Maggie Mackeever's Blog, page 2

The Lure of A Good Book Cover

I’m tidying up my novel closet before I dive into the next project, and am about to reacquaint myself with some of my early books. I have three stories yet to polish for republication by Belgrave House/Regency Reads: two set in the Gold Rush American West, El Dorado and Desperado (which was originally published as — ack! — Outlaw Love), released in 1981 and 1985 respectively; and a third, Caprice, set in Regency England and released in 1980.

Caprice was my attempt at writing a melodramatic bodice-ripper. Those were the days of Kathleen Woodiwiss and Rosemary Rogers (who famously said she understood the big emotions), and I devoured their novels along with a great many other fascinated females. Caprice is straight melodrama, written to formula. El Dorado is a combination of melodrama and humor. By the time I got to Desperado, there was very little melodrama involved.  When it comes to writing, the big emotions aren’t my cup of tea.

I’ve been putting off delving into these books because of my compulsion to rewrite them, which would involve a huge amount of work: the books I wrote then aren’t the books I would write today.  Last night I decided to just check the manuscripts for scanning errors and let them go. They are what they are and I liked them very much once upon a time.

Except for Caprice. 

Caprice is my least favorite of my books. It’s also the book that sold the most. Maybe because it has one of the best covers, by Elaine Gignilliat.

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Like the book or no, I loved the cover. The artwork is hanging in my hall.

Saying Goodbye to the English Regency

I said several years ago that I wasn’t going to write any more Regencies.  That The Tyburn Waltz was going to be my last. But then I fell in love with my characters and wanted to continue their story; and I got the rights back to Ravensclaw (the first of my tongue-in-cheek vampire trilogy set in Regency Edinburgh) and wanted to do more with those characters also; and in the midst of writing those two trilogies I had a yen to do a novella or three.

I never set out to write romances. I’ve never considered that what I write is romance. I was typing very bad manuscripts for a local writer when I stumbled upon Georgette Heyer, loved her comedies of manners and her portrayal of Regency England, and decided to try writing a comedy of manners of my own. That first manuscript sold with very little fuss to Fawcett Crest for their new line of ‘Traditional Regencies’.  I’d written the right book at the right time.

Traditional Regencies were very stylized. They were largely true to Heyer’s vision, with particular attention to manners and mores (in my case, the more absurd the better), language, dress. Whatever hanky-panky occurred did so offstage.

Regency England remains very popular with readers. Members of societies devoted to the era dress up in appropriate costumes and have teas, attend balls, etc. Traditional Regencies are called ‘clean’ or ‘cute’ or something of that nature now. (As opposed to what? Dirty? Dull?)

Whatever one may call them, those books were, for me, a great deal of fun to write.

I loathe labels almost as much as I dislike being pigeon-holed.  I stopped writing Regencies the first time around because my publishers weren’t interested in letting me write anything else. When I came back to writing fifteen years later, I found myself in much the same situation. Kensington was looking for traditional Regencies and so…  I wrote four books for Kensington before they discontinued the line. By that time I was determined to prove I could write something different and so The Tyburn Trilogy began.

And now, with The Judas Kiss, all that has come to an end.

I put my Regency research away today. Packed it up and hauled it back to the shed. It was a curiously liberating moment. And also a little sad.

Next up is a late 1800’s mystery/adventure series. This time I’m not saying ‘no more Regencies’, however. Because I very much suspect that I may relapse with another novella or two somewhere down the road.

Not Your Average Vampires

Edinburgh, Scotland. Tall medieval buildings. Narrow, twisty streets. Ominous preternatural beings. And oh, those Edinburgh vampires.

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Now complete in one e-volume.

Amazon price reduced for one week.

***

RAVENSCLAW

Emily Dinwiddie, current overseer of the Dinwiddie Society for the Exploration of Matters Abstruse and Supersensible, knows full well that fantastical beings exist. Werewolves. Shapeshifters. Vampires. To her regret, she has not yet been privileged to meet one of these creatures in, as it were, the flesh. However, that is about to change. Will Count Revay-Czobar be a blood-sucking fiend so foul she cannot bear to look at him, let alone ask his help? Will he see her as a tasty tidbit, and force her to defend herself?

Valentin Lupescu, Count Revay-Czobar, is not the sort of supersensible being read about in books. No vampir melancholia for Ravensclaw. No regret for past lives, lost loves. His situation suits him well enough, save for his tendency to get bored. When Emily arrives on his doorstep, draped about with every vampire-repelling charm devised by mortal man, he sees in this freckled, bespectacled spinster the source of more potential amusement than he’s enjoyed in a score of decades.

She wants him, of course. It is the nature of his kind.

He wants her also. Which is not at all the way these matters generally play out.

A quest. A curse. Passion and perplexities. Mystery, mayhem and madness in the dark streets of Regency Edinburgh’s Old Town.

***

VAMPIRE, BESPELLED

Sarah Kincaid is a widow with a knack for charms and herbs. Her marriage left her disillusioned. The last thing she needs is for an annoying green-eyed man to interfere with her peace of mind.

Andrei Torok is a warrior with a demon mistress and an unrelenting headache. He is weary of his existence. The last thing he needs is to have long-buried emotions stirred by a quick-tempered, sharp-tongued lass.

Moreover, Andrei is vampir.

And Sarah is not.

Sarah believes in vampires no more than she believes in the lasting nature of sentimental attachments formed by the perfidious opposite sex. Andrei is smitten with her, nonetheless.

Add mysterious artifacts and inconvenient corpses. Curses and spells. Vengeful preternatural beings, a deadly vendetta, and a pesky ghost.

***

A JUDGMENT OF VAMPIRES

Priest. Destroyer. Healer. Cezar Korzha has been wandering this earth for a very long time, fighting his way through Walachia, Moldavia, Transvylvania, before coming to rest at last in Scotland. He has survived assassination, crucifixion, being buried twice. Has known more than a few monsters and a demon or two.

He has also survived, thus far, his succession to Master of Edinburgh. Cezar sometimes wishes he could be merely human. He might as well wish for the moon.

Inconvenient corpses are popping up in public places. His creator is trying to destroy him. His allies are falling victim to Cupid’s dart. Cezar has an otherworldly being in his drawing room and a judicator on his doorstep.

What’s a vampire to do?

Mysterious misadventures in Regency Edinburgh.

***

Amazon link: amzn.to/2Pp2vNX

 

 

 

Remembering Ravensclaw

My tongue-in-cheek Regency vampire trilogy has been receiving some attention, thanks to my backlist publisher (I can’t say enough good things about them) Belgrave House/Regency Reads. Consequently I’ve been taking a little stroll down memory lane.

Writing those books was a challenge. I was working without rules. One can hardly ask one’s neighborhood paranormal critters what, in a given situation, they would do.

Here’s an excerpt from Ravensclaw, which was originally published by Kensington as (ack!) Waltz with a Vampire:

***

His voice was smoky, dark, seductive, with the faintest trace of an accent. Emily attempted to collect her scattered wits. “Count Revay-Czobar?”

“Call me Ravensclaw,” he said. “It’s easier on the tongue.”

If here was no graying skin or deathlike pallor, no stink of putrefying flesh—‘Ravensclaw’ looked to be no more than five-and-thirty—the Count was definitely preternatural. No mere mortal could be so magnificent. Emily was grateful for her umbrella’s sharpened tip.

The sensuous lips curved. Ravensclaw’s gaze caressed her face, skimmed her forehead, the slope of her cheek; kissed the tip of her nose; lingered on her lips; nuzzled an earlobe.

Emily’s knees trembled. Sweat popped out on her brow. Ravensclaw reached out one graceful finger and pushed Emily’s glasses back up to the bridge of her nose.

The Count was toying with her as if he were a cat and she a witless rodent. Emily elevated her umbrella and poked him in the chest. “I would prefer that you keep your hands — and your thoughts — to yourself, my lord.”

“Would you, indeed?” he asked softly. On the hearth, the wolf-dog stirred.

Emily took a firmer grip on her umbrella. She had no desire to skewer her host, but neither was she eager to make the intimate acquaintance of a vampire’s fangs. Rather, she didn’t think she was. At least, not yet. She did have a certain curiosity—

“What you don’t know can’t hurt you,” murmured the Count. And then, without the slightest hint of fangs, he smiled. It was a roguish captivating smile that said ‘you’re the most delicious thing I’ve seen in a long time and I’m going to gobble you up slowly and savor every nibble’ as clearly as if he’d spoken aloud.

Emily blinked. Ravensclaw must surely be the most irresistibly, wickedly beautiful being ever put on God’s green earth.

In whatever century that had been.

And she was staring at him like a smitten schoolgirl.

Oh, bloody hell.

***

It’s nice to be reminded of how much I enjoyed Emily and Val.

[image error] The Edinburgh Vampires

Tyburn, Explained

Situated in the northeast corner of Hyde Park in London, a stone plaque on a traffic island near Marble Arch marks the place where the notorious Tyburn hanging tree once stood.

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Tyburn was the main place of execution for London and Middlesex until that honor passed to Newgate prison in the 18th century. In 1571, the infamous ‘Triple Tree’ replaced the previous smaller gallows, making it possible for 24 prisoners to be hanged at one time.

The Tyburn Tree stood in the middle of the roadway, a major landmark in West London as well as a major roadblock. It was replaced by a portable gallows in 1759.

The first recorded execution at Tyburn took place in 1196 when William FitzOsbert was hanged for trying to organize an uprising of the poor. The Tyburn executions ended in 1783 when John Austin was hanged for highway robbery.

Tyburn figured frequently in the language of the time. A Tyburn blossom was a young thief likely to end up on the gallows. The Lord of the Manor of Tyburn was the public hangman, also known as Jack Ketch or the sheriff’s journeyman. To take a ride to Tyburn was to go to one’s own hanging, as was to preach at Tyburn cross. To be hanged was to dance the Tyburn jig or hornpipe — or the Tyburn waltz.

[image error] The Tyburn Trilogy, Book I

The Tyburn Interview, Revisited

When The Tyburn Waltz was first published, I was asked to write an article for The Romantic Times Book Review blog. They called it ‘Maggie MacKeever and the Dark Side of the English Regency’. Here it is:

The English Regency was an era of contrasts, a time of artistic refinement and cultural achievement; bloodshed and warfare; social, political, and economic change. Regency London was an excellent example of the immense contrast between rich and poor. One street might be lined with noble colonnades, bow windows and gleaming doorknockers; the next with gin-shops, pawnbrokers and broken-down dwellings so squalid they oozed filth.

In The Tyburn Waltz, I wanted to show both sides of London, without being grimly serious about the business. Summer 1814 seemed the perfect time. Napoleon was safely ensconced on Elba and the Allied Sovereigns had invaded London, ostensibly to work out the details of the peace. However, Czar Alexander was more interested in sightseeing and basking in public admiration than in discussing affairs of state; his sister the Grand Duchess of Oldenburg was continually proclaiming her dislike of loud noises and music and especially the Prince Regent; Prinny was being driven to fits of frustration, Lord Castlereagh to wonder if the Czar might be half-mad, and Lord Liverpool to remark that people who didn’t know how to behave should stay at home.

The background established, I next needed someone who could pass back and forth between both worlds. Not a West End character slumming, but an East End character crossing the class line.

Ragged urchins swarmed the warren of courts and alleys and lanes that lay between the rookeries and London’s fashionable West End. Such children began to steal as soon as they could walk, frequently on the orders of adults who used them to make off with goods from places were larger thieves could not—food; small items of clothing, especially handkerchiefs; brooches and bracelets, combs and looking glasses from the stalls. Women waiting in the street hid stolen items in their barrows until it was safe to pass them on to a fence, or angling cove.

There were class lines in the rookeries, no less than between rich and poor. A nipper went from stealing apples to filching from stalls, and on to swiping stickpins and handkerchiefs. Natty lads aspired to be lifters and then knuckles, the better class of pickpocket who went to public places and snaffled pocketbooks, watches, and that sort of thing.

A shifting lad or lass seldom lived to an old age. His (or her) friends often accompanied him to the gallows, lending him support so that he might die game, and have his last speech written down and sold, and be talked of for a week.

We first meet our heroine in Newgate Prison, disguised as a boy. She is, she thinks, fourteen.

So that Julie can gain access to exclusive establishments, there to practice her pick-pocketing skills, she learns to act the lady, or at least sufficiently ladylike (she’s prone to lapses) to serve as companion to the real thing.

Julie journeys back and forth between the two worlds, in one moment sitting meekly as behooves her position at the back of a theater box; in the next shimmying up and down drainpipes, scurrying across roofs. Part of the pleasure of writing this story was seeing these contradictory Londons through her eyes, and watching her change her opinions about a great many things, most especially the ‘nobs’.

Julie removes items from Lady Jersey’s ballroom; from Carlton House, right under Prinny’s nose; from drawing rooms and bedrooms all around the town, not because she wants to, but because she has no choice.

From a certain earl she steals not only an ugly statue and his pocket watch, but also his heart.

Just as she stole mine.

I always feel sad when it’s time to say goodbye to my characters and send them out into the world. I’m hoping that readers will fall in love with Ned and Julie too.

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The Tyburn Trilogy, Book I

The Judas Kiss: A Brief Bibliography

I disliked history in high school. It was all about battles, dates, dry facts I seldom remembered beyond the next test. I changed my mind in college, after taking World Culture I and II. The professor was brilliant. His lectures were all about people and how they lived, what they believed, the details of their daily lives, how events in the larger world impacted them.

In my Tyburn trilogy, I wanted to set the stories amid actual history. Not the vague sort of background that I usually use, but specific events. The Judas Kiss, for example, takes place during all the political posturing and turmoil and outraged public reactions to George IV’s attempts to rid himself of his much-loathed wife.

The press of the time had a field day.

I’d meant to include a bibliography at the end of Judas. At the last minute, I changed my mind. I’d read so many books about Queen Caroline’s trial — which was  even more farcical than I portrayed it — that it would have been impossible to include them all.

It was immensely difficult to provide enough detail to portray those background events without including so much information that it slowed down my story.

I left out a lot.

Though times may change, humankind remains the same.

For anyone interested in further reading, I’d suggest:

The Trial of Queen Caroline (The Scandalous Affair That Nearly Ended A Monarchy) — Jane Robins — Free Press, NY, 2006.

The Trial of Queen Caroline — Roger Fulford — Stein and Day, NY, 1968.

A Queen On Trial (The Affair of Queen Caroline) — E. A. Smith — Sutton Publishing, NY, 1993/2005.

The Unruly Queen (The Life of Queen Caroline) — Flora Fraser — University of California Press, 1996.

I found myself sympathizing with the ill-used princess, disagreeable though she might have been.

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The Tyburn Trilogy, Book III

The Tyburn Trilogy, Complete

[image error]The Judas Kiss, book 3 in The Tyburn Trilogy, is available today in both e-book and print formats, exclusively on Amazon.

Clea and Kane’s story has finally made its way out into the world.

Journey’s end. I feel a little sad. Overall, I’m satisfied. I hope that readers will be too.

There was a time when I wrote three or four books a year. The Judas Kiss, from start to finish, took three years.

Sometimes life gets in the way.

I started Judas with only the vaguest of outlines. After all, I knew how the story was going to end.

That mistake, I hope to never make again.

Judas features characters established in Tyburn. The story is based in real history. There were an immense number of details to try and keep organized.

Mistake number two, not to be repeated: I will never again write two trilogies at the same time. One book of one trilogy, then one book of the other. The trilogies were set in totally diferent worlds, the second one involving Edinburgh and vampires.

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The Edinburgh Vampires

I didn’t set out to write a trilogy, or two. In both cases, secondary characters kept popping up and saying: Hey! Don’t I deserve my own story? And I kept saying: You do.

Today the Tyburn saga has ended.

I think.

Moments ago, another secondary character tugged on my sleeve and said: Hey! Remember me? I’d make a great story. What’s another minimum sixty thousand words?

This time, I said: No.

I’m not planning another sequel.

Or another trilogy.

Not today, at any rate.

As for tomorrow–

We’ll see.

***

These books aren’t standalones. They should be read in order. To celebrate the release of The Judas Kiss, the price of The Tyburn Waltz and The Judas Kiss has been reduced.

Coming in October…

The Judas Kiss
The Tyburn Trilogy, Book III

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At fifteen, Clea Fairchild was reading Ovid’s Art of Love. And scheming how to, once she acquired bosoms, introduce herself into acerbic, influential Baron Saxe’s bed.

Clea is one-and-twenty now, a widow whose husband died under mysterious circumstances she is determined to resolve.

Lord Saxe is almost twice that age. In the years since they last met, Kane has grown more dissolute, more jaded, and even more damnably attractive.

He has also grown skittish, determined that he must not act on the unseemly attraction he feels for his friend Ned’s little sister, whom he is convinced means to drive him mad.

Clea wonders, is Kane trying to drive her mad? The baron is avoiding her as if she carries plague.

She isn’t one to sit quietly in a corner, though Kane might wish she would

Clea resolves to discover the reality of her schoolgirl fantasies.

Providing her husband’s murderer doesn’t dispose of her first.

Vintage Ink Press, October, 2018

 

 

 

The Uncompromising Hero

When I wrote the first book in the series that became The Edinburgh Vampires (Ravensclaw, first published as Waltz with a Vampire), I wasn’t thinking of writing a sequel. I was under contract to Kensington, and the book was meant to be a one-off, playing against type — the vampire who doesn’t mind being a vampire, the heroine who is more inquisitive than afraid. I thought of it as ‘A Regency Romance with Vampires’. By the time I was done with the book, however, I’d fallen in love with the characters. Then Kensington dropped their Regency  line and I was left in the position of doing anything I wanted (though it didn’t seem like that at the time).

Eventually, that freedom led to the second book in the series: Vampire, Bespelled. At that point, I knew I would continue with a third book somewhere down the road. What I didn’t realize, until it came time for that third book, was how difficult it would be to write. I reworked the first seven or eight chapters seven or eight times trying to find the right approach.

Or, more specifically, the right heroine.

Cezar, the hero of A Judgment of Vampires, is the  vampire Master of Edinburgh. Cezar doesn’t suffer fools gladly. More cerebral than physical, though he can be very physical, he is both powerful and dangerous, the quintessential alpha male. His character was firmly established in the first two books.

Unlike his comrades, first Val and then Andrei, Cezar isn’t one to angst/obsess over a female, human or otherwise. He has far too many other things to contend with. Romance has no place among his priorities.

Well, hell, I thought. This book is supposed to be, at least on some level, a romance.

It seemed obvious to me that my heroine was going to have to be, like Cezar himself, rather more than human. I had numerous ideas and presented them all. Cezar wasn’t interested. I couldn’t make that part of the story work.

Other parts of the story, however, were moving along quite nicely. I was on the right track with everything else. Finally I conceded and changed my original heroine to a secondary character, then brought in a different female for Cezar’s consideration.

This time, to my relief, he approved.

I have never had a character be so calmly uncooperative. It wasn’t a matter of me writing scenes that weren’t right for him, but more a matter of him simply refusing to be present in those scenes.

Contrary creature.

I should have expected no less. He is the vampire Master of Edinburgh, after all.

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