C.P. Lesley's Blog, page 50
August 29, 2014
Dancing with the Stars
My two-part science fiction romance (light on the science fiction, focus on the romance, especially in part 1) has just gone live on the Kindle Store. You can find it by clicking on the titles below. I thought it wouldn’t happen until tomorrow, but Kindle Direct Publishing surprised me again. (They may not show up in the lending libraries for a few more hours, so if necessary, please check back on Saturday.)
If you subscribe to Kindle Unlimited or own a physical Kindle and an Amazon Prime membership (that is, you qualify for the Kindle Owners’ Lending Library), you can read both books for free. If not, they cost $2.99, unless or until I decide to run a promotion on them. If you buy the print edition, which should become available next week sometime, the price for the e-book drops to $0.99. As mentioned in “Kindle Unleashed,” I decided to publish these two books, Desert Flower and Kingdom of the Shades, in this way to test the impact of publishing solely with Amazon.com. Stay tuned for future posts where I report the results of the experiment.
It’s been a long journey. I wrote the first version of these books in 1994, rewrote them from scratch at least three times (not counting numerous interim revisions), then set them aside around the year 2000. Even more than The Not Exactly Scarlet Pimpernel, these were my “learn to write fiction” books. What I didn’t realize then—and was surprised to discover a month ago, when I went back to them—was how close the books had come to being publishable. Much closer than I believed when I put them aside for other projects. I set out to revise them, and here they are—not perfect, perhaps, but now on a par with my later novels. Meanwhile, I have spent a wonderful month in this world that I once inhabited every day, like returning to a beloved home not seen in a decade.
I hope you have fun with them, if you decide to read them. And to help you decide if anything in the Tarkei Chronicles is likely to appeal to you, here are the opening paragraphs of Desert Flower.
Warning: You need not know much about ballet to enjoy the books, but it occupies a large enough part of both stories that liking ballet is probably essential.
Cover images purchased from Shutterstock.com and ThinkStock.com.
If you subscribe to Kindle Unlimited or own a physical Kindle and an Amazon Prime membership (that is, you qualify for the Kindle Owners’ Lending Library), you can read both books for free. If not, they cost $2.99, unless or until I decide to run a promotion on them. If you buy the print edition, which should become available next week sometime, the price for the e-book drops to $0.99. As mentioned in “Kindle Unleashed,” I decided to publish these two books, Desert Flower and Kingdom of the Shades, in this way to test the impact of publishing solely with Amazon.com. Stay tuned for future posts where I report the results of the experiment.
It’s been a long journey. I wrote the first version of these books in 1994, rewrote them from scratch at least three times (not counting numerous interim revisions), then set them aside around the year 2000. Even more than The Not Exactly Scarlet Pimpernel, these were my “learn to write fiction” books. What I didn’t realize then—and was surprised to discover a month ago, when I went back to them—was how close the books had come to being publishable. Much closer than I believed when I put them aside for other projects. I set out to revise them, and here they are—not perfect, perhaps, but now on a par with my later novels. Meanwhile, I have spent a wonderful month in this world that I once inhabited every day, like returning to a beloved home not seen in a decade.
I hope you have fun with them, if you decide to read them. And to help you decide if anything in the Tarkei Chronicles is likely to appeal to you, here are the opening paragraphs of Desert Flower.
Warning: You need not know much about ballet to enjoy the books, but it occupies a large enough part of both stories that liking ballet is probably essential.
Fabric gleamed in the flickering candle flame. Shadows danced on the cave walls. Blush pink ribbons slid through her fingers—soft and smooth. Once, before her mother died, she had stroked a m’retta with fur like this.
“What are these?” Entranced, Choli held out her find to the man who sat cross-legged in the corner, who had watched without speaking while she rummaged through his few possessions. Tall and slender, dark-haired, dark-eyed, olive-skinned, austere in his charcoal robe, he looked like the men of her world. But no man of her world would have tolerated her presence, never mind giving her free run of his home. This one sat, still as the rocks at his back, hands folded like a scholar or a priest. Or so they said, the people of the caves.
Choli wondered how they knew. Scholars were rare among the Kazrati. In her thirteen years, she had not met a single one. Priests were not so rare, but they were intimidating. Danion, of course, was not Kazrati, although he appeared to be.
His deep, cool voice answered the question she had almost forgotten asking. “They are shoes.”
A lock of straight dark hair fell into Choli’s eyes as she squinted at the shoes. Restless hands pressed them, prodded them. The uppers were soft, the soles like blocks of wood in her palms. “They’re so hard. Who wears shoes like that? Are they yours?”
“Not mine.” The man before her did not smile; he seldom smiled. Still, a note of something that might have been amusement tinged his voice. “Ballerinas wear them, so they can stand on their toes, like this.” He took one shoe from her and stood it on its toe, balancing it with a long slim finger, then handed it back. “As you see, that one is not new.”
Examining it more closely, Choli saw he was right. Someone had scraped satin off the toe, scored the sole with a knife, sprayed the front with varnish. The ballerina, she assumed. Whatever that might be.
Cover images purchased from Shutterstock.com and ThinkStock.com.
August 22, 2014
Novels as Therapy
Some people write explicitly autobiographical fiction, in which they take incidents from their lives and rework them through novels as a way of dealing with them. Virginia Pye, in her interview with me for New Books in Historical Fiction, mentioned that she usually writes about places after she stops living in them—although River of Dust, the subject of our interview, followed a different path to completion. My fellow member of Five Directions Press, Ariadne Apostolou, also draws on her own life experiences for material, although the application of a large dollop of imagination makes the results no less fictional than any other novel.
Since I have written two historical novels set in sixteenth-century Russia, a two-part science-fiction romance, and one romance bridging present technology with a fictionalized past, it should come as no surprise that I tend not to draw on the events of my own life for my raw material. Of course, I borrow bits and pieces from people I know (never entire characters) and mine news reports for evidence of attitudes and behaviors that might have prevailed in the settings I create. Likewise, my many years of studying medieval and early modern history, especially the history of Russia, go right into the books. Everyone does that, or something like that. “Write what you know” need not mean “write what you’ve lived,” but stories cannot exist in a vacuum.
Even so—and this realization has struck me with particular force this last month as I revise for publication a pair of novels that I began in 1998—my fiction, too, contains an autobiographical element. My novels work when they express my emotional state at the time of writing. Not my state at a given moment, although that can be useful in tackling individual scenes, but a deeper problem or approach to the world that characterizes my concerns throughout the two or three years required to produce 80,000–90,000 edited-to-a-fare-thee-well words. Otherwise, why would I stick with it?
I have not yet found that underlying element in The Swan Princess, which probably explains why I’m procrastinating on it. I know the overall plot, the character arcs, and the general locations, but I still have to figure out why it matters to me; the whole enterprise remains too intellectual for a pursuit as creative as fiction. Desert Flower and Kingdom of the Shades, in contrast, are like a window onto my own past, a chance to revisit that earlier self and see how I’ve done in terms of resolving (or not resolving) the issues portrayed there. It’s been a fascinating trip. I will be glad to get the books out, but at the same time, I will miss the submersion in that world, that part of my history.
I won’t tell you what specific issues found their way into the books: they are heavily disguised and, in a sense, not important. What counts now is their fictional representation. But I will say that the subconscious mind is a marvelous and peculiar place, one to which every novelist and creative artist owes a huge and ongoing debt. And once in a while, it’s fun to dip a toe into the onrushing stream of time to see what small parts of the past can be recaptured.
Maybe it’s true, as Tom Wolfe says, that you can’t go home again. But write it down, and you have a place to revisit ever after. For me, that’s good enough.
Since I have written two historical novels set in sixteenth-century Russia, a two-part science-fiction romance, and one romance bridging present technology with a fictionalized past, it should come as no surprise that I tend not to draw on the events of my own life for my raw material. Of course, I borrow bits and pieces from people I know (never entire characters) and mine news reports for evidence of attitudes and behaviors that might have prevailed in the settings I create. Likewise, my many years of studying medieval and early modern history, especially the history of Russia, go right into the books. Everyone does that, or something like that. “Write what you know” need not mean “write what you’ve lived,” but stories cannot exist in a vacuum.
Even so—and this realization has struck me with particular force this last month as I revise for publication a pair of novels that I began in 1998—my fiction, too, contains an autobiographical element. My novels work when they express my emotional state at the time of writing. Not my state at a given moment, although that can be useful in tackling individual scenes, but a deeper problem or approach to the world that characterizes my concerns throughout the two or three years required to produce 80,000–90,000 edited-to-a-fare-thee-well words. Otherwise, why would I stick with it?
I have not yet found that underlying element in The Swan Princess, which probably explains why I’m procrastinating on it. I know the overall plot, the character arcs, and the general locations, but I still have to figure out why it matters to me; the whole enterprise remains too intellectual for a pursuit as creative as fiction. Desert Flower and Kingdom of the Shades, in contrast, are like a window onto my own past, a chance to revisit that earlier self and see how I’ve done in terms of resolving (or not resolving) the issues portrayed there. It’s been a fascinating trip. I will be glad to get the books out, but at the same time, I will miss the submersion in that world, that part of my history.
I won’t tell you what specific issues found their way into the books: they are heavily disguised and, in a sense, not important. What counts now is their fictional representation. But I will say that the subconscious mind is a marvelous and peculiar place, one to which every novelist and creative artist owes a huge and ongoing debt. And once in a while, it’s fun to dip a toe into the onrushing stream of time to see what small parts of the past can be recaptured.
Maybe it’s true, as Tom Wolfe says, that you can’t go home again. But write it down, and you have a place to revisit ever after. For me, that’s good enough.
August 15, 2014
Hidden Lives
In my latest interview for New Books in Historical Fiction, Laurel Corona notes that historical fiction is “the second arm” where women’s history is concerned. What she means—and I hope you will listen to the interview, where we go into this and other topics in much greater depth—is that historical sources often obscure the reality of women’s lives. For much of history, the focus has been on battles and conquest and court politics, areas traditionally dominated by men. Women, even when they succeed in this arena—Empress Wu of China is a good example—tend to be portrayed from a male perspective, as either harridans or sirens. Outside this arena, they are simply ignored: nameless creatures playing supporting roles by washing shirts, darning socks, raising children, and keeping the home fires burning—no matter that tending those home fires without help amid a society in chaos demands courage, intellect, and resourcefulness. (For more on this topic, see my series of posts that began with “Women of Steel” and ended with “Taking the Veil.”)One antidote to this documentary silence is historical fiction. The discipline of women’s history has come a long way in the last four decades, and much more information is available about the general conditions of women’s lives in the past. But to capture the reality of an individual life, an informed imagination is often the best approach—or if not the best, a valid approach. Laurel Corona has tackled this task in four novels set in different eras and places: The Four Seasons, Penelope’s Daughter, Finding Emilie, and The Mapmaker’s Daughter. The results are impressive. So listen to the interview. Read some of her books. You won’t be disappointed.
The rest of this post comes from the New Books in Historical Fiction site.
In North America, the year 1492 is inextricably linked to Columbus’s discovery of the West Indies, funded by King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella of Spain. But in Spain itself, the year brought two events that at the time appeared more vital to the health and spiritual purity of the kingdom: the conquest of Granada from the last Muslim rulers of Andalusia, and the expulsion of the Jews whose families had inhabited Iberia since the height of the Roman Empire. Against the backdrop of the Spanish Inquisition, The Mapmaker’s Daughter (Sourcebooks, 2014) tells the story of Amalia Riba—child of a converso family whose father embraces Christianity to save his wife and children and whose mother pays lip service to the new religion even as she teaches her daughters to observe Jewish ritual in secret.
During Amalia’s long and varied life, she travels from her childhood home in Sevilla to Portugal and to Castile, to Granada and to Valencia—accompanied by the exquisitely decorated atlas painted by her great-grandfather and charting her course between security and identity. With a sure hand, Laurel Corona explores the importance of choice, the prices paid for resistance and assimilation, and the overlapping of identity and community, especially in the lives of women. Along the way, she makes a powerful case for the value of diversity—not only in the past but in the present.
August 8, 2014
Things Change
A shorter than usual post this week, because I am in the midst of my annual writing vacation and want to devote every minute to my stories.
I rarely think about the themes in my novels. Most of the time, I can’t tell you what the theme is until the second draft. Sure, I have a vague sense that a given book plays with questions of vengeance or loyalty or love, but too much focus on delivering a “message” takes the fun out of writing the story—and in the long run proves onerous to readers as well.
So I was surprised to discover, while spiffing up Desert Flower and Kingdom of the Shades for release this fall, that these novels I wrote fifteen years ago have a theme: the need to change with the times, to embrace the future even when it gets in the way of what you thought you wanted because that unexpected snag may push you toward a destination more beautiful than you ever imagined.
I saw it, I think, because it was a message I especially needed to hear right now. This week I learned that the company where I have freelanced for twenty years has been sold to a larger firm. Many of my friends are out of a job. One of them worked tirelessly to convince the new owners to keep the freelancers, even though she herself has to look for a new position (I thank her profoundly for that). And perhaps the new owners will, although whether they do and under what terms remain to be seen. I’ve spent much of the week chatting with others, many of them more affected by this change than I, as we try to decide whether the deal offers an opportunity to move on or just financial insecurity. And whatever happens, I will miss working with those who leave—or whom I must leave.
By a strange coincidence, this week Fotopedia, which I featured in earlier posts as a great source of Creative Commons images, announced that it is shutting down on August 10. The message implied that the site owners saw no way to turn it into a business, although personally I would have been happy to shell out $5–10 for the Fotopedia app or even pay a small annual subscription rather than lose access to those wonderful photographs. Based on the responses to the announcement posted on the Fotopedia site, I am not the only person willing to support that solution.
“Things change … It is their nature.” So speaks the hero’s mentor in Desert Flower. We can’t freeze the past in stone, but we can mourn its passing and hope that the holes things leave create the space for other, even more rewarding endeavors.
August 1, 2014
Kindle Unleashed
The retail giant Amazon.com has been in the news a lot recently. Its fight with Hachette over pricing and pre-orders has caused a particular furor, with authors screaming “foul” as the combatants draw swords and each accuses the other of wanting to destroy the book business or the writing life or something equally far-fetched.
I’m not taking sides in the Amazon/Hachette controversy. Years of watching such battles have left me with a natural skepticism when two giant corporations square off. I suspect each of wanting what’s best for its own business; how the outcome affects authors and readers naturally concerns the authors and readers, whereas the companies seek, first and foremost, to maximize profits.
But that is not the only Amazon-related story this month, nor is it the subject of this post. On July 18, 2014, Amazon.com introduced a new service. Called Kindle Unlimited, it allows subscribers to borrow e-books and audiobooks enrolled in the program: 600,000 so far, according to the site page. In contrast to the previous—and continuing—Kindle Owners Lending Library, borrowers do not need either an Amazon Prime subscription or a physical Kindle device, just a Kindle app and a willingness to sign up for $9.99/month. Subscribers can borrow up to ten books at a time, keep them for as long as they like, then delete the books from the app and add new ones. Amazon places no restriction on the total number of books borrowed each month; that’s where the “unlimited” comes in.
Since anyone can download the Kindle app for free and run it on his/her computer or tablet, the potential readership for Kindle Unlimited is huge, although it’s too soon to tell how many people will shell out $9.99/month to enroll after their free 30-day trial ends.
Meanwhile, authors have to decide whether to join and in what way. New readers, good. Payment for borrowing, good (if someone reads past 10%, the author receives a piece from a predetermined pie—exactly how large a piece remains a mystery, and the size of the pie and the number of slices vary by month).
But there’s a catch. To qualify for the Kindle Unlimited program, a book must be enrolled in KDP Select—meaning that the author or publisher agrees to distribute the e-version only through Amazon.com. No other e-bookstores, no sales through outside websites, no listing with public libraries even: for a minimum of three months, Amazon.com has exclusive rights to the content. (Print sales are not part of the deal.) What’s an author to do?
Until now, my instinct has been to avoid KDP Select. Call it skepticism, again. At least 85% of my sales go through Amazon.com, yet I can’t quite shake the idea that a company that gets too big loses its incentive to please little people like me. After thinking about the options for Kindle Unlimited, though, I decided to run an experiment. I took The Not Exactly Scarlet Pimpernel off the other bookstores that listed it, removed any purchase links from my website and my publisher’s website, checked this blog to ensure I had not forgotten anything (in fact, I had, but not on the blog), and clicked the button to enroll the book in KDP Select.
The Amazon.com computers turned me down. The book was not eligible, they said. I don’t know why. One of the other bookstores took a while to process my request, so to a computer it may have appeared that the book remained on sale. Or the computer may not have recognized that the website purchase links sent people to Amazon.com and did not signal independent distribution. I was surprised and somewhat displeased, but not hugely put out. In the interim I had remembered that my local public library system listed the book—which, as it turned out, disqualified it for KDP Select anyway. I put it back on sale at the other sites and sat back to ponder.
That was when I remembered the two books I wrote before running into my wonderful critique group, which helped me finish The Not Exactly Scarlet Pimpernel and the novels that followed. Those two books, Desert Flower and Kingdom of the Shades, had never been listed on any site or uploaded to any library. I hadn’t even opened the files in five years, maybe ten. They looked like perfect candidates for KDP Select. If I made money on them, either directly or through people discovering my other books and buying them, great. And if I didn’t, well, I had given up on the idea of publishing them, so I couldn’t lose what I’d never had.
But were the novels any good? I’ve learned a lot in the last eight years—about writing, about publishing, and even about marketing. With considerable trepidation, I converted the two books to ePub, copied them to my trusty tablet, and began to read.
Darned if they weren’t respectable. Better than respectable, in fact. I discovered some sloppy writing—way too much smiling and laughing and quirking of lips, especially in the first novel. But sloppy writing is easy to fix. The rest of it—characters with the potential to grow, conflict, a story problem, distinctive people and places, narrative drive—was already in place.
So I’m revising to remove the clichés, and you can expect to hear soon that Tarkei Chronicles 1 and 2 are available for Kindle (initially) and in print. Stay tuned, too, for the results of the experiment. I may even write the planned third book one day, after Legends 5 heads out into the world....
I’m not taking sides in the Amazon/Hachette controversy. Years of watching such battles have left me with a natural skepticism when two giant corporations square off. I suspect each of wanting what’s best for its own business; how the outcome affects authors and readers naturally concerns the authors and readers, whereas the companies seek, first and foremost, to maximize profits.
But that is not the only Amazon-related story this month, nor is it the subject of this post. On July 18, 2014, Amazon.com introduced a new service. Called Kindle Unlimited, it allows subscribers to borrow e-books and audiobooks enrolled in the program: 600,000 so far, according to the site page. In contrast to the previous—and continuing—Kindle Owners Lending Library, borrowers do not need either an Amazon Prime subscription or a physical Kindle device, just a Kindle app and a willingness to sign up for $9.99/month. Subscribers can borrow up to ten books at a time, keep them for as long as they like, then delete the books from the app and add new ones. Amazon places no restriction on the total number of books borrowed each month; that’s where the “unlimited” comes in.
Since anyone can download the Kindle app for free and run it on his/her computer or tablet, the potential readership for Kindle Unlimited is huge, although it’s too soon to tell how many people will shell out $9.99/month to enroll after their free 30-day trial ends.
Meanwhile, authors have to decide whether to join and in what way. New readers, good. Payment for borrowing, good (if someone reads past 10%, the author receives a piece from a predetermined pie—exactly how large a piece remains a mystery, and the size of the pie and the number of slices vary by month).
But there’s a catch. To qualify for the Kindle Unlimited program, a book must be enrolled in KDP Select—meaning that the author or publisher agrees to distribute the e-version only through Amazon.com. No other e-bookstores, no sales through outside websites, no listing with public libraries even: for a minimum of three months, Amazon.com has exclusive rights to the content. (Print sales are not part of the deal.) What’s an author to do?
Until now, my instinct has been to avoid KDP Select. Call it skepticism, again. At least 85% of my sales go through Amazon.com, yet I can’t quite shake the idea that a company that gets too big loses its incentive to please little people like me. After thinking about the options for Kindle Unlimited, though, I decided to run an experiment. I took The Not Exactly Scarlet Pimpernel off the other bookstores that listed it, removed any purchase links from my website and my publisher’s website, checked this blog to ensure I had not forgotten anything (in fact, I had, but not on the blog), and clicked the button to enroll the book in KDP Select.
The Amazon.com computers turned me down. The book was not eligible, they said. I don’t know why. One of the other bookstores took a while to process my request, so to a computer it may have appeared that the book remained on sale. Or the computer may not have recognized that the website purchase links sent people to Amazon.com and did not signal independent distribution. I was surprised and somewhat displeased, but not hugely put out. In the interim I had remembered that my local public library system listed the book—which, as it turned out, disqualified it for KDP Select anyway. I put it back on sale at the other sites and sat back to ponder.
That was when I remembered the two books I wrote before running into my wonderful critique group, which helped me finish The Not Exactly Scarlet Pimpernel and the novels that followed. Those two books, Desert Flower and Kingdom of the Shades, had never been listed on any site or uploaded to any library. I hadn’t even opened the files in five years, maybe ten. They looked like perfect candidates for KDP Select. If I made money on them, either directly or through people discovering my other books and buying them, great. And if I didn’t, well, I had given up on the idea of publishing them, so I couldn’t lose what I’d never had.
But were the novels any good? I’ve learned a lot in the last eight years—about writing, about publishing, and even about marketing. With considerable trepidation, I converted the two books to ePub, copied them to my trusty tablet, and began to read.
Darned if they weren’t respectable. Better than respectable, in fact. I discovered some sloppy writing—way too much smiling and laughing and quirking of lips, especially in the first novel. But sloppy writing is easy to fix. The rest of it—characters with the potential to grow, conflict, a story problem, distinctive people and places, narrative drive—was already in place.
So I’m revising to remove the clichés, and you can expect to hear soon that Tarkei Chronicles 1 and 2 are available for Kindle (initially) and in print. Stay tuned, too, for the results of the experiment. I may even write the planned third book one day, after Legends 5 heads out into the world....
July 25, 2014
Writing Historical Paranormal
Last Saturday, fellow-author Hazel West hosted me on her blog, “Hazel West’s Character Purgatory.” So now it’s my chance to welcome her to discuss a subject that I might never tackle: the art of writing historical fantasy.
Hazel and I met on Goodreads, where she moderates the History Buffs United group. I am delighted to welcome her today. And, Hazel, good luck with your new novel, Wolfsblood!
Writing Historical Paranormal
Hazel West
I thought this would be a good topic to write about, seeing as I just published my first official historical fantasy/paranormal novel, Wolfsblood. It’s always been a genre I have enjoyed to read: whether it was a fantasy universe like Middle Earth that is based off historical peoples, or historical fiction with fantasy or paranormal elements added, it’s always been fascinating to me to see where the authors go with it. The more I write and think about stories that involve history and fantasy or myth, the more I realize how easy it is to mix the two genres.
It’s especially easy when writing Celtic history. A lot of the ancient history of Ireland and Scotland and pretty much all of Great Britain in general is very steeped in legend. So much so that sometimes it’s hard to figure out where the folk stories end and the actual history begins. Think King Arthur and Brian Boru and even later heroes such as Owain Glyndwr to a certain extent. This might be annoying when trying to write a strict historical novel, but it’s extremely good fun when you’re writing a historical fantasy. While Wolfsblood isn’t really based off any particular event, or myth, or person, it is written in the style of the old folklore, dealing with a whole Roman garrison that is made up of werewolves. Add to that an ancient Celtic flavor of mystery and magic, and druids and it’s pretty much a traditional folk tale.
I’ve always been a fan of paranormal and supernatural novels, though I’ll admit that what oftentimes passes for that genre nowadays isn’t exactly my choice of reading material. I like the stuff that comes from old folktales and myth, and that’s the feel I attempted to give to Wolfsblood. Being set in Roman occupied Britain, on the border of Scotland, it’s the perfect time period and setting for adding a supernatural flair to the historical aspect. Half the battle with writing good historical fantasy is not only finding a reason to do so, but making the kind of story line work with the proper time period. I don’t think this would have worked the same had it been set in the Napoleonic time period, and werewolves definitely fit better with the character of the Celtic people than vampires. Another tip about writing historical fantasy is to do your research. There have always been urban legends and stories of the occult, and you will likely find one that will suit your writerly mind. I did a lot of research into werewolf lore before I wrote this book, going far back into the ancient Greek and Viking cultures, as well as studying druids and not only what they really did, which was creepy enough, but what they were thought to do as well. The best part about writing historical fantasy/paranormal, is that you can take liberties with the little extra bits that are passed down in local legend and run wild with them without anyone getting onto you. Or if there’s no material, make it up! As long as it seems to fit with the setting and time period, you’ll be able to craft a very interesting story.
There were no particular events that inspired Wolfsblood, but to me, the entire Celtic culture has a very supernatural feel to it anyway, and it’s almost second nature to put little bits of actual supernatural events into a story set in ancient Britain or Ireland. In any case it was good fun, and as my first attempt at paranormal, I was rather happy with the result! I will definitely be thinking of writing other books in the genre.
Hazel is an indie author, avid reader, and coffee connoisseur. She loves best writing British historical fiction and things with an air of the ancient supernatural, finding new ways to retell the old stories—sometimes mixing everything together. When she’s not writing or reading, she can usually be found sketching, listening to music (classic folk, modern folk, and other modern artists with a different taste to the norm) and feeding her obsession with BBC TV shows.
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Description
Alexandrus has been hoping for his promotion to centurion for a while, not only for his own personal gain, but to make his father, a wounded veteran, proud. However, promotion does not come in the way he expects.
He finds himself posted to a frontier fort on the Northern Border, commanding a cohort of Celtic auxiliaries. Chosen for this particular job because his grandmother was British and he speaks the language, he sets off for his new posting, leaving behind a disappointed father and the relatively comfortable life he has known in the south.
When he reaches the fort, he finds it the most horribly run place he has ever seen. Men are sleeping on duty, no one seems to be motivated to do anything, and the decurion is “currently indisposed.” He soon makes it his duty to join with the other centurions and whip the men into shape, but it proves difficult, for the fort is full of troublemakers, both well-meaning and otherwise. But the lack of discipline is not the only thing strange about the new posting. Where are the horses if it’s supposed to be a cavalry cohort? Why do most of the men seem to have strange golden eyes, and why is it that most of them have bite scars? It can’t be that they were all so unlucky while hunting for wolf skins, could it? Alex disregards an old story he hears about a Druid curse, but when it comes to the night of his own initiation, he begins to wonder whether there is truth to it after all.
Hazel and I met on Goodreads, where she moderates the History Buffs United group. I am delighted to welcome her today. And, Hazel, good luck with your new novel, Wolfsblood!
Writing Historical Paranormal
Hazel West
I thought this would be a good topic to write about, seeing as I just published my first official historical fantasy/paranormal novel, Wolfsblood. It’s always been a genre I have enjoyed to read: whether it was a fantasy universe like Middle Earth that is based off historical peoples, or historical fiction with fantasy or paranormal elements added, it’s always been fascinating to me to see where the authors go with it. The more I write and think about stories that involve history and fantasy or myth, the more I realize how easy it is to mix the two genres.
It’s especially easy when writing Celtic history. A lot of the ancient history of Ireland and Scotland and pretty much all of Great Britain in general is very steeped in legend. So much so that sometimes it’s hard to figure out where the folk stories end and the actual history begins. Think King Arthur and Brian Boru and even later heroes such as Owain Glyndwr to a certain extent. This might be annoying when trying to write a strict historical novel, but it’s extremely good fun when you’re writing a historical fantasy. While Wolfsblood isn’t really based off any particular event, or myth, or person, it is written in the style of the old folklore, dealing with a whole Roman garrison that is made up of werewolves. Add to that an ancient Celtic flavor of mystery and magic, and druids and it’s pretty much a traditional folk tale.
I’ve always been a fan of paranormal and supernatural novels, though I’ll admit that what oftentimes passes for that genre nowadays isn’t exactly my choice of reading material. I like the stuff that comes from old folktales and myth, and that’s the feel I attempted to give to Wolfsblood. Being set in Roman occupied Britain, on the border of Scotland, it’s the perfect time period and setting for adding a supernatural flair to the historical aspect. Half the battle with writing good historical fantasy is not only finding a reason to do so, but making the kind of story line work with the proper time period. I don’t think this would have worked the same had it been set in the Napoleonic time period, and werewolves definitely fit better with the character of the Celtic people than vampires. Another tip about writing historical fantasy is to do your research. There have always been urban legends and stories of the occult, and you will likely find one that will suit your writerly mind. I did a lot of research into werewolf lore before I wrote this book, going far back into the ancient Greek and Viking cultures, as well as studying druids and not only what they really did, which was creepy enough, but what they were thought to do as well. The best part about writing historical fantasy/paranormal, is that you can take liberties with the little extra bits that are passed down in local legend and run wild with them without anyone getting onto you. Or if there’s no material, make it up! As long as it seems to fit with the setting and time period, you’ll be able to craft a very interesting story.
There were no particular events that inspired Wolfsblood, but to me, the entire Celtic culture has a very supernatural feel to it anyway, and it’s almost second nature to put little bits of actual supernatural events into a story set in ancient Britain or Ireland. In any case it was good fun, and as my first attempt at paranormal, I was rather happy with the result! I will definitely be thinking of writing other books in the genre.
Hazel is an indie author, avid reader, and coffee connoisseur. She loves best writing British historical fiction and things with an air of the ancient supernatural, finding new ways to retell the old stories—sometimes mixing everything together. When she’s not writing or reading, she can usually be found sketching, listening to music (classic folk, modern folk, and other modern artists with a different taste to the norm) and feeding her obsession with BBC TV shows.
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Description
Alexandrus has been hoping for his promotion to centurion for a while, not only for his own personal gain, but to make his father, a wounded veteran, proud. However, promotion does not come in the way he expects.
He finds himself posted to a frontier fort on the Northern Border, commanding a cohort of Celtic auxiliaries. Chosen for this particular job because his grandmother was British and he speaks the language, he sets off for his new posting, leaving behind a disappointed father and the relatively comfortable life he has known in the south.
When he reaches the fort, he finds it the most horribly run place he has ever seen. Men are sleeping on duty, no one seems to be motivated to do anything, and the decurion is “currently indisposed.” He soon makes it his duty to join with the other centurions and whip the men into shape, but it proves difficult, for the fort is full of troublemakers, both well-meaning and otherwise. But the lack of discipline is not the only thing strange about the new posting. Where are the horses if it’s supposed to be a cavalry cohort? Why do most of the men seem to have strange golden eyes, and why is it that most of them have bite scars? It can’t be that they were all so unlucky while hunting for wolf skins, could it? Alex disregards an old story he hears about a Druid curse, but when it comes to the night of his own initiation, he begins to wonder whether there is truth to it after all.
July 18, 2014
Pet Hawks and Politics
One of the best parts of my gig as host of New Books in Historical Fiction is getting to read books that might not otherwise cross my path. That description doesn’t completely apply to The Pet Hawk of the House of Abbas, for the simple reason that I have worked with the translator on nonfiction projects for the last dozen years, and I heard about the book first from her. In fact, I read it a year ago and had to put in some serious swot time to recapture the big points so that I could put together a set of questions for the interview. The need to study is no reflection on Pet Hawk, which I enjoyed a lot—only on my aging memory and the number of books I have read, for NBHF and on my own, since. Not to mention the effort I put into my own novels, which tends to squeeze everything else out of my brain.But although I probably would have read Pet Hawk even without the impetus generated by the New Books Network—I am fascinated by Central Asia, which I am discovering only belatedly in my career as a Russian historian, mostly thanks to my research for The Golden Lynx and its sequels—my near-total ignorance about the conflict through which the Abbasid caliphate replaced its Umayyad predecessor, never mind the role played in that overthrow by the western quarter of the ancient Silk Road, meant that one read-through was insufficient for me to capture the ins and outs of the complicated family and state politics that form the background to Pet Hawk. Without the need to follow through on my promise to interview Liv Bliss, who produced the masterful translation of this novel, most likely I would not have gone back to it and so would have forever missed the subtlety that characterizes Dmitry Chen’s work.
Because Liv and I are, in a sense, both readers—although a translator plays an important creative role (more on that in a couple of weeks)—this interview has more the tone of a book club than the usual exchange with authors. So stop by and listen to our free conversation between friends. And by the way, the book has a gorgeous cover. As you may have guessed from last week's post, that means a lot to me.
Next week, fellow-author Hazel West is scheduled to guest-blog about historical fantasy. Meanwhile, check out the spotlight on The Winged Horse at Trisha Haddan’s Happy Book Reviewer site. And if you happen to live in Delaware County, PA, you can now borrow the e-book versions of my novels through the county library system. Many thanks to the Delco Library System for setting that up!
The rest of this post comes from the NBHF site. Note that, despite what I say in the interview, the e-book version of Pet Hawk does include the introductory map and cast of characters. I reread the book in print and had forgotten that I saw them in the Kindle version, too.
From the Saxons and Danes warring in the British Isles, this month’s interview skews dramatically eastward and dives back two centuries in time, although the circumstances of war and unrest will seem remarkably familiar. Nanidat, head of the Maniakh trading house, has just returned from two years in Chang’an, the capital of Tang Dynasty China—three months’ away along the Silk Road from his home in Samarkand. It is 749 CE. The House of Maniakh—like Samarkand and the surrounding lands—is slowly recovering from a recent invasion by the Arabs, who have striven to impose their rule and their religion on the Zoroastrian and Buddhist Sogdians. Nanidat looks forward to a relaxing visit filled with wine, women, and poetry before he again mounts his camel to return to his beloved Chang’an. Instead, he is less than halfway through the opening reception before a pair of strangers try to murder him.
The next morning, his knife wound still raw, Nanidat finds himself bundled out of his house, on the road west to Bukhara, in search of a young woman whom he has loved as a sister—and perhaps a little more. A reluctant traveler, Nanidat soon finds himself enmeshed in a web of conspiracy and intrigue that threatens his beliefs about his family and its place in the larger world.
Dmitry Chen’s The Pet Hawk of the House of Abbas, translated by Liv Bliss (Edward and Dee, 2013), explores the events surrounding the decline of the Umayyad Caliphate, the rise to power of its successor state under the House of Abbas, the founding of Baghdad, and the conflict that underlies the current division between Sunni and Shi’a Muslims, now playing out in Iraq. Follow Nanidat as he struggles, never quite certain where the next betrayal will come from, to puzzle out a path to safety before his would-be murderers succeed in their mission.
July 11, 2014
Digital Paint
It’s an odd thing to discover in midlife, but one thing my association with Five Directions Press has taught me is that I love to design book covers (books, too). Finding the right images and fonts, setting up the right combination of colors, catching the essence of a book in a few compelling images, defining elements that will tie a series together, even finding the exact placement on a page—all these tasks are deeply satisfying.
Book covers are important in selling books, even in a digital world. I know that. But for me, creating them is pure fun. It doesn’t matter that I can’t draw my way out of a paper bag. I can see when things should be aligned and when they shouldn’t. I appreciate art; I just can’t reproduce what my eyes see with a pencil, pen, or stylus. For that, I need Photoshop and InDesign. The effort involved puts nitpicking to shame: 3/72 of an inch left or right, up or down, can make all the difference. Yet I find it relaxing. Fade here, add an effect there, and the ordinary becomes beautiful.
I’ve heard people say that historical fiction demands paintings, not photographs, on its covers. I have nothing against paintings, of course, but I don’t really “get” the value of restricting a designer in this way. For starters, a photograph can be filtered or manipulated to resemble a painting with, say, Photoshop or AutoPaint. And a new writer with few funds may manage quite well with a $10 purchase from one of the stock photo services—or even Creative Commons or public domain art—so long as the images chosen are historically appropriate and well suited to the story. New designers often forget that the type is just as important as the image behind it: titles and authors’ names need to stand out even at thumbnail size, which can’t happen if the cover image overwhelms the words.
So this was my week for covers—not entirely, since the reason why I spent my late afternoons fooling around with images and point sizes was because I had already devoted so many hours to checking for commas that should have been semicolons and double spaces on a page that my brain could no longer process grammar and spelling. While helping my pal Courtney J. Hall finalize her covers for the soon-to-be released Some Rise by Sin and its as-yet-in-the planning stages sequel By Virtue Fall, I discovered an amazing picture of the Kola Peninsula on ThinkStock—perfect for the back cover of The Swan Princess, which had been giving me fits for its pedestrian inability to match the new covers for The Golden Lynx and The Winged Horse. And that gave me ideas for The Vermilion Bird and The Shattered Drum, which complete the Legends of the Five Directions series.
I won’t show you those. It will be eighteen months, at least, before I start work on Vermilion Bird—probably three years for Shattered Drum—and who knows what good ideas I may have had about the covers by then? But I will show you Some Rise by Sin, which should be released by the fall, and the full cover for The Swan Princess. Because even if you don’t need the inspiration, I do!
Please note that all these images come from Shutterstock, iStock, or ThinkStock and thus should not be reproduced unless you have purchased the rights to do so. The Five Directions Press logo was designed and is owned by Colleen Kelley.
Book covers are important in selling books, even in a digital world. I know that. But for me, creating them is pure fun. It doesn’t matter that I can’t draw my way out of a paper bag. I can see when things should be aligned and when they shouldn’t. I appreciate art; I just can’t reproduce what my eyes see with a pencil, pen, or stylus. For that, I need Photoshop and InDesign. The effort involved puts nitpicking to shame: 3/72 of an inch left or right, up or down, can make all the difference. Yet I find it relaxing. Fade here, add an effect there, and the ordinary becomes beautiful.
I’ve heard people say that historical fiction demands paintings, not photographs, on its covers. I have nothing against paintings, of course, but I don’t really “get” the value of restricting a designer in this way. For starters, a photograph can be filtered or manipulated to resemble a painting with, say, Photoshop or AutoPaint. And a new writer with few funds may manage quite well with a $10 purchase from one of the stock photo services—or even Creative Commons or public domain art—so long as the images chosen are historically appropriate and well suited to the story. New designers often forget that the type is just as important as the image behind it: titles and authors’ names need to stand out even at thumbnail size, which can’t happen if the cover image overwhelms the words.
So this was my week for covers—not entirely, since the reason why I spent my late afternoons fooling around with images and point sizes was because I had already devoted so many hours to checking for commas that should have been semicolons and double spaces on a page that my brain could no longer process grammar and spelling. While helping my pal Courtney J. Hall finalize her covers for the soon-to-be released Some Rise by Sin and its as-yet-in-the planning stages sequel By Virtue Fall, I discovered an amazing picture of the Kola Peninsula on ThinkStock—perfect for the back cover of The Swan Princess, which had been giving me fits for its pedestrian inability to match the new covers for The Golden Lynx and The Winged Horse. And that gave me ideas for The Vermilion Bird and The Shattered Drum, which complete the Legends of the Five Directions series.
I won’t show you those. It will be eighteen months, at least, before I start work on Vermilion Bird—probably three years for Shattered Drum—and who knows what good ideas I may have had about the covers by then? But I will show you Some Rise by Sin, which should be released by the fall, and the full cover for The Swan Princess. Because even if you don’t need the inspiration, I do!
Please note that all these images come from Shutterstock, iStock, or ThinkStock and thus should not be reproduced unless you have purchased the rights to do so. The Five Directions Press logo was designed and is owned by Colleen Kelley.
July 4, 2014
Danes, Varangians, and Nomads
Two weeks ago, I posted about my New Books in Historical Fiction interview with Bernard Cornwell. He’s a great conversationalist, and I was happy with how the interview turned out—especially after Marshall Poe, editor in chief of the New Books Network, managed to scrub all the Skype weirdness out of the files.
As usual during these interviews, I kept out of the way as much as possible and let Bernard talk. But there was one moment when he said something that surprised me so much that I forgot I was wearing my host hat and jumped into the conversation. Specifically, he said that the Danes invaded England in the ninth century looking for land.
Now I have no problem with this statement as it stands. It makes perfect sense. England was rich agricultural territory, and if you lived in Scandinavia and needed to feed your family—say, because the population was growing or the weather changing—England would look like a very appealing prospect. That England at the time didn’t exist as a single entity but as a set of warring kingdoms that skillful enemies could pit against one another just enhanced that appeal.
The part that surprised me was (a) my own prejudice, by which I mean that I had always subconsciously thought of the Danish raiders as freebooters and warriors, not farmers; and (b) the difference between these Danish invaders and their counterparts to the east, known to Russians and Russian historians as Varangians.
The Varangians invaded, too, and eventually established a state called Rus in Novgorod and Kiev, the nucleus of what would one day become the modern nations of Russia and Ukraine. Their subjects were agricultural Slavs—with whom, in time-honored fashion, the conquerors interbred and whose culture they adopted. But the Varangians themselves were not motivated primarily by a desire for land but by commerce. Corsairs had closed the Mediterranean, separating Europe from Byzantium and the riches of the east: spices, silk, perfumes, and luxury goods of all kinds—creating a lucrative market for anyone who could find an access point. The Varangians discovered a route through the eastern Slavic lands, collecting fur, honey, and slaves along the way and trading these goods in Constantinople for spices and silk. When the Italians reopened the Mediterranean and the more arduous Dnieper route died, the Rus settled in and dominated their agricultural empire, defending their lands from the nomads to their east until the Mongols arrived.
The Mongols, too, were not looking for land. They wanted to control the Silk Road and all the cities along it. Their success established what historians call the Pax Mongolica, guaranteeing the safety of merchants along the thousands of miles that separated Constantinople from Dadu (Beijing). Because of the Pax Mongolica, Marco Polo reached China during the reign of Kublai Khan.
The Mongols subjugated distant Russia and ruled it for the better part of two centuries, but they took no interest in its agriculture. Instead, they carted off its artisans to build pretty palaces in Sarai and Karakorum, taxed its people, and insisted that its princes present themselves for approval before they had the nerve to rule. Any failure to fulfill these requirements provoked devastating punitive raids, but so long as the money and furs flowed and no prince declared himself independent, the Mongols left the Russians more or less alone. They had richer lands to milk.
In time, the Russians learned to play the game, giving just enough deference to the rules to keep the Mongols, whom they called Tatars, out of their hair. In so doing, they strengthened and guaranteed their freedom—not as individuals, because the rich oppressed the poor, men oppressed women, and so on—but as a nation. Similarly, after fifty years or so of waffling, the English united under Alfred the Great and his descendants, conquered the would-be invaders, and settled in to rule their mixed Anglo-Saxon, Celtic, and Danish invaders. Until the Normans arrived, looking for land.
Meanwhile, the Tatars lost their ability to field a single, large, coordinated army and, with it, their control over their subject peoples. Some settled in cities, more or less permanently, managing their agricultural populations as the Varangians had before them. Others remained on the steppe, loyal to their pastoralist past, breeding vast herds of horses that supplied the Russian army. This period of division, as the Juchid dynasty (otherwise known as the Golden Horde) disintegrated and the balance of power shifted, forms the backdrop to my Legends of the Five Directions series, especially The Winged Horse, which focuses on the Tatar side of things—or perhaps Tatar sides, since the fissiparous hordes saw their situation in many different ways.
All of which brings me, by a circuitous route, to Independence Day. Last year at this time, I wrote a post that explored differing concepts of independence. But freedom depends at least in part on political and economic power. Those who call the shots or control the available resources consider themselves free; those who don’t long for more independence and greener pastures. The downtrodden give rise to the raiders, the brigands, the pirates, looking for commerce—or land.
Image Credits
1. Viktor M. Vasnetsov, The Invitation of the Varangians (before 1913), via Wikimedia Commons; this image is in the public domain because its copyright has expired. (Note that invitation, although the standard rendering, is something of a misnomer, since those “invited” probably would not have taken no for an answer.)
2. Grevembrock, Marco Polo in Tatar Dress (scanned from an 18th-century book), via Wikimedia Commons ; this image is in the public domain because its copyright has expired.
As usual during these interviews, I kept out of the way as much as possible and let Bernard talk. But there was one moment when he said something that surprised me so much that I forgot I was wearing my host hat and jumped into the conversation. Specifically, he said that the Danes invaded England in the ninth century looking for land.
Now I have no problem with this statement as it stands. It makes perfect sense. England was rich agricultural territory, and if you lived in Scandinavia and needed to feed your family—say, because the population was growing or the weather changing—England would look like a very appealing prospect. That England at the time didn’t exist as a single entity but as a set of warring kingdoms that skillful enemies could pit against one another just enhanced that appeal.
The part that surprised me was (a) my own prejudice, by which I mean that I had always subconsciously thought of the Danish raiders as freebooters and warriors, not farmers; and (b) the difference between these Danish invaders and their counterparts to the east, known to Russians and Russian historians as Varangians.
The Varangians invaded, too, and eventually established a state called Rus in Novgorod and Kiev, the nucleus of what would one day become the modern nations of Russia and Ukraine. Their subjects were agricultural Slavs—with whom, in time-honored fashion, the conquerors interbred and whose culture they adopted. But the Varangians themselves were not motivated primarily by a desire for land but by commerce. Corsairs had closed the Mediterranean, separating Europe from Byzantium and the riches of the east: spices, silk, perfumes, and luxury goods of all kinds—creating a lucrative market for anyone who could find an access point. The Varangians discovered a route through the eastern Slavic lands, collecting fur, honey, and slaves along the way and trading these goods in Constantinople for spices and silk. When the Italians reopened the Mediterranean and the more arduous Dnieper route died, the Rus settled in and dominated their agricultural empire, defending their lands from the nomads to their east until the Mongols arrived.
The Mongols, too, were not looking for land. They wanted to control the Silk Road and all the cities along it. Their success established what historians call the Pax Mongolica, guaranteeing the safety of merchants along the thousands of miles that separated Constantinople from Dadu (Beijing). Because of the Pax Mongolica, Marco Polo reached China during the reign of Kublai Khan.
The Mongols subjugated distant Russia and ruled it for the better part of two centuries, but they took no interest in its agriculture. Instead, they carted off its artisans to build pretty palaces in Sarai and Karakorum, taxed its people, and insisted that its princes present themselves for approval before they had the nerve to rule. Any failure to fulfill these requirements provoked devastating punitive raids, but so long as the money and furs flowed and no prince declared himself independent, the Mongols left the Russians more or less alone. They had richer lands to milk.
In time, the Russians learned to play the game, giving just enough deference to the rules to keep the Mongols, whom they called Tatars, out of their hair. In so doing, they strengthened and guaranteed their freedom—not as individuals, because the rich oppressed the poor, men oppressed women, and so on—but as a nation. Similarly, after fifty years or so of waffling, the English united under Alfred the Great and his descendants, conquered the would-be invaders, and settled in to rule their mixed Anglo-Saxon, Celtic, and Danish invaders. Until the Normans arrived, looking for land.
Meanwhile, the Tatars lost their ability to field a single, large, coordinated army and, with it, their control over their subject peoples. Some settled in cities, more or less permanently, managing their agricultural populations as the Varangians had before them. Others remained on the steppe, loyal to their pastoralist past, breeding vast herds of horses that supplied the Russian army. This period of division, as the Juchid dynasty (otherwise known as the Golden Horde) disintegrated and the balance of power shifted, forms the backdrop to my Legends of the Five Directions series, especially The Winged Horse, which focuses on the Tatar side of things—or perhaps Tatar sides, since the fissiparous hordes saw their situation in many different ways.
All of which brings me, by a circuitous route, to Independence Day. Last year at this time, I wrote a post that explored differing concepts of independence. But freedom depends at least in part on political and economic power. Those who call the shots or control the available resources consider themselves free; those who don’t long for more independence and greener pastures. The downtrodden give rise to the raiders, the brigands, the pirates, looking for commerce—or land.
Image Credits
1. Viktor M. Vasnetsov, The Invitation of the Varangians (before 1913), via Wikimedia Commons; this image is in the public domain because its copyright has expired. (Note that invitation, although the standard rendering, is something of a misnomer, since those “invited” probably would not have taken no for an answer.)
2. Grevembrock, Marco Polo in Tatar Dress (scanned from an 18th-century book), via Wikimedia Commons ; this image is in the public domain because its copyright has expired.
Medieval Russian Recipes
The Recipes Project, which I described earlier, has begun its series on Russian recipes. Clare Griffin’s opening post offers a great introduction to the Russian half of the world portrayed in my novels, and my look at feeding sixteenth-century servants went live yesterday. The series will continue over the next four Tuesdays. You do want to know how our medieval ancestors cured hangovers, don’t you?
Pictures of Kasha and Cabbage Soup from Wikimedia Commons.
Pictures of Kasha and Cabbage Soup from Wikimedia Commons.
