) and one of the questions asked was what, if any, rituals Louise has whilst writing.
She explained that she listens to classical music and lights a new, berry scented candle when she starts a new draft.
This got me thinking about the rituals I have when editing a manuscript.
Before I open a new manuscript, I clean my desk. I take everything off it, pc screen and all, then clean and polish it, the keyboard, mouse, screen; I organise the stationery in my screen riser, and the books I keep on my desk top. I then open a new page in my notebook and…
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October 2, 2017
#ReBlog How To Get More Twitter Followers by @TerryTyler4 #TwitterTips #MondayBlogs
Lots of tips here. As a newbie to Twitter, I will definitely look at this advice.
Pumpkin Spice Magic Happens
Got your attention, eh?
(lol)
Tis the season! And you are invited to pour your favorite pumpkin spiced beverage and kick back with the October 2017 Edition of The Magic Happens Magazine
We have a terrific collection of offerings from a world-wide family of writers. They were provided the following prompt words, to stir their creative juices.
SKIP – REALIZE – WATER
Of course, I will provide the links to my articles and I appreciate that you give them a read. This month, I added a review for a yummy new cookbook so be sure to check it out!
Signs & Seasons An Astrology Cookbook
October is National Book Month
Thank you for the support and remember, we’d LOVE to have YOUR contributions to our monthly presentations. Contact Kathleen Anne McCarthy, our fearless leader, by sending her an email…
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Book Review: Dickon’s Diaries (With Giveaway)
Happy birthday Richard 111 !
We present this review on this, the 565th anniversary of the birth of Richard Plantagenet,
Duke of Gloucester and,
Dei Gratia Rex Angliae et Franciae et Dominus Hiberniae
by the Grace of God, King Richard III of England and France and Lord of Ireland.
Late 16th-century portrait, housed in the National Portrait Gallery, London. See page for author [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons
Dickon’s Diaries – A Yeare in the Lyff of King Richard the Third
by Joanne Larner and Susan Lamb
See below for details about winning a free, signed copy of Dickon’s Diaries!
A few years ago I had opportunity to see a bit of social media shenanigans in which a well-known image of King Richard III was shopped to include the monarch wearing a Santa hat. It was Christmas, after all, though one person was not amused and demanded it be removed for the king to keep his…
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October 1, 2017
Microfiction
Write a story in 12 words….
I could share with you the wonders of the universe, but won’t.
#microfiction #121Words #writing
September 30, 2017
Worth the Risk?
Loved this post by Elixir:Creative and Reflective Writing
Elixir: Creative and Reflective Writing
Four days ago I posted the last of twelve pieces of flash fiction on Elixir’s sister site, Concise. I enjoyed the exercise although I gleaned only a few more followers for Concise. Attracting more readers was not, however, the point of the exercise. My purpose was to (re)establish a daily writing habit. 
The abiding theme of my life is my struggle to write on a regular basis. I understand what I need: willpower; a room of my own; the cognitive, emotional and psychological space needed to write; and the self-belief necessary to shut the door on my partner, my family and my friends. I also need to combine the above with imagination, knowledge of craft and technique, and a vast reading history – because good writers read for pleasure and to learn from other writers. It’s all about commitment, really, and to commit is to ‘join, practise, entrust,’ and to ‘expose to…
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Are You a ‘Busy’ Writer? You’re Doing It Wrong.
“I’m so busy! I just haven’t had time to write all year!”
Sigh.
I … understand where people are coming from when they say things like this to me. I really do. For me, college was a seemingly endless whirlwind of things piled on top of things piled on top of a long-forgotten five-year plan. I was busy. I convinced myself I did not have time to finish a book, or hang out with friends every weekend, or keep up with my blog.
I remember what it feels like to look at all the things you’ve filled your life with and realize you “don’t have time” (or energy, or sanity) for the things you really want to do.
But what most people do not seem to gather from any of this is that they’re using their empty busyness to cover for their lack of productivity. And there’s really nothing I…
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How many words can one person write in a day?
Such good tips !
Are you just too busy to write that dang book?
Seems like my summer passed in a flash and I got diddly squat accomplished. That’s Southern for not much.
Then along comes an article that made my jaw drop.
How I Write 10,000 Words Per Day, Every Day by Nicolas Cole
Now, while his tips and advice are worth noting, who the hell is going to do my laundry while I write 10,000 words a day?
He is one organized dude. God, I wish I was half as organized as he is. Just reading his schedule made me tired. Is it my nap time yet?
Okay, maybe he has a point. Maybe turn off my phone (but what if one of the kids needs me?) and turn off social media (but I’ll miss all the cute cat memes) I might get more writing done.
But….
Never mind you don’t want to…
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September 29, 2017
Chapter extract: The Tourmaline Bracelet
[image error]The Tourmaline Bracelet A Celtic Trilogy
This is an extract from my new book, The Tourmaline Bracelet, released end of August 2017. This scene is between one of the main characters, Elizabeth Hughes, as she tells her daughter about the mysterious ‘visions’ she keeps getting, of an anguished soldier from The Great War.
The Tourmaline Bracelet
Elizabeth hugged her chocolate brown coat across her chest, fiddling with the huge wooden buttons on the lapels. The coat was the last gift that David had bought her; an impromptu Christmas present almost five years ago. The pair of them had taken the valley train down to Cardiff just a month before Christmas, feeling like naughty school children. She remembered David’s concern at taking time off from his job in the gas showrooms, and how she’d teased him. She had spotted the coat almost straight away in the C&A store, and had loved it. David had amiably pulled out his wallet and paid 25 pounds, which was far more than they could afford, but he had insisted. It had been his treat; his Christmas bonus blown in one afternoon. Now, as she snuggled into the fur, her frosty breath made a flurry into the chilly air. The heatwave of last summer was now a distant memory as she glanced up at the dark grey clouds scuttling across a near charcoal sky.
‘There you are mum!’ Fran hurried towards her, laden down with shopping. Her cheeks were rosy under a pink woolen beret, her smile beaming. ‘Nearly done! How about a quick coffee before we head home? I can’t leave Aiden for too long, you know how tetchy Bill gets. My treat.’
‘Yes that would be lovely.’ Elizabeth nodded in agreement, glancing at her watch. It was nearly three in the afternoon and they were due back before five. Bill would not last much longer than that, even though he considered himself a ‘hands on’ father, able to cope with the children. He would look so frazzled if Fran showed up later than expected.
‘Come on then, I know a lovely cafe just around the corner. They do iced buns as well. Marcie from work told me about the place ages ago.’ Fran linked her arm under Elizabeth’s and they set off, avoiding the splatter of rain that was threatening above. Her feet were aching in but the thought of a cup of tea before sitting on a crowded train was appealing. Her ankles had swollen like balloons under her boots and she knew that they would be red and angry later. But she ignored the pain; this was a time when she and Fran could be together. Shopping was a pleasant diversion from the humdrum of life.
The cafe was half full when they arrived and smelt strongly of baked cakes and jam. A bell tinkled above them as Fran pushed at the door, the glass panels partially hidden under an embroidered net curtain. More embroidery was evident on the windows; the curtains here positioned half way down the window, hanging on huge brass poles to give it a cottagey feel. Gingham tablecloths with dark wood chairs were arranged at angles around a cozily lit room. A rather large tea urn sat at one end of a long counter and a comely woman smiled as she approached them. She wore an apron embroidered with a Welsh dragon and daffodils, and Nadolig Llawen splashed underneath. A jaunty Christmas hat sat on her curly perm.
‘Table for two ladies?’ she said, holding a menu in her hands. ‘We have leek soup as a special today, and some lovely scones, baked this morning. Take a look.’
‘Yes, please that would be lovely,’ Fran replied, choosing a corner table next to the window. She pushed aside a small vase which held a drooping carnation and a salt cellar, before dumping her bags on the only available chair. From here the main street of Cardiff glistened under an unexpected downpour, turning the afternoon into dusk. Elizabeth watched as people scurried back and fro, heavy with bright Christmas bags. The Christmas lights had been turned on; brightening up what had become a dull afternoon. A huge Christmas tree twinkled in the square, a pale yellow star shining down from the top branches.
‘That’s better,’ she answered, stretching her legs out under the table. She shrugged off her scarf and coat, placing them onto on top of Fran’s caramel one; a relative pile of damp outerwear. Her two small shopping bags vied for room next to the large pile that was her daughter’s. Fran chatted away with tales of the children and what she should get them for Christmas. It seemed that the latest toys were Action Man and Barbie for this year.
‘Mam, are you listening?’ Fran’s voice interrupted her thoughts, and she shook herself from her daydream.
‘Sorry love, I was miles away. It’s been a bit hectic at work lately….,’ she replied, fixing a smile onto her face. The last few weeks had unnerved her. The vision of the man, dressed in army fatigues, popped into her head at unexpected moments. He had seemed so real, so alive. There was an innate sense of sadness about him too; of loss. What did he want from her?
‘Are they working you too hard again? Look, Christmas is weeks away, don’t get roped in to do any extra shifts like last year. They take advantage of you, you know that.’ Fran looked steadily at her; almond eyes and a determined slant to her mouth reminding her so much of David.
‘No, it’s not that; everything’s fine.’ She patted her daughter’s hand in reassurance. ‘It’s just that…’
She hesitated, finding it hard to continue.
‘What is it mam? Are you sick? You’re sick aren’t you,’ Fran repeated. ‘I thought that you were looking paler than normal. Don’t keep it from me.’
Just then the tea arrived. A young girl with a pierced nose and dreadlocks placed a teapot on the table, a motif of the group Pink Floyd emblazoned on her t shirt. Elizabeth felt overpowered by the scent of opium as she looked up at charcoal black eyes. Spilling tea onto the saucer, the girl dislodged the sugar pot as a scone edged off the tea plate.
‘Watch what you’re doing there, Roxanne!’ the woman in the Welsh apron approached, a cloth in her hand.
‘My niece,’ she uttered, by want of an explanation. ‘She’s a good girl really, but a bit clumsy. She left school without so much as an O level to her name.’ The woman stood a moment, prepared to chat more, but caught the look in Fran’s eyes.
‘I’ll leave you ladies alone. Enjoy your tea.’
‘Really,’ Fran replied to her retreating back. ‘Now, where were we?’
Elizabeth smiled wryly. ‘I don’t know where to start, love; really I don’t.’
Fran knew about her mother’s ‘visions’ as she called them, but had not inherited the gift herself. She was too self assured to entertain the thought of ghosts.
‘I worked the afternoon shift last weekend. Remember, I told you that I wanted to get home and watch that late film on ITV?’ Elizabeth played with a teaspoon.
‘Yes, that’s right; you phoned me Sunday morning.’ Fran replied, biting into a warm scone. Crumbs fell onto her cream sweater but she ignored them, watching her mother warily.
‘Well, I did watch the film, but it’s not about that. Something happened at work.’
‘What happened? Mother, you’re scaring me,’ Fran’s eyes widened.
Elizabeth placed the teaspoon onto the gingham table, her hands shaking slightly. ‘I was on my last break before the end of my shift. They don’t like smoking in the staff room, so I took myself outside for a cigarette. The nearest spot is at the back of the kitchens, where the gardens are. It was bitterly cold Fran, but it can be lovely and peaceful. I saw someone out there, Fran; a vision.’
She paused, unsure of her daughter’s reaction. The usual response was one of mirth or mockery, especially from her youngest Gary, but Fran looked concerned. She grasped her mother’s hand, which felt cold to the touch.
‘Look mum, and I mean this in the best way possible; you know I love you. That’s why I’m telling you that you’ve been working too hard lately. You need to rest more. Why, you’ve been talking about your bad legs and the arthritis, and how you’re always on your feet. It’s the water tablets and the medication; they’re making you see things.’
‘I knew you wouldn’t understand,’ Elizabeth bristled. She pulled her hand away, feeling foolish and wishing that she was back home, cozy in front of the fire. The wind outside rattled the window frame, swiftly and harshly as if in agreement.
‘Don’t look like that mum. I didn’t mean it, but you are looking pale, you have to admit.’ Fran’s voice took on a slight patronizing tone.
‘I know,’ she continued, her face lighting up. ‘Let’s go up to Raglan Park on the weekend. I’ll pack a picnic and we can take the children. The change of scenery will do us all good, and we can get some fresh air. Then we can get Bill to babysit and we can go to the pictures afterwards. I want to see that new film anyway but haven’t had a chance yet, what with the children to see to.’
Fran patted her hand, her eyes shining as she spoke.
‘Yes, that sounds lovely,’ Elizabeth nodded in agreement. She didn’t have the heart to tell her that she was working.
#writing #writerslife #iamwritingabook #historicalfiction #melbourne #thegreatwar #aceltictrilogy
