Meredith Allard's Blog, page 20
May 20, 2019
A New Writing Challenge: Down Salem Way
Every time I write something new I set myself a challenge to do something I’ve never done before. As an artist, I like pushing myself past my comfort zone. I like experimenting and seeing what works (and what does not). Writing is like other forms of art in that once you think you’ve got it all figured out it’s time to put it away. I don’t want to limit my writing in any way. I want to allow my imagination freedom, and I want to grow as an artist. One way I accomplish that is by setting myself new challenges with everything I write.
With Her Dear & Loving Husband, the challenge was figuring out how to work the past and present storylines together in a way that made sense yet kept readers on their toes as the storylines began to intertwine. I had never written a story with past and present storylines before, and it took some time (and help from a great beta reader) for me to figure out how to take the story I saw in my head and get it down on paper.
The challenge for Her Loving Husband’s Curse was to keep everything readers loved about HDLH while expanding the story into new territory. Her Loving Husband’s Curse was the most heart-rending book I had written to that point, so I had to learn how to write a story that was properly heartbreaking without leaving readers cold. There was also a new historical background, the Trail of Tears, to bring to life. There were similar challenges with Her Loving Husband’s Return in that it had a new historical period—the Japanese-American internments during World War II. Mainly, the challenge for the final book in the trilogy was my intention for readers to be pleasantly surprised with the, well, surprise at the end. I wanted to leave enough clues so readers wouldn’t be blindsided, but I also wanted people to say “Look what James did!”
When It Rained at Hembry Castle brought its own challenges. Hembry, a Victorian sweet romance, was inspired by my love for Downton Abbey as well as my love for Dickens, and the story has a larger cast of characters than I had ever worked with before. Bringing the various storylines from the various characters together into a cohesive narrative was definitely a challenge.
With Down Salem Way the main challenge was that I never intended for this book to exist. I had planned James and Sarah’s story as a trilogy, and when I finished Her Loving Husband’s Return I felt that the story was pretty well wrapped up. Somehow (thank the literary gods), the Loving Husband Trilogy found a devoted audience of readers, and many of you sent emails, left messages on this blog, and contacted me through social media (keep the messages coming—I love them!) asking, pretty please, if there would be any more James and Sarah books. For awhile, maybe as much as a year, I said no, the story is wrapped up, that’s all folks. Then I realized that maybe there was more to say about James and Sarah, so I started writing Down Salem Way in 2015.
When I first started thinking about Down Salem Way, I imagined it as part prequel, as in it would take place partially during the Salem Witch Trials, and it would be part sequel, taking place after Her Loving Husband’s Return ends. I don’t want to say too much about that storyline because I’m going to turn it into another Loving Husband story (yes, readers, there will be more Loving Husband stories after Down Salem Way). I wrote a first draft of the prequel/sequel. I wrote a second draft. After wrestling with the second draft a bit I realized that the story, in that format, wasn’t working for me. I put Down Salem Way away, knowing that I needed to rethink what I was doing. I’ve talked before about how sometimes we need to set our writing aside so that we can look at it with fresh eyes.
Like many of you, I’ve been enjoying the Outlander series, both books and TV show. I discovered both in 2014 after the TV show premiered. I guess I had been living under a rock because I wasn’t familiar with the Outlander phenomenon until after I started seeing publicity for the TV show. After I put DSW away for a rethink, I went onto Amazon to buy the next book in the Outlander series (I think I was reading Drums of Autumn at that time) and I noticed the novellas. I bought Virgins and I loved it. As a writer, I loved the concept behind it—seeing an aspect of Jamie’s life before he met Claire that had been touched on in the books but not described in great detail. And then I thought—you can do that? You can go back and add more about something that had only been briefly touched on in the book? And that was my lightbulb moment.
Even when I was writing Her Dear & Loving Husband I knew I wasn’t delving into the Salem Witch Trials in as much depth as I would have liked, but there wasn’t room for it in that story. Her Dear & Loving Husband is about how James and Sarah find their way back to each other. The novel is not a treatise on the Salem Witch Trials. Her Dear & Loving Husband is a love story, and the history serves as the means through which James and Sarah find their way home. After reading Virgins, I thought, well, why not go back and visit James and Elizabeth in the Massachusetts Bay Colony in 1692? Why not look at the life that James and Elizabeth had before the madness of the witch hunts? And why not examine how the madness affected them?
In Down Salem Way we watch a wealthy merchant’s son and a poor farmer’s daughter fall into such a passionate love that it transcends time. Loving Husband Trilogy fans know what I’m talking about. DSW is strictly an historical novel—it takes place in 1692—so there’s no jumping back and forth between the past and the present as in the other Loving Husband books. It’s also told entirely in first person point of view—James’ POV, in fact. The other Loving Husband stories were written primarily in third person POV, with flashes of first person from either James or Elizabeth, but James is the right person to tell the story of Down Salem Way. The novel is his diary, after all. John, James’ beloved father, plays an important role in Down Salem Way. Geoffrey and Miriam also make appearances. While Down Salem Way has the main element fans love about the Loving Husband stories (namely, the love story between James and Elizabeth/Sarah), it is also its own being. I was asked recently if Down Salem Way is a stand-alone book, and my answer is yes, I think it is. I think it adds some depth to James and Elizabeth’s story if readers have read the Loving Husband Trilogy, but I don’t think it’s necessary for understanding.
I had never written an epistolary novel before (simply put, an epistolary novel is a novel written as letters, a diary, or a journal), so that became my main challenge in bringing James and Elizabeth’s story to life. Writing out James’ journal has been my greatest joy in writing Down Salem Way. I’ll have more to say about writing an epistolary novel in a later post. For now, I’ll say that writing an epistolary novel is indeed a challenge, but it’s one I’m glad I took on.
May 13, 2019
Hygge For Writers and Other People
While I like social media, I love Pinterest. Pinterest is not considered social media since you’re not actually being social. I call Pinterest selfish social media. You see something you like and you keep it. If you want people to see what you’ve kept, you can, but if you don’t you can keep your boards private. Pinterest has become my go-to source for ideas for recipes, writing inspiration, quotes, art journaling, and gardening. I am right now trying to grow my own avocado tree based on a pin I saw on Pinterest.
These days I get most of my book recommendations from Pinterest. I love to share books that I’m reading or books that have caught my eye for one reason or other. My historical fiction board is one of my most followed boards and I love getting ideas from other pinners.
I’ve been seeing a lot of pins about hygge (pronounced hue-guh or hoo-gah—I’ve seen it both ways) and I became curious about what this happiness concept was all about. I read articles like this one from Country Living and this one from The New Yorker. Finally, I went direct to the source, the book The Little Book of Hygge: Danish Secrets to Happy Living by happiness researcher Miek Wiking. Sounds like a cool gig, really, researching happiness.
[image error]
Wiking’s book isn’t groundbreaking in the sense that it presents new ideas. The book’s power comes from the way it simplifies an age-old concept—doing things that bring us comfort may make us happier. Hygge won’t pay the bills. It won’t eliminate illness or stress or traffic or deadlines. But by participating in activities that promote hygge, a feeling of comfort or well-being, we can, for that moment at least, find some much-needed joy in our lives. The Danes embrace the concept of hygge wholeheartedly, which may be why they are often at the top of lists that name the happiest people in the world.
The easiest way to understand hygge is to think of comfort. Reading a good book while sipping a hot cup of coffee, tea, or cocoa while we are covered by a soft blanket is hygge. Soft, fluffy socks are hygge. Sitting near the open window listening to the rain is hygge. Eating cake is hygge (yeah, man, hygge gets me!). Lighting candles is hygge. Walking in nature is hygge. Wiking talks about how hygge brings people together in a positive way. You don’t need to spend a lot of money, or really any money, to experience hygge. Sitting outside on your patio enjoying the sunset is hygge and doesn’t cost a thing. Wiking’s book reminds me that focusing on comforting things can have a healing effect.
Instead of having the fluorescent overhead kitchen light glaring in my face, I light candles and turn on my fake fireplace. I live in an apartment, so I have a plug-in fireplace. The flames are still pretty but I don’t have to worry about my flat buring down around me. I love coffee, and hot drinks are high on the list of hygge-things. I love tea too. I love reading good books. I love listening to music (my Pandora app has a lot of yoga and classical stations, as well as Paul McCartney and The Beatles. Paul McCartney is comfort listening for me). I love putting on my comfy jammies and my fluffy socks and covering myself with a soft blanket while I read. I love using my slow cooker to make healthy, delicious meals.
And don’t forget the cake! I’m into health and wellness, like a lot of you are, but I appreciate that Wiking says it’s okay to eat cake and pastries when the mood strikes us. If you want cake, eat cake! Not the whole cake, but enough to satisfy the craving. We have to indulge ourselves now and again. Life is too short to live like toddlers in the time-out corner because we were naughty for wanting to indulge our sweet tooth. And it’s too short to live like a baker version of the Soup Nazi from Seinfeld—“No cake for you!” Yes, cake for you. And cake for you too.
I was doing a lot of what Wiking talks about anyway—reading, lighting candles, cooking good food, drinking coffee, and eating cake. But Wiking reminds me to do these things with consciousness; in other words, I need to be in the moment with what I’m doing and why I’m doing it. I’m wearing my fluffy socks because they bring me comfort. I’m writing because it brings me joy.
Writing can be hygge for me, especially when it’s going well. I love writing. I love telling stories, both fiction and nonfiction, and when I’m writing I feel most at home in the world. On the other hand, preparing a manuscript for final edits, stressing over deadlines, settling on a publicity schedule–none of that is particularly comforting, but still, it must be done. I have to make a deliberate effort to make writing time more hygge friendly.
The usual hygge activities apply to writing as well as other parts of life. I light candles and turn on my electric fireplace. I listen to music. I turn down the main lights, and I put soft-glow bulbs into the lamps near my writing nook so there’s no glare. I use the blue-light filter on my computer screen even during the day. Sometimes I’ll handwrite ideas or passages instead of typing them. In this post I talked about how I use notebooks now instead of typing everything into a computer file.
As I write this I have Mozart playing on Pandora, a lit candle on my desk, my electric fireplace going (without the heater since it’s 85 degrees Fahrenheit in Vegas), and my blinds are open so I can see the greenery and the hummingbirds poking their delicate beaks into the sugar water I leave for them. One cat is nearby taking a bath and the other cat is staring out the window. So even while I’m working I’m still creating an environment that, while it isn’t always stress-free, it’s still pleasant. And then when I’m done with my work it doesn’t take much for me to find the comfort that hygge promises.
For me, hygge is about doing things that bring me comfort for no other reason than they bring me comfort. That is an important lesson for writers and other people.
May 6, 2019
Finding My Writing Flow
It took me some time to get back into writing after finishing my PhD. I busted several synapses (actually, most of my synapses) finishing my dissertation. Then I worried that I used up every ounce of creativity I had, which of course is silly. As Maya Angelou said, “You can’t use up creativity. The more you use, the more you have.” Other life stresses got in the way, as well, and before I knew it an entire year passed and I thought I had little to show for it.
After some nudging, I remembered to be kind to myself. In fact, I did get some important work done. We created brand spanking new editions of all three books of the Loving Husband Trilogy. And after four years, Down Salem Way is nearing final edits and it will be published this summer. So, yeah, I did okay.
Here’s some of what I learned about finding my writing flow (as opposed to daydreaming about writing). These are my lessons. Your lessons are your own to discover.
I Have a No-Routine
Routine
This isn’t really a lesson, but that’s part of what we must become comfortable with when we choose to live a creative life. We can look at examples from others we admire, but in the end, we need to decide what works for us. We can read lists about the routines of famous writers like this one from Medium.com and this one from Brain Pickings. I love to see how these crazy-talented humans crafted routines that allowed them to create brilliant works of art.
Of course, my favorite is from my main man, Charles Dickens. Here’s what Medium.com said about Dickens’ unvaried writing routine:
Dickens’s working hours were invariable. His eldest son
recalled that “no city clerk was ever more methodical or orderly than he; no
humdrum, monotonous, conventional task could ever have been discharged with
more punctuality or with more business-like regularity, than he gave to the
work of his imagination and fancy.”
He rose at 7:00, had breakfast at 8:00, and was in his
study by 9:00. He stayed there until 2:00, taking a brief break for lunch with
his family, during which he often seemed to be in a trance, eating mechanically
and barely speaking a word before hurrying back to his desk.
On an ordinary day he could complete about two thousand
words in this way, but during a flight of imagination he sometimes managed
twice that amount. Other days, however, he would hardly write anything;
nevertheless, he stuck to his work hours without fail, doodling and staring out
the window to pass the time.
Promptly at 2:00, Dickens left his desk for a vigorous
three-hour walk through the countryside or the streets of London, continuing to
think of his story and, as he described it, “searching for some pictures I
wanted to build upon.” Returning home, his brother-in-law remembered, “he
looked the personification of energy, which seemed to ooze from every pore as
from some hidden reservoir.” Dickens’s nights, however, were relaxed: he dined
at 6:00, then spent the evening with family or friends before retiring at
midnight.
Just so you know, I’m not walking for three hours through the dusty, desert streets of Las Vegas, especially not in the 110-degree summertime heat. I had to find my own way of creating.
[image error]
Unlike Dickens, I don’t like doing the same thing at the same time each day. Some days I get to work early. Some days I like to try out new coffee shops. Some days I head down to the Strip (this is Vegas, baby). I get to work when I get to work, and that works for me. Anne Lamott says we should write at the same time every day because it tricks our brains into kicking into gear. Maya Angelou said something similar. Bully for them. And bully for you too if such a routine works for you (remember, this is about what works for you, not anyone else).
I mean, I really dislike routines. I have an inherent recalcitrance which means that I can’t be told what to do, even if I’m the one telling myself to do it. I had that problem a number of times this year. Someone would say to me “Do this” and my response was generally, “Yeah, that’s not gonna happen.” So I don’t do well with hours blocked out on a Google Calendar saying what time I’m supposed to work on my essay, what time I’m supposed to feed the cats, what time I’m supposed to edit a chapter. There were times when I’d create the events on the calendar and then never look at the events since I didn’t care what the calendar said. I’ll feed the cats when I damn well feel like feeding the cats. So there Google Calendar!
Instead of plotting out my hours, I give myself one or two tasks per day. That’s it. When I get my tasks done, life is good. Two tasks a day might not sound like much to the Productivity Gurus, but I’ve seen a lot of blog posts wondering if we’re actually using our time to our best advantage, which to me suggests a backlash against all the productivity rules shoved up our hoo-haas for a few years now. We need to get our work done, of course we do, but we also need to live our lives, spend quality time with our families, read good books, watch the sunset, or even stare at the wall if that’s what we need to do to recharge. We are not hardwired to work constantly, every day, all day. We are not created to have every last minute of our days scheduled (unless you’re Charles Dickens, in which case, keep doing what you’re doing).
Today my two tasks were first, to edit three chapters of Down Salem Way. This is my last run through before the manuscript goes off for final edits so I’m in the fiddly stage where I add and subtract the same comma for an hour. Since I know this stage of editing is a task that takes a long time, my only other task for the day was to write this blog post. I accomplished what I wished and though you can’t see me I’m doing a happy dance. It’s a Grandad happy dance, but still, it’s a happy dance. It’s nearly 8 pm as I’m writing this, but I tend to have my better ideas later in the afternoon and early evening so it’s all good. All is well with my soul and now I have time to read, color in my new paisley design coloring book, brush the cats, and watch the white-pink-gold desert sunsets we’re lucky enough to have here in Vegas (the sun is still setting at 8 pm during these longer days, a cool thing indeed).
I Use Notebooks
I mean real notebooks, the real kind with real paper that you write in with real pens. In Writing Down the Bones, Natalie Goldberg talks about getting goofy notebooks with cartoon characters and funny pictures on the covers. Her rationale is it’s harder to take yourself seriously when you’re writing in a Peanuts notebook. I’ve always loved that idea. Writing Down the Bones was originally published in the 1970s, long before technology invaded every aspect of our lives; for me, Goldberg’s message resonates even more strongly today.
I gave up pen and paper for a few years. I’m a hippie tree hugger and I wanted to go entirely digital, thinking that journals and notebooks took up too much space (and trees) and the world is digital now so let’s do that instead.
Recently, I realized that my thoughts were getting lost. I was losing ideas (currency for an artist) and my concepts weren’t fitting together. I had a sense of what I wanted to accomplish, but the Google calendar didn’t work for me and I had too many cluttered files on my computer. But I had to keep track of my tasks. What did I want to add to social media this week? What was the research question for my article on storytelling as pedagogy? What is the publicity schedule for Down Salem Way? What interviews do I still need to respond to? A lot was getting lost, but it still needed to get done.
A few weeks ago I found some notebooks in a desk drawer (they were given to me as gifts). Finally, I started using them and it’s like a whole new world opened up. I think my problem with notebooks (perfectionists understand exactly what I’m talking about) is I’m afraid of making mistakes and having to cross out things and leaving ugly scratches whereas in a digital file I can delete the mistakes without ever having to look at them again. But maybe that’s a lesson I have to learn—it’s okay to cross things out when I need to. I have one notebook for fiction and nonfiction writing ideas, one notebook that acts as a to-do list which is where I write in my daily tasks, and one notebook that acts as a journal. In my to-do journal, I don’t add my daily tasks until the night before after I finish working so I can see what I’ve accomplished and what still needs doing.
Also, the academic in me wants you to know that there is a lot of research out there that argues that writing things down the old-fashioned way with pen and paper helps us learn better, remember more, and all that sort of good stuff. By the way, I’m still a hippie tree hugger. I buy notebooks made with recycled paper, and I recycle old notebooks I no longer need.
I’ve seen ideas for bullet journals on Pinterest and I’d love to try one. I think I’ll have some of the same anxieties with the bullet journal—the bullet journals on Pinterest are created by professional artists and I’m afraid I’d be too worried about what the journal looks like rather than the usefulness of the journal itself. One of these days I shall try it.
Finally…
I Now Have a Plan
I’ve been carrying writing ideas around in my head for a year now. Novels I want to write. I know the next Hembry story as well as the next Loving Husband story. Nonfiction books I want to write. I’ve had thoughts about how we teach writing since I began my PhD. Scholarly articles I want to write about what role creativity and storytelling might play in our day to day lives. But having the ideas floating around in my head is not the same as making a plan to actually get those ideas written into novels and articles.
Perhaps this contradicts what I said earlier about not having a routine, but not really. I’m not talking about scheduling tasks into neat little hour blocks. What I mean is I’m looking at the ideas for my next writing projects (written in my handy-dandy notebook, of course). Then I’m deciding what I want to write next, and then I schedule one or two tasks a day that allow me to reach that goal.
Oddly enough, I’ve become more productive by doing less. By having one or two specific tasks to accomplish each day, I can look back on my day (while brushing the cats and watching the sunset) and know I’m making progress. My work is getting done, and, for a creative person, that is the most important thing.
April 19, 2019
Down Salem Way Preorders are Here
The day we’ve all been waiting for is here! In honor of James’ 357th birthday, the ebook edition of Down Salem Way is available for preorder from Amazon. Click on the image above to go to Amazon’s Down Salem Way page. The official publication date is Tuesday, June 25, 2019.
Some of you have been asking about paperback preorders. The paperback order date will be closer to the official publication date. June 1, 2019 is the day paperbacks will become available.
Also, some of you have asked whether there will be signed copies of the paperback available. But of course for my fans (who are the best in the world)! Signed copies will be available on this website after the 6/25/19 release date. There will be an order link then.
Thanks for your questions. Keep them coming!
April 15, 2019
What I’m Reading
My reading has been eclectic lately (as it always is, actually). I’ve completed my research for Down Salem Way with two of these books, though I will always have a fascination with witch hunts and witch trials.
The Witch of Blackbird Pond by Elizabeth George Speare
I loved this book when I was a teenager and I still love it. Though Speare only wrote three books for young adults, each of the three are classics. More than any other book I read for research, The Witch of Blackbird Pond pulled me into life in 17th century Puritan Connecticut. One of the things I had been struggling with was finding what day to day life in Puritan New England looked like. The Witch of Blackbird Pond helped me discover that daily life in detail. Also, the main character, Kit Tyler, grows a lot during this story, as strong protagonists do. I related to her as a teenager, and in fact, I still do. This is a great book for readers with an interest in 17th century New England life.
Anne Frank: The Diary of a Young Girl
This was another favorite book from my younger years that I’ve recently reread. I had forgotten how powerful this book is. My main reason for rereading it was because Down Salem Way is an epistolary novel written as James’ journal. I wanted to read someone’s real-life diary (besides my own). I read articles about how to write an epistolary novel, you know the ones: Do this! Don’t do that! Don’t even think about that! Mainly, I had been reading that there are things that we should never include in epistolary novels because people don’t actually write those things in their diaries. I’m pleased to say that Anne’s diary proved all that advice wrong. Her diary is beautifully written with attention to detail and deep thought. Beyond using it to help me create James’ journal, it reminded me how precious life is and how we should never take anything for granted.
The Hiding Place by Corrie Ten Boom
This is not my usual type of reading, but it just goes to show that sometimes we need to push ourselves past our comfort zones. Corrie Ten Boom was a Christian missionary who, along with her father and sister, helped to hide Jewish people in Holland during World War II. The Ten Booms are discovered, and Corrie and her sister suffer the same fate as many Jewish people–they are sent to a concentration camp. The courage shown by the Ten Booms is amazing. It’s also sobering to realize that Anne Frank was in hiding during the same time the Ten Booms were hiding others. Though it covers a dark time in history, it is an uplifting book in its own way.
A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L’Engle
I’ve been on a young adult literature kick lately, but that’s okay. Some of the greatest books ever written were meant for young adults. I love that quote from Madeleine L’Engle: “You have to write the book that wants to be written. And if the book will be too difficult for grown-ups, then you write it for children.” I believe that is true. I recently saw A Wrinkle in Time on a bookshelf, picked it up, and I’m glad I did. A Wrinkle in Time is one of my all-time favorites, and I still enjoy it whenever I read it. It’s a sci-fi adventure, a story about family and friendship, and just plain fun. I recommend it for kids of all ages.
It’s strange, realizing that I’m done researching the Salem Witch Trials. But now I can study different areas of history that are equally interesting to me. That’s why I love writing historical fiction–it allows me to learn and grow. What’s next? A novel set during the pioneer days. I’m looking forward to the research.
April 3, 2019
Down Salem Way: Update
A number of you have asked about Down Salem Way, so here’s an update.
I’m pleased to report that Down Salem Way is coming along quite well. In fact, it’s (slightly) ahead of schedule. The preorder date is still set for James’ birthday, April 19, 2019–his 357th birthday, to be exact. I’ll let you know when a final publication date is set.
I’m still in the whittling down phase of writing. While I’m chipping away at the manuscript, working to bring James and Elizabeth’s story front and center, I’ve thought of Michelangelo. He believed his statues were inherent in the marble and it was up to him to reveal the form. That’s how I feel about this part of writing. The story is inherent in the draft and I have to whittle away until I find it. Sometimes I have to go back and add a bit since connections are made that I hadn’t seen before. For me, it’s always about the last line of the book. Once I hit the last line I have my Aha! moment and say, “So that’s what this book is about!” Then I can direct everything toward that ending. Yes, I’ve hit the last line. No, I’m not telling–yet.
I thought I’d repost the first sneak peek from Down Salem Way I shared a while back. The manuscript is still not through final edits, but this version is different enough if you’d like to compare it with the original version here. Enjoy!
* * * * *
The winters are colder here, I am certain of it. Father and I arrived here, in the Massachusetts Bay Colony, but a year ago during what we were assured was one of the harshest winters in memory. I can feel it so in my bones, which feel brittle, as though they shall shatter like icicles against a hammer. While England grows cold enough in the sunless months, in New England tis as though the sky disappears beneath a woolen blanket. I cannot step one foot outside my home without feeling liquid ice in my veins, but that is life in Massachusetts in January. The sky looks nearly as it does in England, gradations of gray from near-black to tinder-slate that shed wind, sleet, or snow depending on its mood.
This morn I met Father on the docks. He wished to inspect the shipbuilders as they banged out the hull of his latest vessel. Lizzie laughed as I piled on layers of clothing in an attempt to stay warm: my woolen flannel underdrawers, my linen shirt, my thickest worsted woolen leggings, perhaps not the most fashionable, but they are my warmest; my woolen suit of doublet, jerkin, and breeches, and my heavy, fulled woolen coat, the deep blue one that Lizzie says matches my eyes, though what matters my eyes when I cannot see for the blizzard. Lizzie pulled my coat close to my ears and knotted my scarf near my throat in an effort to keep whatever warmth I might take with me. I would cover myself in ten coats if I could do so without looking ridiculous. Even as I was, my wife could not stifle her giggles.
“Good heavens, James. You look like a blue onion ready for the peeling.”
“And shall you peel my layers away?”
She blushed in that way I love, red-hot along her jaw. She pushed me toward the door as though she could not be rid of me soon enough.
“Perhaps when you return home. If you’re lucky.”
I pulled my dark-haired, dark-eyed beauty closer and basked in her warmth. I ran my lips along the red that stained her cheeks. “I have been lucky thus far,” I said. “I cannot see that my luck shall not continue.”
Lizzie pulled my great coat closer around my neck. She opened the door and pushed me toward it. She shivered in the cold, kissed my lips, then pressed me outside.
“Go. Father is waiting for you.”
“Will you wait for me?”
“Where else shall I be? What other man might I wait for who is tall and strong with hair the color of spun gold and eyes like the bluest, brightest jewels?”
I stepped further into the unfriendly gloom and the door closed behind me. I had lost the battle to my Lizzie, which is as it usually goes.
I quivered in my boots as I walked toward the shore, warming my mind with thoughts of Lizzie, her wondering dark eyes, her dark hair, her luscious, berry-like lips. I needed something else to occupy my mind, but there was nothing. I am still struck by how sparse it is in Massachusetts. Unfriendly. Uninhabitable.
“They call this a town?” I said aloud, to no one. I struggle to think of this place as a town. The Town grows a little livelier toward the harbor since tis the hub for shipbuilding and the merchant trade. Salem becomes more provincial at the Farms. There’s so little of everything here, and tis still a shock to walk amongst nothing but seashore to one side of me, farmland on the other, and wilderness further back.
“Is this all there is?” I said, again, to no one. I heard the caw of a seagull, then doubted myself since even seabirds know to stay away from the shore in winter.
I must have shaken myself as far as the sea, for finally I stood at the edge of the gray-black bay, the tips of my boots licked by the lapping waves, the ocean spray splattering my exposed face with bitter water like pinpricks along my cheeks. Again, I thought the cold in England wasn’t ever this cold. I squinted into the expanse of water, slapping my forehead when I realized I left my spectacles at home. What a confounded fool I can be. Twas an excuse to return home, I knew, to Lizzie. But my father waited for me. If I concentrated enough, so that my temples squeezed, I could see well enough. If I pinched my brain that much tighter, I could see past the ocean to England, and home.
A spray of salt water brought me back to myself. The air was even colder at land’s end. With my hat pulled over my eyes and my face turned away from the wind, I bumped into a man, a shipbuilder, I think. The man’s Monmouth cap fell to the ground, his leather pouch flung from his shoulder, and he grimaced with severity.
“My apologies,” I said. “I didn’t see you there.”
“Blind, are you?” The man spat in my direction. “A Pox on you!” With a hmph! he skittered away, his gray doublet and breeches blending into the slate of sea and sky. I laughed. Indeed, I am blind. I cannot see my own hand without my spectacles, which are at home with my Lizzie, where it is warm, where she is warm, her embrace warm, and I was there along an unforgiving shore whipped by the angry weather like a thief in the stocks. I stared into the distance, struggling to make out Father’s short, slight shape. Then I had a fright from one word: “Pox.”
I didn’t need that ill-tempered man to remind me of the fear of the Pox running along the shore. There has been another outbreak, and those living closest to the port suffer most. I wanted to be sitting in my cushioned chair before my hearth reading Samuel Pepys’ Memoirs of the Navy while Lizzie sat beside me knitting, mending, or chatting to me about her day. I pulled my scarf closer to my mouth, as though the meager movement would keep the Pox where it belonged, over there, away from me and mine.
I arrived near the shipbuilders, hammering nails into wood until I thought my head would burst into a star-like pattern. With some struggle, I made out a vague outline of men and guessed Father was among them.
March 4, 2019
Did That Word Exist Then? Language in Historical Fiction
Wonderful news for James and Sarah/Elizabeth fans. The last draft of Down Salem Way is finished. Really! Okay, the book is not finished finished because it needs final edits and other odds and ends, but the light at the end of the tunnel is bright and clear and within reach.
This is where the manuscript gets whittled down so it’s nice and shiny like. I’ve spoken in interviews and on this blog about how writing my novels is a bit like playing Goldilocks. My first drafts are too short, my second drafts are too long, and the third draft is, well, maybe not just right, but it does get there eventually.
Down Salem Way takes place entirely in Salem in 1691-92, rather than jumping back and forth from the present to the past like in the Loving Husband Trilogy. It’s also told entirely from James’ point of view. It’s important to me that James’ journal has the feel of being written in the 17th century. But what does that look like to modern readers?
The English language wasn’t standardized in the 17th century. Some English language historians believe standardization began in earnest in the mid 18th century, crediting Noah Webster’s spelling book in 1783 and his dictionary in 1828 with giving the English language a sense of stability. Before that, punctuation was hit and miss at best. Spelling was whatever it was (which, perhaps, is not so different from today, to the lament of English teachers everywhere). To add to the confusion, some letters of the alphabet were used differently. One source I consulted stated that the letter J as a consonant was still being substituted for I in the 17th century, which means that James could have been written as Iames. I’ll stick with the modern spelling, thank you.
Here’s an example of a love letter written in 1610 (from Folgerpedia), which looks similar to writings from later in the 17th century:
My best beloued cosen
I am v^e^ry glad to here from you, that you ar well, and I would haue you
thinke that it tis one of the greates[t] comfordes I haue in this world to here
of your well farer; I am very sory to here that your father is still in that
humer of offering you more wifes; but as for this; shee hathe a greate
porshone; wich I thinke if I hade; hee would not so much missl[i]ke of mee as
hee dothe; and besides shee is honorabell wich dothe goe fare with most men
nowe dayes; but I protest I writ not this out of any mistrust I haue of your
loue; for I haue euer found it more then I haue desserued; yett I know not what
shall deserue; and thus with my best wishes; for your good fortune; and
happy^n^es in all your bussines I rest euer –
your truly louing
frende while I breath
Jane Skipwith
Jane’s letter is actually easier to read than it appears at first glance, but still, I wouldn’t get far with a novel that looked like it was written in code. My Grammarly had a conniption with Jane’s letter. How do you explain to Grammarly that the passage was written in the 17th century?
My task, as I see it, is to give James’ words the rhythm of something written in the 17th century while being readable (and enjoyable) to modern eyes. Down Salem Way is James’ journal. Through reading it, we’re privy to his innermost thoughts, his feelings, his joys, his worries. We witness his ever-growing love for his wife, Elizabeth. We experience his highest highs and his lowest lows. This is James at his most raw. And he is a product of the 17th century, as we are all products of the times in which we live.
As I was writing Down Salem Way, I was keenly aware of the words in James’ journal. Was this a word that existed then? Was this something James would have written in the 17th century? As someone who loves to read historical fiction as much as I love to write historical fiction, I know how nothing pulls you out of a story faster than a misplaced word or phrase. James couldn’t say “Whazzup, dude?” in his journal. I mean, he could, but I would be banned from writing historical fiction forever after.
Etymology Online is a must-have resource for writers of historical fiction. With Etymology Online, you can type any word into the search box and it tells you which year the word came into use and where the word originated. I became obsessed with the etymology of words, and while I won’t say I typed every single word of the manuscript into the website, I did type in a few. Actually, I checked a lot of them. Not all of them. But most of them.
How do you find that balance between being historically authentic and still accessible to modern readers? Reading historical fiction is one way. Some authors do it just right, and others show you what not to do. One novel I found helpful was Daughters of the Witching Hill by Mary Sharratt. The story isn’t set during the Salem Witch Trials, but rather in 1612, in England, when seven women and two men from Pendle Forest were hanged as witches. From the first page, Sharratt creates a tone that feels authentic to the time while making for beautiful, engaging reading. Daughters of the Witching Hill is one of my favorite books I’ve read recently, and I highly recommend it.
Language in historical fiction is a fine line between staying true to the era while being readable to 21st-century readers. It is possible to do. Writing with patience and persistence is key. Willingness to experiment with different styles and structures is a must. Reading wonderful historical novels helps. And Etymology Online definitely doesn’t hurt.
February 26, 2019
Down Salem Way: Sneak Peek #2
After an annoying bout of illness, I’m back to bring you the second sneak peek of Down Salem Way. I’m having a lot of fun writing from James’ point of view. It’s allowing me a unique perspective into James and Elizabeth’s lives in Salem in 1692.
For those of you who have been contacting me to ask about the publication date of Down Salem Way, don’t worry! The book will still be available for preorder on James’ birthday–April 19. Everything is coming along nicely. I think this book may be longer than the three novels in the Loving Husband trilogy, which averaged about 87,000 words.
Enjoy!
* * * * *
Despite the ceaseless sounds of hammering, it was still quieter than usual by the docks. The ship crossings lessened during the winter months. Twas hard enough for the ships to cross the unfriendly seas during calmer weather. Cold ocean crossings happened, but they were unstable at best and more dangerous than usual at worst. Whilst it may have been warmer in the southern destinations, in Massachusetts tis nearly impossible to navigate the ships safely into harbor.
Still searching for my father, my heart beat in time with the snapping of the waves on the shore. I watched the shipbuilders brace themselves against the weather, the men’s woolen doublets hanging over their white linen shirts, their breeches coarse with work, their Monmouth caps fallen over their eyes. They tossed their coats carelessly aside since the physical labor warmed them more than any wool could. The fishwomen and the builders’ wives lifted their voluminous skirts just enough to step over the day’s catch, not enough to be dragged before the courts for indecency, while they tugged the kerchiefs around their necks toward their nose to keep the Pox away.
I made my way toward the huddled men and indeed found my father amongst them. I heard his hearty, stage actor’s laugh before I saw him near the wooden frame that would become The Elizabeth in a few months time. My father smiled when he saw me. He threw his arm around my shoulders, and though my father is several inches shorter than I, there was something about his infectious laugh that always made him appear taller, as though he might fill any room he entered. My father’s balding head was covered under a flat hat with flaps hanging to his ears.
“Do you like the hat, Son?” my father asked. “The milliner finished this morn. It keeps what is left of my brain from freezing.” My father’s slanted blue eyes brightened whilst the other men bowed in my general direction. “You see, friends, here he is. My James. What better son could any father wish for?” The men murmured their agreement, then turned their eyes to watch the gray foam wash in from the bay.
“You look worried, Father,” I said. “Can you see trouble with the ships from here?”
“Tis a troublesome time for the ship owners,” my father said. “The waiting could kill you. Anything could happen from there to here and back again, and tis all too easy to lose goods and good men.”
“And profits,” said a portly gentleman. The man peered into the horizon as though he could make out his ships if he squeezed his eyes tightly enough. I thought to loan him my spectacles, then remembered I did not have them.
“One bad decision, or one bad wind, and everything we have disappears to the depths of the ocean,” my father said. I have heard my father’s laments over the dangers of the shipping trade many times. My father, having tried his hand at several importing and exporting ventures, had settled on rum as his trade. The rum, made in New England, is shipped to Africa where tis traded for human beings, who were then sold to Caribbean plantation owners where sugar was purchased and brought back to New England to make rum. It could take a complete year for the ships to make the full journey, and that was a year of worry for the ship owners. Together, these men had built wharves along the bay, a safe place to unload goods destined for local markets or load cargo onto ships bound for distant ports. They also constructed warehouses and fashionable homes so everyone would know that they were not merely merchants, but successful ones. They also engaged with privateers when they felt they needed to—thefor business reasons. These men were more than shopkeeps who bought and sold goods. Some, like my father, had come from England with success already filling their pockets. Some had come from England with nothing more than the clothes they wore, and the wealth followed as a result of their enterprising spirit. The men gathered round my father were well dressed in their finely fitting, jewel-toned fabrics, perhaps a flashing jewel here and there. The merchants are not so overdressed as to be ostentatious since there those among the Puritans who would call them sinful for their vanity. The merchants wear just enough for others to see that they can afford that ruby ring, that jewel-studded walking stick, that finely tailored suit.
The ship owners leaned their heads close in order to share both body heat and gossip about whatever they knew of interest in the Town or the Village. Many, including my father, had ties to Boston so they shared that gossip as well. The five-inch cock feathers on their hats reached towards the sky as though together they might lift off in flight. It was, I thought, not unlike a wake for ships not yet sunk or sailors not yet lost. I stood close enough to the group so I would not seem distant, but I do not care for the men my father keeps company with. My father has a small but profitable role in the trading—his ships travel to and from England, sending fish, rum, and molasses to the Mother Country, receiving beads, copper, cloth, and hardware in return, which he sells around the colonies for a healthy profit. I know that my father needs the cooperation of those with more extensive roles in the merchant trades, so I humor them for his sake. My father, ever ready with a bawdy joke and a vivacious laugh, finds the cooperation he needs. My father clasped my shoulder even more firmly and brought me closer into the circle of men. The sweet smell of rum, provided freely by my father, wafted toward me.
January 22, 2019
When It Rained at Hembry Castle: Free on Amazon through 1/23/19
If you’ve been wanting to read When It Rained at Hembry Castle, a sweet Victorian romance, then now is your chance. It’s free for everyone on Amazon through 1/23/19. The novel will be available on KDP Select until 1/31/19.
January 21, 2019
What I’m Reading
Since I’ve been spending most of my time writing Down Salem Way, a lot of my reading has been about either the Salem Witch Trials or life in the Massachusetts Bay Colony. One of my favorite parts of writing historical fiction is learning about the time period I’m writing about. I had a pretty good sense of what happened during the Salem Witch Trials from researching Her Dear & Loving Husband. However, I’ve had to go into much more depth about the era with Down Salem Way since the novel is set entirely in 1692.
One great book I’ve found about life in 17th century Massachusetts is Every Day Life in the Massachusetts Bay Colony by George Francis Dow. The book covers every aspect of life from the first waves of Puritan immigration to piracy to cooking to clothing. It’s been my first line of defense in understanding James and Elizabeth’s day to day life in 1692.
Another book that has been helpful is The Devil in the Shape of a Woman: Witchcraft in Colonial New England by Carol F. Karlsen. Karlsen’s work began life as a PhD dissertation, and she does a fine job making her research accessible to the public. It isn’t easy to take scholarly work and make it palatable for general readers (as I’ve learned from experience). Karlsen’s work isn’t strictly about the Salem Witch Trials; rather, it looks at witchcraft accusations throughout the New England colonies. As strong scholarly work does, Karlsen connects the dots as to how the witchcraft trials were more about colonial society’s (particularly Puritan society’s) expectations of women. The accused didn’t conform to society’s expectations so they were punished by being called out as witches. Karlsen also goes into detail about the accusers. These were women–younger and middle-aged–who were given a box to live in. When that box grew too small, these women began seeing visions and acting out, claiming the Devil made them do it. If you’re interested in colonial witch hunts, I highly recommend Karlsen’s work.
The House of the Seven Gables by Nathaniel Hawthorne (a descendant of Salem Witch Trials judge John Hathorne) isn’t set specifically during the witch hunts–or not much of it anyway. The story is about how the choices of earlier generations affect future generations. And it is set in Salem, and I have been to the house. I haven’t read it since I began writing Her Dear & Loving Husband nearly ten years ago (where does the time go?) and I thought now was a good time to reread it.
Circe by Madeline Miller has nothing to do with either the Salem Witch Trials or life in colonial Massachusetts. This was one of those brain break books I need sometimes when I’m in the middle of research. Miller has a talent for bringing stories from The Iliad and The Odyssey to life from different perspectives. If you loved Miller’s Song of Achilles as I did, you will love Circe as well.
