Cate Parke's Blog, page 2

Some Thoughts on Critique Partners

Author Cathy MacRae and Author Cate Parke This picture of Cathy and me was taken by Cathy's darling mother, Rayleen, this past Sunday afternoon, November 19th. We actually got to meet each other for the very first time, after years of having been critique partners and having talked to one another over the phone for marathon calls about a myriad of topics that have little to do with writing. Isn't Cathy pretty? She's an excellent writer, too. So much so that she never, ever leaves off quotation marks before and after pieces of dialogue that she's writing. We can't say that about me . . . unfortunately. (Heaving a massive sigh here.) (Even more unfortunately, Cathy is heaving an even bigger one. So is Dawn.)

​Cathy writes Historical Scottish Romance fiction that keeps you on the edge of your seat. Just when you're getting comfortable with the story, and starting to draw a deep breath, WHAM! She slugs you in the face with torture of some terrible sort to one or another of her main characters. And then she leaves you hanging . . . at least until you begin the next chapter. That she hasn't sent you yet. CRIPE! Author Dawn Marie Hamilton This picture was taken of Dawn by her very talented husband not long after she became a finalist for the Golden Heart Award, a prestigious award given to a writer of a  never before published manuscript. It's a very special privilege to even be selected as a finalist! I love this picture of her.

​Dawn writes a sort of time travel with a lot of the most fascinating faeries, brownies and other Scottish wee folk you ever conceived of in your life. Part of most all her stories take place just across the mountain from me, in a charming fictional town called Anderson Creek, North Carolina. You have to step through the "garden gate" in order to reach the . . . other place. You can't even get to the third place unless you're Fae.

I won't say a thing about the book she's currently writing, except to say that I can't wait to see more of it. But Dawn has the same proclivity as Cathy in terms of leaving you hanging.  Being a critique partner is tough sometimes. Multiple sighs here The three of us comprise three-quarters of the Celtic Writers Group. The fourth member is writing a doctoral thesis--or at least will be doing so soon. None of the rest of us can wait until the bloody, benighted (actually, it is neither bloody nor benighted . . . but the alliteration sounds good) thing is finished. We depend upon that member's knowledge of battles and weaponry.  I mean, really!

​Okay, okay . . . my purpose wasn't intended as a gripe toward inconvenient furtherance of one's professional pursuits. I wanted to talk about critique partners. I've been a member of several critique groups over the years, and ours is, far and away, the most comfortable. Over the years we've become good friends. I can truly say that they've been lifesavers, too.

​In late July, 2016 I had just completed my fourth novel and was about to submit it for beta reads and editing when a catastrophe struck. I managed to infect my computer with malware. If any of you have ever experienced something of that nature, you know that your entire machine is taken over by an entity that you can't control. You have precisely two choices at that point. Actually, you have three choices, but the third one involves applying sledge hammers to computers, which really doesn't help very much. So your remaining two choices involve either following the link provided you on your computer screen to wherever these creatures live and paying them whatever ransom they demand in order to free your computer and every single one of your documents up again, or you completely scrub your computer to get rid of the malware. The mind simply boggles when you begin to consider how you would even pay these individuals whatever they demand. Would you send them a bank draft? Online??? Or how about paying them with your credit card? Yeah, right. Like that's ever going to happen. Quick tip . . . if your computer screen ever lights up with red symbols asking if you are really sure you want to open a document, dump it from your computer as quickly as you can. It isn't just junk mail. Believe me. You do NOT want to find out what's inside.  I digress. So my choice was to have my husband scrub my computer clean. (My mind goes blank if asked how you go about doing such a thing. Sledge hammers come to mind.) By evening, he was able to begin rebuilding my computer. BUT . . . it was minus all my documents. Every last one of them. Including all my pictures. Can you believe it? Sorry--I know you can, but I couldn't.

​Happily, my previous publisher had copies of all the books I had published with her company as well as all the art work for my covers and all of the documents releasing my book rights back to me. Other documents were fairly easy to re-create, but I had lost all my fourth novel.

That's where my critique partners come in. They sent me all the chapters they had worked on. So I put them side-by-side and used one of them to edit everything into one corrected chapter. Then I put it side-by-side with my blank manuscript and rewrote the entire novel. Afterward, I re-submitted each chapter to my long-suffering friends and, eventually, the book was finished. Alex Campbell has now achieved a life of its own.  All I can say is, ETERNAL THANKS, Cathy and Dawn! I have the best critique partners on the planet!

​(By the way, if you're looking for this book, here's the link: https://www.amazon.com/Alex-Campbell-Dreams-Oakhurst-Book-ebook/dp/B077H69DD1/​)

Travels in Time

The Turquoise Path, by Yonca Evren, from Flickr
As an historical fiction author, I often fanaticize about travels through time. Where would I go? Who would I most want to meet? How would I change history, if I possibly could? Believe me...I've given the matter some thought.

​Ray Bradbury once wrote a short story called "A Sound of Thunder." (So, who doesn't like Ray Bradbury, right???) Imagine, if you will, a scenario in which you could travel to any year in the past. Ray Bradbury wrote of a safari company that would take visitors to any year in the past. The visitor can shoot any animal, even prehistoric ones, hear the unique sounds of long-dead voices, smell their peculiar odors, feel the individual textures of the hides of living creatures.

​With Ray Bradbury, there's always a catch, right? Here it is: The visitor must never veer from a specially designed modern pathway or risk changing the future.

​Would I consider changing the future, if I could? But could I change the future if I would? What would be the consequences of such a rash act? Who wouldn't be born? Or who might I harm without any knowledge of the fact? One of my favorite authors wrote a long series of historical novels with just such a premise. If you're a fan of the Outlander series you know the name of the author, Diana Gabaldon. Her heroine traveled into the morass of mid-18th century Scotland. Her heroine encountered consequence after consequence from her endeavor to alter the past. Country Road, Take Me Home, Donna Goode My current plan is to ensure that King Edward III of England had a healthy living son who produced many heirs and eventually  inherited the throne. (Edward II was a pretty bad king, over all--but, of course, so was Richard II, Edward II's great-grandson. In fact, of all the Plantagenet kings, I might consider calling these two the worst.  But of course, there was also King John....) But think of it...no War of the Roses...no Tudor kings...or Stuarts...or Hanoverians. Would Cromwell have entered history had Edward III's healthy, legitimate son ever been born? (See what knowing something about history does for your outlook?)

​I digress. Okay, so where...and when...would you go if you could visit the past? Would you step off Bradbury's modern Path of Time?

Thanksgiving

Welcome to Oak Knoll! This is the edge of the woods where I live. The woods are awash with vibrant colors as you walk through the hay field at the treeline.

​ This is what the woods looked like early this morning. We were socked in by fog! We couldn't even see the edge of the woods. Really spooky. There is an old tale that the number of fogs during August equates to the number of snows we'll have during winter. Hm-m.... I wonder if this number carries over into November? This glorious maple stands at the edge of our property to welcome visitors--and us!  I love this time of year. If I haven't said it already, I'll say it again.
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​I LOVE this time of year!!! Before you head homeward to spend Thanksgiving with dear ones, be they family or old friends, please remember the folks who don't have the luxury of spending Thanksgiving as you do. They're the men and women who spend their holiday afloat--beneath the waves.

​These men and women defend our homeland,  protect our freedom to travel where we will, express our values, principles and morals as we wish, to worship as we please . . . or not worship at all, if that's our choice.  They keep sea lanes open for the free passage of all whether they're friends, or sadly, deadly foes. Meet the men and women of the U.S. Navy Submarine Service. Remember them in your holiday prayers, if you say them, or just remember their sacrifice on your behalf if you don't. Remember to thank them for their service if you see them at home--though they don't need it. No . . . . They would serve whether anyone thanked them or not. This is simply the nature of these fine men and women. The Harvest is in and, in much of America, the first frosts have fallen over fields and woodlands and lays glistening in the early morning sun.

​Also, while you're contemplating blessings, remember others . . . men and women who built this land we call America. Long years ago, intrepid settlers crossed the Appalachian Mountain chain to find better places to live, one free of interference and taxation by the occupying British. They braved wild animals and even wilder native Americans--men who had no use for the white settlers who cleared trees, built homes and, eventually, settlements, plowed ancestral hunting grounds, fenced the land and invited more of their kind to come inhabit the place. Some befriended the native inhabitants. Some caused terrible harm. But the land was settled by men and women who had more than an oral tradition to rely upon . . . people who knew where they'd come from and where their forefathers had originated.

Deep, deep in my soul, I feel the first settlers who crossed the mountains, those whose gaze first swept this magnificent land. Imagine what they saw! Standing on the summit of a high hill, they would view a sea of trees before them. As far as their vision could sweep. They eked out a living from the rich land, provided for their children's education in hopes that their offspring would build  better lives than their parents had known. They defended what they had built--first individually and then in company with others who came after them. I find it no wonder that they fought so hard to protect this magnificent  place that came be their home . . . and I give thanks for their incredible bravery, to venture into unknown lands, to make the sacrifice to leave behind all they'd ever known . . . and to establish a safe harbor for me and mine.

​So wherever this holiday finds you, whether your plans include welcoming friends and family or traveling afar to visit those loved ones--no matter if you travel from sea to shining sea, I wish you peace, and friendship and a board filled with plenty. And a very Happy Thanksgiving, from my home to yours.

~Cate Parke

Patriot's Dreams is BACK!

​Today's the day! Patriot's Dreams is now available. Richard and Alexandra Berkeley are back, in an all new edition, with the final tale in their saga. Please join the Berkeley's and me as we take you on a perilous journey through the final phase of the Revolutionary War.
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​Would you enjoy an excerpt? Sure you would! Alexandra is the person viewing this scene. So here you go:

The following afternoon, a troop of British officers rode up the drive. The older man introduced himself as Colonel Nisbit Balfour and his adjutant as Major David Collingwood.

So that is his given name. Wherever have I seen him before?

The certainty of having met him at some other place and some other time nagged her. He was that sort of swaggering, arrogant officer cut from much the same cloth as Colonel Tarleton—only not as young. Nor as vain. Richard was right. His uniform appeared, somehow—dandified—and his boots shone, as if they had just been brushed. How could boots shine after a man had been in the saddle all day? It was almost as if the man had once worn a mask—or perhaps he wore one now. Unlike dear Colonel Tarleton, he was tall, but like the other man, he radiated a cruel sensuality. What does he hide behind his façade? The unshakable sense of familiarity made her skin crawl, though his demeanor remained gentlemanlike and pleasant.

Richard Berkeley's Bride is here!

Alexandra Campbell is wealthy, beautiful, and accomplished. The world values such gifts. But her father, Lord Edward Campbell, had always wanted a son to inherit the empire in the New World he'd built. A daughter was of no value. So he groomed his best friend's son to fulfill the role. And how best could he ensure that Richard Berkeley became the son of his dreams? Of course! Marry Alexandra to him.

​Alexandra had chosen the man she wanted to marry...and love wasn't necessary. Nor did she want it. Love led to loss. She had learned that lesson early in life. Over and over again Love had convinced her that pain and loss was the consequence of loving anybody. No to love. No to any further loss. She would simply marry the earl and lead her life in the glittering Court of St. James.

​But her plans were not to be. Her grandfather informed her that she would return to Charlestowne immediately. She was to marry to the son of her father's friend. An utter stranger. How would any girl feel to be given such news?

Disaster?

​Or an opportunity for a happily ever after?

​Just click the link to pick up your copy of Richard Berkeley's Bride ...today!

A Great Sea Story...

I love good stories. Don't you? My husband sent me this one. I hope you'll like it, too. The passenger  steamer SS Warrimoo was quietly knifing its way through the waters of the  mid-Pacific on its way from Vancouver to Australia. The navigator had just  finished working out a star fix and brought the master, Captain John Phillips,  the result. The Warrimoo's position was LAT 0º 31' N and LON 179 30' W.   The date was 31 December 1899.

"Know what this  means?" First Mate Payton broke in, "We're only a few miles from the  intersection of the Equator and the International Date Line".  

Captain Phillips  was prankish enough to take full advantage of the opportunity for achieving  the navigational freak of a lifetime.  He called his navigators to the  bridge to check & double check the ships position.  He changed course  slightly so as to bear directly on his mark.  Then he adjusted the engine  speed. The calm weather & clear night worked in his favor.  

At mid-night the  SS Warrimoo lay on the Equator at exactly the point where it crossed the  International Date Line! The consequences of this bizarre position were many:  

The bow of the  ship was in the Southern Hemisphere & in the middle of summer.  

The stern was in  the Northern Hemisphere & in the middle of winter.  

The date in the  aft part of the ship was 31 December 1899.  

In the bow  (forward) part it was 1 January 1900.

This ship was  therefore not only in two different days, two different months, two different  years, and two different seasons, but it was also in two different centuries -  all at the same time.

​Isn't this an interesting little tale?

YAY!

Ah-h....  What a difference a day makes--and it's such a lovely one at that. Richard Berkeley's Bride is now up for Pre-order (right here...just click the link.) And I'm so excited.
​~Cate

Mea Culpa

Mea Maxima Culpa. To borrow another cliché, what you don't know will kill you--or another, the devil is in the details. But you have to know the details. At least I now have a clue what they are. My book, Richard Berkeley's Bride, isn't up for pre-order yet. I'll have to let you know when it is. But the book will be up for sale on June 15th. That much I do know. This is my fault. Sorry. It's those darned pesky details, you know.

Richard Berkeley's Bride is BACK!

It's true! It will be available on Amazon.com in the Kindle bookstore, or, you can visit my page on Amazon Author Central to pre-order it now. 

​My bio says it all...no, not the one to your right. That's all about me, here...on Tuesday's Child. (I'm serious. This page should really have been called Thursday's Child. Just sayin'. Bummer.) No, you'll have to do some searching to find the next bio. That is, the bio attached to this book.

​Do you know what authors think about in the middle of the night? They think about questions, such as "how would a poor little rich girl feel, who'd spent her years from eight to nineteen growing up in a ducal household in England and Scotland . . . only be to be told she was returning to her father's home in Charlestowne of the South Carolina colony to be married to the man her father had chosen. And, on the day she returned, she discovered her marriage would take place in twelve days! Disaster? Yes . . . it certainly might be. It might also be a chance for a happily ever after.

You know what? Alexandra must have been a Thursday's Child. She had far to go . . . just like me.

​Ps-s-t. Guess what? Dreams Within Dreams will appear on Amazon Kindle on August 15th. I hope you'll like it, too.

Crazy Woman

Okay...so this isn't a picture of a woman. But (you won't be amazed by this piece of information) I couldn't find one. Nope. Not a one. Anyway, there was once this crazy woman who wrote historical romance. (The writing of historical romance wasn't what made her crazy. Her husband contends she was always that way.) She also worked as a registered nurse--but that wasn't what made her crazy, either, at least not too much. Well, one day, while downloading e-mail (a usually innocuous task) she managed to download malware onto her computer. Like a living thing, the monster took over every document on her computer. And there was no way to retrieve anything...unless she wanted to go onto the Dark Web (yeah, RIGHT!) and pay the people who'd committed the crime an unstated amount of money to get everything back. Say again? How was she to pay for it? With her credit card? (FAT chance.) The alternative was to wipe her computer clean, reload the operating system and pray that everything was on her external hard drive. But guess what? Her external hard drive had been plugged into her computer at the time, and it was infected, too. Had she saved anything on a thumb drive? Oh-h, no. Had she backed up anything on The Cloud? No to that question, too.

​Did despair overwhelm her? Heck, no!  (Well, I should say, it threatened, but she overcame the dark emotion.)

​Instead, her two absolutely MARVELOUS critique partners, Cathy MacRae and Dawn Marie Hamilton,  came through with copies of all the chapters of her latest book they'd critiqued (which was all of them). So the author put them side-by-side and compiled their critiques, then put the compiled version side-by-side with a blank document and rewrote the story.

She'd had this wonderful former publisher, too. The publisher had saved the first three books she'd written and published through Turquoise Morning Press, along with all the art work and the document reverting all rights, including art work, back to the author. Such a relief.

​Everything the woman lost had been recovered--at least, everything of importance.

​You'll never guess who that woman was. (Or maybe you already have....) It's true. That crazy woman was me. (See the Picture at the top right of this blog. It wasn't what I looked like on that awful day.) The dirty deed happened last July, and the books are now almost ready to begin uploading them once again. So, if you loved the original series, check back with me in a few weeks and I'll have some good news for you. Ditto, for those of you who want to read them for the first time!