Jude Knight's Blog, page 153

Streets of London

Here are a couple of neat resources for those who want to picture places when reading (or writing) a story set in historical London.

This one is an animated flythrough of 17th century London streets.

And this one shows London street views and a little bit of history about the houses featured, including their occupants during the 19th century.

Click on the link in the text above, or the image, to go to their website.

 

My hero disports himself in a brothel

Time for another excerpt? Here’s the hero of my current work in progress, Encouraging Prudence. David is visiting a brothel in the course of his investigation.

He arrived at the Admiralty steps just as Captain Talbot passed the guard on the front door.

“Sir,” he said, putting on his persona of eager disciple, “I cannot thank you enough.”

Talbot smiled, expansively. “Ready for a night on the town, young Walker, eh?”

Their first stop was, predictably, a brothel – an expensive brothel, by the youth of the workers and the quality of the fittings, but with the same sickening smells of cheap perfume, sex, sweat, and despair as the others his work had taken him into. He allowed himself to be introduced to Fanny, a statuesque redhead who was considerably older than she was made up to appear, and followed her to one of the rooms.

He looked longingly at the bed. He was beginning to feel the loss of a night’s sleep.

“Don’t bother,” he told the prostitute, as she began to unbutton her blouse. “When were the sheets last changed?”

“Maybe three days.” She looked uncertainly at the bed and back at him. “How do you want me then?”

David explained. “What I’d like you to do is sit in the chair over there, and wake me in half an hour. Before we leave this room, I’ll give you double what I gave your mistress. And when we get back out there, you’ll pretend to everyone, especially my friend, that we’ve coupled.”

The prostitute frowned. “You’ll pay me. Just to sleep in the bed.”

“On the bed, but yes. Miss Fanny… or is it Miss Frances… you’re very desirable, but I’m very, very tired, and I’d rather nobody knew…”

She nodded. “It’s Dorothea, really. But Old Hatchet-Face, her as owns the place, she said that weren’t a good name for a whore.”

“Do you have a way to tell the hour, Miss Dorothea?” He’d removed his coat, but he laid it on the bed and stretched out beside it. No point in putting temptation in the woman’s way. He’d wake in an instant if she approached the bed to check his pockets.

She nodded. “I can hear the clock tower down the street. Chimes the quarters, it does. It’ll be just on the half I wake you.”

“Good. Thank you.” His nose wrinkled, but he’d slept in places more rank. Willing his body to relax, he closed his eyes, and Mist was suddenly there stretched out beside him. No. He was here to sleep, not to fantasise about the only woman he desired.

“Mister? Mister Walker?” He woke to the woman’s whisper. “It’s been half an hour.”

Yes. He could hear the half still chiming. Half an hour was not enough, but it took the edge off his weariness. He’d cope.

In the main sitting area, Dorothea poured him a glass of wine, and perched on the arm of his chair, leaning against him while he waited for Talbot. Her silence money safely in the pocket she had tied to her waist under her skirt, she had obviously decided to throw herself fully into her part.

Talbot arrived some minutes later, buttoning his pants. His companion was smiling admiringly up at him, but David caught the contemptuous grimace she passed to her companions behind Talbot’s back.

“That’s the ticket,” Talbot said to David, grinning at the way Dorothea was draped over him. “Can’t get enough of you here, can they? They should pay us for servicing them, eh? Hah! That’s a good one. They should pay us, eh?” And he slapped the bottom of his companion with expansive glee.

“You want another round, Walker? Or what about an exotic dance, eh? I know a place where the girls…” he gestured expansively, shaping improbable globes in the air.

“That sounds very exciting, Sir,” David said, back to being suitably grateful. “Is it a place we could get something to eat, Sir? All that exercise…”

“Good lad. Worked up an appetite, eh? Oh, to be young again. Come on, then, lad. The night is young, eh? We’ll stop at a coffee house and then go on to Sultan’s Palace.”

David saluted Dorothea with a kiss on the cheek and received a warm smile in return. “Best half hour I ever spent in this place,” she told him loudly, “and that’s the truth.”

Journaling to become a better writer

Congratulations to Danielle Hanna, whose book ‘Journaling to become a better writer‘ has been released today. Here’s her bio, as published on her website:

Danielle Hanna has been penning fiction since she was only four and keeping a journal since age five. In “Journaling to Become a Better Writer,” she bares pages from her own journal to illustrate the emotional depth and storytelling skill that can be achieved simply by writing the events of your life.

Side-by-side with her examples, she delves deep into techniques to explore what makes a story worth telling, what goes into real-life story structure, how to get in touch with your emotions, how to observe the world around you with laser focus, and how to bring passion into every word you write.

Along the way, she shares the most traumatic plot twist of her own life: the stripping away of her family and her search for someone to finally call “Daddy”–a quest which almost claimed her life.

Part writing how-to book, part memoir, part self-discovery guide, this volume will go far beyond breathing inspiration into your journaling and your novel writing. Whether you’re a multi-published author, a life-long journal writer, or have only dreamed of putting pen to paper, discover the story you were born to tell.

Hanna has written a ‘how to’ book, and illustrated it with compelling excerpts from her own life. The book can be read on several levels: as her personal story, as a guide to writers on how to improve their craft through journalling, and as a guide to everyone on how to use writing skills in their journal to improve their self-awareness and get a better handle on their personal journey.

She is a highly skilled writer with an excellent grasp of structure and pace. I really liked the format – journal entry then lessons to draw. I loved her sense of humour. I loved her raw honesty. I wanted to cry in places, and I was so happy that Sam turned out to be the Daddy she needed.

Most of her how-tos I do, and her system is great. People will find it really helpful. I know this, because descriptions are my real raw spot. Definitely not my strength! I’ve been applying her step by step approach ever since I read this book in beta version, and it really helps.

Adventures in self-publishing – some reports to watch

Thanks to a share on Facebook, I’ve discovered Author Earnings, the website of a group of people who are collecting data about book sales.

They have a range of reports that crunch data from authors and publicly available information to compare earnings across different publication methods. If you’re trying to make a decision about how to publish (and where, and in what format), these reports are a must read.

The tenured vs debut author report reveals startling information that most people just entering the market will want to know. Here’s their summary:

Big-5 publishers are massively reliant on their most established authors to the tune of 63% of their e-book revenue.
Roughly 46% of traditional publishing’s fiction dollars are coming from e-books.
Very few authors who debut with major publishers make enough money to earn a living—and modern advances don’t cover the difference.
In absolute numbers, more self-published authors are earning a living wage today than Big-5 authors.
When comparing debut authors who have equal time on the market, the difference between self-published and Big-5 authors is even greater.

And one chart (the report has lots more).

In the Print vs Digital report, they show that actual unit sales of the top 100 selling books are 61% digital, 39% print.

The October report looks at the impact of Kindle Unlimited on author earnings in each of the publication categories.

The July report has a graph showing that independently published books without DRM sold twice as many copies as those with DRM.

Many of the reports focus on Amazon sales, but the site also has two reports on Barnes & Noble sales.

All in all, a great resource.

By the way, the Kindle e-store currently has in the region of 3 million titles for sale, and around 75,000 available free.

Farewell to Kindness releases in 78 days

I’ve promised to send Farewell to Kindness to the proofreader by the end of next weekend. Still lots to do. Pressure. Pressure. Here’s another snippet to be going on with. My heroine has just talked my hero into donating prizes for the children’s races at the village fête.

He would have liked to continue their private conversation a while longer, a realisation that startled him. What was it about this woman that made him want to spend time with her? She was, of course, delectable. But many women had faces and forms as lovely.

Since Marie-Josèphe died, he’d felt the stirrings of lust from time to time—and more than stirrings. Acting on those stirrings always felt like too much trouble, though.

In his private desires, as in all the rest of his life, he saw the world as if through a thick blanket that numbed feeling. He went through the motions of looking after his business interests and the Earldom, of acting appropriately in social occasions, of charming his tenants and his neighbours—but all the time, he was acting a part, as if he had been buried with his wife and children, and was reaching from the grave to operate his own body like a puppet.

Except when he woke each morning with his grief still raw. Except when he was planning how to make his enemies pay. Except when he read the reports David sent him every week.

And now, something beyond his vengeance was reaching through the blanket of unfeeling and bringing him back to life. Or, rather, someone.

Playing at story

When our kids were young, the PRH was in charge for training people in his profession for the whole of the lower South Island. Whenever we could, we’d all go along – so we had lots of long car trips, and I evolved a number of ways to keep the mob entertained on the way.

Several of these involved telling storytelling, and some I still play with the grandchildren today. They are great ways to develop the story telling muscles.

Build-a-story

One of our favourites was the build-a-story. In build-a-story, someone starts telling a story, and stops after a paragraph or two. The next person carries on, often taking the story in a completely different direction. I found that when you’re building stories with children, it’s important not to let them name a character after themselves, since a sibling will ensure that character is eaten by a dragon or dissolved in acid at the first possible opportunity, and it all ends in tears.

On the other hand, they quickly learn that what goes round comes round. Any destruction will soon be paid in kind, with interest!

Fortunately, unfortunately

We loved this game. The first person ends their few paragraphs with something disastrous, and the words ‘but fortunately…’

The next person picks up the tale with whatever miraculous intervention saved the day, but ends their part with ‘but unfortunately…’

Or you can mix it up and let each storyteller decide whether they’re going to pass on a happy or an unhappy happenstance.

Made-to-order stories

When the children were tired and likely to fight over story directions, I would tell the stories. But each child could choose one, two, or three objects to have in the story (the more tired I was, the fewer objects). I still do this with the grandchildren. There are rules. I don’t tell stories about other people’s characters (from books, films, or tv). And they can choose nouns, not verbs. That is, they can tell me the objects or people, but I decide what happens to them.

It can be a challenge to weave a story that has a vase, a unicorn, an alien in a spacehelmet, a spiral-bound notebook, a poodle, and a hot-air balloon. But oh the fun!

The letter game

I’ve played the letter game (by email) with two of the older grandchildren. The person who starts invents two characters, a locality, and a reason why the two characters have to write to one another instead of meeting or phoning. This all goes into the first letter. It’s impossible to plan much further than that, since the second person will take the story wherever they want it to go.

Adventures in self-publishing, episode 2

I wrote Candle’s Christmas Chair for several reasons, not least of which was that I wanted to trial the self-publishing tools on a novella before I tried them on the novel, which is more than five times as long.

I also had two other reasons. I wanted to give readers a free chance to find out whether they liked my writing style, in the hopes that will encourage more of them to buy Farewell to Kindness. And I had Candle and Min telling their story inside my head, and writing it down was a way of moving on. Except that telling their story has started me thinking about two more. So much for reason number three.

Many people have Candle (and some have even read it)

Reason number two is working out well. Candle has now been published for three and a half weeks, and I’ve been stunned by how many have been distributed, and by the nice reviews I’ve had. At the time of writing, it’s ranked at number 269 in the Kindle Store for all free books, number 2 for Holiday ebooks, number 4 for Kindle Short Reads 65 to 100 pages, and number 7 for Regency historical romance. Wow! Unbelievable!

I’ve had 20 reviews on Amazon, with a 4.3 star average rating, and 28 ratings on Goodreads with an average of 4.18. And three Goodreads members have added Farewell to their to-read lists.

Many of the distributors don’t report numbers of free books downloaded, but the four that do report a collective total of more than 15,000 downloads. And I’ve invited people to share it. And it has been loaded onto at least three pirate sites that I know of.

Will this reception translate into readers for Rede and Anne’s story when I publish it in April? It remains to be seen, but meanwhile, I’m one very happy novice novelist.

The ebook tools were easy to use, and I’m now trying CreateSpace to produce a print book

So back to reason one.

I found the Amazon Kindle Direct Publishing tool easy to use, and I was happy with the results. Smashwords needed a completely different file setup, but that was fine, too. Their infamous Meat Grinder compilation tool turned my first paragraphs with no indent into unindented paragraphs one point size larger than the rest of the text, but I can live with indented first paragraphs.

I’ve been working on the other possibility today. I’m using CreateSpace to provide a print version of Candle’s Christmas Chair, which I’ll be able to sell at somewhere about US$4.00 (to cover the print costs).

I’ve created an account, laid up and tested the inside, and made a cover. I should be able to publish in the next day or two. Again, it has been relatively easy. This time, I’ll have to wait on international postage to see the results, but I’ll let you know how it turns out.

If all goes well, I’ll be able to offer Farewell to Kindness in print. While I don’t expect to make many print sales and (to keep the price realistic) I’ll need to shave the royalties to the bone, it’s another service to readers.

Now on with the hunt for reviews

I’m very grateful for the reviews and ratings I’ve had. You guys rock. But in the spirit of using Candle as a Kindergarten for Farewell and its successors, I need to get cracking on seeking some feedback from the blog and online magazine reviewers. I have a little list. I need to stop resting on my laurels (and chatting with people on Facebook), and start working my way down it.

Expect me to get very excited it if it works out!

Embracing the darkness

I do enjoy writing villains. I got a fan email yesterday. (Yes; I know. So exciting.) The writer said: “I loved everything except the super vile Lady Norton!!!!… I loved hating her and her brother!” I loved writing her. And I loved creating the villains in Farewell to Kindness, especially the super creepy Baron Carrington, who — as one beta reader said — was so bad that she felt sorry for his nasty, horrible wife.

Now I’m into the second novel, and the villains are just crawling out of my keyboard. What does this say about me? I’m consoling myself with the thought that the darkness is better out than in!

Here’s the scene I wrote on the train this morning, where my heroine has a close encounter of the nasty kind with one of a gang of five so-called gentleman. (Prue is working undercover as housekeeper in the house of a courtesan. Her assailant is a hussar.)

Prue, deciding that discretion was the better part of valour, retreated up the stairs. As she passed the first floor and continued upwards, she heard someone bounding up behind her, and on the next landing, the soldier grabbed her by the waist, spun her around, and shoved her firmly against the wall, trapping her with his body.

Before she could react, he had ripped at her neckline, popping buttons and exposing her corset and the curve of her breasts.

“Well, well,” he said. “You are a delicious little thing, aren’t you?”

Prue managed to keep her voice calm and level. “If you’ll wait downstairs with your friends, Sir, I will let Lord Jonathan know you are here.”

“Oh, let the others wait. I’ve an appetite, and you’ll do to satisfy it.” He was pulling her skirts up as he spoke, and the hard shape pressing into her belly left no doubt about his intentions. “You’ll do very nicely.”

“No, thank you, Sir,” Prue said. “That is not part of my duties.”

“Don’t think about it as duty, little darling. Think about it as pleasure,” then, as she tried to twist sideways to escape him, “No, no, no. Naughty. Keep still or I’ll have to hurt you.”

“Let me go, Sir, or I’ll scream.”

“You think the whore will care? I’ve had her maids before. She growls a bit, but what’s she going to do? Serves her right for teasing us all and only diddling Selby. And that bumptious squirt Gren. She brings it on herself. Now keep still.”

Prue had been keeping her hands flat against the wall, not wanting him to immobilise them. Now she stilled her body as commanded, but let one hand creep carefully towards the cap that covered her hair.

She would need to be quick. He had her skirts bunched almost to the top of her thigh and was fumbling at his pants buttons with his other hand. If he noticed what she was doing… no, he was looking down, focused on the mounds he had exposed..

There. She found the long hat pin, a sharp pointed skewer made to her own specifications for occasions such as this. In one movement, she swept it out of her hair and in an arc, flipping it in her hand on the way, jabbed it point first into his buttocks.

With an eldritch shriek, he let go of her, and she twisted under his arms and retreated up the next flight of stairs, facing him from that vantage point, her weapon at the ready.

“You bitch! You stabbed me!” he shouted.

The weapon he had intended to use on her, disclosed by the unbuttoned flap of his pants, had not yet been discouraged by the sudden attack. She gestured at it with her hat pin.

“One step closer, and this goes into that.”

What do you want in an author newsletter?

When I first set up the website, I added a newsletter form so that people could subscribe to get special updates — and, sure enough, people are subscribing, especially since the publication of Candle’s Christmas Chair. Soon I’ll have the new cover and some other advance information about Farewell to Kindness, and I’m going to want to send out my first newsletter.

So here’s the question. As a reader, what are you looking for in an author’s newsletter?

I subscribe to several myself, and I know what I don’t like. So far, here are the promises I’ve made myself based on my own experience.

I will only send newsletters when I have something worth saying — which is likely to be three or four times a year, and certainly no more than monthly.
My newsletters will be focused on giving readers interesting content, not on relentless self-promotion.
Newsletter subscribers will hear about new stuff before I release the information publicly.
Newsletter subscribers will get stuff nobody else gets.

But what stuff? I have a few ideas, but I’d like to hear from you. Here’s what you’ll see on the sign-up page:

As a subscriber, you will receive advance information about cover designs, book trailers, book blurbs, release dates, and special price periods. You’ll also get exclusive subscriber-only special offers, including articles, short stories, and competitions.

I’m thinking deleted scenes, background information about characters that didn’t make it into a novel, the chance to name a character, answers to readers’ questions.

What are your thoughts? Any help would be gratefully received. Just comment below or send me an email through the contact form.

 

First meeting

An excerpt from the draft of Farewell to Kindness:

The Earl hadn’t yet proved the danger she feared, though the longer he stayed the harder it would be to avoid him. Yesterday in the churchyard, she had peeked at him from under her bonnet. She didn’t dare go close, but from a distance he was far better looking than his cousin.

She’d had a nasty moment when Daisy walked right past him, but they didn’t speak and he didn’t seem to pay them any attention after that.

Perhaps he would not be a danger. The villagers were still reserving judgement, but he was earning their cautious approval. The people who had met him spoke well of him. They were thrilled that he visited them, listened to him. After decades of neglect by one Earl after another, they’d have liked him for that alone. His willingness to spend money on long-overdue maintenance won him more points. They were not yet convinced, of course. But the general opinion was that he was more like his Uncle Henry, whom they’d respected, than the previous three Earls.

Her reverie was broken by the clopping of hooves in the lane beyond the wall. Daisy called out, “Good day, Mr Baxter!”

Meg rolled off the wall, her eyes wide in fear, and huddled down into the shadow at its base whimpering a little.

“Miss Daisy,” the rider beyond the wall replied, cheerfully. Young Will, from the sound of it. The land steward’s son, who’d come six weeks ago to take care of the estate when Matthew the elder was injured. Meg was always nervous around men she didn’t know, but young Will had visited before, and had spoken to them several times during this visit. Anne had just concluded that he must have company when another voice spoke.

“Please, Baxter, will you not present me to this beautiful young lady?” The voice was deep and compelling, with a slight rasp that somehow added to its appeal.

“My Lord,” Will began.

“No, no,” the Earl—it must be he—insisted. “Fairy queens take precedence, and surely she must be one?”

Daisy giggled, but straightened her back proudly. So much for keeping her daughter from his sight.

“Miss Daisy, may I present Lord Chirbury? My Lord, Miss Daisy Forsythe, queen of Lilac Cottage.”

“An honour, your Highness,” the Earl said.

Anne snorted at the easy charm. She stopped on the path to pat Meg soothingly, before straightening so she could see over the wall.

The ground dropped on the other side; putting the heads of the two horsemen on a level with Daisy’s. Anne met eyes the image of her daughter’s. His hair was like hers, too—a golden blonde. It was trimmed tightly to his nape, but she knew from seeing him outside the inn and in church that the elegant hat disguised curls.

It was the eyes and general colouring that gave the impression he looked like his cousin. The shape of his face, his generous mouth, his broad shoulders—in all these ways he was somehow more than the former Earl. He had, in some ways, a hard face—even grim. But it didn’t look unkind. If he was not such a threat to her family, she would find him attractive, which had certainly not been the case with George.

“My Lord, Mrs Anne Forsythe. Mrs Forsythe, Stephen Redepenning, Earl of Chirbury.” Will did the honours, adding unnecessarily, “Mrs Forsythe is young Daisy’s Mama.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Mrs Forsythe.”

She bobbed a curtsey. “Lord Chirbury.”

“I hope the other charming young lady I saw is not hurt, Mrs Forsythe?”

“Aunt Meg does not like strange men,” Daisy volunteered.

Meg was still crouched at the foot of the wall, hugging herself. At least she’d stopped whimpering. A pleasant conversation between Anne and the gentlemen might be the best way to calm her down.

“She is very shy,” Anne added. Which was not exactly true, but worked well enough as an explanation. “I apologise, my Lord.”

He smiled, drawing her attention back to that generous mouth. “Not at all. I apologise for startling her. Have your dolls been enjoying their picnic, Queen Daisy?”

Daisy lifted her little chin imperiously. “They are at an assembly, sir. Not at a picnic.”

“You say ‘my Lord’; not sir,” Anne whispered.

“Of course they are,” Lord Chirbury agreed, amusement warming that deep voice. “And a fine assembly it is, I’m sure.”

“It would be better if the kittens had not run off,” Daisy confided. “They was going to be the gentlemen, and now the dolls have to dance with each other, and they are both ladies. Aunt Kitty and Miss Ashbrook dance with each other, but only to practice. When they go to an assembly, they will dance with gentlemen.”

Lord Chirbury’s eyes danced, but his voice remained grave as he agreed with the little girl that ladies preferred to dance with gentlemen when they were at an assembly.

As they continued to talk, Meg slowly uncurled, stretching up till she could peep over the wall. She dropped down again, tugging on Anne’s skirt.

“It is the bad Earl,” she whispered, when Anne bent down to her.

“No darling. It is a different Earl. The bad Earl is dead; remember?”

Meg rose again, burrowing into her sister’s side as she did so. This time, she took a long look. Anne could tell the Earl was aware of her sister’s examination, but—apart from a single flick of his eyes—he kept his attention on Daisy and continued talking to her.

After several long moments, Meg nodded, and relaxed a little, though she didn’t let go of Anne.

“It is a diff’ent Earl,” she agreed.

Now Lord Chirbury looked at Meg, then at Anne, with a question in his eyes.

“Lord Chirbury, may I present my sister Meg, Margaret Haverstock?”

“How do you do, Miss Haverstock? I am sorry I startled you.” How had she thought him grim? He smiled at Meg with the same kindness he’d shown to Daisy.

Meg, however, was anxious again. “Chirbee?” She clutched harder to Anne. “A different Chirbury,” Anne reassured her.

The Earl excused himself graciously, claiming that he and Will were expected elsewhere. Did he leave so that Meg would be comfortable? Surely not. An Earl couldn’t be expected to show such sensitivity. Though the Earl wasn’t at all what Anne expected. She’d never imagined that a ton gentlemen would talk about dolls with a little girl.

Charm and kindness did not make him trustworty, of course, but it certainly made him very appealing.