Meredith Allard's Blog, page 21

Clothing in Colonial Massachusetts

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Clothing in Massachusetts wasn’t much different than clothing throughout the rest of the American colonies. However, living in the Massachusetts Bay Colony was different because Massachusetts was a theocracy ruled by Puritans. The colonial Puritans were stricter in many ways than their English counterparts, and, oddly enough, after the Puritans fled England to escape persecution they became the persecutors. Of course, as with any story, the reality of the Puritans is more complex than can be summed up in a few sentences. For our purposes, let’s say that the Puritans earned their reputation for having closed minds.

The Massachusetts Puritans believed that theirs was the only true church. They villainized and often executed those who worshipped differently (with a particular distaste for Quakers), mainly because the Puritans believed it was their duty to impose their religion on others—their excuse being that they were saving the souls of those who did not follow the one true church, their church. They had no mercy for those who did not or would not convert to Puritan beliefs. The isolation of the Puritans in Massachusetts, the harshness and dangers of life in the New World, and their sense that they were a chosen people meant that Puritans reacted harshly to any perceived threats to their beliefs and way of life.

The Puritans had laws that governed all aspects of their lives. There were even laws that dictated the way people dressed—the Fashion Police, as we would call it today. There is a misconception that all Puritans were staid in their manner and dress. But a number of prominent Puritans in the Massachusetts Bay Colony were successful merchants (including several of the judges of the Salem Witch Trials, among them Jonathan Corwin and John Hathorn, Nathaniel Hawthorne’s ancestor). These successful businessmen and landowners were not as modest in their wealth and possessions as the poorer farmers. The Puritan lawmakers believed that the English style of clothing of leather and silk ribbons (with slashed sleeves, no less) was too flashy and immodest. This did not stop the richer colonial women from wanting to know what the Queen in England was wearing so that they could emulate the latest fashions.

To combat any display of opulence, Puritan lawmakers in Massachusetts tried to tamper down any signs of extravagance or wealth. In 1634, the General Court in Plymouth decreed that wearing silver, gold, silk, lace, girdles, or hatbands were prohibited. Slashed clothing was definitely a no-no unless done discreetly (with merely one slash per sleeve and perhaps one slash at the back). Any other embroidery or needlework was also prohibited. People were fined for not adhering to the laws of modesty. Most of the modesty laws concerned women’s clothing—no great surprise there. One law decreed how long and wide a woman’s sleeve should be. Also, her skirts must drag along the floor since it was improper for a woman to show any part of her legs. No ankles here, please.

As time passed, the Puritan lawmakers softened in their feelings toward wearing gold and silver while they became more concerned with poorer citizens trying to pass themselves off as richer than they were. In Puritan society, people were expected to stay in their lanes. Poorer people were not allowed to wear gold and silver lace, buttons, or points at their knees. Rich folks had more freedom in their choice of wardrobe. Wealthy people could wear silk hoods, scarves, silver and gold lace, and bright buttons. Anyone of lesser social standing caught wearing such items were brought before the court and fined.

The basic items of clothing worn by women during the 17th century were an undershirt, known as a shift, a corset, and long petticoats. Her outer clothing consisted of either a gown or a waistcoat (fitted jacket) and a skirt. Bodices, as a rule, were long and pointed, and skirts were full and long. Poorer women wore plain frocks and petticoats, although wealthy women wore silk, satin, and velvet dresses. Women also wore white linen caps, called a coif, to cover their hair. In the colder winter months, women wore cloaks, a sleeveless outer-garment that draped over their shoulders. Women’s shoes and stockings were much the same as men’s.

Laboring men wore leather and coarse fabrics. Farmers wore frocks, a large outer garment, to protect their clothing or hide an untidy appearance. The farmers would take the frocks off when they went inside their houses or went into the village or marketplace. The Monmouth cap, a knitted woolen hat, was frequently worn by working-class men and fishermen.

Men wore a long shirt, stockings, garters, doublet, breeches, points (a tie used to join the doublet and hose), a waistcoat, a neckcloth, a knee-length coat, a great coat for colder months, and shoes. The broad-rimmed hat came into fashion about 1670. With an average brim of six inches, one flap was often fastened to the side of the crown. Over time, a second flap was fastened, then a third—and thus the triangle cocked hat is born. Wealthier men had their clothing made of fabrics such as silks, velvets, and brocades.

Puritans were not entirely stodgy in their manner and sober in their dress, and the wealthier Puritans among them wanted the finer things in life just as we do today. As time passed, the Fashion Police in the Massachusetts Bay Colony loosened its grip and people were brought to court less often for their clothing. When the witch trials began in Salem in 1692, people had more pressing concerns.

References

The Great Puritan Migration History of Massachusetts https://historyofmassachusetts.org/the-great-puritan-migration/

Puritan Laws and Customs History of American Women http://www.womenhistoryblog.com/2007/10/puritan-laws-and-customs.html

The Puritan Dress Code and the Outrage of Slashed Sleeves New England Historical Society http://www.newenglandhistoricalsociety.com/puritan-dress-code-and-outrage-slashed-sleeves/

Thanksgiving with the Wentworths

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Photograph by Rose Elena on Unsplash

Happy Thanksgiving to all of my American friends! To celebrate, here’s Chapter 7 from Her Loving Husband’s Curse, when James and Sarah begin the journey toward the Grace they have been missing.

* * * * *

In November Halloween was gone, ghosts and ghouls replaced by stoic Native Americans holding pies and smiling, buckle-hatted turkeys unaware of their fate. And pumpkins. The trees were bare now, the burst of temporary color gone, leaving their sugar and crimson behind, the leaves raked away. The branches, now naked and spindly, shivered in the poking, colder air. Storm after storm wet Salem, riding out to the ocean on the crashing waves of the bay. Heavier coats were found, scarves and mittens pulled from their summer hideaways, and people walked closer together, huddled in preparation for the real cold to come. It was calmer in Salem after the summer tourists and the Halloween partiers cleared away, and the locals stretched their legs and walked the quiet streets in peace.

Sarah paced the wooden gabled house two steps at a time, rearranging the autumn harvest centerpiece on the table near the hearth, straightening the Happy Thanksgiving banner on the wall. She paced again, now three steps at a time, down to the end of the great room and back, dusting the bookshelves again and back, checking the baking cookies in the stainless steel oven and back. When she heard the squeak of the front door, she sighed with relief. She ran to James and pressed herself into his arms.

“She’s not here yet,” Sarah said.

“I told you I’d be back in time.”

She pushed herself away and paced again.

“Maybe I should have put out some Pilgrims,” she said. “What if she notices there aren’t any Pilgrims? Everyone has Pilgrim decorations at Thanksgiving time. What if she thinks we’re not good Americans? What if she thinks we won’t know what to do with a child because kids love Pilgrims at Thanksgiving time?”

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Photograph by Joanna Kosinska on Unsplash

“First of all, those Thanksgiving harvest plays the kids do aren’t factually correct. If she wants to know why we don’t have Pilgrims in our house, I’ll explain it to her.” He pulled Sarah back into his arms and kissed her forehead. “We are Pilgrims.”

“We didn’t come over on the Mayflower.”

“No, but we were here when Massachusetts was a colony. We’ll bring down our old clothes from the attic and show her.”

“That’s not funny.”

Sarah walked back to the oven, checked the cookies with a spatula, decided they were brown enough, and pulled them out, placing them onto an autumn orange cake platter with green and yellow leaves.

“Cookies?” James asked.

“Chocolate chip cookies.”

“They smell sweet.”

“That’s why people love them.” She pulled one apart, then licked the melted chocolate dribbling down her fingers. “Do you want to try one?”

“I’d love to, but I can’t.”

“You can’t eat at all?”

“Honey, I haven’t eaten solid food in over three hundred years.”

“That’s too bad. Life isn’t worth living without chocolate chip cookies.”

“I think I’m doing all right.”

The cauldron in the hearth caught Sarah’s eye. It looked like it should bubble, bubble, toil and trouble while the three witches in Macbeth cast spells and foretold the future, hysterical with evil visions and dastardly deeds. She looked inside, checking to see if the heavy black pot could be unlatched and removed, shaking her head when the seventeenth century fastenings held strong.

“I never should have left this,” she said. “I should have had it taken out during the remodeling. She’s going to think it’s a child hazard, and it is.” She jumped at the hollow knock at the door that echoed like a loud No! No! No!

James stroked Sarah’s hand. “It’ll be fine,” he said. “Relax.”

He opened the door, and the social worker walked in, stiff and stoic, underpaid and overworked, an unsmiling woman in an ill-fitting purple jacket with linebacker shoulder pads and a purple flowered skirt. She looked, Sarah thought, like a summer plum. She was slump-shouldered and long-faced, like this was the fiftieth home she had visited that day and it was always the same, smiling faces, fresh-baked cookies, guarantees they would take care of the child whether they would or they wouldn’t.

The plum-looking woman entered the great room without saying hello. She didn’t acknowledge James or Sarah. “You have a lot of books,” she said finally, writing in the spiral notebook in her hand.

“My wife and I both like to read,” James said.

Sarah stepped aside as the woman nodded at the flat-screen television and shook her head at the three hundred year-old desk, scratching more notes. James looked over her shoulder, trying to see what she wrote, but Sarah shook her head at him. She didn’t want the woman to notice anything odd about James, though his curiosity was human enough. The plum-looking woman stopped in front of the cauldron.

“Are you witches?” she asked.

“No,” James said, “but our best friends are.” When the social worker didn’t smile, James stepped away. “The cauldron came with the house,” he said. “We thought it gave the place character so we kept it.”

“How old is the house?”

“It’s from the seventeenth century,” Sarah answered.

“How long have you lived here?”

Sarah and James looked at each other.

“Two years,” James said. “We both work at the university.”

The plum-looking woman nodded. “If you’re approved you’ll have to have that thing,” she gestured with her pen at the cauldron, “removed. It’s a safety hazard.”

“Of course,” Sarah said.

“Does this place need an inspection? Sometimes these older houses have bad wiring, or improper plumbing.”

“The house is up to code,” James said. “We made sure of that when we had the place remodeled.”

“When was this remodeling?”

“They finished during the summer. I have the paperwork here.”

He handed the social worker the forms that said the house met the qualifications of a twenty-first century inspection. She glanced over the paperwork and nodded, writing more notes. She looked around the kitchen, the bedroom, the smaller room in the back. She scowled at the wood ladder that led up to the attic.

“Can that be removed?” she asked.

“We can take it out if it’s a problem,” James said.

She nodded, scowling more at the cauldron as she walked back into the kitchen.

“Would you like something to drink?” Sarah asked.

“Thank you. Water would be fine.”

“We have some cold water in the fridge,” Sarah said.

“No need to trouble yourselves. I’ll get it.”

Before Sarah could protest, the social worker opened the refrigerator and eyed the groceries before pulling out the water pitcher. Sarah dropped into a chair, unable to hide the horror on her face. What if the social worker saw James’ bags of blood? But James nodded, pointing to his temple, an I’ve got this look in his eyes. He pulled a glass from the cupboard, poured water for the plum-looking woman, then joined Sarah at the table, smiling the whole time.

“What do you do at the college?” the social worker asked.

“I’m a professor, and my wife is a librarian.”

“What do you teach?”

“English literature.”

She sipped her water as she glanced over the application in her manila folder. “I think you’re my son’s English professor. Levon Jackson. Do you know him?”

“Very well,” James said. “He took two of my classes last year, and he’s in my Shakespeare seminar this term. He’s a bright young man, and a very good writer.”

Mrs. Jackson clapped her hands, her mother’s love everywhere on her round cheeks. No longer the plum-looking woman, now she was Levon’s mother.

“You should hear how he raves about you, Doctor Wentworth. Every day he comes home saying Doctor Wentworth said this or Doctor Wentworth said that.”

“It’s a pleasure teaching a student who wants to learn,” James said.

Mrs. Jackson’s round-cheeked smile lit the room. “You’ve done a world of good for my boy, Doctor Wentworth. I was so worried about him after that back injury meant he couldn’t be considered for the NHL draft. Going pro is all he’s talked about since he put on his first pair of skates. When that was no longer possible for him, he floundered. He didn’t have plans for anything else, and now he wants to be a professor like you. I’m pleased to meet you, Doctor Wentworth.”

“Please, call me James. It’s my pleasure.”

As Mrs. Jackson looked over the paperwork, James winked at Sarah.

“I don’t see any problems here, Doctor Wentworth. Everything seems to be in order. Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll have the rest of the paperwork approved by my supervisor.” Mrs. Jackson looked at Sarah. “Mrs. Wentworth, you have a lovely house with a lot of history here. Any child would be lucky to have such a home.”

“Thank you,” Sarah said.

James escorted Mrs. Jackson to her car, said good night, and waved as she drove away. Back inside, James walked to Sarah, put his arms around her, and pulled her close. She felt the invisible fairy-like thread drawing them together again, only now it was looser, stretching out, over there to where someone else waited, someone they didn’t know yet but someone who was loved unconditionally.

Just because, Sarah thought. Whoever you are. We love you just because.

She pointed her chin up, and James kissed her. When she opened her eyes, he was smiling.

“Was that your idea to move the blood bags?” she asked.

“I thought she might look in the refrigerator,” he said. “To see how clean we are.”

“That’s why you’re brilliant, Doctor Wentworth.”

“I know,” he said.

 

They know. It is just as the trader man said. They are going soon, going West, the direction of Death, they say.

Going…

Going…

Gone.

They go about the night the best they can. The boys play ‘a ne jo di’ (stickball) in the moonlight, which they play with hickory sticks and deer-hair balls. They are families, mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers, aunts and uncles, grandmothers and grandfathers. They laugh and cry. They grow angry and show kindness. One mother kneels near her crying son who has tripped running. Another watches her husband show their son a trick with the hickory stick. As I watch them I am reminded of Shylock’s words, begging for his humanity:

Hath not a Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions; fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warm’d and cool’d by the same winter and summer, as a Christian is? If you prick us, do we not bleed…

I try to catch the eye of my neighbor, but he is busy with the medicine man while the women and children disappear into their homes. He is old, the medicine man, his face well creviced, his jowls low, though his silver hair is thick and he has the manner of someone who understands much. He nods at me, and I nod in return, thankful because he is the first Cherokee to acknowledge me. The tribal leaders have gathered and I am not supposed to be here, I think, but the medicine man does not seem concerned. I sit on the ground and watch as they begin the Stomp Dance. There are shell shakers wearing leg rattles made of turtle shells filled with pebbles, and the rattles provide a heartbeat-like rhythm as they dance around the red-blazing fire singing a language I do not understand.

The medicine man stands. He stares at me over the heads of the seated men. “Listen,” he says. “We are praying to you, our Creator, Unetanv, the Great Spirit. Who are we without our lakes and valleys? Our rivers and forests? The copious rain and the good soil?

“Chief John Ross fought our removal in the United States Congress, in the United States Supreme Court. Don’t the liberties of the American Declaration of Independence apply to us as well, he argued? We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness. But no one in the government would hear him.”

The men nod as they stare at the orange flames, at the crackling cinders, at the ground beneath them, at the half-hidden moon, or at whatever phantom images their blank visions show them. The medicine man watches me, a knowing gleam in his eyes. I sense his words are meant for me.

“Listen. This is the creation story of our people. In the beginning, there was no land. Only water and sky. All living things dwelled above the sky. In this time, all beings lived and talked in common. Then the sky vault became crowded with  people and animals. To find more room, Dayuni’si, the water beetle, flew down to see what was there. It dove to the bottom of the ocean and brought up mud that grew and grew until the earth was born. This was so long ago even the oldest medicine man cannot remember. Even I cannot remember, and I am the oldest of them all. Then the earth dried and people were created. A brother and a sister. And we have grown from there.

“They have wanted our land from the moment they arrived. They have the right of discovery over the land, they say. But how do they discover what is already here? We were already here. Did we only begin to exist when they arrived?” The medicine man looks at me as though he knows I was here all those many years before. “They have taken our land as though it was theirs all along. For years they have chipped away at it, pocketing this piece here, stealing that piece there. After they decimated our people with their diseases they wanted more. Now they want it all. But we know the land was meant for us. For all of us. Many of our people converted to their religion. Were not Adam and Eve expelled from their Paradise because they were not content? Here we are content. We know the wind is our brother. The trees are our sisters.

“Great Creator, hear our cry. We want to be invisible so we can fly away like the birds and then the soldiers will not find us as they have already found others. We do not want to lose our ancestors. They are everywhere here. Where the soldiers want to take us, they are not there. This is what I have said to you.”

He sits, his head slumping under the weight of his knowledge. Everyone is silent, the singing crickets the only sound in the forest night. Then, the medicine man lifts his face and nods at me. He sees I understand.

The Loving Husband Trilogy Complete Box Set Now Available

[image error]The second edition of the Loving Husband Trilogy is now available on Amazon.

The latest editions of Her Dear & Loving Husband, Her Loving Husband’s Curse, and Her Loving Husband’s Return are available separately or as a complete box set. If you’ve already purchased any book in the Loving Husband Trilogy from Amazon, you can download the latest versions through your ebook purchases page.

A paperback version of the complete box set will be available on November 30, 2018.

I’ll be back soon with a preview of Down Salem Way. I’m making a lot of progress this NaNoWriMo!

NaNoWriMo Anyone?

[image error]It’s been a few years since I’ve participated in National Novel Writing Month (I was busy finishing that degree, you know), but I thought I’d have a go this year. I’m not participating in the traditional way since I’m not starting a new novel from scratch. I have my second draft of Down Salem Way done, but it needs more work. I know James and Sarah fans (or James and Elizabeth fans, in this case) are waiting with stilted breath to see this latest installment of the Wentworths’ story, so I thought I’d use NaNoWriMo as my time to whip the story into shape.

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Even though I’m not starting with a blank page, I’m still going for the goal of 50,000 words by the end of the month. Now, usually the Loving Husband stories run about 90,000 words, so we’ll see if the novel is actually finished by November 30. I participated in NaNoWriMo once before, in 2014, and I was actually very pleased with what I had by the end of the month. We shall see how this goes.

Since the Loving Husband stories are also historical fiction, I’m sure I’ll need to do some research while I’m writing, but that’s not going to keep me from my goal of 1667 words a day, so it will be a month of both researching and writing for me. I’ve completed a lot of my research on life in the Massachusetts Bay Colony in the late seventeenth century already, but I’m sure I’ll find holes that need to be filled with details from the time period.

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Photo from Elijah O’Donnell from Unsplash

Do you have a novel you’ve been dying to write? Today is the day to start! Head on over to the National Novel Writing Month website, join up, and get started! It really is a lot of fun, if a bit stressful at times, but knowing that you’re making daily progress on your novel is a rewarding feeling.

You can follow my progress as I add my daily word count to my NaNoWriMo page. Today I made it at over 1700 words! I’ll post updates on my progress throughout the month, along with excerpts from Down Salem Way. Happy writing.

Happy Halloween from James and Sarah

To celebrate Halloween, I thought I’d share part of Chapter 6 from Her Loving Husband’s Curse. Enjoy!

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* * * * *

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James awoke to the clunk-clunk-clunk of nails hammered into seventeenth-century wood. He pulled aside the blackout curtains and raised the blinds, seeing the sunrise-colored autumn leaves drop one by one to the wilting lawn while storm clouds gathered over the bay, adding more gray than black to the night. He was waking earlier since it was getting darker earlier, a good thing with Sarah waiting for him.

Orange and black. That’s all he saw when he walked into the great room—orange and black. And pumpkins. Witches, ghosts, skeletons, Frankensteins, even, he sighed, vampires decorated the walls and the bookshelves while strings of glowing plastic pumpkin lights lined the diamond-paned windows. A display of autumn harvest squash sat in a Happy Halloween basket on the granite island in the kitchen, and he saw the witch-themed potholders hanging from hooks.

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Photo by Taylor Rooney on Unsplash

Sarah skipped toward him like a dancing preschooler. “What do you think?” she asked.

“Is this a joke?”

“You live in Salem and you think Halloween is a joke?” She stood on her toes and reached her arms around his neck. “Besides, who better to celebrate Halloween than a vampire husband and his ghost wife?”

James was too distracted by the decorations to answer. He hated Halloween for all the same reasons he hated Dracula. If humans thought ghouls and goblins were their greatest threats, how little they understood. When he looked at Sarah he half-expected her to be orange and black and wearing a pointed witch’s hat. She must have seen his agitation because she dropped her arms and stepped away.

“Jennifer told me you’re a grouch around Halloween. You’re looking a little puckered, Doctor Wentworth.” She walked toward the decorations as though she were siding with them against him. “They’re decorations. They’re meant to be fun, allow grown-ups to feel like kids again for a little while every year, but if you hate them that much I’ll take them down. I don’t want to look at that annoyed face for the next two weeks.”

James looked at the caricatures of green-faced, sharp-fanged, cape-wearing vampires, cackling witches on broomsticks, shapeless, booing ghosts, howling werewolves, glaring square-faced Frankensteins, and he shook his head. But he saw Sarah admiring the pumpkin-painted porcelain plates, the haunted house flags, the Witches Brew cauldron by the door, her face flushed like a costumed girl ready for trick-or-treating on Halloween night. He reached for her hand and she smiled that smile he lived for. He would do anything to keep that smile happy.

Again, the thought that she would be a wonderful mother.

Again, the voice. “Yes,” it said.

“Yes,” he said.

“Fine. I’ll have everything down by tomorrow night.”

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“No, Sarah.” He put his arms around her though she tried to push him away. “Keep the decorations. Keep whatever will make you happy. All I want is for you to be happy.” She stopped resisting and relaxed into him. “What do you want, Sarah. Tell me what you want to be happy.”

“You make me happy,” she said. “You’re all I need. And…”

“And what? A child?”

Sarah exhaled deeply, expelling all the air from her lungs. She pulled away from James, her dark eyes unsure. “I thought there was no way.”

“If you want to adopt a child then we should.”

“What about all the reasons you had about why it could never work?”

“We’ll figure it out.”

“Are you sure?” She held herself still, as though she were afraid he would change his mind and this joyous moment would fall away from her like water through cupped hands.

“There’s only one thing I have ever been more sure about, and that’s you.”

Sarah smiled. James could see the peace settle over her, an iridescent halo. She pulled him closer, closer, as though she wanted to merge with him. They were already one, James thought, each a part of the other.

Sarah looked at the orange and black surrounding them. “You’ll have to get used to the decorations. Kids like Halloween.”

James laughed. “I know, honey. I know.”

Spooktacular Giveaway 2018

 

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I say this every year, but it makes you realize how quickly time flies by when it’s time for the Spooktacular Giveaway Hop again!

I’m so excited for the giveaway this year because it gives me an opportunity to announce that on Wednesday, October 31, 2018–just in time for Halloween–brand new fancy-like editions of the complete Loving Husband Trilogy will be on sale. I’m thrilled to finally be able to share the second edition of the Loving Husband Trilogy with all of you. Whether you’re a James and Sarah superfan or a reader who loves historical fiction or paranormal fantasy, I think you’ll enjoy this sweet romance.

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To celebrate the soon-to-be-released new editions, I’m giving away five complete sets of the Loving Husband Trilogy in your choice of ebook, paperback, or audiobook. Fill out the simple form below to enter. That’s it. There’s nothing more to do. Winners will be announced on Thursday, November 1, 2018.

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Best of luck to everyone who enters. If you’d like to see what other great bookish gifts are being given away, click on any of the links below and follow along with the Spooktacular Giveaway Hop.

1.
BookHounds




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BookHounds YA






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Stuck in Books




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StoreyBook Reviews






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Rainy Day Ramblings (Int)




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Angel’s Guilty Pleasures (US) ~






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The Kids Did It




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All the Ups and Downs (INT) ~






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Author ML Hamilton






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Kristi’s Book Nook




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Michelle Scott’s Fiction Blog






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Savings in Seconds




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JeanBookNerd (INT)




18.
Christy’s Cozy Corners (US) ~






19.
Glistering: B’s Blog (US)




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Rockin’ Book Reviews






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Literary Rambles (INT)




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Bargnhtress






23.
Whatever You Can Still Betray (Int)




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Bethany Blake Author






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Hearts & Scribbles (INT)




26.
Kimber’s Life






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Book Lovers Life (INT)




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icefairy’s Treasure Chest (INT)






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HOT LISTENS




30.
Ex Libris (INT)






31.
Mocha Girls Read (US)




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Craves the Angst Book Blog [INT]






33.
Win Book Money




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With Love for Books






35.
Rainy Days and Pajamas




36.
I’d So Rather Be Reading (US)






37.
Reading Reality (INT)




38.
Aleen @ Lampshade Reader (INT)






39.
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40.
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41.
MYTHICAL BOOKS (INT)




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a GREAT read (US)






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Forward Writes




44.
Maureen’s Musings






45.
Meredith Allard




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Escape With Dollycas Into A Good Book (U. S. )






47.
Lisa Beth Darling (INT)




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Mina Burrows (US)






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Why Not? Because I Said So!




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Angela Christina Archer (US)






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Dils Book Review Blogspot




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53.
Mysteries and My Musings – US only




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Storybook Press






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56.
Mom, You’re So Weird! (US)






57.
A Night’s Dream of Books (INT)




58.
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59.
Glass Slipper Productions {US}




60.
The Mommy Island






61.
Zero Repeat Forever by GS Prendergast

Character Inspiration: Salem Witches Olivia Phillips and Jennifer Mandel

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Sometimes when I’m writing a story I have to stretch a bit for a character as I try to figure out exactly who this person is. Writers are like actors in the sense that we have to understand the evolution of the characters we’re writing about. Sometimes, I have to struggle to understand who these characters are, what they want, and how they grow (or don’t) through the story. Sometimes, I get lucky and the characters come fully formed.

That was the case with the mother/daughter witches Olivia Phillips and Jennifer Mandel in the Loving Husband Trilogy. In their witchy ways, they materialized out of thin air to guide James and Sarah toward their destiny. I knew fairly early in the writing of this story that it would take place in Salem, Massachusetts, and I knew that it would include elements of the Salem Witch Trials. With James being James, I knew that there would be a supernatural element to the story as well. By the end of the first draft of Her Dear & Loving Husband, I knew that Sarah would discover her first inkling of the paranormal world through a psychic reading.

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When I first started writing Her Dear & Loving Husband I knew virtually nothing about Salem, Massachusetts except that it was the epicenter of the witch hunt hysteria in 1692. Since I knew the story would go back and forth between the 17th and 21st centuries, I had to learn about Salem in its present-day reality. It didn’t take much of a Google search to realize that 21st century Salem is a hotbed of modern mysticism. I haven’t yet been to Salem during October, but it looks to be a lot of fun with all of the Halloween and psychic festivals.

Even here in Las Vegas there are magical, mystical shops that sell incense, books of spells, candles, and other witchy accessories. I was thrilled to discover that such shops exist in abundance in Salem. Of course Sarah would visit one, and that would be where she’d have her psychic reading. Who would run the shop? Who would give Sarah the reading? It had to be someone Sarah knew, or was at least acquainted with. Being new to Salem, and not being one with an inherent belief in the mystical world, Sarah would need some push in the direction of getting that psychic reading, and that push came in the form of Olivia Phillips.

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I have this odd habit of putting favorite actors into the “part” of characters I’m writing to help me get a sense of the characters’ movements and their cadence when they talk, as well as other mannerisms, and I definitely had someone in mind while writing Olivia Phillips. While I’ll never reveal my sources, I have had readers who contacted me saying that they guessed who Olivia was based on, and they were right! It amazes me when readers read with such an eye for detail. As of yet, no one has guessed the actor who stood in Jennifer’s shoes while I was writing Jennifer’s scenes, but I wouldn’t be surprised if someone guessed her at some point as well.

It just so happens that Olivia has her own psychic shop in Salem, located on scenic Pickering Wharf, and she knew to expect Sarah at the Witches Lair not because of any psychic visions but because Olivia’s daughter, Jennifer, knows Sarah from the university library. After all, Sarah needs friends in Salem, and Jennifer, with her steady heart and open mind, is a good match for Sarah. The scene of the psychic reading itself was inspired by a real-life incident. My mother returned to university as an adult to get her degree, and one of the courses she took was about religious studies. One of the assignments she had to complete was to go to some sort of psychic reading and write about the experience (yes, this is what happens to Sarah in the story). I went with my mother just to see what it was like, and it was kind of fascinating, to be honest. The psychic was a young girl, about university age herself, and a lot of what she said was general and could have applied to anything. But then she said something about a move far away, which did startle me a bit because I was planning on moving across the country and I don’t recall having given away any clues in that direction. That psychic reading, with some modifications, of course, ended up in Her Dear & Loving Husband more than five years later. Just goes to show–you never know what experiences are going to play out later in your fiction!

With all the mysticism to be found in present-day Salem, Massachusetts, and since Olivia is a psychic, is it that much of a stretch to say, yeah, the mother and daughter duo practice the Wiccan religion among other things. As the Loving Husband stories continue we realize that it’s not just pagan practices that Olivia and Jennifer participate in. They cast real spells that have real consequences for James, Sarah, and everyone they love. They are, in fact, real witches. Real witches in Salem, Massachusetts? Who knew?

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It really was a coincidence that the place where I chose to set the story of the Loving Husband Trilogy, Salem, Massachusetts, is a place where mystics, psychics, and others in touch with the supernatural world choose to congregate. Sarah needs an introduction to the paranormal world. After all, she has James waiting for her. Olivia and Jennifer are the perfect companions for Sarah as she discovers a whole world beyond what her logic and senses tell her.  Olivia is the warm, motherly, wise, compassionate person I wish I had in my life, and from what readers have told me, many of you feel that way about her as well. Jennifer is the best girlfriend we love to confide in. Sarah is lucky to have found two such kindred spirits so soon after moving to Salem.

It’s hard to believe it’s already almost time for the autumn festivals in Salem, Massachusetts. I’m not going to make it this year, but if you’re interested in going, you should! You may even see James’ house (the John Ward House) while you’re there. Check here for more information about the haunted happenings in Salem, Massachusetts in 2018.

What I’m Reading

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As summer is winding down and Pumpkin Spice Lattes are on the horizon, I find myself spending a lot of time reading lately. There are a lot of really good, really interesting books out there these days and I’ve found a few that have caught my attention.

Everything I Never Told You

I loved Celeste Ng’s story about a family in crisis. On the surface, this is a novel about a girl’s disappearance and subsequent death, but really it’s about family dynamics. It’s about how parents project their own dreams onto their children and how the children struggle as a consequence. Each family member has his or her own story, which is something we forget sometimes when we’re thinking about families. Even the youngest child has a point of view and a voice that should be heard. And everyone is affected by what happens in our families.

Crazy Rich Asians

If you’re looking for a laugh out loud, entertaining read, Crazy Rich Asians by Kevin Kwan is it. I was fascinated by the look into the lifestyles of the ultra-rich in Asia, a culture I wasn’t familiar with. I’m not sure I envied them at all, but it sure was interesting to see how the one percent lives. Really, the book is just funny. Crazy Rich Asians is great escapism—a great beach read if you’re lucky enough to still have time for the beach. And the movie looks pretty good too.

Educated

One nonfiction book I’ve read recently is Educated by Tara Westover. As a newly minted PhD myself, I could definitely relate to Westover’s struggle to make the most of her education. While my journey to my doctorate didn’t involve the same struggles that Westover endured, I could still see a lot of myself in her determination. Westover’s story is a lot like The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls. Both women grew up in families determined to live off the grid, for better or for worse. If liked Walls’ story, you’ll enjoy Westover’s too.

The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck

I liked the title, quite frankly, so I picked the book up and I’m glad I did. I think of this as the anti-self-help book. I used to love to read self-help books, but then I realized I felt worse after reading them because they were presenting me with an ideal that, as a mere human, I could never live up to. Author Mark Manson shows that the quality of our lives is largely determined by where we give our fcks. He points out that most of where we give our fcks don’t really add to the quality of our lives. I have to say I agree. If you want to read an advice book that is more practical than woo-woo, give this one a try.

Food in Colonial Massachusetts

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I’m having a lot of fun learning about food in Colonial Massachusetts. Not that I like to eat or anything. There’s a lot to discover about the types of foods that were available then, how they were processed, and how the meals were cooked. I started following a few food historians, and when I see how they spend their time recreating recipes from the past with only ingredients and utensils available from that time period I think I may have missed my calling. In my next life I will be a food historian.

In the Massachusetts Bay Colony, cooks relied heavily on recipes from popular English authors such as Robert May’s cookbook from 1685 and Gervase Markham’s English Huswife from 1615 (http://www.foodtimeline.org/foodcolonial.html – 1690salem). Meals in the Massachusetts Bay Colony were a unique combination between the eating habits the colonists brought with them from England and the ingredients available to them in New England.

Popular foods in Salem in the 1690s were meat, bread, and other dishes made of wheat and oat. Root vegetables like turnips were also popular. Since Massachusetts is located along the Atlantic coast, colonists relied heavily on seafood, and fish such as cod, herring, bass, sturgeon, mackerel, clams, and lobster were often eaten (though Puritans didn’t like lobster). Fish had to be salted to be preserved, and salt was either imported or gathered from the sea. Soups, roasts, bacon, ham, salt pork, salads, puddings, and pies were all common, while fruits and vegetables were served fresh or preserved.

Salem cooks would have used a combination of local ingredients such as corn, clams, squash, beans, cranberries, and potatoes while taking advantage of the wild game, domesticated hogs, nuts, wild berries, and fruits such as pears, cherries, and plums. Wealthier residents (including James and his father John) would have had imported goods such as tea, coffee, sugar, rum, citrus fruits, and spices. Apple orchards were established early and the plentiful apples were used to create a low-alcohol cider that was a main drink for the colonists. (From Daily Life in Colonial New England by Claudia Durst Johnson).

As I searched for recipes that Elizabeth might have made while living in Salem, I discovered this recipe for a bride’s cake similar to the one James and Elizabeth would have served at their wedding in 1690:

Ingredients

1 1/2 pounds butter

1 1/2 pounds sugar

8 eggs

1 1/2 pounds flour

1 tablespoon ground mace

2 nutmegs

1 cup black molasses

1 cup coffee

1 tablespoon rose extract

2 pounds raisins

3 pounds currants

1 pound chopped almonds

1 pound citron, cut fine

Directions

Prepare the fruit and nuts, and dredge with part of the flour. Cream the butter and sugar together and add the well-beaten eggs. Sift the flour and spices and add to the egg mixture. Add the fruit and liquids by degrees. Line a large baking pan with wax paper, greasing the pan well and then greasing the paper. Turn in the cake mixture and bake. Frost with white boiled icing. (http://www.foodtimeline.org/foodcolonial.html – 1690salem).

Here’s a recipe from colonialsense.com for Asparagus Soup, which would have been seasonal from May until August.

Ingredients

beef

bacon

ale

beet leaves

spinach

1 cabbage

mint, sorrel, and marjoram

asparagus

salt and pepper

flour

Directions

Put the beef, cut in pieces and rolled in flour, into a pan with the bacon at the bottom
Cover it close, and set it on a slow fire, stirring it now and then till the gravy is drawn
Put in the water and ale, and season to taste with pepper and salt
Let it stew gently
Strain the liquor, and take off the fat,
Add the beet, spinach, cabbage lettuce, and mint, sorrel, and sweet marjoram, pounded
Let these boil up in the liquor,
Put in the asparagus-tops cut small, and allow them to boil till all is tender
Serve hot

From Plimouth Plantation I found a recipe for samp, which is an old-timey version of oatmeal. Readers of Her Dear & Loving Husband may remember James mentioning that he ate samp for breakfast during the 17th century. According to the Plimouth Plantation website, the original recipe looked like this:

It is light of digestion, and the English make a kind of Loblolly of it to eat with Milk, which they call Sampe; they beat it in a Morter, and sift the flower out of it; the remainder they call Hominey, which they put into a Pot of two or three Gallons, with Water, and boyl it upon a gentle Fire till it be like a Hasty Puden; they put of this into Milk, and so eat it.

 If you’d prefer a more modern version, you might like this recipe:

Ingredients

2 cups coarse corn grits

4 cups water

1 cup milk

¼ cup sugar

Directions

Bring water to a boil in a large saucepan with a heavy bottom. Add the corn grits and stir. Simmer until they are soft, about 10 minutes, and the water has been absorbed. Serve with milk and sugar. 

I haven’t yet tried any of the recipes that Elizabeth will be cooking in Down Salem Way, but I will. I think trying out the recipes myself will give me a unique insight into Elizabeth’s daily life. I may not have the same equipment she would have used (I don’t happen to have a hearth with cauldrons hanging around inside my galley kitchen), but even if I use what I have, I think I will gain a perspective on running a household in the 17th century that I wouldn’t have had otherwise.

The Value of Diversity in Historical Fiction

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I read this article on the website Mythcreants about why historical accuracy isn’t a reason to exclude diversity in our writing. Yet we hear that excuse all the time from novelists, screenwriters, and others. My favorite show Downton Abbey received some grief for not including people of color, and the show’s executives gave that exact excuse—historical accuracy. Lord Grantham and his ilk wouldn’t have known black people. Really? Ever? But when writer Julian Fellowes thought about it, he did find a way to include a black American jazz singer, for a few episodes anyway.

Is it possible for us to push past our comfort zones and make an effort to include diverse characters in our fiction? Can we be sensitive to different cultures, beliefs, and ways of being? Sometimes we don’t know what we don’t know about different people, and that’s okay, as long as we keep learning and growing.

Maya Angelou used to say that we are more alike than we are different. Beneath language, beneath culture, or anything else we use to define others as different, there is an inherent sense of humanness that all people share. Oprah Winfrey said that everyone wants the same thing: they want to know they matter. Maybe if we use that as our springboard, the idea that our characters, no matter who they are, no matter what time they live in, no matter the color of their skin or their sexual preference, have an inherent sense of humanness, then the idea of writing or reading about diverse characters won’t be so scary. If we approach historical fiction from the point of view that people are more alike than they are different, then maybe we can make the push to include diverse characters—that are not stereotypical—in our stories.

Writing about diverse people doesn’t mean that our characters should hold hands and sing folk songs. If we’re honest about history, we need to acknowledge that there have always been the oppressors and the oppressed. Equally, there have always been those who could sympathize with those who are different than themselves. Storytelling is the best way to learn about those who seem, at least on the surface, to be different than us. As writers and readers, we believe in the power of storytelling. We must, or why else would we spend so many hours with stories? Let’s use our love for story to tell all stories because all stories should be valued.

What can we do to promote diversity in historical fiction? If we’re writers, we can consider how we might include diverse people in our stories. If we’re readers, we can make an effort to read historical novels that are written by or about diverse people. The answer, really, is that we all need to push ourselves past our comfort zones. The more we can learn about each other, the truth about each other and not the stereotypes, the more we will understand about each other. The more we understand each other, the more we can help to build bridges toward each other.