K.B. Inglee's Blog: The Shepherd's Notes, page 22

Reading and Those Pesky Historical Errors

I read historical mysteries until I come to the first factual error. When I find one, and I’m sure I miss a lot of them, I evaluate the book and decide if I should go on. If I stop reading it is never because of the error but because plot, character or action have not caught me up in the story enough to overlook it.
Take my most recent read. The author knows the “school” history cold, kings, dates, outcomes of battles, political intrigue. The author has no notion of how people lived. There were many, many errors of daily life, some laughable. The author extols the virtues of pure bred dogs, black as a color of mourning for the middle class, and pepper used by a poor thief to distract his victims while he picks their pockets. While I am sure farmers bred best to best, the idea of scientific breeding and breed registers didn’t come along til late 18th early 19th century. Black was a color worn by rich people because the dye degraded the cloth and faded easily. Not practical for people who had to make clothing last. If the thief could have afforded pepper, he would have made more as a pepper merchant than as a cut purse.
Did I stop reading? No. The book was a rousing adventure story with winning characters and some nice scenes of court intrigue. Would I pick up another by this author? Probably not.

Soon You Can Read My Friend's Book

A good friend of mine is about to have her novel published.

When I got the news my reaction was: “Wonderful…why not me?”

I am not the least bit ambivalent about this. I am 100% thrilled for her. I am 100% bumbed out for me.

There is no question that she disserves it. She has worked her tail off for this. She is an excellent writer. She’s been nominated for awards for her short stories. She has been shopping a couple of novels for some time now. I have read one, though not the one she sold, and found it imaginative with intriguing characters and a twist that made it nearly impossible for it to be a genuine mystery story, but she brought it off. Her work should have been published ages ago.

I spent one day jumping up and down for her, and the next day feeling sorry for myself.

Now is the time to take a good hard look at what I am doing and why I am doing it. I know that you can’t take rejection personally. I know that you have to write and rewrite. I know that persistence pays off. I know that losers are those who gave up too soon.

So in her honor I will be sending out five short stories before the end of the year, finishing the zillionth rewrite of my Emily novel, and finishing some of the stuff that has been sitting around on thumb drives for ages.

I can’t wait to get my signed copy of her book.

Stopping by Wawa

Wawa is the Lenape word for goose. In my part of the world it is the name of a town, a dairy and now a convenience store. On my way to the mill this morning I stopped at the Wawa to pick up something for lunch. Usually I wear jeans and a polo shirt but this morning I was wearing a blue print short gown, a scarlet petticoat that came to my ankles and a linen cap and apron. It’s fun to watch people try not to stare. Very seldom does anyone ask me why I am dressed this way. Once a man tried to talk to me in German, but I don’t speak or understand it. A bagger at the local grocery calls me “Amish” if I am in period clothing and doesn’t recognize me if I am in regular street clothes. These clothes are not even close to what the Amish wear, but the thing that stands out to people is “odd” not any of the many varies of odd. People are excessively polite when I dress this way. I get waited on more quickly; I am often asked if I would like to move up in line. I have the habit of saying “good morning” to people and they always nod back. I am never ignored.
One time a man with his daughter came up to me in a grocery store and he said,” I know where you have been.”
“Where?” I asked.
“At the Civil War re-enactment in the park.”
His daughter tugged his sleeve and said, “Oh, no, Daddy, she’s from Greenbank.”
The girl had actually learned something on her school field trip. Good for her.

Life Stops for the Flood

If you are going to build a water powered mill the fist thing you need to do is find the proper location. It has to be a stream tshat drops rapidly, flows all year, and set in a flood plain where building is possible and transportation easily available.

The result is that any mill worth its salt floods from time to time. I work at two mills built in two different valleys. My house is in a third.

On Friday all three sites took a hit from the storm. The mills are built to take good sized flood and my house is sandbagged. While the structures are fine, the electric, telephone and internet systems were all down.

Add a few other complications and life comes to a halt for a few days. We are getting things back together, and should be running full stream ahead any day now.

Now What?

I have been putting off a difficult task for a couple of weeks. The first 30 pages of my novel have been read and commented on by seven people. It is amazing the things these readers find that I overlooked. Would Emily forget to lock the bathroom door? Who is actually hefting the bag up the stairs?
My first step it to combine all the comment on a single manuscript and then make any changes I feel necessary.
I have to take out all the boring bits and there are plenty of them. Make the characters more distinct. Remove all the events I stuck in simply to pass on information to the reader. Most important I have to change all references to the death of one of the leading characters who has now been shot instead of dying of pneumonia.
Once I have updated the now 32 pages, I can send it off to my editor.
Since I have been concentrating on short stories I am finding it difficult to shift back into novel mode. There are lots of differences between short stories and novels, but in this case it is a week vs. several months of work. I am debating shifting my attention, especially since I have several short stories calling out to be edited.

Fall Writing Frenzy

It’s been a busy week. Lots of writing chores. After getting some great feedback on my first novel, I have decided to have another go at it. I have finished a short story which now gets to sit and cool before I go back and edit it. I have read two 4000 word pieces for critiquing. I have begun compiling my Christmas stories.
Extra energy? I do better as soon as the summer heat becomes autumn cool.
I realized mid summer that I was not writing at all. I took several conscious steps to fix that. I took an on line course. It was a beginning writers’ course so I didn’t have to think much about it, but it got me back in the groove. I helped start a critique group of mystery writers.
Best of all, I spent a weekend with 17 other writers in a beach house. We critiqued each other’s work, ate well, walked on the beach and talked endlessly about writing. I have attended conferences since I started writing but this was something different. Writers helping writers write better.

Jumping from the High Platform

I was told this weekend that I had a good solid platform for my writing. I was surprised, but there I was knitting a tippet, much as my ancestors probably did. People who write about knitting should know how to knit. People who write about auto racing should be a part of that community. People who write about history should participate somehow in things historical. That is the writer's platform.

I started this blog to highlight the intersection of my historical interpretation and my writing.

Beginning writers are told to write what they know and love. I love my sheep and never tire of talking about them. I love putting on my petticoat and short gown and showing people how a water powered mill operates. I love writing about characters who are amazed by indoor plumbing and electric lights. People who cannot travel faster than a horse can gallop, people who don’t trust paper money.

I have never been shy about explaining what I do because I love it so much. I am often greeted by people I met on line with: “Oh, you’re the shepherd.” Even my boring explanations of why I am knitting with synthetic yarn instead of pure wool seem to interest people.

Yes, I do get to do a lot of the stuff that my characters do. But at the end of the day when someone asks me if I wouldn’t like to live in 1802, all I have to say is Doctors and Dentists.

Historical mystery peeves

My favorite read is a good strong historical mystery.
I loved The Bone Garden by Tess Gerritsen.
My biggest pet peeve with historicals is the use of a prominent real person as the protagonist.
Since I read a lot of non-fiction, I have a preconceived notion of who these people were and how they behaved. Almost never does the fictional character bear any resemblance to my notion. This is not to say that the author doesn’t have the character right on, only that it doesn’t match the character in my head. This was the case with Matthew Pearl’s The Dante Club. While the author had done his work, and was true to all the characters, I didn’t like the way O.W. Holmes, Sr. was presented. There were so many other good things about the book I simply ignored Holmes.
My own characters have a habit of running away with the story and doing the most unexpected things. What would I do if Henry James, decided he didn’t want to write novels but become a lawyer? Or his brother William wanted to follow his artistic inclinations and not teach at Harvard at all? I couldn’t let either of them do that. In a couple of cases the protagonists of books I have read seem to have done just that. Either that or the author didn’t do his or her homework.

It's not Cabbot Cove but....

Over the years I have laid low a goodly number of victims at the Living History site where I volunteer. First to go was a man of middle years who may or may not have been done in by the ram in whose pen he was found. The second was a woman stabbed at her loom. Then a woman fell down the stairs in the barn and landed on the flagstones at the bottom, pushed or tripped? Next to go was a kitchen maid who ate the poisoned sandwiches intended for another. The mistress of the house was poisoned, or stabbed, or strangled in the master bedroom.
This brings me joy for several reasons. I was able to rid myself of people who deserved to be killed, at least fictionally, without having to suffer the legal consequences of murder. I have stretched my creative wings and put together credible stories. I have been able to popularize a site which I enjoy which as far as we know has no history of a murder taking place there. KB

Meet the sheep

The sheep in my icon are Mr. Tiny and his mother. They work for a Living History Museum as part of a heritage flock which I tend.
It's been a hard summer. We lost several sheep after excessive heat, the stand of corn was destroyed by a wind storm, the fish all died because the pond water was too warm to sustain healthy fish, and the vegatable garden washed away in a flood.
Looks like a hard winter for the miller and his family.

KB