V.R. Christensen's Blog, page 2

Dystopianism, Steampunkery, and the Influence of the Kaiser Wilhelm

What was I thinking?

What, after all, is a successful historical fiction author doing dipping into the realms of science fiction?

Well, the thing is, when you have an idea, sometimes you just have to develop it.

At the time I started this series, I had conservative leanings. I was intrigued, at the time, by the world of conspiracy theories. It was the Obama era, and my conservative friends were afraid and trying to persuade me to be, as well. I wasn’t really certain either way, but I was willing to give ear to all these things I “ought to know about”. So I listened as people prattled on about a government militarized police force, to vaccinations that were meant to manipulate the population, to secret agendas in which only the political elite would survive and thrive and own everything and we would all become their slaves.

At first the book was intended to be ultra modern, with tanks and survival gear, and all that. But that was never truly me, and when I began developing the story from a rough outline into something with living, breathing characters who spoke and thought and schemed for their own survival, I realized there was only one way I could pull it off, and that was to pull from my roots of historical writing.

I know. It doesn’t make any sense.

I’ve always been fascinated with steampunk. Particularly the rather nuanced idea of it that precludes the avoidance of the First World War, which, as proposed by Gillian Gill in Queen Victoria’s biography We Too, was perhaps just possible, had Prince Albert lived longer.

Friederich (Fritz) and Victoria (Vicky)

“In 1862, when the [Prussian] legislature dared to oppose his plans for the army, the king of Prussia furiously prepared a statement of abdication that his son [husband of princess Vicky, eldest child of Queen Victoria and Albert] had only to sign to become king. Despite his wife’s frantic entreaties, Fritz persuaded his elderly father to keep his crown since the coronation oath committed a king to rule until his death. As a result, King William I of Prussia not only lived to be crowned Emperor William I of Germany at Versaille in 1871, but ruled for seventeen more years. Fritz finally acceded to the throne as Emperor Frederick I in 1888 and died of throat cancer three months later. Had the prince consort [Albert] been alive in 1862, he might have been able to persuade Fritz that his higher duty was to the nation, not his father, and that he must seize the reins of power.

Vicky and Wilhelm

“No one ever doubted that if Crown Prince Frederick came to the throne of Prussia, Bismark and the far-right party would be dismissed, and his wife, Victoria, would be the power behind the throne. As king and queen of Prussia in 1862, Fritz and Vicky would probably have had decades to try to realize her father’s political vision. The forces of liberal democracy would have had a better chance of prevailing over militarism and absolutism. It is not absurd to argue that, had the prince consort lived even one more year, had his daughter Vicky had a chance to dictate Crown policy and shape society in Prussia, there would not have been a First World War.”

This is in part because, as Gill notes, “King William and Bismark passed their hatred and distrust (of Albert, Queen Victoria and the British) on to Prince William (Wilhelm), Vicky and Fritz’s eldest son, the future kaiser of World War I. Under their tutelage, this damaged boy became a deranged man all too willing to blame his English mother for all his problems, personal and political.”

So that’s interesting. What would England look like now had World War One never happened? Had their been no World War One, after all, the conditions that brought about World War Two would not have existed. Wars change fashion, they change our perspectives of life and its meaning and what we must and can do to survive and, further more, to live life to the fullest. Science and technology take enormous leaps forward in times of conflict. Such fraught and desperate times have lead man to some of his greatest achievements. Prosthetics, plastic surgery, aeronautics, and computer and communication technologies all benefited from the demands war placed on these disciplines.

And so Absinthe Moon and its sister volumes, have become a neo-Victorian nod to dystopian steampunkery. Only it was never my intention for it to be truly dystopian. I’m so frustrated by books that don’t end well, though certainly they have their place. I did see some need to offer the world a warning about where we were headed, and though the dangers I see now are somewhat different than those I first imagined, it is ultimately intended to be a book about hope and awakening.

There is something in the collective consciousness that brings just the right thing about when it is needed. This need for a warning, but also for reason to hope has been something slowly pervading our culture for many years now. So much so that a new genre has evolved. Solarpunk.

According to Wikipedia, “Solarpunk is an art movement that envisions how the future might look if humanity succeeded in solving major contemporary challenges with an emphasis on sustainability problems such as climate change and pollution.”

I do worry a bit about how some of these themes will be received. Race, caste, pollution, and the ethics of medicine (including vaccines) are all visited, but I don’t really have a message except to say that we can do better than this oligarchical caste system we have that is bent on exploiting natural and human resources for the benefit of a buck.

It also maybe has something to say about what exists beyond the limits of our physical senses. But I’ll let you decide.

Odessa Moon is Available Now

A Dystopian, During a Pandemic? Really?

What was I thinking?

What, after all, is a successful historical fiction author doing dipping into the realms of science fiction?

Well, the thing is, when you have an idea, sometimes you just have to develop it.

At the time I started this series, I had conservative leanings. I was intrigued, at the time, by the world of conspiracy theories. It was the Obama era, and my conservative friends were afraid and trying to persuade me to be, as well. I wasn’t really certain either way, but I was willing to give ear to all these things I “ought to know about”. So I listened as people prattled on about a government militarized police force, to vaccinations that were meant to manipulate the population, to secret agendas in which only the political elite would survive and thrive and own everything and we would all become their slaves.

At first the book was intended to be ultra modern, with tanks and survival gear, and all that. But that was never truly me, and when I began developing the story from a rough outline into something with living, breathing characters who spoke and thought and schemed for their own survival, I realized there was only one way I could pull it off, and that was to pull from my roots of historical writing.

I know. It doesn’t make any sense.

I’ve always been fascinated with steampunk. Particularly the rather nuanced idea of it that precludes the avoidance of the First World War, which, as proposed by Gillian Gill in Queen Victoria’s biography We Too, was perhaps just possible, had Prince Albert lived longer.

Friederich (Fritz) and Victoria (Vicky)

“In 1862, when the [Prussian] legislature dared to oppose his plans for the army, the king of Prussia furiously prepared a statement of abdication that his son [husband of princess Vicky, eldest child of Queen Victoria and Albert] had only to sign to become king. Despite his wife’s frantic entreaties, Fritz persuaded his elderly father to keep his crown since the coronation oath committed a king to rule until his death. As a result, King William I of Prussia not only lived to be crowned Emperor William I of Germany at Versaille in 1871, but ruled for seventeen more years. Fritz finally acceded to the throne as Emperor Frederick I in 1888 and died of throat cancer three months later. Had the prince consort [Albert] been alive in 1862, he might have been able to persuade Fritz that his higher duty was to the nation, not his father, and that he must seize the reins of power.

Vicky and Wilhelm

“No one ever doubted that if Crown Prince Frederick came to the throne of Prussia, Bismark and the far-right party would be dismissed, and his wife, Victoria, would be the power behind the throne. As king and queen of Prussia in 1862, Fritz and Vicky would probably have had decades to try to realize her father’s political vision. The forces of liberal democracy would have had a better chance of prevailing over militarism and absolutism. It is not absurd to argue that, had the prince consort lived even one more year, had his daughter Vicky had a chance to dictate Crown policy and shape society in Prussia, there would not have been a First World War.”

This is in part because, as Gill notes, “King William and Bismark passed their hatred and distrust (of Albert, Queen Victoria and the British) on to Prince William (Wilhelm), Vicky and Fritz’s eldest son, the future kaiser of World War I. Under their tutelage, this damaged boy became a deranged man all too willing to blame his English mother for all his problems, personal and political.”

So that’s interesting. What would England look like now had World War One never happened? Had their been no World War One, after all, the conditions that brought about World War Two would not have existed. Wars change fashion, they change our perspectives of life and its meaning and what we must and can do to survive and, further more, to live life to the fullest. Science and technology take enormous leaps forward in times of conflict. Such fraught and desperate times have lead man to some of his greatest achievements. Prosthetics, plastic surgery, aeronautics, and computer and communication technologies all benefited from the demands war placed on these disciplines.

And so Absinthe Moon and its sister volumes, have become a neo-Victorian nod to dystopian steampunkery. Only it was never my intention for it to be truly dystopian. I’m so frustrated by books that don’t end well, though certainly they have their place. I did see some need to offer the world a warning about where we were headed, and though the dangers I see now are somewhat different than those I first imagined, it is ultimately intended to be a book about hope and awakening.

There is something in the collective consciousness that brings just the right thing about when it is needed. This need for a warning, but also for reason to hope has been something slowly pervading our culture for many years now. So much so that a new genre has evolved. Solarpunk.

According to Wikipedia, “Solarpunk is an art movement that envisions how the future might look if humanity succeeded in solving major contemporary challenges with an emphasis on sustainability problems such as climate change and pollution.”

I do worry a bit about how some of these themes will be received. Race, caste, pollution, and the ethics of medicine (including vaccines) are all visited, but I don’t really have a message except to say that we can do better than this oligarchical caste system we have that is bent on exploiting natural and human resources for the benefit of a buck.

It also maybe has something to say about what exists beyond the limits of our physical senses. But I’ll let you decide.

Odessa Moon is Available Now

Pride and Humility: A Historical Fiction Author’s Views on the Merits of Fictional License in Historical Romance

Do all authors start out as ego-centric snobs? I did. After reading every piece of Regency/Victorian/Edwardian literature I could find, from Dickens and Eliot to the lesser-knowns like George Meredith and Silas Hocking, I got to a point where I felt my favorite tropes had been exhausted. So I started a book that I hoped would include them all: love-hate relationships, misunderstandings, arranged marriage, inheritance, women’s equality, platonic-love-turned-romantic, rags to riches . . . . But they weren’t going to be Historical Romances. Oh, no! I was literary. I was well-read and well-educated. The books I wrote would be historical masterpieces, thoroughly researched to within an inch of their little lives. Oh, and they weren’t little, either. Great big 500 page tome’s, they were. And they were, or so I hoped, Literary Fiction. At least they were Historical Fiction. Weren’t they? I made sure I was writing about things that actually happened, even if the characters were invented (the Married Women’s Property Act of 1888 and all the greed-driven finagling that went on between guardians and their naive wards, the opening of the Tube, the development of the automobile).

I used my books not just to convey historical events, but also to paint an accurate picture (accurate, at least to my mind) of the manners and mannerisms, the etiquette and cultural norms of the age, the philosophies and belief systems, the rules written and unwritten, the and, even, the tolerated if unusual. It was this last that got me into trouble. In some fields, or so I’ve learned is the case in nearly every sphere I have worked in (from the literary to the too-oft politically charged world of historical preservation) everyone is an expert, and everyone else is not. To all of this I added my own experiences (for some conflicts are timeless) and veiled them behind the garb of bustles and corsets and the backdrop of ballrooms and dining rooms and unwed and newlywed bedrooms.

And, of course, and despite my painstaking study, my immersive self-education . . . it proved not to be enough.

Here is the lesson: history is an illusion. If you don’t believe this, try having a civil discussion on the Civil War, it’s origins and repercussions. Is there a right view at this point? Or is it all, a hundred and forty years later, merely an invention of modern understanding? Yes, the truth is there somewhere, but I defy you to present one person who has it all exactly accurate in their heads, from who dealt the first blow to who bears the blame of it now. The point being, not that there is not truth out there, but that no two people are likely to grasp it similarly.

O.K. That’s an extreme example, but it’s true that the past is something of an illusion. We barely can grasp our presence with the accuracy it requires.

So, after writing the three books, which I had originally planned to be five, I gave up on my attempts at Historical Fiction. Not because they weren’t good. And certainly not because people wouldn’t read them. Those books made me a lot of money, after all. But more because it just felt like too much work to craft a book the way I thought I was crafting it, only to find out that it was something else entirely. And I see now that I could have told the stories more concisely, but . . . they are what I wanted them to be at the time. I did the best I could. But plotting such large books is a real challenge.

And then, for some reason I can’t really explain, I got it into my head to write a political conspiracy. It started out as a modern piece. It was full of conspiracy theories and dark warnings about where we were headed politically, both in our country and across the civilized world.

But then my viewpoint and perspective changed. I was writing a dystopian saga. It felt smarter than me, challenging in a way that was less exhilarating than it was terrifying.

And then came COVID and the “pop-up apocalypse” as my eldest child so aptly (and accidentally) dubbed it. 2020 was hard for most of us. It was certainly so for me. I kept having this nagging feeling that I needed to sit down and write. I made myself busy decoupaging walls, painting furniture, writing letters, reupholstering furniture . . . . And then the universe said “SIT DOWN AND WRITE, DAMN IT!” I didn’t listen until finally I fell down the back steps and broke my foot and was relegated to the sofa for the next ten weeks. Finally I started writing.

And then I suffered a devastating loss.

And then I started bing-watching James Acaster. (I will always be grateful to you, James, for being a true companion during that really difficult time.) I followed that up with true crime documentaries. Because it was ugly and horrid, but within a few short hours, the mystery would be solved and justice fulfilled.

And then Emma was released.

I watched it once, and then again. At first I was like . . . who is this scruffy Mr. Knightly? And now, five times through it, I’ve watched everything Johnny Flynn is in. But this is about Historical Romance and not my celebrity crushes.

While Emma is certainly literature, it is so much more than that. It is PRETTY! It is light-hearted! It is funny and charming and whimsical . . . it is a romantic confectionery such as I had forgot existed (and yes, I’ve seen EVERY Emma ever made)!

I should also mention here . . . BRIDGERTON!

Before I saw it, I literally said to a friend, “This represents everything I’ve ever and always hated about Historical Romance! It is NOT historically accurate, not in its casting, not in its characterizations, not in the language or the mores or the etiquette or subject matter.

And then I watched it.

And here’s the thing I have come to. Firstly, we NEED more beauty and love and hope (and yes, sex) in our lives! We need this return to art for art’s sake and beautiful language and yummy costumes (even if we don’t wear them ourselves–but oh. . .can I, please?) We need tidy plots with happy endings and the suggestion (if not the promise, impossible to make) of future happiness and stories that continue in bliss and companionable contentment off-stage. But do you know what we need more than that? We need to stop idealizing what was wrong with the past and nobleize and normalize what should be the ideal in our own society: diversity, equality, justice, love on equitable terms, fairness for all, righteous anger (don’t we all feel something of that right now?), and encouragement that the fight is worth it! These are things that truly accurate Historical Fiction cannot deliver. At least it is rarely accomplished if all the prejudices and inequalities are to be treated with the accuracy that we understand to be the norm. But that’s just it. If my books and others like them go off the tracks a little bit to make a necessary point to the modern-day reader, isn’t that all the better? Some themes, as I said earlier, some conflicts are true no matter what the year and the era.

So I will be less judgmental in the future and less rigid when it comes to my own expectations. I’ve recently started a new series that I think will be as fun to read as it is proving to be to write. I haven’t tossed all the rules out the window, but I’m definitely handling them in a more tongue-in-cheek fashion.

I think we are all over this “pop-up apocalypse”. Thank heaven Absinthe Moon and its sister volumes are not truly dystopian but end on a note of enlightenment and hope and empowerment (I just read that this is actually part of a new genre called SolarPunk). At least they will when I’ve finished them . . . and that is closer than you might think.

So yes, read and watch those cheesy HistRoms! Do it to enjoy a more genteel time and place, but do it, too, with the hope that what is good and noble in those can be ours again in this life, as well.

Or just because it’s fun. That’s enough of a reason, isn’t it?

High Society: Marijuana Use among the Victorians

While waiting for edits to come back for Odessa Moon, I was feeling inspired, and so I decided to dip my pen back into the inkwell of historical fiction/romance. Fearless centers around a young woman, Charlotte Darling, whose father is dying of cancer. The estate that has been her home all her life is to be inherited by a cousin-by-marriage, and she’s feeling all the fear and sorrow and uncertainty of her situation. Enter the cousins (though they are not that in actuality). The gentlemen are half-brothers. Mr. Blakeny is to inherit Mr. Darling’s estate of Blithewell, while Mr. Landry has inherited his father’s home already. Mr. Blakeny is rather an egotistical bore, while Landry is, well, … not, though he does have something of a reputation for “restlessness”. What that means takes some time to figure out, but when Mr. Darling’s suffering becomes too pronounced to bear and still attend to all the tasks necessary of making his final arrangements and preparing to turn over management of his estate to his successor, Mr. Landry tasks himself with the errand of finding some medicinal respite for Mr. Darling.

I love the historical research aspect of writing historical fiction. For Of Moths and Butterflies, I’d researched the various opiates used during the Victorian era and their availability, examining everything from the dark, seedy, smoke-filled atmosphere of London’s controversial opium dens to the fast-handed and relaxed manner in which laudanum was dispensed for even the slightest complaint and ailment. In fact, I’d used the “innocent” remedy of laudanum in the self-destruction of Bess Mason (you can read an alternate version of her death in the short story Hallam’s Wood, available in the short story collection, Parade, (still .99 at Amazon). In dealing with Mr. Darling’s instance, however, I wanted something that was a little harder to get hold of, an errand that would take him very suddenly to London, providing evidence of his “restless” nature. At the same time, I didn’t want it to be something quite so menacing and debilitating (or paint Mr. Landry in so paltry a light) as straight up opium would do. So I began to dig a little deeper. And this is what I learned:

Cannabis is actually native to Europe and England, and was used heavily for its fiber content in the making of rope and sacking. The climate, however, did not allow for the development of any psychoactive substances, and so it wasn’t until the English occupation of India that any real attention was given to the medicinal or recreational uses of the plant.

It was Sir Whitelaw Ainslee who, while serving as an attending surgeon in Madras in the early 1800’s, began to chronicle the many and various ways the plant was used in India. Ainslee was a devout Christian and believed firmly in the virtues of temperance. While he found that cannabis was used extensively for medicinal purposes, he was more concerned with its use as a recreational intoxicant and spent more time chronicling these in his publications than on any of its more practical and actually useful properties.

In contrast, Ainslee’s successor, Sir William Brooke O’Shaughnessy, appears to have been more enthusiastic in his approach. Rather than keeping a wide-birth of the plant, observing it from afar as if it were the seed of Lucifer itself, O’Shaughnessy gathered local knowledge from local experts and then proceeded to conduct a vast array of experiments, even using himself as a subject to learn first-hand the effects of the plant in its various derivatives and uses.

In 1842, O’Shaughnessy published the Bengal Dispensatory and Companion to the Pharmacopoeia in which he detailed the many and varied properties of cannabis, beginning with its “narcotic effects” but making a strong case for its medicinal benefits, as well. It seems he understood at the outset the objections many in the west would have to the drug, whose recreational use had already been described and condemned, and in defending it made his own authoritative declaration that the plant was not used nearly so widely, nor were its effects as harmful as those of opium, alcohol, or even tobacco.

One of his more interesting discoveries, after experimenting upon every manner of animal, from fish to cattle and feline to human, was that carnivorous animals were much more strongly effected by the inebriating qualities of the drug than were granivorous animals, no matter how large the dose.

Of his human subjects, O’Shaughnessy’s first subjects were rheumatic patients, all of whom attested to being relieved of pain following administration of cannabis. They also reported experiencing improved mood and appetite, as well as restored vitality, all without side-effects of headache or sickness (or nightmares), which were so often the results of opium use. In other patients, cannabis appeared to minimize the symptoms of cholera, controlling diarrhea and vomiting and allowing the patient to rest more comfortably. Other ailments upon which cannabis provided positive results included tetanus, the symptoms (though not the disease itself) of rabies, ‘infantile convulsions’, even asthma, hypertension, anxiety, and various digestive issues. For the relief of pain, the drug was almost miraculous.

O’Shaunessy wrote of his findings, and these were published in medical journals of the time. His work was widely read and even respected by the medical community in India and at home in England. O’shaunessy’s work led to the popularizing of the use of cannabis, and it began to be produced in every imaginable form from tinctures to pills, and, of course, the traditional forms for smoking.

In the mid-1800’s there existed sort of a mania for women’s health, born out of the mystery of women’s suffering and of reproductive issues (which included hysteria and mental and emotional issues that were attributed generally to the female reproductive organs). Up until this time, opiates had largely been used to treat such issues, particularly those of menstrual pain, but opiates produced some horrible side effects, including headaches, nightmares, and vomiting. Tinctures of cannabis began to be used widely for menstrual pain and to prevent premature labor. It was also used widely for treating insanity.

From the 1840’s through the 1870’s the use of cannabis exploded, and the plant grew to be hailed as a wonder drug. But the success of the drug (and the relief it provided to those who used it medicinally) was not to last. The 1880’s introduced a backlash. Unlike cocaine and opium, the active ingredients could not be isolated in cannabis (indeed, THC was not isolated until 1964) and so it was impossible to predict the effects of a treatment since the dosages could not be regulated. It’s clear from some of the reports of experiments and treatments that levels were used that introduced a catatonic state, while others merely left the subject with a sense of relaxation and mild giddiness.

During a session of Parliament in 1891, Mark Stewart MP stood and drew the House of Commons’ attention to a statement made in the Allahabad Pioneer earlier that year regarding the dangers of cannabis or “ganja” use. The article claimed that cannabis was far more dangerous than opium and for that reason had been made illegal in Lower Burma. The article further observed that “the lunatic asylums of India are filled with ganja smokers.” (Indeed they were filled with substance users of all sorts, but cannabis users were only a small percent of such.) Stewart, an accomplished temperance campaigner, had no qualms lumping together all the many forms of cannabis into one, some of which did, indeed, produce some strong intoxicating effects. But Stewart was not alone in his efforts to villainize hemp and its derivatives.

William Sproston Caine, a fellow member of parliament, dedicated much of his life to the temperance movement, presiding over such institutions as the Baptist Total Abstinence Society and the National Temperance Federation. Caine traveled to India with the intent on familiarizing himself with the darkest sides of the industry, concluding, predictably, that cannabis was “the most horrible intoxicant the world has yet produced.” After delivering his findings, he asked Parliament to form a commission of experts to investigate the use and effects of cannabis in Bengal, including the effects such substances ultimately had on the moral and social condition of the people who used it. Caine’s request was seconded by George Russell, the secretary of state and Parliamentary secretary for India. The Indian Hemp Drugs Commission was formed, but the British government, having a large stake in the opium trade, was happy to encourage the temperance adherents toward fighting against the ills of cannabis if it kept their attention off of far more economically impactful legislations against alcohol or opium.

After 266 days of travel across India, conducting experiments and interviewing those who grew the plant and harvested it for medicinal and recreational use, as well as speaking with those who used it, the Indian Hemp Drugs Commission concluded that less than one percent of the population consumed cannabis preparations and that, of these users, only about five percent might be considered excessive users. Moderate use was not believed to cause harm and the commission declared that “the habit of using hemp drugs was easier to break off than was a dependency on alcohol or opium. The commission also suggested that the predisposition to consume such intoxicants was a sign of mental weakness in and of itself, as opposed to such weaknesses being caused by the use of cannabis drugs, whether in excess or otherwise.

It feels like a very modern thing to be writing about a man dying of cancer and finding relief from his ailment in the use of medical marijuana. As it turns out, while examples of such are nearly impossible to find, it wasn’t at all unusual. I love it when my ideas coincide with historical fact. One would think that writing a story within the constraints of the rules and social norms of a specific historical point in time would be limiting. I’ve found it anything but. There is some work to be done in understanding what that framework is, but I feel at home in it. It’s been fun to get back to my first love.

Of Moths & Butterflies, a portrayal of trauma

I’ve resisted talking about this in the past. I’m not sure why. I think I thought it best to keep a little distance between the true subject of my work and those who read it and interpret it for themselves in some sort of meaningful way. I don’t want to interfere with that process. But, as I contemplate how I want to move forward in my career, and as a realization that I can, actually, tie all my passions together, I thought maybe now was the time to give a little insight into what brought me to write Of Moths & Butterflies.

I’ve mentioned elsewhere that Moths was not my first book. Cry of the Peacock, actually, was the first book I wrote. It was really just an amalgamation of all the things I loved most in literature, with an attempt to write something truly reminiscent of that era. I really was just writing something I thought I would like to read.

In Moths, my purpose was entirely different. I wrote this book to heal.

It wasn’t until I had children and had been married awhile that I began to recognize the ways in which my history of childhood molestation was hampering my ability to find happiness. I resisted intimacy, I closed off at every opportunity, I had sudden fits of unexplained and irrational anger, I couldn’t sleep because I was afraid of not being alert to my surroundings. I married for safety more than love–certainly not for desire or attraction or passion. Mostly I just really hated myself and played small in order to not be seen. You can’t be hurt if you aren’t seen. And I found myself repeatedly making choices according to my lack of self-worth.

I want to talk about this more in upcoming posts, as it is an enormous subject. But let me just say here that unresolved trauma is the gateway to nearly all of our social ills; from domestic violence to addiction, from divorce and emotional and psychological issues to physical ailments, obesity, lung and auto-immune diseases, depression, anxiety, and suicide. (If you’re interested in more about these links between ind and body, here’s an amazing TED Talk by the Surgeon General of California, Nadine Burke Harris. It’s 20 minutes and simply chock-full of mind-blowing and potentially life-changing information.)

Already immersed in classical British literature, it was really important to me that my books were accurate. I read etiquette guides, books by the amazing Judith Flanders and others, books on law, books on fashion, and websites dedicated to chronicling the social details of the era. Sites like VictorianWeb.org and Lee Jackson’s VictorianLondon.org. And lots and lots of newspapers and original texts of the time. I had my books read by friends and editors in the UK who were more experienced and knowledgeable in the genre, and I took all of their criticism seriously. Mostly they were impressed that an American could pull off what I was attempting to do. At no point was there any question that my premise was unbelievable. For the most part, my reviews have been good, and Moths has easily sold a million copies. I’ve made a lot of money off this book, but sales in recent years (mostly owing to my own neglect) have tapered off, while, at the same time, the reviews showing up on my product page have been less than stellar. I began to wonder if, perhaps, the story isn’t aging well.

Mostly what I’ve noticed in reading the reviews, is that there is a sharp line drawn between those who understand trauma and those who do not. Really, this is reflective of my own day-to-day life. Not everyone is capable of empathy, and while it is a necessary virtue in society, it isn’t at all necessary when it comes to reading. I think most people choose to read historical novels up hoping as an escape (and it really is valuable for that–I’ve rediscovered this for myself in recent months) and they don’t necessarily want something so heavily didactic.

The other complaint I sometimes receive is that the plot is implausible or unbelievable. I can only imagine the part they are struggling with is the idea that someone would refuse a fortune and then go to work as a servant, when they could have lived alone and independent and quite comfortable. While it is a highly unlikely scenario, it is not an impossible one. The money Imogen’s uncle left her was acquired by him by questionable means. He was a money lender, and these men were not highly regarded in society. Apart from that there is the issue of how he used her to help him in enticing his customers. Whether it is literally the case or not, in her mind, she would see herself as little more than a prostitute. And THAT is the point. If nothing else, her lowering herself to servant status is a metaphor for how she regards herself. In her own home, with her horrid uncle, that was the only way she escaped his more lurid demands. She played small. She played unworthy. And it wasn’t just play; she believed herself to be this way, to be worthy of little better.

In the 1890’s Sigmund Freud was doing some research on the origins of hysteria. After awhile, he began to see a patter. The women who confided in him had all been victims of sexual abuse. He wrote a paper about it called The Aetiology of Hysteria. In it he made the revolutionary (and what ought to have been groundbreaking) claim that, “at the bottom of every case of hysteria there are one or more occurrences of premature sexual experience, occurrences which belong to the earliest years of childhood, but which can be reproduced through the work of psycho-analysis in spite of the intervening decades.” Having made such an important discovery, he carried on with his research. After interviewing more than 200 women, however, he came to a breaking point. Hysteria was so prevalent in the women who came to him–wives and daughters of prominent families in society–that he realized that one of two things was happening. Either sexual abuse was endemic in society–even in polite society–or…the women who were coming to him were lying.

He chose the latter. He retracted his thesis (to the joy and relief of his peers), and thus ended the serious study of sexual trauma for the next 100 years.

Dickens did not shy away from these subjects, and even in his books there are instances of women working jobs and living in situations far, far beneath them. Perhaps not by choice, but the social ladder was a mighty rickety and precarious scaffold.

Inheritance law and the rights of women was also a huge factor in making this story plausible. Before the 1880’s women were not much more than property. If a father were particularly determined to set his daughter up as an independent heiress, he could, but as Wilkie Collins showed us in The Woman in White, a coersive husband could still draw up the paperwork to undo it all and claim her fortune for himself. The only women safe from such fates were widows who inherited their husbands’ fortunes and who were determined never to marry again. In 1888, the Married Women’s Property Act was passed. It was actually passed by Parliament in November of 1887 and was not due to take effect until the following February. A woman who inherited during this short window of time would undoubtedly find herself the focus of every member of her family who might conceivably benefit and every eligible gentleman eager to get their hands on a fortune. Arranged marriages had ended, formally, some decades ago, but marriage in the Victorian era was largely a matter of business. Money was traded for social status, fortune was married to fortune, or at least to the appearance thereof.

Last week I took a rather closer look at my reviews than I’m used to doing. I have nearly 1,100 of them, 75% of which are four and five stars. Turns out, if you’ve sold a lot of books, particularly if, like me, you like to give them away periodically, you become a target for “bots”. It’s a rather dastardly way of gaming the system so that new authors can take a center stage. With all the trauma rampant in our society right now, both in the displaying of it and the experiencing of it, I think my books have rather served their purpose and will continue to do. But, considering how heavy-hearted we all are right now, perhaps I will do better to write stories that are a little simpler and a little more light-hearted.

I’ll save my discussions about trauma for my classes and my blog posts.

The sad thing is, I’ve been so immersed in the world of Absinthe Moon, I’ve forgotten a lot of what I used to know. It’s possible I won’t hold myself to quite so rigid a standard as I did before. Clearly, it doesn’t matter. A reader will believe what they want to believe, whether I can support it by proof of evidence or not.

As I move forward, I hope we can engage in some discussions about trauma and the stress of living through the times we are in. I have not, in the past, opened my posts up to comments, but I think I’ll start doing that. Let’s have some conversations. If you write, what comfort does it bring you? If you read, what do you turn to for escape? What exercises and self-care practices bring you grounding and peace? And what can we do together to share what peace we find, both with each other and with the world at large?

Something for you this holiday season…

Originally, I thought I’d share my Christmas ghost story this year, but as I thought about it more it seemed to me that we’ve had enough of loss and sadness. So, instead, I offer this, my favorite of the short stories I wrote in 2012. It’s funny, light-hearted, sweet, and romantic…a perfect escape from the trials of this year!

Download it here!

If this tickles your fancy, there are more in my short story collection, Parade.

Happy holidays, and enjoy!

V.R.

Goodbye 2020

I don’t know what this year has been like for you, but mine has been rough: loss of friendships, loss of family members, loss of a pet, almost a full year of isolation as my yoga business closed (at least temporarily), and lots of changes in the works as my family and I try to sort out what the new normal is supposed to look like. The good news is I’ve gotten a LOT of writing done, and that has been a really wonderful thing. I’m busily editing Odessa Moon so I can get it off to my wonderful editors, and I’m looking forward to the next thing, not just the third installment of the Icarus Project Series, but maybe another project entirely. My heart is so heavy these days that, while I love the world I’ve created in Absinthe Moon and its sequels, I find I’m in the mood for something a little more light-hearted. Maybe I’m finally learning not to take myself so seriously.

I’ve actually spent much of this month, so far, working on some short stories. Parade is finally out and available, and I really enjoyed the time I have spent rereading my old shorts and dreaming up some new ideas. I have a couple of ideas I’ve got in the pot, and I’m excited about what that might look like were I to pursue that. In the mean time, I’m really proud of the new stories I’ve been able to add to the collection that was Sixteen Seasons. I’ve taken out the weaker stories and added a few more.

Miss Happenstance is a historical romance piece that was inspired by a piece of Regency literature I found to be quite a delightful escape. My books are often described as Regency when in fact they are late Victorian, but I figured in this instance, why not give it a shot? I really enjoyed it, and the endeavor has sparked some further inspiration in the way of maybe writing a full-length piece.

The Break is a contemporary story about the end of a marriage and the beginning of a new relationship. I wrote it some time ago, and sort of kept it tucked away in a drawer, but I’m actually fairly proud of this story, so I thought I would at last share it.

Deer in Winter came to me by way of a dream, actually. I’m always marveling about the seeming coincidences in life, how everything (in the words of Dirk Gently) is connected.

I’ve been wanting to tell the full and detailed history of Absinthe Moon‘s hero Robert Mayhew for some time. It’s hinted at in the first book, but in the second volume, where I had hoped to include his story, it only seemed to clutter the plot, which, as it turns out, centers around Emeline’s history. And so I thought I would just offer it as an addendum to the series, but also as a standalone story and an introduction to the books. Hopefully it offers the new reader a taste of what the series is about and they, therefore, do not have to invest too much at the outset before they decide whether or not it’s for them.

While the world has been in lockdown, I’ve also spent a lot of time really thinking about what it is that motivates me and makes me happy. In the past I’ve worked several gigs at once just to make ends meet, and because I thrive on diversity and variety. But I think, of all the things I do, it’s the writing that makes me happiest. I would love to give 100% of my time to this work. This pandemic has given me the opportunity to find out if that’s sustainable. The jury is still out, but Iv’e not yet given up hope.

I’m also learning that, no matter what I choose to pursue, I have to attend to my self-care, which I’ll have a little more to say in an upcoming post.

I’m often nostalgic at year’s end. This has been a hard one. I’ve changed a lot in the years since I first began writing. I have new and different things to say. I’m a different person in a lot of ways. I’ve learned to stand up for myself, not to apologize any longer for who and where I am. I’m becoming quite strong. Trial will do that, to you, I suppose. I suspect I’ll look at this time similarly as how I look at 2015-2016, when my father became ill and my marriage ended, and though Dickens said it first, it was sort of the worse of times and the best of times at once.

I hope that, for you as well, 2020 has had some bright spots. I’m looking forward to a brighter 2021, even if it gets off to a rough start. May you all find much to celebrate this holiday season, and thank you for your readership. It really has meant the world to me.

The Plot

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The first book I wrote (Cry of the Peacock) came to me by way of a dream. It was just a scene, really, but I was fascinated by the idea of someone who seemingly had every opportunity before her and yet was not certain that was where she really belonged. I had no real faith then in my ability to write a full-length novel, but I decided my first goal would be to outline it. If, having done that, I could come up with a real character and a plot with plenty enough scenes and “things” to write about, then I’d go ahead and do it. After several weeks, I had a significantly lengthy outline and so I began writing, constructing each secne, point by point as if the outline were a laundry list, until I had a beginning, a middle, and an end.

But it was a mess.

I had barely finished that novel when I decided I wanted to write another, a sort of “other side of the coin” story from what Cry of the Peacock had become–another look at wealth and inheritance and marriage law. And so I did the same thing again. I wrote an outline and stuck to it. But it wasn’t working. It was messy and lacked focus. And it was LONG. I needed help.

After engaging a friend to edit for me, and being shocked by her opinion (and my reluctant realization) that I would have to rewrite them both (as well as the third I had, by then, begun), I began to realize that this method of writing to a fixed outline was not going to work for me.

It was such a gut-wrenching process to start from the beginning and try again. I knew what I wanted the books to achieve but not how to get there. The books did, for the first several years, find a significant measure of success. So much so that when my life began to crumble in 2015, I had that early success to lean on to give me the confidence I needed to strike out on my own. That was the plan, at any rate. But plans have a way of revising themselves. What is the saying?

Life is what happens when you are busy making other plans.

World-building and plotting go hand in hand that way, as I’ve found in the course of writing Absinthe Moon and its sequels. I have this sort of abstract idea; I know who the characters are, what their struggles are, what they want and what they represent; I know where the story begins and the great goal I want them to be striving for. But the in-between bits are elusive until I actually start writing. As with the structure of the world they are in (or even the time-setting I choose, in the case of my historicals), I don’t know what they need until I begin the writing process. Imogen’s desperation to avoid becoming an heiress, for instance, (Of Moths & Butterflies) makes no sense without the backdrop of the Married Women’s Property Act and how its passing, and the delay of its enactment, provided a perfect opportunity for a wealthy woman not yet of age to be sold into marriage to the highest bidder. Neither does her plight make sense if one does not take into account the complex psychology of trauma. These are things I didn’t realize I needed to understand until I began delving into her character and really exploring the complexities of her psyche.

In this way, plotting, for me, is almost like trying to recall lost memories. I’m fleshing out a part of myself, not just some fictional character I pulled out of thin air. They live and breathe and have stories that require telling–and which others need to hear. Writing, for me, is not about spinning some fantastic yarn for the sake of mere entertainment. While I hope they will be entertaining (I have no hope of selling them, after all, if they are not) my aim is to convey something real and existential about the human condition. Not everyone is going to relate to Imogen, but she’s real. She is me. And as I read the reviews I can see that there are many who relate to her story on a deep and meaningful level, while others dismiss her as an implausible character with unrelatable trials who approaches the world in a completely irrational manner. Such is the nature of trauma, of which the stories of Dickens and Hardy, Eliot and Collins, are rife.

Even in my own life, I once lived by schedules and routines and fixed expectations. I have found that this system of attempting to force certainty out of an uncertain world no longer works for me. Possibly it never did, but only divorce and loss have forced me to realize it. If such is the case in my real life world, why would I assume that plotting a novel would be any different? My life’s decisions are made by careful study, by feeling out the needs of each moment, spending some time in meditation each day with a blank mind and an open awareness, ready to take in what comes. And by such a method, I find my writing both my life and my writing works much more fluidly and is far more impactful.

I’ve been practicing this in particular of late with my collection of short stories (formerly Sixteen Seasons and yet to be re-released). I wrote them some time ago, more as a challenge to myself than for an audience. I plotted and planned many of these as well, and it shows. Some of them are weak or seem pointless. This last month, since I finished the manuscript for Odessa Moon, I’ve taken some time out to reexamine those stories. Some of them are really quite good, and I’m very proud of them, but I’ve decided to retract several others. In their place, I wanted to offer something new. A couple of these, as well, have come to me by way of dream. As with Cry of the Peacock, the ideas came to me by way of short scenes, by which I then began to imagine a context. I begin a rough outline of the major points, and then I let the scenes unfold in my head, playing them out from the beginning until I hit a snag–something I don’t understand or can’t work out. At night, I’ll lay in bed and play through the different scenarios, sometimes going back a bit where a fork in the road might have taken me in a different direction. Suddenly something snaps into place. It’s no longer a point I have to remember, but a memory, like it actually happened, It becomes fixed. The next day I write, at least as far as I can see the story so far. If there is more to write than I have time for, I’ll jot down a rough bit of outline, but it isn’t set in stone. And then I’ll search out what comes next. By using this meditative sort of method, I feel like I’m channeling more than writing.

There is a concept of the more esoteric theories regarding time and space, and that being that time isn’t linear. In fact a good plot line isn’t linear, either. It’s circular. It makes a point, or introduces it, perhaps merely suggests it, and then comes back to it later, driving the point home. At any rate, it has been suggested, that, if time is not linear, perhaps what you are trying to create has already been created, and so, rather than trying to build it up from the bottom up, you can summon it back from some future form in which it was fully alive and perfect. In this way one might set the intention of tapping into one’s own future greatness. I really believe in intention, and I equally believe that we are much wiser and understand much more than we give ourselves credit for. If someone had told me that I would one day be writing a multi-volume dystopian series set in a post-apocalyptic future, and one that deals with world governments, high-tech fuel sources, and DNA modifications, I’d have told them they were crazy.

And yet, for some inexplicable reason that I have not yet begun to understand, here I am. And while I love Absinthe Moon and what the series is becoming, I can’t wait to get back to writing historicals. That’s where I really feel at home.

In the mean time, I have these short stories to tide me over. Perhaps you will enjoy them, as well, when they are ready. But that is an announcement for next time.

Until then, happy holidays, everyone!

November News

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A couple exciting things to announce. I’ve at last completed the manuscript for Odessa Moon, part two in the Icarus Project series, and I’m really excited with the direction the story is taking, which of course implies that I don’t have a solid plan in place when I begin these writing journeys. That is definitely the case! (As I’ll be discussing further in a companion post.) It still must go through at least one more round of content editing before the copy editors get it and typesetting begins. But we are huge milestone closer to our deadline, and I’m really looking forward to having this project done.

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The second item of news I offer today is in regard to Cry of the Peacock. I know there are many who’ve been waiting for an Audible version. It’s the only one of my full-length novels not to have received this treatment. The happy fact is that, after a couple of false starts and five years in production, narration for Cry of the Peacock has at last been finished and the audio files have been submitted for review. Hopefully this time next month, I’ll be able to announce that it is ready for purchase. But, for the time being, suffice it to say, I’m very happy to have one more huge project checked off my list. Many thanks to the wonderful Stacey Patrone for contributing her significant vocal talent to the project!

And lastly…After years of languishing sales for my short stories, I’ve decided to repackage them. Originally Sixteen Seasons was meant to be called Parade (and yes, there’s a short story by that name and hopefully you’ve received your free copy). Sixteen Seasons, however, is too holiday heavy to sell well, even if short stories sold well (though I do think they could do better.) I also had made the decision to sell them individually at the lowest price Amazon allows, but that won me some nasty feedback from readers who felt they were not getting their money’s worth with one story. And so…I’m going to repackage the collection, remove some of the weaker stories, add a few others I’ve written over the last few years (including, you guessed it, one relating to the world of Absinthe Moon). I’ll sell it at a discounted price and periodically give the stories away. I’ve known for some time that this was necessary, but there were always more important things to do. Now that I have two major projects behind me, it seems like a good time to give this some focused attention.

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And then it’ll be time to get back to serious work of editing publication prep. Odessa Moon is on its way!

Giveaways!

Hello, everyone!

Today begins the first of a series of giveways I’m hosting. I’ve never done this before, but it sounded like a fun way to get the word out about Absinthe Moon and perhaps get some buzz going about this new series. Absinthe Moon has been out for a year now, and, unlike my historical fiction books, which took off like lightning from the start, I’ve struggled a bit finding a readership for this one, in part because I’ve switched genres just a bit, though you’ll no doubt recognize some commonalities between this and my other work. It’s also owing to the fact that, at the time this book was being published, I was dealing with some pretty heavy stuff, like divorce, and career changes, moving, and the death of a parent, so I was really unable to focus on the promotional side of the writing business. Despite this crazy time in our world right now, and some additional loss and uncertainty, I’m really putting my all into getting this book off the ground. I’m hoping this week’s giveaway, after last week’s successful promotion, will help get the word out.

So, this is what we are doing…I’ve teamed up with 45+ fantastic authors to give away a huge collection of Teen & YA novels to 2 lucky winners!
 
And it’s not just books we are giving away. The Grand Prize winner will receive a BRAND NEW eReader!
 
You can win my novel Absinthe Moon, plus books from authors like Brenda Hiatt and Margo Bond Collins.
 
Enter the giveaway by clicking here