M.C. Dulac's Blog, page 2
January 19, 2019
A never published scene from The Alchemist of Paris - with an alternative plot!
When I was sorting through my papers, I found this scene from an early draft of The Alchemist of Paris.
Young housemaid Elise and her mysterious master are walking through the pre-dawn streets of 19th century Paris. Although some points are familiar, this scene has an alternative plot line. Can you spot three changes from the final novel? (Answers below!)
* *
The sun had not risen and the sky over Paris was a dim blue. In the narrow lanes of the Île de la Cité, shadows obscured the path, although the promise of dawn was not far away.
Elise gazed wistfully at the sky, wishing the sun would rise. There was something uneasy about that morning, something troubling about her employer who walked beside her in his fine cloak. But there had been something troubling about him from the first moment she had entered his employ, this tall brooding figure with a smooth young face but old eyes. Then there was the strange mansion in Le Marais and the Englishman who had followed her, wanting to know more about the master of the house - almost as though he were hunting him down.
“I miss the sweet light of dawn,” her master murmured as a golden glow seeped over the rooftops.
They descended into the deep shadows by the Seine. He stopped, glancing around quickly, “Elise, I need your help. I know you are clever, which is why I summoned you from the orphanage. I will be leaving Paris soon and I need you to look after my affairs.”
“I do not understand, Monsieur.”
“Here is the address where you must take refuge tonight.”
“Will I not return to the house?”
“After your errands, yes. But you must leave before evening. We may meet again,” he raised his hand and gently brushed away a lose strand of her hair, “Goodbye, Elise. You will understand everything soon.”
Her eyelids lowered. When she opened her eyes she was all alone by the river. The crumpled note was in her hand - that night she was to go to Père Lachaise Cemetery, Rue de Repos.
***
Three changes:
In the final novel, it is the aristocrat Jean-Louis Champillon, not the alchemist, who finds Elise in the orphanage.
There is no English alchemist hunter in The Alchemist of Paris (although maybe this is a character for a future story). In the final novel one of the other characters assumes part of this role.
The alchemist doesn’t ask Elise to go to the cemetery, although this too is intriguing!
Young housemaid Elise and her mysterious master are walking through the pre-dawn streets of 19th century Paris. Although some points are familiar, this scene has an alternative plot line. Can you spot three changes from the final novel? (Answers below!)
* *
The sun had not risen and the sky over Paris was a dim blue. In the narrow lanes of the Île de la Cité, shadows obscured the path, although the promise of dawn was not far away.
Elise gazed wistfully at the sky, wishing the sun would rise. There was something uneasy about that morning, something troubling about her employer who walked beside her in his fine cloak. But there had been something troubling about him from the first moment she had entered his employ, this tall brooding figure with a smooth young face but old eyes. Then there was the strange mansion in Le Marais and the Englishman who had followed her, wanting to know more about the master of the house - almost as though he were hunting him down.
“I miss the sweet light of dawn,” her master murmured as a golden glow seeped over the rooftops.
They descended into the deep shadows by the Seine. He stopped, glancing around quickly, “Elise, I need your help. I know you are clever, which is why I summoned you from the orphanage. I will be leaving Paris soon and I need you to look after my affairs.”
“I do not understand, Monsieur.”
“Here is the address where you must take refuge tonight.”
“Will I not return to the house?”
“After your errands, yes. But you must leave before evening. We may meet again,” he raised his hand and gently brushed away a lose strand of her hair, “Goodbye, Elise. You will understand everything soon.”
Her eyelids lowered. When she opened her eyes she was all alone by the river. The crumpled note was in her hand - that night she was to go to Père Lachaise Cemetery, Rue de Repos.
***
Three changes:
In the final novel, it is the aristocrat Jean-Louis Champillon, not the alchemist, who finds Elise in the orphanage.
There is no English alchemist hunter in The Alchemist of Paris (although maybe this is a character for a future story). In the final novel one of the other characters assumes part of this role.
The alchemist doesn’t ask Elise to go to the cemetery, although this too is intriguing!
June 2, 2018
Legends and Allegories
When is a story a story and when is it something more? Fables and legends are always good ways for authors to explore what they want to say, particularly when a fantasy world seems much more exciting than your own.
Some readers found In the Time of the Forest to be about fitting in and acceptance, while others enjoyed the romance and escaping into a different world. The truth is, it is really a short story about creativity and seeking a creative life!
The ebook is free this weekend on Amazon. Make sure to do the Goodreads quiz afterwards!
April 7, 2018
The Girl in the Mist - A ghostly love story
“Tell me again about this ghost.”
Brenda looked up from her magazine. The earnest young man, who had checked in that afternoon, was leaning over the hotel counter. She sighed. Tourists to this part of the south-coast of England were always fascinated by the supernatural.
“She’s the ghost of a mysterious woman who came to the village about 1763. She would walk along the cliff path every evening, as if she were waiting for someone. One night there was a storm and the poor soul slid and fell onto the rocks below.”
“1763,” he said thoughtfully.
“Do you know more about her?” Brenda wondered if he was from a university.
“History interests me,” he smiled, “I believe this girl may have been a French Acadian, expelled from her home in Nova Scotia in the 1760s. She fell in love with an English army officer who pursued her to New Orleans. Her father and brothers were furious, forbidding them to to meet. The couple planned to run away together. The girl’s maid was to deliver a note, but lost it, and the Englishman never knew which ship she had boarded - they had talked of going to England, France, North America, even South America. The Englishman vowed he’d search the world to find her and never rest until he had.”
“And he didn’t know she’d come here and met her death on the cliff,” Brenda sighed, thinking this would be a good story for the local history blog.
“I will take a walk up there now. Could you look after these for me?” the young man handed her a bundle of papers.
“No problem. But take care, love. It’ll be dark soon and it’s dangerous out there in the mist.”
Brenda went back to reading her celebrity magazine. Ten minutes later she glanced through the window. The man was walking along the cliff path.
Suddenly a pale young woman with flowing hair and a long dress stepped in front of him.
Brenda felt a chill down her spine.
The young man fell to his knees. The girl cradled his head and stroked his hair. He got to his feet and kissed her hands, then pulled her to him for a long embrace. The girl broke into a smile as they kissed, over and over again.
Arm-in-arm, the couple strolled away into the gathering mist.
Shaking, Brenda ran to the safe, where she had placed the stranger’s papers. There were travel documents, stamped with the mark of many countries, dating back centuries. As she held the papers, they began to disintegrate, crumbling to dust.
He really had searched the world to find her, Brenda thought. Now both of them were at peace, together at last.
© 2014 M. C. Dulac
This flash fiction story first appeared on the writer's blog, mcdulac.wordpress.com.
Brenda looked up from her magazine. The earnest young man, who had checked in that afternoon, was leaning over the hotel counter. She sighed. Tourists to this part of the south-coast of England were always fascinated by the supernatural.
“She’s the ghost of a mysterious woman who came to the village about 1763. She would walk along the cliff path every evening, as if she were waiting for someone. One night there was a storm and the poor soul slid and fell onto the rocks below.”
“1763,” he said thoughtfully.
“Do you know more about her?” Brenda wondered if he was from a university.
“History interests me,” he smiled, “I believe this girl may have been a French Acadian, expelled from her home in Nova Scotia in the 1760s. She fell in love with an English army officer who pursued her to New Orleans. Her father and brothers were furious, forbidding them to to meet. The couple planned to run away together. The girl’s maid was to deliver a note, but lost it, and the Englishman never knew which ship she had boarded - they had talked of going to England, France, North America, even South America. The Englishman vowed he’d search the world to find her and never rest until he had.”
“And he didn’t know she’d come here and met her death on the cliff,” Brenda sighed, thinking this would be a good story for the local history blog.
“I will take a walk up there now. Could you look after these for me?” the young man handed her a bundle of papers.
“No problem. But take care, love. It’ll be dark soon and it’s dangerous out there in the mist.”
Brenda went back to reading her celebrity magazine. Ten minutes later she glanced through the window. The man was walking along the cliff path.
Suddenly a pale young woman with flowing hair and a long dress stepped in front of him.
Brenda felt a chill down her spine.
The young man fell to his knees. The girl cradled his head and stroked his hair. He got to his feet and kissed her hands, then pulled her to him for a long embrace. The girl broke into a smile as they kissed, over and over again.
Arm-in-arm, the couple strolled away into the gathering mist.
Shaking, Brenda ran to the safe, where she had placed the stranger’s papers. There were travel documents, stamped with the mark of many countries, dating back centuries. As she held the papers, they began to disintegrate, crumbling to dust.
He really had searched the world to find her, Brenda thought. Now both of them were at peace, together at last.
© 2014 M. C. Dulac
This flash fiction story first appeared on the writer's blog, mcdulac.wordpress.com.
Cover Reveal - The Alchemist of Rome
The sequel to The Alchemist of Paris is coming soon!
There's new characters and old characters, and a mystery that leads from present-day Rome to the Amalfi Coast and the island of Malta.
Rebecca - a young woman on holiday in Italy after the tragic death of her sister.
Antonio - a brilliant and troubled artist, with an astonishing memory of past centuries.
When their paths cross one sunlit afternoon in Rome, Rebecca finds herself drawn into a world of mystery and romance, for strange forces are gathering in the Eternal City. Who is the reclusive billionaire, who exerts an unusual control over Antonio? Who are the mysterious couple following him? And what is Antonio’s link to an eighteenth-century traveler, who sought the elixir of life?
Rebecca soon realises her own life is in peril, for a deadly curse awaits those who learn the secrets of the Alchemist of Rome - a curse that will force her to face her darkest fears, and which only she can break.
The Alchemist of Rome
March 20, 2018
Cover Reveal - The Alchemist of Rome
The Alchemist of Rome
The Alchemist of Rome, the sequel to The Alchemist of Paris, is almost here. The plot weaves between the modern day and the 18th century, and from Rome to the Amalfi Coast, and to the island of Malta! There’s some familiar characters and some new ones. More news to come.
The Alchemist of Rome, the sequel to The Alchemist of Paris, is almost here. The plot weaves between the modern day and the 18th century, and from Rome to the Amalfi Coast, and to the island of Malta! There’s some familiar characters and some new ones. More news to come.
October 2, 2016
The Alchemist of Paris
Grab a coffee, The Alchemist of Paris is here!
A long-forgotten house lies hidden behind a wall in modern Paris. Strange secrets are revealed when the new owner finds a 19th century diary and discovers a tale of deceit, magic, betrayal, wondrous inventions – and an immortal love, spanning the centuries.
In the words of one of my wonderful advance readers, The Alchemist of Paris is for anyone who loves historical fiction, foreign travel and a dash of science fiction.
(And it's only 99 cents until 5 October!) https://goo.gl/mRCvhv
February 14, 2016
Social Media Anxiety - A Sweet Valentine's Day Story
Tim wants to be your friend
Natasha sat before her computer. Sunlight peeked through the morning clouds outside her window. She sipped her coffee and stared at the screen.
Tim was the cute boy she had met at the party the night before, whose smile made her heart soar and whose shy eyes made her swoon.
Did Tim really want to be her friend?
HER friend?
Her FRIEND?
Did he WANT to be her friend?
Did he want to be MORE than friends?
Natasha tucked her hair behind her ears nervously. It was only a Facebook friend request, for crying out loud. How could such simple words cause such social anxiety?
Okay. Tim wants to be my friend. So what should I do?
I don’t want to accept straightaway or he’ll know I like him.
But I don’t want to wait because he’ll think I thought about him.
I’ve got to be cool, Natasha decided.
She hit accept, pulling her finger away as if the laptop was on fire.
She rested her head in her hands. It probably meant nothing. He just wanted to be Facebook friends. It wasn’t like it was the start of something.
* * * * *
Tim sat in a cafe across town. Should he have sent Natasha the friend request so soon? He only met her the night before. Maybe he shouldn’t have sent it at all.
What would he do if she ignored him?
He shouldn’t have done it. He was an idiot. He was always an idiot.
A message appeared.
Natasha wants to be your friend.
Tim broke into a wide grin as the day suddenly seemed brighter.
© 2016 M. C. Dulac
For more Flash Fiction Tales, visit the author's blog here
Natasha sat before her computer. Sunlight peeked through the morning clouds outside her window. She sipped her coffee and stared at the screen.
Tim was the cute boy she had met at the party the night before, whose smile made her heart soar and whose shy eyes made her swoon.
Did Tim really want to be her friend?
HER friend?
Her FRIEND?
Did he WANT to be her friend?
Did he want to be MORE than friends?
Natasha tucked her hair behind her ears nervously. It was only a Facebook friend request, for crying out loud. How could such simple words cause such social anxiety?
Okay. Tim wants to be my friend. So what should I do?
I don’t want to accept straightaway or he’ll know I like him.
But I don’t want to wait because he’ll think I thought about him.
I’ve got to be cool, Natasha decided.
She hit accept, pulling her finger away as if the laptop was on fire.
She rested her head in her hands. It probably meant nothing. He just wanted to be Facebook friends. It wasn’t like it was the start of something.
* * * * *
Tim sat in a cafe across town. Should he have sent Natasha the friend request so soon? He only met her the night before. Maybe he shouldn’t have sent it at all.
What would he do if she ignored him?
He shouldn’t have done it. He was an idiot. He was always an idiot.
A message appeared.
Natasha wants to be your friend.
Tim broke into a wide grin as the day suddenly seemed brighter.
© 2016 M. C. Dulac
For more Flash Fiction Tales, visit the author's blog here
February 1, 2016
City of Signs - Historical Fiction Tips
“My master, Monsieur Price, has asked me to go to the sign of the Three Hands again, although I dislike the place. He buys powders for his experiments there.”
- Elise reflects on her strange instructions in the upcoming ‘The Alchemist of Paris’
In an age when many people were illiterate, the most common way to navigate a city was by signs.
The Musée Carnavalet in Le Marais in Paris, France, which I was fortunate enough to visit last year, has a wonderful collection of signs that graced the shops and inns of Paris from the sixteenth to the early twentieth centuries.
Signs were either painted or made from wrought iron.
Keys might be the sign of an innkeeper. The sign of the pig might lead the way to a charcuterie. A hat maker might hang the sign of a wig over his door. Corn or wheat was often the sign of a baker.
Some signs clearly indicate what the shop sold, while others were more fanciful and intriguing.
The signs are not just beautiful but evoke a wonderful sense of mystery.
Weaving these signs into the storyline is another way to immerse the reader in the historical world of the characters, in an age long before street directories and google maps.
Turn left at the Sign of the Three Mice, then right at the Beckoning Hand, then left at the Laughing Imp. Who knows what you’ll find!
This post first appeared on the author's blog here
- Elise reflects on her strange instructions in the upcoming ‘The Alchemist of Paris’
In an age when many people were illiterate, the most common way to navigate a city was by signs.
The Musée Carnavalet in Le Marais in Paris, France, which I was fortunate enough to visit last year, has a wonderful collection of signs that graced the shops and inns of Paris from the sixteenth to the early twentieth centuries.
Signs were either painted or made from wrought iron.
Keys might be the sign of an innkeeper. The sign of the pig might lead the way to a charcuterie. A hat maker might hang the sign of a wig over his door. Corn or wheat was often the sign of a baker.
Some signs clearly indicate what the shop sold, while others were more fanciful and intriguing.
The signs are not just beautiful but evoke a wonderful sense of mystery.
Weaving these signs into the storyline is another way to immerse the reader in the historical world of the characters, in an age long before street directories and google maps.
Turn left at the Sign of the Three Mice, then right at the Beckoning Hand, then left at the Laughing Imp. Who knows what you’ll find!
This post first appeared on the author's blog here
January 12, 2016
Paris in the 1820s: Imagining a City in the Past
Writing a story with a historical backdrop has all the challenges of fiction writing - plot, character arcs, settings - and also the challenge of creating an accurate and believable world.
Setting a story in a place as rich in history as Paris is an even a greater challenge.
Even a few years' difference changes what a character would see on a walk through the city.
I’m working on a novel called “The Alchemist of Paris”, set both in the present day and in the 1820s (and you’ll be hearing more about “The Alchemist of Paris” in the coming weeks!).
The 1820s was the period after the French revolution and Napoleon, and during the restoration of the Bourbon monarchy. It was the time when Paris was beginning to assume its role as the scientific and cultural capital of the world.
While the plot of “The Alchemist of Paris” is swirling faster than mercury in an alchemist’s bowl, I wanted to make sure I did not create any glaring historical errors.
The first step was to create a list of landmarks.
What our heroine in 1820 would have seen:
* Place de la Concorde (built 1755) (named Place Louis XV in 1814. In 1830 the square became Place de la Concorde again)
* Louvre Palace and the Tulieries Gardens
* Place Vendôme (1702) and column (1810)
* Pont Neuf (1607)
* Notre-Dame (but not in the wide square where it currently stands. The old Notre-Dame church was surrounded by buildings on the Île de la Cité)
* Conciergerie (built 13th century)
* Bird Market in the Île de la Cité
* Père-Lachaise Cemetery (1804)
* Bièvre River (Paris’ second major river after the Seine. The Bièvre was Paris’ main sewer and eventually covered up as part of the sanitation measures in the 19th century)
* Place des Vosges (1612)
What our heroine in 1820 would not have seen:
* The shops and houses on the Pont au Change. Due to frequent collapses, all structures on this famous bridge were ordered to be destroyed in 1786
* Arc de Triomphe (built between 1833 and 1836)
* Opéra House on the Boulevard des Capucines (1874)
* The Grand Railway stations (there were no trains in 1820!)
* Sacré-Coeur Church in Montmartre (built between 1875 and 1914)
* The Eiffel Tower (1889) (obvious, I know but...)
Some great non-fiction books about Paris:
Paris: Capital of the World, Patrice Higonnett, translated by Arthur Goldhammer, 2002
Paris then and now, (photographs) Peter & Oriel Caine, 2003
A version of this post first appeared on my blog: https://mcdulac.wordpress.com/categor...
Setting a story in a place as rich in history as Paris is an even a greater challenge.
Even a few years' difference changes what a character would see on a walk through the city.
I’m working on a novel called “The Alchemist of Paris”, set both in the present day and in the 1820s (and you’ll be hearing more about “The Alchemist of Paris” in the coming weeks!).
The 1820s was the period after the French revolution and Napoleon, and during the restoration of the Bourbon monarchy. It was the time when Paris was beginning to assume its role as the scientific and cultural capital of the world.
While the plot of “The Alchemist of Paris” is swirling faster than mercury in an alchemist’s bowl, I wanted to make sure I did not create any glaring historical errors.
The first step was to create a list of landmarks.
What our heroine in 1820 would have seen:
* Place de la Concorde (built 1755) (named Place Louis XV in 1814. In 1830 the square became Place de la Concorde again)
* Louvre Palace and the Tulieries Gardens
* Place Vendôme (1702) and column (1810)
* Pont Neuf (1607)
* Notre-Dame (but not in the wide square where it currently stands. The old Notre-Dame church was surrounded by buildings on the Île de la Cité)
* Conciergerie (built 13th century)
* Bird Market in the Île de la Cité
* Père-Lachaise Cemetery (1804)
* Bièvre River (Paris’ second major river after the Seine. The Bièvre was Paris’ main sewer and eventually covered up as part of the sanitation measures in the 19th century)
* Place des Vosges (1612)
What our heroine in 1820 would not have seen:
* The shops and houses on the Pont au Change. Due to frequent collapses, all structures on this famous bridge were ordered to be destroyed in 1786
* Arc de Triomphe (built between 1833 and 1836)
* Opéra House on the Boulevard des Capucines (1874)
* The Grand Railway stations (there were no trains in 1820!)
* Sacré-Coeur Church in Montmartre (built between 1875 and 1914)
* The Eiffel Tower (1889) (obvious, I know but...)
Some great non-fiction books about Paris:
Paris: Capital of the World, Patrice Higonnett, translated by Arthur Goldhammer, 2002
Paris then and now, (photographs) Peter & Oriel Caine, 2003
A version of this post first appeared on my blog: https://mcdulac.wordpress.com/categor...
February 13, 2015
Muse - A writer's love story
He first saw her in the middle of the city and he knew at once that she was the one. A dreamy girl with a sweet smile, eyes meeting his just as she disappeared into the crowds. He searched for her in vain. He was late for university that day.
He saw her again over the years. In the aisle of a bookshop. Across a crowded bar. Each time he tried to speak to her, she merely smiled and glided away. Once he followed her through the streets, entranced by her long, shimmering hair and slender figure, but he lost her again. He went back to his apartment and stared at his desk.
He tried to forget her. He tried to lead a regular life. The office was enough he told himself, the car, the mortgage, the girlfriends who drifted in and out of his life. But it wasn’t. He’d seen her and she had his heart forever.
Success took a long time. He was a middle-aged man by the time his novel was released. Those years had been well spent. The critics and reviews were glowing. The publishers played on his image as a lonely, sensitive soul. Who was the inspiration behind his female character? The writer played along with the mystery.
But then he saw her at the last book signing, beside the line of curious, excited fans. When the signing was over, he slipped away and ran outside.
And there she was, not a day older than when he had first seen her.
He reached out but she shook her head.
“You know how I feel,” he said, “You were the only one.”
Her eyes were sad, “Haven’t I given you everything you wanted?”
“I want you.”
“I am not of your world,” his muse kissed him softly on the lips. Then she faded into thin air. The writer was all alone, his heart aching from a love that had tormented him his whole life, a love which nothing on this earth could ever come near.
© 2014 M. C. Dulac
He saw her again over the years. In the aisle of a bookshop. Across a crowded bar. Each time he tried to speak to her, she merely smiled and glided away. Once he followed her through the streets, entranced by her long, shimmering hair and slender figure, but he lost her again. He went back to his apartment and stared at his desk.
He tried to forget her. He tried to lead a regular life. The office was enough he told himself, the car, the mortgage, the girlfriends who drifted in and out of his life. But it wasn’t. He’d seen her and she had his heart forever.
Success took a long time. He was a middle-aged man by the time his novel was released. Those years had been well spent. The critics and reviews were glowing. The publishers played on his image as a lonely, sensitive soul. Who was the inspiration behind his female character? The writer played along with the mystery.
But then he saw her at the last book signing, beside the line of curious, excited fans. When the signing was over, he slipped away and ran outside.
And there she was, not a day older than when he had first seen her.
He reached out but she shook her head.
“You know how I feel,” he said, “You were the only one.”
Her eyes were sad, “Haven’t I given you everything you wanted?”
“I want you.”
“I am not of your world,” his muse kissed him softly on the lips. Then she faded into thin air. The writer was all alone, his heart aching from a love that had tormented him his whole life, a love which nothing on this earth could ever come near.
© 2014 M. C. Dulac
