Victoria Barbour's Blog, page 3

Romance Writers Weekly: February 17, 2015

Seems old man winter is hitting a lot of us with a wallop this past week. It's not nearly as bad here as in the Maritimes and New England, but it's cold and white and the perfect time to think about getting away. Must be why A.S. Fenichel asked us to write about our favourite vacation spot, whether it's somewhere we've been, or somewhere we long to be. 

Well, that's a hard one for me, because I suffer from a serious case of wanderlust. My two stand out vacations have been to China and Ireland.

Ireland is a place I've longed to see since the womb, I think. And this past summer we went. It was great, but I have to confess to feeling that part of my adult fear of visiting Ireland did come true. It was a lot like home. In fact, I found myself taking pictures of landscapes that were downright Newfoundland in their appeal. Of course, that doesn't mean I didn't love my trip there. I'd move to Ireland in a heart beat, truth be told, just because of the million tiny things that tugged at my heart strings. Or maybe I'd buy a small cottage there and use it as a retreat. It's just a small four hour hop across the ocean. I'd get to Ireland by plane faster than I'd get to Vancouver or San Francisco. 

This does not look like Newfoundland

But we have coastlines like this. 

And we have lots of ground like this!

China, on the other hand, was a complete out-of-the-blue vacation decision. The stars aligned to give us cheap airfare, and a very generous cousin who happened to be living in Beijing at the time. That trip blew my mind. It knocked down so many preconceived notions of whatIi thought China would be. And let me tell you, hiking up to the Great Wall was no small task. Perhaps the most amazing thing for me was seeing the juxtaposition of luxury and poverty. It was hard to reconcile the two. I wish we'd seen more of China than Beijing, but that city was so large that it took up the entirely of our two weeks. 

So what's next for us in terms of travel? That's hard to say. We kind of let time and circumstance dictate where we go next. Although, I do love cruises. Mainly because I love boats, and food. One thing thats certain is that we want to take our wee one with us. I think it's important that he sees the world, and so far he's proven to be a champion traveller!

Well, that's it for me today. I'm face and eyes into writing, and promoting my new box set that released today! And there's a novel in there about a cruise, so how awesome is that? Click on the cover and you'll go right to Amazon. :)

Passionate Kisses 2 Boxed Set: Love in Bloom

Now enough of me. How about taking a quick trip over to Fiona Riplee's blog to see where she's going, or where she's been! 

Hopefully in these posts you'll think of some new places to escape to! Bon Voyage! 

Historical Wednesday: February 4, 2015

Welcome back! This week I'm so happy to have my friend J.J. Devine on the blog. J.J. is sharing not only what it takes to write about cultures that are different from the writer's (she writes about Native America cultures), but she also shares with us how helpful a good set of primary research materials can be, so long as you're making sure to cross-check your references. So sit back and enjoy J.J.'s approach to writing historical romance! Thanks so much for coming out today, my friend. 

Thank you so much, Victoria, for having me here today. For those out there who have no idea who I am, my name is J.J. Devine and I write historical and historical/paranormal romance. Today I will be touching base on the research that goes into writing my Acceptance Series, which takes place in the Wyoming Territory.

The Cheyenne Bride is the first in my series and sets the stage for the rest of the books that follow, Destiny’s Price, Passionate Pursuit, Jessie’s Revenge, Shadows of the Heart, and two more which have yet to be started. 

I was fortunate years ago to happen upon a wonderful great condition encyclopedia set that today are 111 years old. The historical detail of these monster size books is truly amazing. I use them for all my research and cross-check facts from internet research. Their detail for terrain, crops, industry, and detailed maps have been worth their weight in gold.

Writing books which delve between cultures takes a good deal of research. Whether or not all of one’s research is used or not, an author needs to connect with the worlds they are writing. When writing The Cheyenne Bride, I spent a good deal of time discussing Cheyenne culture with those who know it much better than myself, Native American friends. I wrote to a council who were working on bringing back the Cheyenne language that had all but disappeared from Native American children being rehabilitated in white schools. Not allowed to even speak their native tongue, hold onto their religious beliefs, or even go by their Native American names. This made me very grateful for the times we live in today versus that of the 1700s and 1800s.

I spent a good deal of time researching and learning about Native American herbs and the natural arts of healing, to better bring to life my character, Nichole Michaels (White Deer to the Cheyenne) who’s Cheyenne grandmother, nishki, was the tribes medicine woman.

When I began the research for Passionate Pursuit, third in the series and Sam Davis’s story, which takes place with his heroine, Rae Black, following him after Sam had purchased cattle from her father on a ranch in Texas. I thought, why not, cattle drives are something that took place in the old west all the time.

Imagine my surprise when I found out there was this little thing (not so little really) called, Texas Cattle Fever, prohibiting cattle from the south to be moved past the Mason Dixon line unless it was between November 15 to February 15. Texas Cattle Fever was a disease transmitted from an infected cow to a healthy cow by way of ticks. So the cooler time of the year north of the Mason Dixon would kill off the ticks before the herd was introduced to the herds in the northern part of the Country.

Another interesting fact I learned when researching Passionate Pursuit was not all Cheyenne are the same. There were Northern Cheyenne and Southern Cheyenne. When the Northern Cheyenne were placed on the same reservations as the Southern Cheyenne in the south, the Northern Cheyenne began dying off. A new reservation was then opened in Montana.

I love writing historical romance and especially historical romance that takes place in the Old West. Times were wild but could you imagine the beauty of walking out on your front porch each morning, watching the sun come up over the mountains, feeling the cool mountain air on your face as you lift your eyes to the heavens?

If you would like to know more about me and my writings please feel free to find me here:

Author Links:

Website:

http://definingjjdevine.weebly.com/

Blog:

http://definingjjdevine.weebly.com/ramblings-of-a-writer.html

Facebook:

https://www.facebook.com/JJDevineAuthor?ref=ts&fref=ts

Twitter:

https://twitter.com/JjDevine2010

tsu:

https://www.tsu.co/JJDevine

google+:

https://plus.google.com/u/0/+JJDevine/posts

 

Amazon:

http://www.amazon.com/J.J.-Devine/e/B009P8P3PU/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1?qid=1422394904&sr=8-1

 

Author Bio

Reading and writing have been J.J.'s passion her whole life.  Starting out with being the poet, everyone came to in high school to get that "perfect" poem for his or her boyfriend/girlfriend.  She spent her weekends locked away in her room, curled up on her bed, writing short stories for only a selected few readers.

She has been happily married for 28 years to her trucker husband.  She is a mother of three, grandmother of three; a lover of dogs, cats, and fish. 

J.J. started to pen historical romance as a hobby when her youngest child was a year old, creating the Acceptance Series.  She got serious about her writing career joining Romance Writers of America and Indiana Romance Writers of America moving on to help start Crossroads Romance Writers in 2014.  She penned her first paranormal romance, Into the Darkness, in 25 days, taking herself beyond her comfort zone and just giving the characters free reign of their story.   

Since taking herself out of the outside working world, she has dedicated her life to her writing and her writing world and raising consciousness for Domestic Violence Awareness.  

 

Excerpt for The Cheyenne Bride:

One Wolf paced the fence line like a caged animal. He should just bust down that door, rip White Deer from that man’s arms, and take her far away from here.

She should never have gone to the fort, never have found her way to the Bar D, to Chris Davis. Why had he been stupid?

The opening of the cabin door drew his attention. The cover of darkness hid him from view, but he could see her basking in the moonlight. Never had she looked more beautiful. Her dark hair flowed down her back. The doeskin dress molded to every perfect curve.

His body reacted, as it always had, growing hard and rigid. The taste of her lips filled his mouth, the innocent tenderness of her tongue against his own.

Damn, Chris Davis.

“What are you doing?” he demanded, drawing her attention.

“One Wolf, where have you been?” She glided down the steps coming toward him. His heart picked up its pace. Every part of his existence ached to claim his woman.

“You know where I have been, White Deer. Or have you forgotten the tribe you have wanted to belong to since you were a girl?” He spit the bitter words from his lips.

“I see you have now become this white man’s whore.” He nodded toward the cabin door. “I thought you had more pride.”

He grabbed her by the arms, pulling her inches from his face. “Is this what you want?”

“One Wolf, this life is my mother’s vision for me.”

“And your nish ki’s knowledge of your life had nothing to do with a white man.” He reminded her angrily.

“One Wolf, let her go.” Chris’s angry voice filled the night air.

“I asked you to do that once, Chris Davis. Did you not refuse?” His eyes never left hers as he roared his resentment.

“White Deer belongs to me now.” Chris’s tone was livid.

One Wolf threw his head back, a wicked laugh coming from somewhere deep inside him. “White Deer is it now? Only months ago, you could not accept the Cheyenne blood that runs through her veins. Are you telling me now you can accept that blood?”

One Wolf spun her around to face her lover, gripping her shoulders against his palms. “Look at her! Does she belong in your world? She dresses like us. She speaks our tongue. She is her mother’s daughter. She will please her husband as Cheyenne women please theirs. Is this what you want?”

Anguish strained Chris’s face as his eyes fixed on the image he was painting for him. With White Deer in his arms, shoving the truth back into this white man’s world, even Chris couldn’t deny where she truly belonged.

“One Wolf, let me go,” Nichole ordered, pulling hard, she gained her release.

“Chris and I are working to build a life together. You must learn to accept this.”

One Wolf laughed again. “Accept what I know is not right. He cannot even answer a simple question. Sure, he allows you to dress as one of us. He even calls you by your Cheyenne name. But can he truly say, in his heart, he accepts the Cheyenne blood in your veins?”

“How is he any different than you, who only wishes to see the Cheyenne half of my heritage?” One Wolf grabbed her up once again, pulling her roughly against his chest. Chris sprang into action. He ripped Nichole from his grasp, shoving him away from her.

“One Wolf, White Deer could be carrying my child, you’ll not touch her again.”

“A child she should be having of mine!” He shouted. The words penetrated his heart so deep, it felt like a hot knife twisting into his flesh.

“No, One Wolf, it was me her mother envisioned for her, not you.”

One Wolf laughed again. “You speak of visions as if you believe in them. Do you remember I have known you for many years?”

“She belongs to me, One Wolf.”

“Stop this,” Nichole ordered. “Do either of you care what I want? You both claim to love me, but do either of you care that this tears me apart inside? To see two men, who once claimed to be friends, go at each other like two dogs over a bone?”

“Chris, you must understand this is hard for both One Wolf and I. We’ve spent many years as friends, we’ve shared much of our life, and yes, at one time I fancied myself his wife.”

She turned to One Wolf. “But now, One Wolf, you must understand, with Chris is where I belong. I know this in my heart, as sure as I know you and I will always share our past. I have given myself to him as a woman gives herself to her husband.”

“There was a time when you were going to give to me this same honor, or have you forgotten?” The ground felt as if it were slipping from his feet. He had let this go too far. Now, it seemed, he had lost the only woman he would ever love.

“I haven’t forgotten,” she said softly. “But it wasn’t meant to be. Can’t you see this? We’re meant only to share our lives as friends, nothing more.”

Her words finished, shattering his heart. The pain in his chest was more unbearable than anything he’d ever felt before. He stared into those lovely dark eyes, and knew she believed what she said.

One Wolf turned on Chris.

“If you hurt her, I promise you, as I told you before, I will kill you,” he growled. “She deserves the acceptance she seeks. If you cannot give it to her, then I beg you now let her go with me. I can heal her heart.”

Something in the form of guilt flashed from Chris’s eyes, giving a short-lived hope to his heart. The moment Chris wrapped a protective arm about her shoulders, One Wolf knew he didn’t stand a chance against the one thing tying her to her mother. A vision.

His tone grew softer, as his eyes locked and held hers. “White Deer, I give you what you wish, in hopes one day you will come to me with the knowledge it is our hearts which belong together. It is something I have always known, and one day I know you will see it, too.”

He reached out, brushing the back of his hand against the soft skin of her cheek. His eyes drifted closed, as he took in the feel of her. “Nemohotatse, my little warrior.”

He left the couple standing in the darkness, his heart in turmoil. No matter what she told him, he would love her until his dying breath. For only when his heart stopped beating, would his love for her die.

 

 

 

Romance Writers Weekly: February 3, 2015

Is it wrong that I'm giddy about today's post? Why, you ask? Because this week's question from the incomparable Brenda Margriet has posed a question that I adore: How do you choose the setting for your book? Does where you live inspire you? 

Does it? Ha. If this is your first time time my blog you won't know this, but I set all of my books in Newfoundland, which is where I live. I don't do this simply because it's a place I'm familiar with. I do it because I believe Newfoundland and Labrador is one of the most romantic places on Earth. I do it because I want the world to know what about a half a million of us know: That there's something different and magical and inspiring about this wind-swept coastline of ours. To say I'm a proud Newfoundlander is sort of like saying Richard Simmons likes tight shorts. I think both of our feelings go much deeper. 

But let's really dig into the why. Here are some essential things to know about this place. I'll start with a map so you know what I'm talking about. 

Newfoundland is that awesomely shaped island with a lot of black on it. Labrador, which is also part of our province, is the other awesomely shaped land to the north, also black. This black means that it is very sparsely populated. So the first thing you learn is that Newfoundland is big (about the size of California), and we have hardly any people here. (Our official population for the entire province, including Labrador is 500,000.) You can see that most of the people live on the coast, and the majority of those live all the way over on the east coast, near St. John's, which is our capital city. I grew up in St. John's. I now live about a half hour away. 

This means that we have a lot of undeveloped land, a lot of coastline, a lot of woods (which means a lot of wildlife) and a lot of room for the imagination. If you read Hard As Ice, there's a scene where Daphne and Jack drive from the west coast to the east coast. It takes them about 10 hours. It's a long drive from one end to the other. I loved writing that scene because it was a fun way to show distance here. Plus, they had some great dialogue. Let me share a snippet. 

“It took another hour but when they picked Ida up from the hospital, Jack was sure she’d be comfortable in the spacious backseat of the brown Chev. That was before Daphne got on the open road. The woman drove like a demented race-car driver. At this rate they’d be home in five hours.
He tried to bite his tongue but when she pulled out to pass three transport trucks, his nerves just couldn’t stand it any longer.
“Sweet Jesus, woman. Are you trying to get me and Ida killed?”
She blanched. “No.”
“Then slow down.” He knew he’d raised his voice, but he’d never truly been this terrified in a car before.
“I’m not going that fast.”
“No, one hundred and forty is perfectly reasonable. For a drag racer.”
“It’s this truck. It has too much power. It keeps speeding up. And these hills don’t help.”
“Most people would ease off the gas going downhill, or even use the brakes.”
“Well, thank you for the driving lesson,” she said, her voice clipped.
They’d left the eighteen-wheelers far behind, and she’d slowed to a hundred and twenty kilometres per hour. He’d feel better if she were going closer to one-ten.
“I don’t know what the roads are like where you live, but here we have to watch out for things like moose, and potholes, and cops.”
She started to laugh. “You’d be hopeless driving in Britain. Your roads are so wide. Then again, a vehicle like this wouldn’t be able to handle them all that well.”
“Well, this isn’t Britain. It’s Newfoundland. And wide roads exist for a reason. So that we don’t crash into maniac foreign drivers.” He thought he smiled enough to show he wasn’t entirely serious. Although he was.
”

— Hard As Ice

Another scene that came from real life for me was in Against Her Rules. There's a part of the book where Elsie has taken Cam out in a boat onto the ocean so that he can sketch some seabirds.Here's what she does.

“Looming out of the water was a huge jagged rock, about the height of a ten-storey building. Overhead a myriad of birds swooped and crested in the wind. He hadn’t noticed the sound over the motor, but now it was all around them. A cacophony of the soft purring uurrr’s of turrs underlay the screeching of the herring gulls and a hundred more varieties of birds.
It was both frightening and awe-inspiring at the same time.
“Get ready for this,” she said, pulling a small white bucket out of the pack.
“Holy shit. What is that?”
The reek that came out of the bucket was putrid.
“Fish guts,” she said, tossing them overboard.
The first bird to spot the bait, a small puffin, dropped from the sky in a death-defying dive, plunging beneath the water, presumably spearing a treat as he dove. At least Cam hoped the poor thing did, given its tenacity.
It was followed quickly by another, a gull this time, he thought. And then another and another until it was raining birds, and feathers. If one bird was lucky enough to have speared some food, another tried to steal it from its beak. It was awesome and terrifying all at once.
”

— Against Her Rules

This happens. It's happened to me. Quite often I go out fishing for cod with my Dad. On our way in from fishing, he'll start to clean the fist, tossing the offal into the water. Here's a photo of how the birds react to this disgusting buffet.

That's my hubby steering the boat and my dad cleaning the fish. My editor was on this trip, and she took the photo. Trust me, when she was editing Against Her Rules, she didn't question that scene at all! 

I could go on forever about this place and how it inspires me. But I'd like for you to go visit all the other authors who are taking part in today's blog hop, so I'll stop here. Elizabeth Janette is next. I'm not sure where she's from, so let's go together and find out how she answered these questions! 

Romance Writers Weekly: January 27, 2015

Ahhhh. Back in the good old RWW groove. I couldn't pass up the chance to take part in this week's blog hop because we are talking about first lines. Here's the challenge issued to us this week. 

Great Beginnings - A great opening line draws the reader in, makes them want to know more and compels them to read further. Share a great opening line, can be a classic or a more recent novel, tell us why you like it and then share the opening line to your newest WIP.

This task was harder than it sounds. Oh sure, I could have googled famous first lines and stolen one there that seemed wonderful. But instead, I went to Amazon and started searching out some of my favourite books and authors to see which of them had a truly great first line. 

It's a funny thing, really, because I have a method of shopping in bookstores. Let's say I've collected twelve books and I can only afford to buy two of them. Who makes the cut? Normally the book with the best first paragraph wins for me. But first lines. That's harder. It's amazing how many great books have boring or non-compelling first lines. Most of my absolute favourite books didn't make it to this post because of blasé first lines (sorry Catherine Cookson. You books rock but your first lines do not.)

So here are my top three (okay. There may be better ones but I got tired of searching Amazon, so these ones win!) 

Ahhh, Gone with the Wind! You wonderful book you. Margaret Mitchell didn't disappoint. What gets me about this first line is that MM starts the book with the fundamental point of the story: Scarlett gets what she wants because men fall into her trap all to easily. I love it! A+ for hooking me at the start.

Okay. Maybe the power of this first sentence is in what's revealed in the second, but still, it's a great first sentence. Short. Punchy. Makes the reader curious. This is from Jasper Fforde's awesome novel, The Eyre Affair. If you love books, love Jane Eyre, love Withering Heights, love Great Expectations, love fantasy, love Sci-fi, love romance, love reading awesomely imagined books, then get this one. It rocks! 

Isn't this a great one? I so desperately wanted to have a Terry Pratchett book make the cut, and right away I went for my very favourite one: Hogfather. And Mr. Pratchett never disappoints me. What a great first line this is. And it's a paragraph too. I know for a fact that I bought Hogfather because of this line. I can still remember standing in the bookstore with a stack of Discworld novels trying to decide which ones got to go home with me that day. Now, this book might have one anyhow because it stars my favourite of all Pratchett's characters (Death) but this is still a great line.

So there you have it. My top three of the day. 

Of course the other part of this challenge was to look at my current WIP and share my opening line. Hmmmm. Perhaps I need to work on it a bit more. What do you think?

Now make your way over to my friend and awesome author Xio Axelrod to see what she has to say. And for the record, her new release "The Callum" has a pretty wicked opening line itself. Here it is! 

Historical Wednesday: January 21, 2015

My apologies today to both Sarah Hegger and you for being a week off schedule. Like half of the universe, it seems, I was hit by that holiday flu. But I'm on the mend, and Sarah's guest post has had a week to percolate happily in my inbox. I'm very excited to have the wonderful and funny Sarah Hegger on the blog today. Sarah is both a contemporary and historical romance author (YAY!) and this week she's sharing her tale of researching the city of London, which is, in many historicals, a character unto itself. Thanks for coming by Sarah!

Hi Victoria, we look forward to welcoming you to the historical fold. Like you, I write in both historical and contemporary, and I love being able to time jump between the two. My latest historical, Sweet Bea, a medieval romance, is actually on sale now for 99cents in all formats.

 

I’m not really sure how I ended up in medieval, as I had visions of being the modern day Georgette Heyer, but there has always been something about the rough, tough and grittiness of medieval times that fascinated me. The church played a leading role in everyone’s lives, but this was before etiquette and social affectations governed behavior and it pretty much was survival of the fittest.

I set myself an interesting challenge with Sweet Bea. Beatrice and Garret race to London—along with Bea’s friend Tom and assorted stragglers they pick up along the way—to warn Bea’s father that the family is in danger.

This was the time just before the Magna Carta was drawn up and the barons had taken London with their Army of God in opposition to King John. Bea’s father, Sir Arthur, was one of these rebel barons for the purposes of my story.

So, I have the group racing for London, and I stop. Medieval London was so not modern London. Stating the obvious, I know, but questions started to circulate.

It began my fascination with medieval London, and it was an amazing place. Parts of it are still standing in modern day London, if you can believe that. 

The city has been called “The Great Wen” by William Cobbett, a passionate ruralist who disparaged the city, and later, “The Big Smoke” for her suspect air quality. But London has always been an amazing city.

I stumbled across a wonderful book by Peter Ackroyd called “London: The Biography” and it traces the history of the city from ancient times right through to London today. If you have a tendency to get lost in the past and keep following one little trail after another, like I do, this is a great book.

This is a little of what I discovered:

Medieval London, did have walls, and was much smaller than the current city, which now incorporates the city of Westminster. At Sweet Bea’s time, the cities of Westminster and London were separated and the easiest way between them was the Thames.

London at the time I wrote her, was marked by the monasteries at her boundaries with the Tower of London on her eastern edge.

 

Sadly, the old London Bridge, the one Sweet Bea would have crossed was pulled down by the ever efficient Victorians in 1831, which was a great pity on some ways. It was a hive of activity, with buildings and whatnot stacked all along its span. The bridge was 26 feet wide, and 800-900 feet long and by 1358 (years after Sweet Bea) had about 138 shops along its span. There was a drawbridge in the center for tall ships and defensive gatehouses at both ends. And apparently at least one, multi-seated public latrine overhanging the parapets and discharging into the river below. There were also a number of private latrines (doesn’t really bear too much thinking about).

This bridge wasn’t the origin of the children’s rhyme London Bridge is Falling Down though. That bridge came before even this one. The one Sweet Bea crosses was actually completed in 1209 and had taken 33 years to complete. 

 

The rebel barons and their Army of God occupied London but many of them based themselves at Westminster Palace. The current Westminster Palace is the Houses of Parliament. The old one, the one Sir Arthur was staying in, is also and very sadly, long gone.

 

London was dirty, busy, extremely smelly and for those times packed with people. Interestingly enough even then it was a city filled with people from all over. Traders and merchants from far away worlds made their way up the Thames to trade in London.

London is probably my favorite city in the world. Spending time in medieval London only made her more interesting for me. I’m going to leave you with those immortal words by Samuel Johnson:

“When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life; for there is in London, all that life can afford.”

Is anything sweeter than revenge?

 

Curious about Sweet Bea? Here's a morsel for you. 

In a family of remarkable people, ordinary Beatrice strives to prove herself worthy. When her family is threatened with losing everything, she rushes to London to save them. Unfortunately, she chooses as her savior the very man who will see her family brought low.

Garrett has sworn vengeance on Sir Arthur of Anglesea for destroying his life when he was a boy and forcing his mother into prostitution for them to survive. He has chosen as his instrument Sir Arthur's youngest daughter, Beatrice.

Can Beatrice’s goodness teach Garrett that love, not vengeance, is the greatest reward of all?

 About Sarah Hegger

British and raised in South Africa, Sarah Hegger suffers from an incurable case of wanderlust. Her match? A hot Canadian engineer, whose marriage proposal she accepted six short weeks after they first met. Together they’ve made homes in seven different cities across three different continents (and back again once or twice). If only it made her multilingual, but the best she can manage is idiosyncratic English, fluent Afrikaans, conversant Russian, pigeon Portuguese, even worse Zulu and enough French to get herself into trouble.

Mimicking her globe trotting adventures, Sarah’s career path began as a gainfully employed actress, drifted into public relations, settled a moment in advertising, and eventually took root in the fertile soil of her first love, writing. She also moonlights as a wife and mother.

She currently lives in Draper, Utah, with her teenage daughters, two Golden Retrievers and aforementioned husband. Part footloose buccaneer, part quixotic observer of life, Sarah’s restless heart is most content when reading or writing books.

She loves to hear from readers and you can find her at any of the places below.

 

Website

Facebook

Twitter

Historical Wednesday: January 7, 2015

I took a blogging break over Christmas, but how great it is that today's post is about a symbol of Christmas and hope? Today's guest blogger is the wonderful Jennie Marsland. Not only is she a talent author (seriously, look at her Amazon page, her books rock and her covers are breathtaking!) but she knows her history as well. Thanks so much for coming out to chat today about Halifax and Boston. 

Vicki, thank you for having me on your blog today!

Just before Christmas, I published the third book in my ‘Winds of War, Winds of Change’ series, set in my hometown of Halifax, Nova Scotia, during and after World War 1. The first two stories, Shattered and Deliverance, include a pivotal event in Halifax’s history, while the third, Flight, takes place as war gives way to the brave new world of the 1920s.

I find this time period fascinating because of the sweeping changes – social, moral, technological – that took place during those years.  Nowhere were those changes felt more deeply than here in Halifax. As the foremost point of departure for personnel and supplies bound for Europe, this small port city swarmed with soldiers and sailors from all over the world, and our harbour handled more shipping than New York’s.  That excess of traffic led to one of the greatest disasters of the 20th century, and to a tradition that Nova Scotians hold dear to this day. With the holiday season just past, I thought this would make a fitting story to share.

Boston’s Christmas Tree

Every Christmas tree is special, but the magnificent evergreen that glitters each year in Boston’s Prudential Plaza is unique. It’s a holiday symbol with a deeper meaning, a special gift in remembrance of help provided in a time of desperate need many years ago.

The year was 1917, and much of the world was at war.  North along the Atlantic coast from Boston, the city of Halifax, Nova Scotia bustled with activity as convoys bound for Europe with troops and supplies prepared for the dangerous crossing. Traffic on Halifax Harbour had never been so busy. All vessels had to come and go during daylight hours, as submarine nets were drawn across the Harbour’s mouth at night. Amid the bustle, the city looked forward to Christmas. The economy was booming and the shops were full of festive goods to cheer yet another wartime holiday.

On the morning of December 6th, as men set off for work and children made their way to school, two ships collided in the Harbour. One of them, the French vessel Mont Blanc, was fully loaded with explosives – TNT, picric acid, airplane fuel and gun cotton. The collision sparked a fire.  Knowing their deadly cargo, the crew of Mont Blanc took to the lifeboats and left the ship to drift into a pier in Halifax’s industrial North End. At 9:04 am Mont Blanc detonated in what is still the largest non-natural, non-atomic explosion in recorded history.

 

The North End was devastated. Homes and businesses were blown away, and ships touched bottom as the Harbour parted with the force of the blast. Over a thousand people were killed instantly and a thousand more died later of their injuries, but horrific as the loss of life was, it would have been much worse but for the bravery of Vince Coleman, a railway telegraph operator who sacrificed his life to send a warning message to an oncoming train. Thanks to Coleman, the whole world quickly got word of the disaster. Response was overwhelming, especially from the state of Massachusetts, where so many Nova Scotians had family ties.

Within a day, a train loaded with relief supplies, doctors and nurses set out for the stricken city. They relieved Halifax’s exhausted medical personnel, and remained to provide aid and distribute supplies until the casualties had been cared for and aid began to arrive from other sources. There is no doubt that without the help provided by Massachusetts, the explosion would have caused even more hardship and suffering.

Nova Scotia has not forgotten. And so, every year, we send a carefully chosen, towering tree to “the Boston States” to stand in Prudential Plaza, a reminder that kinship and generosity know no borders.

Jennie Marsland is a teacher, an amateur musician and for over thirty years, a writer. She fell in love with words at a very early age, and the affair has been life-long. 

Jennie grew up reading Louis L'Amour and Zane Grey. She still has a soft spot for Westerns, and she draws further inspiration from her roots in rural Nova Scotia and stories of earlier times, passed down from her parents and grandparents. Glimpses of the past spark her imagination.

Jennie lives in Halifax, Nova Scotia, with her husband and their two rambunctious Nova Scotia Duck Tolling Retrievers, Ceilidh and Echo. When she isn't teaching or writing, Jennie plays guitar, dabbles in watercolours, gardens, and caters to the whims of the four-footed tyrants of the household. Jennie can be found on the Web here!

Romance Writers Weekly: January 6, 2015

Happy New Year! The season of over-eating, over-sleeping, and in the case of my family, over-sneezing, coughing, hacking and being miserable, is over (for me at least!) and it's time to get back to the things that matter. Like the romance weekly blog hop. If you've made your way here from the slightly-nutty, but ever-so-wonderful Sarah Hegger, welcome! 

For those of you making your first stop on the hop with me today, we're talking what a normal day in the life is, when we're not writing. 

I wish I were one of those awesome authors who could proudly claim that not a day goes by that I don't write, but sadly, that's not true. Oh, I have aspirations of writing every day but as you'll see in my thoughts below, that doesn't always happen. 

I have three dedicated writing days a week, when the wee one gets shipped to a sitter. The plan is to fit some writing into the other days. I'm going to tell you what a normal Monday is like for me. I should note that there are two things that take up my life: writing and mothering. So if I'm not writing about a day spent writing, I will be writing about a day spent mothering. 

Our day begins when hubby has to wake for work. We are very lucky to have a two year old that sleeps in. So we are rarely up before 8. Monday's fall after the weekend (in case you didn't know) and so it's my first day of the new week with just me and wee one, no helping hands in sight. Normally once hubby leaves the house I call my parents, who live about a two minute drive (10 minute walk) away. Here's how that convo goes:

Me: Good morning, my mother. 

Mom: Good morning, my daughter. What time is it?

Me: 9. (I'm not allowed to call before 9.)

Mom: Are you coming for tea?

Me: Yes please. And toast and eggs and bacon.

Mom: You're getting tea and crackers. 

Me: Your grandson wants yogurt. 

I hang up and debate between walking and driving. If it's cold, or wet, I'll drive. If I'm feeling like we could both use a dose of fresh air, we walk. 

See the river? We love our river. And running along it. 

The walk is wonderful. There's a path that runs between our houses that goes through the woods, along the river. When the wee one was a babe, and not a toddler, I'd strap him on to my chest in our awesome Boba baby carrier and that's how we'd walk. Now it's more of a slow meander while we stop to jump in puddles, listen to birds, and play hide and seek. Now, don't go thinking my life is super idyllic. Three times out of four, we drive. 

The morning is spent hanging out with my parents, who are sometimes semi-retired. Even if they have to go to work, they don't head in to the city till 11, so it's always a nice visit. Oh, and there's normally bacon and eggs cooking when we arrive. My parents rock. 

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A visit to Nan and Pop's house is always better when there are cousins there as well. My parents are "lucky" to have both their daughters live a ridiculously short distance from them. It makes our kids happy. 

By lunchtime, we're home. I like to cook so making lunch is no biggie for us. Homemade Mac and Cheese is always a hit, or a quick pot of creamy soup (you can't go wrong with root veg, onions, garlic, wine and chicken broth). Once we've eaten and the house looks like it's been hit by a cyclone it's time for  the "will he, won't he nap" dance to begin. Some days this is an easy feat. Other days, it's a two hour challenge. 

Once he naps, I can finally get some work done. Because even if I'm not having a writing day, I am a self-published author so there's a heck of a lot of non-writing work that I have to do. Marketing, blogging, Facebook (yea, Facebook can be work), accounting, PR, strategizing ideas for future projects, thinking about the work-in-progress, and emails. Luckily, wee one's naps are always two hours long. So that's good for me. 

When he wakes it's time to play and figure out supper. Supper is always a bit of a challenge because our son has picked up on the fact that Mommy loves to cook and Daddy loves to bake. Therefore, in his two year old eyes, being in the kitchen is the greatest fun there is. It gets messy. And loud. 

By the time hubby gets home supper is half-made, I'm ready to break out the wine, and the wee one is blissfully rolling in ingredients on the floor, chasing the cats and trying to force them to eat God only knows what. 

We barbecue a lot. Really. Even in the snow. Because cooking outdoors is fun. And clean. And eating outdoors is even better. 

Life with a toddler is a blur, honestly. I have vague ideas of things that are supposed to happen during the day, and even more vague notions of not really understanding how some things got done, and others didn't. 

Still, I have to admit that balancing a full-time writing career with a toddler is much easier than it was with an infant. I'm holding out hopes that by the time he's three or four, we'll have a much more productive schedule worked out. I can't help but feel that if we had a fenced yard I could toss him outside to play blissfully while I worked. But so far, most of my toddler-work management ideas have failed. 

Lately, I'm just embracing the time I have with him, writing be damned. 

Now, if that hasn't bored you to tears and you're still with me, why not go visit my friend, Gemma Brocato (who will be hanging out at my Facebook release party on Sunday—see the link below!). I bet Gemma's day is much more fabulous than mine. Certainly it should be neater. 

Don't miss the Facebook release party for Geek Groom - This Sunday! 

Click the image below to join the event. 

Romance Writers Weekly: December 23, 2014

Merry Christmas everyone! I almost missed this post today because I'm running around doing my christmas shopping. I'd like to say last minute but the truth is, I only started any shopping two days ago. Regardless, I'm not going to let a little thing like Christmas unpreparedness prevent me from taking part in today's blog hop.

This week we are completing a statement. So here we go.

All I want for Christmas is...

to see the people I love be happy. And maybe for Christmas to be less about gifts and more about spending time with the people who make us happy. I know, I know. The commercialization thing is often talked about, and that's fine. We all want to give the perfect gift to someone. I get that. But what I really wish is that people could feel loved for Christmas. 

Today I was out shopping downtown with my mom. We were having a great time, laughing, being happy, not stressing about things. And yet so many people we met looked angry or frustrated. People were bickering. People were alone, huddled in the corner of a building looking for money. There's sadness all around us and for someone who really does believe in the power of happiness, it hits me in the heart to see such sorrow. 

I often wonder how I can change this. And I don't have the answer. But all I can do is smile at people, whether they want to smile back or not. I don't know if happiness is contagious, but I can at least try that. 

In the meantime, I can make sure that those I love are happy. Happily fed, happily hugged, happily told how much they mean to me. And that goes out to the people that I know in the virtual world as well. I have many friends in the Romance Writers Weekly group that I've never met, and yet I wish them all the love and joy of the season. And I wish it for my readers as well. 

Maybe that's why writing romance, and being proud of writing romance, is so important to me. Because I know that for a little while at least, people can escape from the things that might be filling their days with stress, and know joy and love for a small moment in time. 

Merry Christmas my friends. Even if this isn't a holiday you celebrate, I wish you nothing but the best this season, and always. 

I also wish you'd do the rounds of this blog hop this week and see what all my friends want for Christmas. You can start right here with Dani Jace.  

Isn't this lovely? I found it on esty. 

Mistletoe Hop: 5 Reasons Why Newfoundland Rocks Christmas

Can you believe how close we are to Christmas now? It's time for all sorts of Christmas things, like last minute gift buying (books are always a great idea!), baking, or in the case of my house, the never-ending game of put the ornaments back on the tree after my toddler takes them all off. Again. 

I'm super happy to be part of the Mistletoe Blog Hop this year. I don't have a holiday book to promote but for those of you who don't know me, I am incredibly passionate about this place I call home. I set all of my books in Newfoundland, and I love to take every chance I can to introduce readers to some of our ways and customs. For this post, I'm going to share with you my top five reasons why there's no better place to celebrate Christmas! So let's go.

Top 5 Reasons Why Newfoundland Rocks Christmas1. Mummers

Imagine a place where you can put your clothes on backwards, pull a pillowcase or sack over your face, and go around knocking on your neighbour's doors in hopes of being invited in to dance, and drink and eat! This is mummering in Newfoundland. It's mostly popular in the rural parts of the province where your neighbours tend to be family, but there's a huge mummering parade that happens in St. John's, our capital city, every year as well. Take a moment and check out this video from the '80s all about it! 

2. A Huge Sense of Family

There's about a half a million people that live in Newfoundland. But there are hundreds of thousands more that have moved away. As many as possibly can come home for Christmas. The feeling of happiness permeates the air, and there's just a general sense of love and joy and merrymaking everywhere you look. 

3. Tibbs Eve

If you like alcohol, Tibbs Eve is for you. Local folklore has it that it was taboo to drink during Advent, and Tibbs Eve (also known as Tippy Eve) emerged as an appropriate time to have a drink. It falls on December 23, the eve of Christmas Eve. I'm not saying everyone around here likes to drink. That's not true, and it is a terrible stereotype of Newfoundland. But for those who do like to make merry, Tibbs Eve is a great excuse to start your Christmas partying a little earlier. 

4. The 12 days of Christmas

We love us some Old Christmas Day here in Newfoundland. There are still many people, my mother included, who refuse to take down their trees until after January 6th. Christmas isn't a day here, it's an event. Doing things "over Christmas" goes well into the New Year. 

5. The potential for a rolling blackout, which leads to snuggling, impromptu family get-togethers and the opportunity to do one of our favourite things: Gripe about the government. 

This is a new tradition, that really has come to light over the past year or so. We're going through a bit of a power generation shortage right now, made worrisome because of the lack of backup power. Last January we were in the dark for a whole weekend. And the Christmas before that a blizzard knocked out power for a day or so. The moment the temperature starts to dip below minus 10 we're all waiting to find out if we are going to have to conserve electricity or face the consequences of a rolling blackout to prevent the entire island (which is about the size of California) from going dark. 

And there you have it! Five things about Christmas (kind of) that make Newfoundland extra special. Please be sure to visit the rest of the awesome authors and bloggers making up the Mistletoe Hop this year, and don't forever to add your name to the rafflecopter below for your chance to win a Kindle! 

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Historical Wednesday: December 17, 2014

Oh boy, is this a treat today. My darling editor, who is also one of my dearest friends, is here visiting over Christmas. Which means I have to get a manuscript finished pronto for her. For those of you who are writers and are wondering how to beat writer's block, have your editor in the same house as you for a while. That should cure it. 

Anyhow, I met Anne a long time ago when we were both doing master's degrees in History. It's to my credit that she knows a heck of a lot about England. It's to her credit that I know a lot about Newfoundland. For several years I've hounded her to start her own blog. She hasn't. Yet. But I did convince her to write a guest post on mine. Maybe we can get her doing this monthly? 

From the Editor’s desk:

This is a shot Anne sent me ages ago of her work space when she was hard at work on the Heart's Ease series. 

Victoria has asked me to stop contemplating commas for a moment and say a few words about editing and historical writing.

Since this is a history-themed blog series, I’d like to take you all back in time to the year 2010 A.D. when Victoria sent me Chapter One of the Regency she was writing. I loved it. And I’ve been waiting four years to see Chapter Two.

When it does arrive, these will be what I’ll be looking for when it comes to the historical side of things:

 

 — Accuracy. Now, strictly speaking, it’s up to the author to fact-check; however, I’m an obsessive double-checker and if something doesn’t sound right—be it facts, vocabulary or attitudes—I’ll either check it out myself or challenge it. There is one giant caveat here: liberties are sometimes necessary with facts and events to tell the story.

— “I didn’t know that!” moments. Following the above, I love to find out aspects of history I didn’t know before. I appreciate the work that goes into researching the fine details in historical writing and it suggests that the author, like me, loves doing research. 

HMS Victory. Admiral Nelson's 104 gun ship of the line. Anne saw this when she was in Portsmouth. I love this picture!

— A good mix of England and Newfoundland. That's pretty specific to the works of Victoria Barbour. I’m intrigued to see how Victoria takes the standard setting for a Regency and incorporates Newfoundland into it. Sure, it will mean more work for me looking up unfamiliar vocabulary and arguing over prepositions (Re: The Great “on the porch” vs “in the porch Debate of 2014), but Newfoundland is one of my favourite places in Canada and I want know more about its strategic place in the Atlantic world during the 19th century.  

—Swoon-worthy naval officers. Okay, that’s the reader side of me coming out. But am I right?

Thanks for having me Victoria. I'm watching you. PS: Fetch me a cup of tea. And then churn out 5000 words by lunch. That is all.