Eileen O'Finlan's Blog, page 3
August 6, 2018
History with a Twist - Why I Find Writing Historical Fiction So Much Fun!
I refer to the historical fiction I write as “history with a twist.” Why? Because I’m intrigued by the unusual and little-known aspects of history so naturally that’s what I like to write about.
What exactly do I mean by unusual and little-known aspects of history? Well, most of us were taught the important names, dates, wars, decisive battles, political events, etc., etc. Take for example, American history. We’ve learned the fundamentals about the biggies – the American Revolution and the Civil War to name just two. We’ve probably learned at least something about smaller events such as the Salem Witch Hysteria of 1692.
But unless you are well-versed in New England folklore, chances are you haven’t heard of the New England Vampire Panic. Yet it was prevalent throughout several rural and isolated areas of New England for decades and was well-known enough at the time to get a mention in Henry David Thoreau’s diary.
The people experiencing it never used the word “vampire” but the concept was similar, at least in their minds. The real culprit was tuberculosis. But what if you were an inhabitant of a small, remote rural area in New England and your family members died off in fairly rapid succession seeming to waste away before your eyes? What if they told you that during the night they felt as though someone was sitting on their chest? What if you discovered blood on their mouths in the morning? Might you start to wonder about the odd stories you’d heard of dead family members coming back to drain the life from their living relatives? Would you be willing to find out if one of your deceased loved ones was to blame? Just how would you go about doing that? Better yet, how would you put an end to it? After all, you could be next. This is one historical event I plan to explore in a future novel.
I love delving into the day-to-day lives of people of the past, the material culture of their times, and the changes in perspectives over generations. I gather up those ingredients then add an unusual, odd, or downright spooky, but true historical occurrence and I’ve got the recipe for a fascinating story.
Truth be told, I’m surprised by how many people have told me they had no idea of what the Irish faced during the Great Hunger (aka the Irish Potato Famine) after reading my novel Kelegeen. Oh, they’d heard of the Famine, of course, but never realized the depth of suffering, the trauma, the sacrifice endured by the Irish peasantry. For many readers these people were their own ancestors who came to America to escape the starvation. Yet they’d never known that over a million died and a million more emigrated. They’d never heard that they were forced to eat food considered cattle fodder, if they were lucky, not to mention tree bark, nettles and grass. They didn’t know of the evictions Irish cottiers faced if they could not pay their rent to their British landlords. Or how, once evicted and their tiny cottages torn down or burned, they had to build three-sided structures called scalpeens in which to live, praying they weren’t found since they had no “right” to live on the land at all.
Many of my readers have expressed what an eye-opener it was for them to learn of the devastating choices that had to be made in order to survive. Often they comment on how remarkably strong the people were in their faith. In so many cases, faith was all they had to see them through. These are the not-so-well-known aspects of an infamous historical event.
Think of the Salem Witch Hysteria. You’ve heard of it, I’m sure. But what do you really know about it? Was it a bunch of bratty young girls who just wanted some attention? Once they got it, and a little power to go with it, did they let it go to their heads to the extreme detriment of hundreds of people and the executions of nineteen? Or was there a whole lot more to the story? If you guessed the latter, you’re right. This post would become book-length if I were to explain it all here, but suffice to say that a bratty bunch of girls is the least of the reasons for that terrible event in Massachusetts history. Political and religious factions and maneuverings, mental illness, the Puritan religion, and social discord to name but a few factors played far greater roles than those of the “afflicted girls.” Once the hysteria was set into motion, it became clear to certain powerful people in Salem that the girls made perfect pawns for forwarding their own agendas. Oh, the devil was surely busy in Salem, but not necessarily in the way one might think!
And then there’s Anne Putnam, Jr., the thirteen-year-old ringleader of the “afflicted girls”. She’s the one who’s generally judged as the worst of the “brats.” On her head falls much condemnation for all that happened. But how much was she really to blame? Her young life was marked by tremendous loss, fear, and a certain degree of helplessness. When it’s all put together one can see how she, as well as the other girls, so easily fell into the grip of hysteria, perhaps even temporary madness. Does anyone care or even remember that she was one of the few who later repented and did public penance for her part in the hysteria. Can she be forgiven? This is another story I hope to bring to life in a novel.
Then there are history’s other oddities, many of which took place during the Victorian era – a time ripe with eccentricity, strangeness and peculiarity. A veritable treasure trove of the odd and unusual, this time period could keep me going for a very long writing career. (As is certainly my hope!) It’s such a passion for me, I could research and write these stories for a lifetime with never a dull moment. Hopefully, my readers will feel the same way.
That’s the twist –the stories on history’s margins, things never taught in the classroom. It’s where history gets really fun.
What exactly do I mean by unusual and little-known aspects of history? Well, most of us were taught the important names, dates, wars, decisive battles, political events, etc., etc. Take for example, American history. We’ve learned the fundamentals about the biggies – the American Revolution and the Civil War to name just two. We’ve probably learned at least something about smaller events such as the Salem Witch Hysteria of 1692.
But unless you are well-versed in New England folklore, chances are you haven’t heard of the New England Vampire Panic. Yet it was prevalent throughout several rural and isolated areas of New England for decades and was well-known enough at the time to get a mention in Henry David Thoreau’s diary.
The people experiencing it never used the word “vampire” but the concept was similar, at least in their minds. The real culprit was tuberculosis. But what if you were an inhabitant of a small, remote rural area in New England and your family members died off in fairly rapid succession seeming to waste away before your eyes? What if they told you that during the night they felt as though someone was sitting on their chest? What if you discovered blood on their mouths in the morning? Might you start to wonder about the odd stories you’d heard of dead family members coming back to drain the life from their living relatives? Would you be willing to find out if one of your deceased loved ones was to blame? Just how would you go about doing that? Better yet, how would you put an end to it? After all, you could be next. This is one historical event I plan to explore in a future novel.
I love delving into the day-to-day lives of people of the past, the material culture of their times, and the changes in perspectives over generations. I gather up those ingredients then add an unusual, odd, or downright spooky, but true historical occurrence and I’ve got the recipe for a fascinating story.
Truth be told, I’m surprised by how many people have told me they had no idea of what the Irish faced during the Great Hunger (aka the Irish Potato Famine) after reading my novel Kelegeen. Oh, they’d heard of the Famine, of course, but never realized the depth of suffering, the trauma, the sacrifice endured by the Irish peasantry. For many readers these people were their own ancestors who came to America to escape the starvation. Yet they’d never known that over a million died and a million more emigrated. They’d never heard that they were forced to eat food considered cattle fodder, if they were lucky, not to mention tree bark, nettles and grass. They didn’t know of the evictions Irish cottiers faced if they could not pay their rent to their British landlords. Or how, once evicted and their tiny cottages torn down or burned, they had to build three-sided structures called scalpeens in which to live, praying they weren’t found since they had no “right” to live on the land at all.
Many of my readers have expressed what an eye-opener it was for them to learn of the devastating choices that had to be made in order to survive. Often they comment on how remarkably strong the people were in their faith. In so many cases, faith was all they had to see them through. These are the not-so-well-known aspects of an infamous historical event.
Think of the Salem Witch Hysteria. You’ve heard of it, I’m sure. But what do you really know about it? Was it a bunch of bratty young girls who just wanted some attention? Once they got it, and a little power to go with it, did they let it go to their heads to the extreme detriment of hundreds of people and the executions of nineteen? Or was there a whole lot more to the story? If you guessed the latter, you’re right. This post would become book-length if I were to explain it all here, but suffice to say that a bratty bunch of girls is the least of the reasons for that terrible event in Massachusetts history. Political and religious factions and maneuverings, mental illness, the Puritan religion, and social discord to name but a few factors played far greater roles than those of the “afflicted girls.” Once the hysteria was set into motion, it became clear to certain powerful people in Salem that the girls made perfect pawns for forwarding their own agendas. Oh, the devil was surely busy in Salem, but not necessarily in the way one might think!
And then there’s Anne Putnam, Jr., the thirteen-year-old ringleader of the “afflicted girls”. She’s the one who’s generally judged as the worst of the “brats.” On her head falls much condemnation for all that happened. But how much was she really to blame? Her young life was marked by tremendous loss, fear, and a certain degree of helplessness. When it’s all put together one can see how she, as well as the other girls, so easily fell into the grip of hysteria, perhaps even temporary madness. Does anyone care or even remember that she was one of the few who later repented and did public penance for her part in the hysteria. Can she be forgiven? This is another story I hope to bring to life in a novel.
Then there are history’s other oddities, many of which took place during the Victorian era – a time ripe with eccentricity, strangeness and peculiarity. A veritable treasure trove of the odd and unusual, this time period could keep me going for a very long writing career. (As is certainly my hope!) It’s such a passion for me, I could research and write these stories for a lifetime with never a dull moment. Hopefully, my readers will feel the same way.
That’s the twist –the stories on history’s margins, things never taught in the classroom. It’s where history gets really fun.
July 23, 2018
If You Want Me to Love History, Tell Me a (Hi)story!
I know people who honestly believe that learning history in school is a waste of time. Who cares about a bunch of battles, names, and dates? If that’s all they were taught about history, then I understand their position. And I feel sorry for them.
IT STARTED (AND ALMOST ENDED) WITH TEACHERS
I was not particularly interested in history until I entered the sixth grade and began studying Ancient and Medieval History under the creative instruction of Jane Pentilla. Mrs. Pentilla did something no history teacher had previously done to that point in my academic career. Rather than present dry facts for memorization, she told us stories. She didn’t make up tales, but her presentation of the facts were embedded in stories. We heard of the daily lives of the ancient Egyptians, the Pharaohs and their courts as well as the common people. We learned about Egyptian embalming practices, which grossed out some kids, but captivated me. (I know. I’m a little weird like that.) We looked at photographs of the pyramids, the Sphinx and the tomb of Tutankhamun while she rhapsodized about them. In out minds’ eyes we sailed with Alexander the Great, entered the tomb with Socrates as he was forced to drink hemlock, strolled the agora, and offered sacrifice at the Parthenon. By the end of that year, Mrs. Pentilla had opened such a fascinating world to me that I set my heart on becoming an archeologist.
This lasted until ninth grade, my next encounter with Ancient and Medieval History. It had been two years since my course with Mrs. Pentilla and no other history course since had been taught in the same way. Somehow I assumed it was the subject matter rather than the teaching style that made the difference. Boy, was I wrong! The teacher, who will remain nameless, was a very nice man who obviously knew his subject matter well. The problem was he did not know how to engage students in the wonder of it. What he seemed best at was putting us to sleep. I mean that literally. Many were the times I struggled to keep my eyes open. At some point, it became my job to wake up the boy who sat behind me about half way through every class. By the time that semester ended, I’d had enough. No longer did I dream of becoming an archaeologist. I just wanted to never to step foot in that soporific classroom again. Oh, what a difference a teacher (or a teaching method) can make!
THE LURE OF HISTORICAL FICTION
Thankfully, that deadly dull class did not spoil out my ripening love of history. During middle school I had one of the best Literature teachers of my life, Janet Heroian. As long as we got our work done Monday through Thursday, she would devote Friday’s class entirely to reading a book to us. We spent Friday Lit classes immersed in the world of some of the best YA books of the time (mid 1970s). Through this, I learned to picture the story I was hearing in my mind. It was nothing to make the jump from doing it while being read to, to doing it while reading. Before long, I realized that the words on the page seemed to disappear. My experience was more of watching a movie. I could see and hear everything as if it were happening in front of me. This gift, I believe, originated with Mrs. Heroin’s Friday reading sessions. It is one for which I am ever grateful.
By seventh grade I was reading on a college level. I constantly searched out books that would feed my growing appetite for the written word. The small lending library in Mrs. Heroian’s classroom became my buffet of preference. It wasn’t long before she became aware of the type of stories I favored and started keeping an eye out for books she thought I would enjoy. One of the books I borrowed from her library was a fictionalized account of the Salem Witch Hysteria. After reading that book, I was hooked! I couldn’t get my hands on enough books about Salem, fiction or non-fiction. Interestingly, more and more of them kept showing up on Mrs. Heroian’s book shelf. To this day, I still have a deep fascination with that subject. I’m currently conjuring plans for a novel with Salem 1692 as its setting.
But the late 17th century wasn’t the only time period that interested me. The more books I read with an historical setting, the more interested I became in history. Unlike dry as dust classes, I found some of my best teachers between the pages of novels. Suddenly, I wanted to know all about the American Revolution and the Civil War. It was not so much the battles or politics which interested me, but the everyday lives of people in those times. I read and reread my all-time favorite book, Louisa May Alcott’s Little Women, so often I practically knew it by heart. It fostered in me a tremendous desire to live in the 1860s. I even convinced my parents to rip up the rug in my bedroom exposing the hardwood floors and to buy me a canopy bed, thinking these things would at least let me feel as though I was living in the past. And they did, too, to a degree. At least it was fun to imagine.
Once firmly ensconced in high school, I discovered two things: Stephen King and historical romance novels. Though they probably couldn’t be more different, both entranced me. I’ve always had a fascination with the paranormal, possibly because when I was very young we lived in a haunted house (more on that in a future post) so King’s books fed that preoccupation. Discovering the historical romance genre spoke to both my love of history and my suddenly kicked-into-high-gear teenage hormones. I can’t deny that a strong part of the allure was the steamy sex scenes that filled so many of these novels’ pages.
There was a plethora of historical romance novels and I devoured them. Much about them was formulaic, but that didn’t matter. I loved being taken to a wide variety of countries and time periods. I was exposed to historical events in a way that was so interesting, so downright fun, that it fostered a curiosity to learn more about the events themselves. Through historical romance novels, I fell head over heels in love with history.
THE NEXT PHASE
Eventually, I moved from romances to historical fiction where, though there may be (and usually is) some romance involved, it is not the focus of the story. I wanted to know more about the actual history. I wanted to know if what I was reading was historically accurate. I, skittishly at first, began reading historical non-fiction. It took me a while to acquire a taste for it, but eventually I found that well written non-fiction could be equally exciting in its own way. Gaining a better understanding of the facts made the fiction (if the author did his or her research well) all the more interesting because I really “got it.”
I went on to earn an undergraduate degree in history. I worked for three years at Old Sturbridge Village, a living history museum in Sturbridge, Massachusetts, as a Museum Assistant for the Department of Research, Collections and Library. It was a blast to spend every work day assisting research historians and curators, who, by the way, are not dry as dust, but some of the most interesting, unique and hysterically funny people I’ve ever known.
But in my heart, I knew I wanted to give to others the amazing gift I had received, a gift I revel in to this day. I wanted to write historical fiction. The publication of my first novel, Kelegeen, was the beginning of the realization of that dream. Research for the sequel is underway. Ideas for myriad historical novels swirl through my head during most of my waking (and some of my sleeping) hours.
MY DREAM FOR MY READERS
What I hope to give my readers is an experience. I want to take you on a journey with each novel. I want to help you feel what it was like to be alive at a certain time in a certain place. I want to open a doorway for you to step out of your own life for a few hours and into someone else’s, someone who may be very different from you, but to whom you can relate. I especially want to engage you in some of the unusual, little known, and often quite extraordinary events, mores, and fascinations of other time periods – what I call “history with a twist.” I want to give you, my readers, the gift of the riches of history through the vehicle of story.
History is so much more than a list of dry facts. Told as a story, it comes to life. Connections between the past and present are more easily made. Learning happens sometimes without our even realizing it. History is precious and we should know about it because it is the story of all of us.
https://www.eileenofinlan.com/
IT STARTED (AND ALMOST ENDED) WITH TEACHERS
I was not particularly interested in history until I entered the sixth grade and began studying Ancient and Medieval History under the creative instruction of Jane Pentilla. Mrs. Pentilla did something no history teacher had previously done to that point in my academic career. Rather than present dry facts for memorization, she told us stories. She didn’t make up tales, but her presentation of the facts were embedded in stories. We heard of the daily lives of the ancient Egyptians, the Pharaohs and their courts as well as the common people. We learned about Egyptian embalming practices, which grossed out some kids, but captivated me. (I know. I’m a little weird like that.) We looked at photographs of the pyramids, the Sphinx and the tomb of Tutankhamun while she rhapsodized about them. In out minds’ eyes we sailed with Alexander the Great, entered the tomb with Socrates as he was forced to drink hemlock, strolled the agora, and offered sacrifice at the Parthenon. By the end of that year, Mrs. Pentilla had opened such a fascinating world to me that I set my heart on becoming an archeologist.
This lasted until ninth grade, my next encounter with Ancient and Medieval History. It had been two years since my course with Mrs. Pentilla and no other history course since had been taught in the same way. Somehow I assumed it was the subject matter rather than the teaching style that made the difference. Boy, was I wrong! The teacher, who will remain nameless, was a very nice man who obviously knew his subject matter well. The problem was he did not know how to engage students in the wonder of it. What he seemed best at was putting us to sleep. I mean that literally. Many were the times I struggled to keep my eyes open. At some point, it became my job to wake up the boy who sat behind me about half way through every class. By the time that semester ended, I’d had enough. No longer did I dream of becoming an archaeologist. I just wanted to never to step foot in that soporific classroom again. Oh, what a difference a teacher (or a teaching method) can make!
THE LURE OF HISTORICAL FICTION
Thankfully, that deadly dull class did not spoil out my ripening love of history. During middle school I had one of the best Literature teachers of my life, Janet Heroian. As long as we got our work done Monday through Thursday, she would devote Friday’s class entirely to reading a book to us. We spent Friday Lit classes immersed in the world of some of the best YA books of the time (mid 1970s). Through this, I learned to picture the story I was hearing in my mind. It was nothing to make the jump from doing it while being read to, to doing it while reading. Before long, I realized that the words on the page seemed to disappear. My experience was more of watching a movie. I could see and hear everything as if it were happening in front of me. This gift, I believe, originated with Mrs. Heroin’s Friday reading sessions. It is one for which I am ever grateful.
By seventh grade I was reading on a college level. I constantly searched out books that would feed my growing appetite for the written word. The small lending library in Mrs. Heroian’s classroom became my buffet of preference. It wasn’t long before she became aware of the type of stories I favored and started keeping an eye out for books she thought I would enjoy. One of the books I borrowed from her library was a fictionalized account of the Salem Witch Hysteria. After reading that book, I was hooked! I couldn’t get my hands on enough books about Salem, fiction or non-fiction. Interestingly, more and more of them kept showing up on Mrs. Heroian’s book shelf. To this day, I still have a deep fascination with that subject. I’m currently conjuring plans for a novel with Salem 1692 as its setting.
But the late 17th century wasn’t the only time period that interested me. The more books I read with an historical setting, the more interested I became in history. Unlike dry as dust classes, I found some of my best teachers between the pages of novels. Suddenly, I wanted to know all about the American Revolution and the Civil War. It was not so much the battles or politics which interested me, but the everyday lives of people in those times. I read and reread my all-time favorite book, Louisa May Alcott’s Little Women, so often I practically knew it by heart. It fostered in me a tremendous desire to live in the 1860s. I even convinced my parents to rip up the rug in my bedroom exposing the hardwood floors and to buy me a canopy bed, thinking these things would at least let me feel as though I was living in the past. And they did, too, to a degree. At least it was fun to imagine.
Once firmly ensconced in high school, I discovered two things: Stephen King and historical romance novels. Though they probably couldn’t be more different, both entranced me. I’ve always had a fascination with the paranormal, possibly because when I was very young we lived in a haunted house (more on that in a future post) so King’s books fed that preoccupation. Discovering the historical romance genre spoke to both my love of history and my suddenly kicked-into-high-gear teenage hormones. I can’t deny that a strong part of the allure was the steamy sex scenes that filled so many of these novels’ pages.
There was a plethora of historical romance novels and I devoured them. Much about them was formulaic, but that didn’t matter. I loved being taken to a wide variety of countries and time periods. I was exposed to historical events in a way that was so interesting, so downright fun, that it fostered a curiosity to learn more about the events themselves. Through historical romance novels, I fell head over heels in love with history.
THE NEXT PHASE
Eventually, I moved from romances to historical fiction where, though there may be (and usually is) some romance involved, it is not the focus of the story. I wanted to know more about the actual history. I wanted to know if what I was reading was historically accurate. I, skittishly at first, began reading historical non-fiction. It took me a while to acquire a taste for it, but eventually I found that well written non-fiction could be equally exciting in its own way. Gaining a better understanding of the facts made the fiction (if the author did his or her research well) all the more interesting because I really “got it.”
I went on to earn an undergraduate degree in history. I worked for three years at Old Sturbridge Village, a living history museum in Sturbridge, Massachusetts, as a Museum Assistant for the Department of Research, Collections and Library. It was a blast to spend every work day assisting research historians and curators, who, by the way, are not dry as dust, but some of the most interesting, unique and hysterically funny people I’ve ever known.
But in my heart, I knew I wanted to give to others the amazing gift I had received, a gift I revel in to this day. I wanted to write historical fiction. The publication of my first novel, Kelegeen, was the beginning of the realization of that dream. Research for the sequel is underway. Ideas for myriad historical novels swirl through my head during most of my waking (and some of my sleeping) hours.
MY DREAM FOR MY READERS
What I hope to give my readers is an experience. I want to take you on a journey with each novel. I want to help you feel what it was like to be alive at a certain time in a certain place. I want to open a doorway for you to step out of your own life for a few hours and into someone else’s, someone who may be very different from you, but to whom you can relate. I especially want to engage you in some of the unusual, little known, and often quite extraordinary events, mores, and fascinations of other time periods – what I call “history with a twist.” I want to give you, my readers, the gift of the riches of history through the vehicle of story.
History is so much more than a list of dry facts. Told as a story, it comes to life. Connections between the past and present are more easily made. Learning happens sometimes without our even realizing it. History is precious and we should know about it because it is the story of all of us.
https://www.eileenofinlan.com/
July 13, 2018
Nose in a Book? Mine, too!
When I was a kid I often heard myself described as always having “my nose in a book.” Often it was said with some level of contempt as in “she always has her nose in a damn book.” It’s true, I did and still do. I never apologized for it and I never will! Reading is a passion for me. I'm always in the middle of a book, usually more than one. Reading has been a tremendous pleasure throughout my life.
My love of reading easily translated into a love of writing. After many years of learning the craft, I am finally a published author. My first novel, Kelegeen, a work of historical fiction set in Ireland during An Gorta Mór (The Great Hunger) has been published by BWL Publishing, Inc. and is available in print and ectronic formats on amazon.com, and barnesandnoble.com,and in digital format on kobo.com, smashwords.com, and googleplay.com. Seems as though always having my nose in a book has paid off!
If your nose is always in a book, too, then welcome! In this blog I will write about the love of reading, specific books, people who’ve influenced me, my own writing, and pretty much anything to do with books. I’ll also be inviting guest authors to share the stories of their love of books. I’d love to know what you have to say so, please feel free to join the conversation in the comments section. I only ask that everyone be respectful of each other’s opinions.
My love of reading easily translated into a love of writing. After many years of learning the craft, I am finally a published author. My first novel, Kelegeen, a work of historical fiction set in Ireland during An Gorta Mór (The Great Hunger) has been published by BWL Publishing, Inc. and is available in print and ectronic formats on amazon.com, and barnesandnoble.com,and in digital format on kobo.com, smashwords.com, and googleplay.com. Seems as though always having my nose in a book has paid off!
If your nose is always in a book, too, then welcome! In this blog I will write about the love of reading, specific books, people who’ve influenced me, my own writing, and pretty much anything to do with books. I’ll also be inviting guest authors to share the stories of their love of books. I’d love to know what you have to say so, please feel free to join the conversation in the comments section. I only ask that everyone be respectful of each other’s opinions.
