Elizabeth Ellen Carter's Blog, page 13

Belle of the Ball – Elizabeth Joins The Bluestocking Belles!

I have some wonderful news.

I’ve been accepted as a member of the Bluestocking Belles!

The Bluestocking Belles are an amazing group of historical romance authors whom I greatly admire and what greater time to make the announcement is on Valentine’s Day!

The Belles do the annual charity short story anthology which has been a major hit over the past couple of years, the Teatime Tattler and the most wonderful Agony Aunt on the Internet – Aunt Agatha.

To welcome me and another Bluestocking Belle, Amy Quinton, as well as to get input on the theme for the next Bluestocking Belles box set, I’d like to extend an invitation to join us right now for a very special Facebook party called Valentine Variations.

Again I’d like to thank the other Bluestocking Belles for making me most welcome — Jude Knight, Sherry Ewing, Susana Ellis, Caroline Warfield, Jessica Cale, Nicole Zoltack.

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Whimseys and Fairings

Inexpensive pottery such as this china fairing lidded dish were popular fair and carnival prizes and souvenirs in the 19th century

I’ve just started work on a new story, The Mistress, it’s a historical romance with a difference. Instead it featuring beautiful jewels and sumptuous gowns, this tale is going to focus on the folk downstairs – the servants, not the gentry.

And it’s not as easy as it seems! We have plenty of depictions of what life was like for the well-to-do, but less of the those who occupied less privileged stratas of society.

But I’ve always been of the belief that human nature doesn’t change and those who lived from week  to week aren’t much different from those of us today who are also employed.

Glass Whimseys in the shape of top hats. An inexpensive ornament within the reach of the working classes of the 19th century. These were made at the end of the working day from molten glass left over at the end of a shift.

Sure, if you’re annual salary is between £15 and £20 a year, you don’t have a lot of cash to spend on fripperies, but who doesn’t love a little ornament just for the sake of having something pretty?

The industrialisation of the late 18th and into the 19th century brought mass manufacturing and therefore items way out of the reach of the working class, were now suddenly affordable.

But then, as now, our eyes always gravitate to something bright and shiny. And if you’re like me, you have a special susceptibility to whimsical things when wandering around a market or a fair.

Just for fun. This object serves no other purpose but to look pretty and amuse. This is an example of a China Fairing.

Our friends downstairs felt exactly the same way and it was at these fairs and carnivals they could treat themselves to something frivolous and fun for just a few pennies, or by winning it in a game of skill.

These objects, glass whimseys and china fairings, were inexpensively made.

The glass was thin and made from glass left over at the end of a shift and were frequently made into top hats, trumpets, pipes, paperweights and even walking canes.

Pipes of all shapes and sizes, a candy-striped vase, a small gavel are other examples of glass whimseys. Another popular end-of-day glass manufacturing object were glass rolling pins which might be given as a gift to a newlywed couple.

China fairings were cold painted and sometimes crudely rendered. They took the form of something as practical as a pin box, or as emphemeral as a statue, often with a humorous or risque scene.

Hubby gets spanked after coming home (probably drunk) at one o’clock. Is that a smile on the missus’ face?

Among the best known for these types of wares was Staffordshire potteries.

And because these objects were inexpensive, they were subject to breakages and suffering the whims of fashion and as a result few of them exist today and as a result fetch a price at market and auction that would have had our working class friends of the 19th century shaking their heads.

Even these pieces of inexpensive, broken bits of glass have value even in this condition because they give us an insight into a world forgotten and sometimes under-valued.

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Tuesday Book Club: Alison Stuart’s And Then Mine Enemy

Alison Stuart’s latest English Civil War series is shaping up to be a corker

One of the best historical romance authors in Australia has to be Alison Stuart. She brings as much political and social tension into her stories as she does sweeping romance. Her characters are vividly drawn and even if you’re not familiar with the time period, Alison will soon have you looking at life through the eyes of her characters.

No superficial ‘ball gowns and bling’ here, this is meaty stuff and thoroughly enjoyable.

And Then Mine enemy is the first book in a two book series (Feather In The Wind) spanning the years of the English Civil War from 1642- 1645.

Here’s the blurb

A family ripped apart in a country divided by war . . .

Award-winning historical romance author Alison Stuart

England 1642: Hardened mercenary, Adam Coulter returns to England sickened by violence, seeking only peace, but he finds England on the brink of civil war. He has seen first-hand what that will mean for every man, woman and child and wants no part of it.

King or Parliament? Neutrality is not an option and Adam can only be true to his conscience, not the dictates of his family.

Having escaped a loveless marriage, Perdita Gray has found much needed sanctuary and the love of a good man, but her fragile world begins to crumble as Adam Coulter bursts into her life. This stranger brings not only the reality of war to her doorstep but reignites an old family feud, threatening everything and everyone she holds dear.

As the war and family tensions collide around them, Adam and Perdita are torn between old loyalties and a growing attraction that must be resisted.

Read an excerpt…

Family tensions and political tensions ride high in And Then Mine Enemy

As the first streaks of light illuminated the cold, grey, colourless morning, the wounded came. The echo of horses’ hooves and the creak of wagon wheels, sent Perdita hurrying downstairs. As she stepped outside, her breath frosted in the cold air and she shivered, thinking of the battle that had been fought the previous day and the wounded men who lay on the hard, frosted ground.

In the forecourt a troop of horse, or what was left of a troop of horse, sat their weary mounts as their commander, a tall man on a bay horse leaned down talking to Ludovic. Even in the grey light she could see from his build that it was not Simon and she slowed her steps.

As she approached him, the man raised his head, his fingers going to the brim of his heavy, iron helmet. She stopped, her breath catching. Adam Coulter.

She wanted to run to him, satisfy herself that he wasn’t hurt but even in the circumstances, any undue haste could be construed as unseemly. Instead she raised her chin and walked purposefully across to him.

‘Adam Coulter? What brings you here?

The answer was obvious and his red-rimmed eyes narrowed. ‘I’ve wounded with me and I can take them no further.’

Perdita moved her gaze to the tired, dispirited faces behind him. Dreading what she might see she turned to the wagons, recoiling momentarily from the stench of blood and worse, and the piteous cries

Adam swung himself down from his horse, wincing as he straightened his back.

Perdita caught the grimace of pain. ‘Are you hurt?’

He shook his head. Beneath the shadow of the helm’s brim, he looked exhausted, his face unshaven and grimy. ‘Thank you for your concern, Mistress Gray, but no I’m not hurt. Just stiff. My men . . .’

‘Take the wounded into the barn.’ Perdita addressed an older man with a greying beard who seemed to carry some authority. She turned to Ludovic. ‘See that there is food and drink for the men. I’ll see to the wounded.’

She supervised the unloading of the wagons, indicating the grey stone solidity of the barn, hurrying ahead as the able-bodied men carried their injured companions into the grey stone solidity of the barn. ‘We heard the sounds of the battle. Where was it?’ Perdita threw the question to Adam, as he helped one of the more lightly injured soldiers off his horse.

‘Kineton village. A place they call Edgehill.’

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ABOUT ALISON STUART

Award winning Australian author, Alison Stuart learned her passion for history from her father. She has been writing stories since her teenage years but it was not until 2007 that her first full length novel was published. Alison has now published seven full length historical romances and a collection of her short stories. Her disposition for writing about soldier heroes may come from her varied career as a lawyer in the military and fire services. These days when she is not writing she is travelling and routinely drags her long suffering husband around battlefields and castles.

Connect with Alison at her website, Facebook, Twitter and Goodreads or subscribe to her newsletter for exclusive free reads, contests and more…

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Tuesday Book Club: Susanne Bellamy’s Winds of Change

I know what you’re thinking: “Gee, it’s right in the middle of my summer holidays and I really wish I had a good book to read.”

Well, I’m glad I can help.

Susanne Bellamy’s latest rural romance Winds of Change is just the book you need to relax for a few hours with some wonderful characters and a satisfying happily ever after.

I’m thrilled to invite her to tell us all about it. Welcome Susanne!

The lovely Susanne Bellamy writes heart-felt rural romances

What were you like at school?

A nerd of sorts. I love learning for its own sake, and school fed my curiosity about all manner of things. I guess I belong in the ‘lifelong learners’ group.

What inspired you to write?

Apparently I have always made up stories. I had an imaginary friend who came on lots of adventures with me before I reached school age, and my first overseas trip was on the ‘Fairstar’, at the ripe old age of seven. Plenty of fodder for an active imagination!

Which writers inspire you?

Liane Moriarty is my most recent discovery. Her characters and the stories she spins out of ‘everyday’ Aussie lives intrigue me. Annie Seaton has burst onto the Australian scene with her eco-adventure series, which I love for their ecological research and strong connectedness with the land. But I have several writer friends whose passion for writing inspires me to keep going during the inevitable bouts of self-doubt. They are my true inspiration.

What inspired you to write this story?

As often happens, I ‘saw’ the meeting between my protagonists and played with it to learn who they were. It started with a cyclone off the Queensland coast, the closing of the Townsville airport, and the line “Jax, returning like the proverbial bad penny.”

After that I just had to find out their history! It also turned into an ‘opposites attraction’ story – the soldier who dislikes movies because they’re not real life, and the actress who hates guns because … (I can’t give that away!)

How much research do you do?

Quite a lot. For this book, I consulted two pilots, a member of the Army, and people involved in production for the movie elements. That’s on top of lots of online research to find out what questions to ask in the first place. **A positive for someone who loves to learn anyway!

Can you give us a blurb to let us know what the story is about?

Winds of Change – a story of second chances and opposite attract.

Blurb: Winds of Change

When famous actress, Willa Raynolds, comes home to the Australian outback to film a miniseries, the last person she expects to see is her first love, Jax Heathwood. Their breakup was unpleasant and he is the last person she wants on the set.  Jax, an army major, is on injury leave and to his dismay has been seconded to provide technical advice on location for Willa’s series.

But when Willa is the subject of a stalker, Jax’s protective instincts kick in with a vengeance and he realises he’s never got over her.

Who wants to harm her? Can Jax keep her safe and convince her to take another chance on them?

Give us an insight into your main character. What does he/she do that is so special?

We learn through life’s experiences, and I enjoy giving characters a second chance. I love strong, independent females who may not know the depth of their strength until tested. Willa challenges herself, physically and mentally, by doing some of her own dangerous stunts, and the traumatic ending of her relationship with Jax has pushed her to excel in her art.

I’m drawn to protector males, not necessarily alpha types, but men who are decent and honourable and capable, and sometimes figuratively blind to what or who best suits them. Jax has pushed himself to become one of the youngest Majors in the Army, but where Willa is concerned, he has been blind.

Both Jax and Willa have matured since they dated as teenagers. While the road ahead is decidedly rocky, they are now capable of seeing themselves, and each other, clearly.

Which actor/actress would you like to see playing the lead character from Winds of Change?

Channing Tatum or Jeremy Renner as Jax, and Scarlett Johannson or Drew Barrymore as Willa.

What book/s are you reading at present?

Currently, I’m reading Devika Fernando’s The Prince’s Stubborn Bride and Annie Seaton’s Daintree. Both just happen to be book 2 in a series.

What writing project are you working on next?

I’m planning book 5 in Hearts of the Outback and contemplating whose story to tell next. I’m drawn to Brent Wilson, the journalist in books 3 and 4, and Corporal Dave Preston; I’ve not yet written a red-headed hero but I think Dave will be my first! There is also Harrison Douglas, an engineer at the Mt Isa mines who has a fleeting role in book 4. It’s difficult to choose sometimes!

Also, after the success of A Bindarra Creek Romance, a number of the series authors are working on another group project, but more on that next year.

Up, up and away! Susanne’s interest in adventure takes off

Tell us something unique about you that they wouldn’t guess from just looking at your photograph?

I’ve discovered a love of certain ‘high-flying’ action adventures this year. Hot air ballooning, zip-lining, and open-sided helicopter flights have been a real adrenaline buzz.

What is your favourite positive saying?

The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.

What is your favourite book and why?

Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird. It begins slowly, capturing the hot, lazy days of a childhood summer, and builds into a gripping tale of racial conflict and humanity against the odds.

What is your favourite quote?

Happiness does not depend on outward things, but on the way we see them. (Leo Tolstoy)

What is your favourite movie and why?

Casablanca – Rick and Ilsa’s ultimate selflessness, a ton of fabulous lines, and Bogie and Bergman, with a stellar supporting cast. Who can resist: “We’ll always have Paris.”

How can readers discover more about you and you work?

Website:http://www.susannebellamy.com
Facebook:https://www.facebook.com/Susanne-Bellamy-Author
Twitter:https://twitter.com/SusanneBellamy
Linkedin:https://www.linkedin.com/in/susanne-bellamy
Pinterest:https://au.pinterest.com/susannebellamy/
Amazon Author Page:
Book Links: (* American, UK, etc.)Buy link: http://amzn.to/2drvVGt
Goodreads:https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6869630.Susanne_Bellamy

Would you like to share an excerpt from your book?

Willa meets Jax at the airport after a ten-year separation, as Tropical Cyclone Sasha lashes Townsville:

Juggling a packet of sandwiches and a cup of strong coffee with her suitcase, she looked around. All the tables were taken. Heading towards a patch of carpet behind a column where she could lean against a wall, she drew her suitcase in to form a small barricade and slid down the wall.

She slipped a pearl-pink manicured nail under the sticky tape on the plastic sandwich container and flicked it open. Fresh, hard-boiled egg and lettuce nestled between two slices of soft, white bread cut into triangles. She tucked the sprig of parsley into her sandwich, took a big bite and shut her eyes, groaning as the buttery mix hit her tongue.

“Still like the simple things in life then.”

That voice. Deep and smooth with an underlying bite like her favourite Bundy rum and dry. Tingles of awareness thrummed down her spine and her heart stuttered at the sound.

How long had it been since she’d last heard his voice?

Since he roared off into the sunrise without me. Damn the man. So many teenage memories lay between them but she would not let him know just the sound of his voice could still affect her. She would not allow it.

She reached deep for her snarky self. Reluctantly, she opened her eyes and looked up.

Six feet four of straight-backed, broad-shouldered, buzz-cut, granite-jawed deliciousness met her gaze. “Jax. Returning like the proverbial bad penny, I see.”

Crinkles appeared at the edge of his moss-green eyes as their gazes connected. Ten years of army life had shaved his cheeks into angular planes and added an air of authority and control only hinted at before he’d chosen the army ahead of her.  When he’d been the bad biker boy and she’d pushed parental boundaries.

“Heading home on leave. Are you travelling alone?” He looked around then dropped his khaki duffle bag against the wall and joined her. As he slid down the wall, he frowned and his mouth tightened.

“Don’t feel you have to join me.” Sarcasm dripped from her lips. If he was so reluctant to pass the time with her, why had he sought out her company?

She dabbed the paper serviette over her mouth and surreptitiously ran her tongue across her teeth, hopingshe’d got rid of any parsley. Not that Jax meant anything to her now, but a woman had her pride. “So, a flying visit?”

“Home from deployment. I plan to visit Mum.”

Mum. Not Mum and Dad. She’d heard his parents had divorced, and not amicably, soon after she and Jax broke up. “How is she?”

“Loving life. She’s planning an exhibition of her new series of paintings.”

“How wonderful. Your mum is such a gifted artist. I’m glad she’s doing so well. And—your dad? Is he—?”

“He was posted to Canberra and then had a couple of stints overseas. I heard he’s in Germany now.” Jax’s tone dismissed further questions. She took the hint. His father had never been an easy topic of conversation. But then, back in their teens they’d been more interested in making out than talking. Perhaps that had been one of their failings as a couple. That, and we were too young to settle down.

“There’s been a lot of water under the bridge since those days. So, where have you been?”

“Here and there. You?”

“Mostly LA.” Time at her parents’ home was a rare treat and perhaps the reason she’d let Charlie convince her to fly in today. Combined with bone-deep fatigue she hadn’t realised existed after two full-on seasons of the top-rating crime show.

“Ah, yes, LA Lawless. Did you get time off for good behaviour?”

“Funny guy. I have family living here too. And an event in Mt. Isa Sasha is making me miss.”

“Dust and desert will make a change from your usual glitterati affairs.” There was a rough edge in the way he drew out the words, as though he still hadn’t overcome his dislike of the fakery of her chosen profession.

Stupid as it was, a slight ache in her chest suggested his opinion still mattered. But it didn’t. How could it when he’d been the one to walk away? “You think that’s all I do? That my work is unimportant?”

“It’s entertainment, not necessity.”

“Unlike your defender of the country. Yet you support your mum’s art, don’t you?”

“I cheer her on in her artistic endeavours.”

“But not mine? Forget it. There’s no point rehashing old arguments.”

He slugged back half his coffee and sat staring into the cardboard cup. “I didn’t say what you do isn’t important, Willa.”

“Let’s leave it, shall we?” Reopening old wounds was counterproductive, especially if they had to pass hours waiting out the storm. Better to behave as old friends than ex-lovers.

“Like we always did. We never really talked about it.” His green-eyed gaze narrowed and he let the statement hang like an enticement.

But Willa knew there was no going back. Clamping a lid on the past, she assumed her casual, chatty interview persona.

“It’s not like we’ll see one another after the cyclone has blown itself out. Why not just remember the good times? We had plenty of them.”

He shrugged. A muscle worked in his jaw and he stared out the window.

Willa looked past his stern profile. The sky had grown darker as they sat in their corner and wind lashed the trees until she thought they would be uprooted before the full force of the storm hit.

“What’s wrong, Jax?”

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Tuesday Book Club: Darry Fraser’s Daughter of the Murray

I’m always delighted when a terrific author friend has a new release. Darry Fraser and I became friends through the Romance Writers of Australia (and Facebook, of course!) and yesterday marks the publication day of her first major publisher release, Daughter of the Murray.

Set in the 1890s, this story has charm and adventure as well as a feisty heroine who is looking toward a new era where women are fully enfranchised. If you love All The Rivers Run by Nancy Cato, you’re sure to enjoy Darry Fraser’s story.

What were you like at school?

I was interested, but often was the new kid so I always had a bit of trouble finding a gang and fitting in. I loved History and English and excelled in both, but the sciences and anything to do with numbers completely bamboozled me.

What inspired you to write?

I honestly don’t know. There’s never been a time in my life when I haven’t told stories, and written them down when I learned how. I’ve been told that I would tear the pages of a book to find where the characters were hiding …

Which writers inspire you?

Those who have a very smooth style. And there are many across all genres. I’m not much of a classics fan, but I love those tales once they’re movies. My fave authors would be Harlen Coben, Lisa Gardner, lots of our own Aussie authors, and I’ve just recently very much enjoyed one of Bronwyn Parry’s. Anne Romer is another who springs to mind.

The delightful Darry Fraser author of the wonderful Australian historical romance, the Daughter of the Murray.

What inspired you to write Daughter of the Murray?

The River Murray itself, and of course the role women played in late 19th century Australia. As a much younger person (I was 25 or so when I wrote the first draft), I was fascinated with women’s journey to equality and the 1890s in Victoria seemed a good place as any to start to learn.

How much research do you do?

I have probably done quite a bit, but now there is so much information that we already have at our fingertips that delving too deep wasn’t an issue. Things like when the droughts occurred, water levels etc – they took a bit of sorting out. Over the years I guess it amounts to a fair bit of research. Thank heavens for the internet.

Can you give us a blurb to let us know what the story is about?

1890s, River Murray, Northern Victoria

On the mighty Murray, trade and livelihoods could be won or lost on a game of cards.

Young, enterprising and eager to fulfil her passions, Georgina Calthorpe yearns for independence from her foster family, the MacHenrys on Jacaranda. She’s wary of Dane MacHenry, the eldest son, summoned home by his scheming, drunken father, Tom.

Dane finds Jacaranda, his inheritance, in grave decline and he blames Georgina and her step-father in England. Georgina flees on Dane’s prized stallion after the family reveals it can no longer support her. When Dane learns she’s stolen the horse, tempers boil over and he gives chase.

But Georgina eludes him and has rushed to find her enigmatic riverboat tycoon, Conor Foley, a businessman with a dark secret. Conor has promised her a better life – marriage with status in the emerging nouveau-riche of Melbourne.

No one could imagine the toll the changing political and social landscape would have on home, heart and family. Does her decision to marry hold grave danger and lifelong unhappiness, or can she survive without needing another to fulfil her destiny?

Give us an insight into your main character. What does she do that is so special?

Georgina has to learn the difference between survival and independence in her time. It’s not as if she’s a 21st century woman in period costume – there were great restraints on women in the day and even someone pointing the proverbial finger at you could land you in jail, and destitute if you didn’t have a man or family to support you.

Which actor/actress would you like to see playing the lead character from Daughter of the Murray?

I’ll have to go look some up! Maybe pick from the Logie nominees. I don’t know any upcoming Aussie youngsters and I’d rather them than some celebrity American.…

What book/s are you reading at present?

I’ve got a list of TBRs so I’ll have to pint a stick at one of them and go for it. I’ve just finished house a Jennie Jones, so I might take up a DB Tait to shift focus a bit. Then again, head around to the latest Annie Seaton or a Susanne Bellamy. Or dare I say – an Elizabeth Ellen Carter (you’re too kind! – EEC). I enjoy Kathryn Ledson and Kathryn Fox, too. So many to choose from!

What writing project are you working on next?

I recently counted that I’ve written 11 full manuscripts, 9 of which have been published, but none of them currently available. So I’m re-releasing three at the moment while waiting for Daughter of the Murray to be released. Others will follow. I have the second in the historical series finished and waiting in the wings with a publisher; a rural romance receiving an extra 30k word story arc, and 5 unfinished projects. I’ll never be out of work! I might not be earning anything but I’ll always be busy.

Tell us something unique about you that they wouldn’t guess from just looking at your photograph?

That I’m not photogenic! (Rubbish! You’re gorgeous! – EEC)

What is your favourite positive saying?

Magic is in every day..

What is your favourite book and why?

Mists of Avalon. Because the whole Arthurian saga is an intriguing story, and because Marion Bradley captures the mystery and romance of Earth as mother

What is your favourite quote?

‘Whatever you can do, or dream you can do, begin it. Boldness has genius, power, and magic in it. Begin it now.’ Goethe. It is my mantra.

What is your favourite movie and why?

Gone With The Wind springs to mind almost always. (The book is a close second to Mists of Avalon.) Sweeping tale of love, war, degradation, humanity in all its wonder and misery.

How can readers discover more about you and you work?

• Website:www.darryfraser.com

Facebook:https://www.facebook.com/darryfraser0...

• Twitter: @darryfraser

• Booktopia: http://bit.ly/2foNIOq

iBooks: http://apple.co/2eGRYaE

Amazon.com.au: http://amzn.to/2eOzwjR

Amazon.com Kindle: http://amzn.to/2fVRJOV

Google Play: http://bit.ly/2fVVgg1

Kobo: http://bit.ly/2fi37CF

Thank you so much for having me, Elizabeth. (It’s always a pleasure! EEC)

Experience A Little Magic This Christmas

Amateur detective, aspiring lawyer, reluctant fiancee… Caro Addison is going to need to pull a magic trick of her own to rescue this Christmas!

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Merry Christmas to You from Elizabeth Ellen Carter

I would like to take the opportunity to wish you and your family a very Merry Christmas.

To thank you for all of your support and encouragement this year, I have a gift for you – an advent calendar with something different each day from me.

Just click on the box on the appropriate day in December, but no trying to peek beforehand – Santa knows when you’re being naughty or nice.

Elizabeth

Experience A Little Magic This Christmas

Amateur detective, aspiring lawyer, reluctant fiancee… Caro Addison is going to need to pull a magic trick of her own to rescue this Christmas!

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Carols by Candlelight

Smiles, candles, community – the Australian tradition of Carols by Candlelight

Being an Australian, Christmas means summer time and with it come the uniquely southern hemisphere traditions.

One of my favourites is Carols by Candlelight. Every community organisation, church and council arranges these events which take place in local parks in the evenings, just as the sun goes down on a sizzling hot day, and the night time breeze rises just a little.

Friends and strangers gather together and start with that most ubiquitous of Australian cuisine – the barbecued snag, served with or without onions, on a sliced of buttered bread. For the price of a couple of dollars all donated to charity, it’s a single-handed snack that satisfies body and soul.

Being closer to the equator than other parts of the country, Queensland doesn’t get twilight, here the sun makes her downward trajectory fast, and the thirty minutes of grey is subsumed by an inky black sky sprinkled with stars.

Glowsticks, torches and candles make their appearance too. Armed with basic stage lighting and a mobile amp, the carolers, often from local churches, lead the singing and everyone joins in those familiar songs – Away In A Manger, Hark The Herald Angels Sing, Silent Night…

And we sing them together in a spirit of community, gathering close, united by tradition and celebration.

I hadn’t realised that the Carols by Candlelight started in the spirit of charity and giving:

The inspiration for Vision Australia’s Carols by Candlelight® presented by Myer was born one Christmas Eve in 1937, as radio veteran, the late Norman Banks MBE, strolled along historic St Kilda Road in Melbourne after a late night radio shift.

As he walked, he noticed an elderly woman sitting up in bed by her window, her face lit only by a candle. She had a radio beside her and was singing along to the Christmas carol, Away in a Manger. It was at this moment that Banks was inspired to create the first gathering of people to sing carols by candlelight…

…And so, in 1938, 10,000 people gathered at midnight in the Alexandra Gardens to sing carols with a 30 strong choir, two soloists and the Metropolitan Fire Brigade Band. The unusual candlelight setting, and the beauty of the carols, instantly won the affection of the large assembly. A new Christmas tradition was born.

Missing out on what seemed to be a ‘proper’ Christmas – sleet, snow, sleigh bells – didn’t seem to matter so much when one remembered the true meaning of Christmas.

Sometimes we’d share another modern tradition with our British and American cousins – the special Christmas episode of our favourite TV shows. They were charming, festive and fun and seemed to have a magical quality that embody the season. Last year I blogged on some of my favourite Christmas episode here.

Coming November 2016

And it was in that tradition that I wrote The Thief of Hearts – a little Agatha Christie, a little Girls’ Own Adventures and a little romance thrown in too. Even the heroine’s name, Caroline (shortened to Caro), hints at Christmas.

It’s release day for The Thief of Hearts. I hope you enjoy reading it and may Christmas bringing you joy, peace, love and feeling of belonging to something transcendent.

Below the excerpt is the book trailer for The Thief of Hearts.

Excerpt

“But now I’m home again, at my father’s behest, and he’s telling me once again I need to settle down, join my brother in business. So I shall. This will be the last season for The Dark Duke.”

“Doesn’t that make you sad?”

“Not really. In fact, I’m rather looking forward to it. I learned a lot as an engineer in the Army, so much that can be applied here at home – especially mechanical engineering. I think there’s a time when one must ‘put away childish things’, don’t you agree?”

She smiled at him but said nothing and turned to look out of the window. She thought of her law studies and her mother’s opposing desire to see her daughter wed and with a family of her own. Perhaps it was time she grew up also, and take up her responsibilities. Perhaps it was selfish to hold onto her dream of becoming a lawyer.

She sighed inwardly.

Perhaps, despite her misgivings, she should accept Bertie’s offer of marriage. After all, who knew her better than he did? At least he would let her finish her studies and not demand she break them off immediately.

She was unaware she was lost in her own thoughts until she sensed Tobias watching her closely. She turned to face him and felt a heated blush burn her cheeks. There was something in his expression which fascinated her and, for a moment, she felt a deep longing. What would it be like to kiss him?

“Now there’s a trick – disappearing so far into your own thoughts you were no longer here,” he said, his voice barely audible over the steady clip-clop of the horse and the sound of the traffic around them. “A penny for them?”

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$1000 Romance & Erotica Giveaway!

Welcome to the Romance and Erotica Reader Appreciation Giveaway!

We’re so glad you stopped by! A lot of great authors are giving away a HUGE Amazon Gift Card to one lucky Romance and/or Erotica reading fan! (Yes, we check, and only true romance book worms qualify to win! But there WILL be a winner, which will be publicly announced in the Facebook Party HERE on December 2nd!

VIEW BOOKS FROM THE SPONSORS HERE!

—

Here are a couple of sneak peeks from the EPIC Romance and Erotica Group with Rebecca Hamilton!

How To Catch Crabs by Demelza Carlton

I smelled smoke faintly on the wind and knew Mum wasn’t the only one brewing up a morning cup of tea.

When my basket was empty, I slipped under the lines of washing until I reached the outermost rank. A quick touch told me that these were far from dry, so I returned to the lean-to laundry to finish up the last load of boys’ clothes. I’d already scrubbed these once, but they were so dirty, I’d given up and decided to soak them for longer.

I wound them around the copper stick – actually an old cricket bat of Dominic’s – and dumped the mess into the rinse water, praying that I wouldn’t have to scrub them again. It wouldn’t kill the boys to wear grey shirts to school, especially after they’d turned them that colour.

I shoved my arms into the tub of water, weaving my hands between the shirts and shorts in an effort to untangle them. The smell of smoke intensified as I touched the bottom of the stone tub. No, this wasn’t the clean, sharp smell of burning jarrah from a neighbour’s chimney. This was the fug of tobacco that shouldn’t be anywhere near my laundry.

“Nick, if you’re smoking again, I’ll tell Mum!” I hissed, glancing over my shoulder.

The masculine silhouette in the doorway was too muscular to be my fifteen-year-old brother. As if to demonstrate this, he removed the cigarette from his lips and blew a stream of smoke at the ceiling. “Who is this Nick, streghetta? Your brother, I hope.”

Giorgio’s deep voice stopped my heart for a moment, before it stuttered back to beating. How could one man have such an effect on me? I only hoped he didn’t notice.

“None of your business,” I snapped. “What are you doing, trespassing here?”

He laughed softly. “I am driving my sister-in-law to see her friend. My brother didn’t trust me to mind his shop, so he gave me his wife and truck instead. So, this friend. Is she your friend, too? Or your sister, perhaps?”

“My mother. And my father is pruning the grapevines, but he’ll be back for lunch any moment, so you should get out of here and leave me to my work.” I deliberately turned my back on him, concentrating only on the task at hand. I willed him to leave.

“But you have bewitched me, streghetta. I’ve thought of nothing and no one else since I met you in the market last week.” I heard the crunch of footsteps on the hard-packed clay as he entered the lean-to.

He’s right behind me, but I won’t give him the satisfaction of paying him undeserved attention, I vowed, lifting a shirt from the suds so I could scrutinise it for stains.

Something warm touched my neck and I dropped the shirt with a splash. Whirling around, I glared at Giorgio. “How dare you touch me without my permission!”

“This new fashion of short hair drew my eyes to your neck, as I’m sure you intended, and I could not resist you, streghetta.” He touched two fingers to his lips. “Your neck tastes of soap and salt, the products of your hard labour. Do your lips taste sweeter?”

I drew in a sharp breath to shout at him again, but he seized my shoulders and kissed me. His lips were warm as he took me by surprise, taking advantage of my open mouth to mingle his breath with mine, before his tongue darted in to dance. It was a kiss that spoke of passion, longing and a desire for more as his body pressed mine against the sink. He tasted of ash and smoke, coupled with the warmth of a fire that could melt even the iciest heart. Even mine, I realised, as my knees weakened. I groped for the sink behind me to stay on my feet and my fingers closed on the copper stick.

All those years of backyard cricket with my brothers was worth it, I decided, as I brought up the bat to hit the rogue for six. Cold, soapy water doused us both, but I didn’t care because I heard and felt the satisfying thunk as the bat made contact with his head.

Immediately, he released me and backed up, touching a hand to his head to see if he was bleeding. Sadly, I hadn’t hit him hard enough for that. My arms were too tired from a morning’s worth of washing.

I brandished the bat. “Don’t do that again.”

He laughed and I almost hit him again. “Only if you promise not to bewitch me any more. Tell me your name.”

“You’ve never had the good manners to introduce yourself, so why should I?” I retorted. I could still feel the heat of his mouth on mine. Heavens – I almost wanted to feel it again.

—

Courted by Jennifer Chance

When the man looked up and shouted something she didn’t understand, yet another wave of mortification crashed through Emmaline. Oh God, we’ve drawn a crowd. Why hadn’t she realized there were people around them? Of course there would be people. It was a public beach. With people on it.

“I’m so sorry, I’m fine,” she managed, though she could barely understand her own words, she was shaking so much. “If you’d let me get up—I just need to walk around. I’m sorry.”

“Do not apologize. You have done nothing wrong.” The man’s words were harsh with the crack of command, but Em was beyond responding to any more orders. “I’m calling for my men. You’re frozen.” And with another curse, he pulled her into his lap, surrounding her with his heat.

His men? Was he in charge of that little group of navy guys?

“Why are you so cold?” he continued, and though her brain seemed to be on the verge of shutting down, Em knew he thought she was going into shock. “It is a warm and sunny day. We have only sunny days here in Garronia, didn’t you know that? It is a kingdom of sunshine and joy.”

He was talking to her like she was a child, and Em closed her eyes in humiliation. Seriously, this was not happening.

“I just—I get the shakes sometimes. It’s okay, I—get cold, it’s—” Now did not seem to be the best time to talk about poor blood circulation, but Em couldn’t help her rat-a-tatting teeth as the man’s rough arms encircled her, his thick biceps and corded forearms covering her chest and waist. He dropped a soft kiss on the crown of her head, as natural as if they’d been dating for years, and murmured something else to her.

Wait, what? Had he seriously just kissed her?

Warmth snaked through her now, all right, but that was mostly because a man was actually holding her. She hadn’t had that happen in so long that she’d practically forgotten what it felt like to have someone pressing against her, skin to skin, chest to back, lips to ear, surrounding her so completely that she had neither time nor breath to think about anything else, anyone else, anywhere else…

Whoa, there, girl. Dial it down a notch.

Only now the man who was making such insane, impossible images dance through her head murmured something else, his voice rich with Mediterranean sun and spices and, God, his arms around her felt amazing.

Settle down! She implored her newly reawakened libido, which was beginning to thrum with anticipation at a real, live man holding her real, live body in his real, live arms…

Her newly reawakened libido was apparently not to be deterred.

“The water is treacherous,” Sexy Navy Adonis was saying. “I tried to warn you, but I did not do a good job. For that, I am sorry. Perhaps I can help by doing…this.”

 

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Tuesday Book Club: Eva Scott

Chesterfield couch, in royal purple – just perfect for our distinguished guest on tonight’s show.

I have made some wonderful friends on my writing journey — incredible women who are so gifted with words and telling amazing stories that stay with you long after the last page has been turned. Today I welcome one of my very good author friends, Eva Scott, author of Red Dust Dancer.

What were you like at school?

Total arts nerd. I took dance, theatre, art classes. I did the whole alternative 80s look. I think I may have traumatised my head mistress.

What inspired you to write?

I have always written stories – even before I could write properly you could find me pretend writing long-winded yarns only I could fathom.

The lovely and talented Eva Scott

Which writers inspire you?

Isabel Allende set me on fire in the 90s with The House of the Spirits. Kauai Hart Hemmings is a great favourite at the moment. Donna Tartt, Neil Gaiman…and I’ve been a devoted Mary Wesley fan for as long as I can remember.

What inspired you to write this story?

I have a horse doctor friend who told me about a client of hers who had been a Moulin Rouge girl before coming home to Australia and marrying a farmer. I liked the idea that you could reinvent yourself into a whole other version.

How much research do you do?

Loads. My cousin owns 2 cattle stations so that took care of the farm aspect of things (although Tamsin’s farm is miniscule by comparison). The Moulin Rouge dancer research was incredibly fun. I collected as many stories as I could about what life is like backstage at one of the most famous cabarets in the world. It’s actually quite a hard slog and takes its toll physically. Nowhere near as glamourous as you might think.

Can you give us a blurb to let us know what the story is about?

Everyone deserves a second chance—and another dance. Tamsin Cooper’s career as a Parisian showgirl is coming to an end. Nearly thirty, with no boyfriend and no prospects of a family of her own, she decides to take up her inheritance—her Uncle Ted’s cattle farm in Queensland.

Farm life seems to be suiting her until Tamsin discovers that Uncle Ted had a secret—and her sexy neighbour Angus Walker helped him keep it.

Faced with losing her farm and her heart, Tamsin returns to what she knows best, dancing, and starts teaching the residents of Elliott’s Crossing how to get in touch with their inner showgirl.

She may have the dance moves, but can she shimmy past a forty-year-old lie and a betrayal of lost love to find her place—and rediscover love—in this country town?

Give us an insight into your main character. What does she do that is so special?

Tamsin Cooper has been a professional dancer all her adult life so she’s disciplined and not afraid of hard work. She’s also eternally optimistic so when she’s presented with a timely opportunity to change careers it doesn’t faze her for a minute. As a twenty-first century woman she figures she can Google anything she needs to know. She’s not running a dairy farm; she’s raising beef cattle. How hard can it be?

Which actor/actress would you like to see playing the lead character from your most recent book?

I could imagine Cameron Diaz being a perfect Tamsin.

What book/s are you reading at present?

I Am Radar by Reif Larson. This one was an airport pickup. Totally original storyline that’s got me gripped.

The Buddha of Suburbia by Hanif Kureishi. Revisiting an old favourite after catching Naveen Andrews in something recently. He played Karim in the TV series all those years ago. Inspired me to go back and read the book again.

Aim True by Kathryn Budig. I’m a yoga-holic and this is the perfect book for a girl like me.

What writing project are you working on next?

Just finishing up Red Dust Runaway – a romance about two runaways from very different worlds who hook up for an Outback cross-country road trip.

Tell us something unique about you that they wouldn’t guess from just looking at your photograph?

Um…

What is your favourite positive saying?

More ways than one to skin a cat (not very positive if you’re a cat)

What is your favourite book and why?

I don’t believe I have a singular all-time favourite although I do have a small collection of books that have criss-crossed the globe with me. These are books I reread from time to time, authors who feel like old friends.

What is your favourite quote?

French saying: You can’t dance faster than the music.

Italian saying: Family are like fresh fish, good for three days.

What is your favourite movie and why?

Again I don’t have a specific favourite but there are some films I can watch again and again and they never get old – Some like it Hot, Toy Story, Bella Vita (a doco I’ve got on continuous repeat), Star Wars, Love Actually, RocknRolla….I could go on and on. Basically anything with a good story construction, strong characters and leaves me feeling something at the end.

How can readers discover more about you and you work?

•    Website: http://www.evascottwriter.com/

•    Facebook: http://bit.ly/2cGmSmw

•    Twitter: http://bit.ly/2cbHQdq

•    Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/Eva-Scott/e/B00AGLKWZ6

Eva Scott’s second outback romance, Red Dust Dancer. Her first, Red Dust Dreaming is a fabulous read

Would you like to share an excerpt from your book?

“I’m going to have to watch my waistline here.” Going overboard was out of the question, not only because she no longer danced two shows a day but also because her budget wouldn’t carry the extra load.

“I’m sure we can find a volunteer to watch it for you.” He said this while seemingly busy reading the list of daily specials that had been left on the table.

Words jammed on her tongue so she took another sip of coffee to clear the crush. Who did he mean exactly? She hoped it was himself and not Creepy Clem he had in mind. A warmth stole through her limbs, which had nothing to do with the hot brew.

“Did you say something about stock books?” She chose to ignore both him and her traitorous body.

“Ted kept logs of all his stock. You’ll need to do the same if you’re serious about staying on. The farm will need to turn a profit. Potential buyers will be interested in genetics. They’ll want to know about marbling, feed efficiency and tenderness.” He put the menu down and looked at her with such seriousness anyone would be forgiven for thinking he was delivering bad news.

“Why wouldn’t it turn a profit?” She shrugged, ignoring the ‘tenderness’ comment, and confident that if Ted could keep things afloat in his doddering old age then she could too.

“Ted struggled towards the end. You might find the situation isn’t as healthy as you might think.” Again with the grave face. “As I mentioned yesterday, he sold off the back paddocks and all he had left was the house and the few paddocks close by. He agisted some cattle on my land which you can continue to do if you like.”

“I’m sure it will all work out.” She batted his concern away like she would a fly.

He let the silence fill between them. “If you say so,” he finally said. Why did she think he wasn’t buying what she was selling?

“Look here, hot shot.” Nothing made her blood boil faster than people telling her she couldn’t do something. “I’m more than capable of running this farm.

Sure there is a lot to learn but I’m smart and a quick study. Any problems I find I’ll solve.” She’d picked the fork up off the table and had started jabbing the air to punctuate her point.

“Whoa there, Sparkles.” He held both hands up in surrender. “Put down the fork and keep your hands where I can see ‘em.” Embarrassed, she did as she was told.

Angus leaned in, so close she could smell the scent that was all his – leather, man-musk and something primitive which set her loins on fire. “I wasn’t trying to discourage you. I just think you might have bitten off more than you can chew…”

She opened her mouth to fire back a retort when he covered her hand with his effectively shutting her up.

“…more than anyone could chew. Okay?” Those blue eyes held hers, as if daring her to doubt his sincerity.

Buy Links

Escape Publishing – http://bit.ly/2cowkra

Amazon – http://amzn.to/2cmq5Je

Booktopia – http://bit.ly/2bXllET

ITunes – https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/red-dust-dancer/id1137846971?mt=11

Author Bio

Eva Scott is a best-selling rural romance writer and with a secret yearning to join the circus. Until then, she lives on a windy peninsula in South East Queensland with her son and husband. Coffee addict, would-be renovator, story-teller and movie junkie, Eva loves nothing more than throwing a good dinner party or just a party in general.

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Appropriate Appropriation

There’s an old joke that used to do the rounds in Soviet Russia:

Question: What’s meant by an exchange of opinions in the Communist Party?

Answer: It’s when you arrive at the meeting with your own opinion and then leave with the Party’s.

This week has been somewhat like that following an incident at the Brisbane Writers Festival – a shot heard around the world, so to speak.

Award-winning American author Lionel Shriver was a guest at the Brisbane Writers Festival, which was held just up the road from me.

Her speech lamented political correctness and lambasted the concept of cultural appropriation:

I worry that the clamorous world of identity politics is also undermining the very causes its activists claim to back. As a fiction writer, yeah, I do sometimes deem my narrator an Armenian. But that’s only by way of a start. Merely being Armenian is not to have a character as I understand the word.

I worry that the clamorous world of identity politics is also undermining the very causes its activists claim to back. As a fiction writer, yeah, I do sometimes deem my narrator an Armenian. But that’s only by way of a start. Merely being Armenian is not to have a character as I understand the word.

I made this same point in relation to gender in Melbourne last week: both as writers and as people, we should be seeking to push beyond the constraining categories into which we have been arbitrarily dropped by birth. If we embrace narrow group-based identities too fiercely, we cling to the very cages in which others would seek to trap us. We pigeonhole ourselves. We limit our own notion of who we are, and in presenting ourselves as one of a membership, a representative of our type, an ambassador of an amalgam, we ask not to be seen.

This was deemed very problematic and offensive by a young woman called Yassmin Abdel-Magied Queensland entrant in the Australian Youth of the Year in 2015.

It’s not always OK if a white guy writes the story of a Nigerian woman because the actual Nigerian woman can’t get published or reviewed to begin with. It’s not always OK if a straight white woman writes the story of a queer Indigenous man, because when was the last time you heard a queer Indigenous man tell his own story? How is it that said straight white woman will profit from an experience that is not hers, and those with the actual experience never be provided the opportunity? It’s not always OK for a person with the privilege of education and wealth to write the story of a young Indigenous man, filtering the experience of the latter through their own skewed and biased lens, telling a story that likely reinforces an existing narrative which only serves to entrench a disadvantage they need never experience…

Ms Abdel-Magied’s op-ed goes even further into the perceived perils of cultural appropriation (considering her background and privilege, her piece is somewhat tone-deaf) but I just want to leave it here to unpack a few issues that have reverberated in the Australian writing community nearly two weeks after the event.

These issues are:

·         Writers of fiction should not write characters whose experience is not gendered, racially or culturally their own

·         Or if they do, they should ask permission of someone of that gender, race and culture before they do so

·         If an author explores an experience which is not their own personal experience, then it prevents an actual person with that experience from telling their story

Let’s address this point by point and I need to start by making the observation that the majority of those either protesting or commenting on Shriver’s speech (and this includes Ms Abdel-Magied, herself) are not themselves novelists.

They know nothing about the novel writing process and how unique it is from biographies, true crime or histories.

They do not understand what is required to create fiction.

An author lives in the head of every single character they write – the protagonists, antagonists and supporting characters. We provide them with a back story (which may or may not be used), with motivation, with personality and a view of the world consistent with that back story.

And we research. Boy do we research. Authors have insatiable curiosity about the world. We want to understand human nature in all of its beautiful mess. We want understand why people make good choices and bad and explore the consequences of those choices. We want to explore the resilience of the human spirit to triumph over adversity.

“Writers of fiction should not write characters whose experience is not gendered, racially or culturally their own”

This needs further unpacking. What we see in Ms Abdel-Magied’s piece is racism – the white man who may choose to have a Nigerian woman as his protagonist, the white woman who has a gay Indigenous man as her protagonist.

Would there be such objection if a female Nigerian author wrote about a white male? Or a “queer” Indigenous man features a straight white woman in his novel?

If authors were limited to writing solely of their own experience, it wouldn’t be fiction. It would be autobiographical and it would be boring (at least mine would be).

It is also to suggest that one cannot walk in the shoes of another and see the world from a different perspective – even if it is the perspective of (since I am female) a man of the same race and cultural background as me.

To make this work in a practical sense, all works of fiction would be narrow-lensed, unempathetic and self-centred.

“(Authors should) should ask permission of someone of that gender, race and culture before they do so”

Ask permission of whom exactly? I looked in the phone book and there is no listing for a 1300-Cultural Diversity Permit Application hotline.

And this particularly: permission ­– something which may be granted and refused.

Think on that for a moment and I hope the chills went down your spine as it did mine. Imagine that being applied to other forms of art.

Dame Kiri te Kanawa forced to ask permission to sing opera, lest she culturally appropriate the Italian or Germans.

Albert Namatjira forced to ask permission to use watercolours and paint in the Impressionist fashion, lest he culturally appropriate the French.

Janet Collins, the famous African-American ballerina forced to ask permission to be a prima ballerina, lest she culturally appropriate the Italians.

All authors of fiction owe “The Other” (to use social justice parlance) is to do research and to do it well. Walking a mile in the other person’s shoes may take the form of interviews, reading biographies or other forms of independent research.

But in the end the story and the characters are ours. For good or ill, we own it. We own them. We are their creators.

Whether or not we did a good job of bringing that universe to life is judged by our readers.

“If an author explores an experience which is not their own personal experience, then it prevents an actual person with that experience from telling their story.”

I find this to be a most remarkable assertion. It doesn’t hold up the briefest amount of scrutiny.

Again, this requires unpacking.

Fiction, it may surprise you, is entirely made up (although it may borrow real people and events).

Gifted authors do such a great job of their world of make-believe that for the length of time the reader is in the novel (and for a good period afterwards), those characters and those situations seem as real as the trees outside and the sky up above.

This claim also suggests that there are only a limited number of stories in the world and when one is told, it is gone forever and a person who may have benefited emotionally and materially from telling it is denied the chance to profit from it.

There is a real truth hidden in the conflated half truth here.

Yes, there are a limited number of stories if you only look at the world as one big trope.

Romance? Boy meets girl, go through some issues, they fall in love and live happily ever after

Thriller/Drama? There’s a good guy and a bad guy. The good guy has to stop the bad guy but it’s hard. The good guy eventually wins.

Crime? There’s a crime. No one knows who did it. The detective investigates and identifies the suspect and gathers evidence. He catches the criminal.

Comedy? People get themselves into ridiculous situations and deal with it in a way which exposes the foibles of human nature.

There you go. You don’t have to read another book again.

You’re welcome.

It is as ludicrous as saying that there can be no more music because every combination of eight notes has already been fully explored.

There are more stories than there are stars and planets in the universe. There is no limit because the only limit is the human imagination.

There is the argument that people from minority backgrounds cannot get published.

Again, it is an unsupported argument which is easily refuted.

The Romance Writers of West Africa is going strong with lots of their members published, the majority of people in publishing are white female, people from minority background are , and the LGBTQIAA community is actively courted by publishers.

Are some minority groups underrepresented in fiction? Quite possibly. But to argue that there is a white, male patriarchal gatekeeper holding back a horde of worthy writers is laughable on its face.

If there is a “privilege” denominator, it is one that just about everyone in the whole world shares. Anyone with the time and inclination can write a novel and with access to the internet can submit it for consideration or self-publish.

Anyone with a story to tell can tell it.

And that is how it should be.

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