A Regency Timeline 1791 & the Writing Life (New Novel in the works)

The Regency Timeline

My previous posts I’ve explained that I was working on the Regency timeline. I posted my entries for 1788 thru 1790. Now I have the entrees for 1791 and have uploaded all these years to the Regency Assembly Press website. You can see a little preview of this below in the picture.

My sources which include the Internet and The Timetables of History by Grun and Stein as well as the Chronology of CULTURE by Paxton and Fairfield should cover a lot of events. There are now over 5000 listed for the period between 1788 and 1837 when Victoria comes to the Throne. I have also just found a third book I own with timelines in it, very USA centric though. What Happened When by Carruth.

I may post a year at time every so often in between scanning through all these to find something that will be a good article for this blog and the blog at English Historical Fiction Authors. I will also have the full listing up shortly at Regency Assembly Press.

Those who have feedback, it is appreciated or if someone would like a specific year in a future post. The very first entry is to show who was Prime Minister of Great Britain, later it was the United Kingdom, during the period of the chronology. In choosing our dates, 1788 is the first sign of madness in George the III, it is the beginning of the end of the French Monarchy with the riots in Paris, it is the time when the mama’s of the girls during the true Regency would be girls going to London for their own season, and when our heroes are young lads or babes as well.

We need to know of the events that occurred when they were children, as well as what happens when they are on stage in our stories.

Click on the link below or the picture to go to the entry. More years coming. The list is now over 5000 event entries long and growing.

Regency Assembly Press 1791 Tineline

The Writing LIfe

I am now 75+ pages (over 22,000 words) on A Magician Murder Mystery. A had a good idea for a mystery, with a twist. What if the sleuth is a magician.

I enclose a few paragraphs from the first draft and first chapter for perusal.

Chapter 1

Eric stared at the coffee mug in front of him. He kept adding one part of a spoon of sugar at a time hoping that he could get it to be the balance between sweet and charcoal that he liked. He had taken the milk, probably non-fat since it would last longer before it spoiled, and had poured out two little dollops.

He could not stare at a cup of joe unless it had a little brown to it. The mug, thank god, was that. Not some piece of cardboard with a slip of paper around it to keep his hands from getting burnt. No, he wanted to put his hands, both of them around the ceramic and inhale the musk the cup gave off.

Eric had a hangover. He could say again, but since they came most mornings, rather than awaking without one most mornings, it would be dumb to think that this problem was one that was intermittent. It was persistent. Something he had to make non-existent. He had to stop drinking so much. He had already taken four aspirin and hoped they would make a dent in the nauseousness he held onto so tightly.

Damn Bertlestein bar mitzvah and an open bar. He liked that it was open and only had two drinks before he started his act. Well to be honest with himself, something that he knew he could still control, it was two doubles, and he had more between the first act, and then the second one the kids asked for before the evening ended.

Bertlestein offered him another three large to do that, and he always, always could use the money. With the money for the gig, he made his rent for the month, and there wasn’t a bar mitzvah, wedding, or some other party that he worked each week. He had a shifts at Wal-Mart twice a week to help with his costs. He used to work at one of the card clubs, but the manager and he had a falling out and he had to find new work.

As long as he kept his hands from strain, he could still do the sleight of hand that brought in the real money he needed for things like drugs. Not the king to make him happy. The kind to keep everything working inside like it should. The 4 dollar a month program that the company had started for prescription filling didn’t hurt either.

But that was an entirely different topic. The company was stingy about everything else, but if you cheered enough and kissed the right backsides, you could get more hours, work yourself to death and not see your family, though Eric had no family. Eventually a smart guy with an education, like Eric, who wasn’t a smart mouth, which Eric was, might get into management. Where the real money was made at Wal-Mart.

Now he sat in Du-pars waiting for Lance.

Lance Silverton was really plain old Michael Smith, before coming to the big city and trying to make his way. He struggled to choose a stage name and played on Copperfield with Silverton, and the Lance came from Lance Burton.

Even though it was going to make a little nauseous, he had ordered the blue plate complete breakfast special. Every first and third Monday at nine they met for breakfast, and Lance would pick up the check. Lance made real money. He was in demand, and was not stingy. Lead act at the Palace. The top of the profession for those who thought where the best performed.

Betsy came by, “It’s a quarter after, you want I should bring your breakfast now? Want me to freshen you coffee?”

“He’ll be here.” Eric said.

She said, pushing out the carafe of coffee at him, “He’s never late. You’re the one who is late more times than not. So want your breakfast now or what.”

He put his hand over the top of his mug, “Give it some time. What’s it take to make some eggs and pancakes. If he wasn’t coming he would have called.”

“Maybe he’s in Vegas again. He headlined there last month.”

Eric grimaced. He knew that. Lance often told him of his successes and encouraged him to get back on the horse. One day Lance was going to notice that he had too much love of liquor and that might never go away. Though the wooly head he had at that moment wasn’t as terrible as it sometimes was. He had gotten out of bed and showered without too many clenchings of his head. And had arrived on time, as Betsy had noted.

“Just go.” He looked at the cellphone on the table, and the pack of cards. He was a magician. He always had a pack of cards to hand. This one though was a full deck. Betsy shrugged her shoulders and went to the next table, another set of her regulars.

Eric looked up to the door to see if his friend had arrived. Still no sign of Lance, Lance Silverton. Lance was dark, or at least tanned well, and had thought to give his act a latin twist. That may have paid off for him, but his skill was what got him the big shows. Four times on Leno, and once on Conan. It was the big acts that were hard to do quickly. The Houdini like acts.

And the new twists that no one had done before got the stints in Vegas, for real money. Six figure money. Eric shuffled the deck and began to practice. Everyday, his hands had to move. Had to feel the cards, had to hide the cards, had to force the cards.

Yesterday though. What had happened. He had his two drinks, that didn’t effect the first performance. He could handle that kind of booze. And since he had gone from the bar to the stage quickly, it wasn’t even going to hit him until he was done with his act, when he would get some of the rubber chicken and that would start to absorb what had gone before. It was beef instead of chicken as well.

He didn’t want to go back on, but Bertlestein insisted and then there was the money. It would take him a long time at Wal-Mart to earn three hundred dollars.

At first he was sure his speech was fine, but then his hands, something was wrong. They felt like boxers mitts. Not that he had ever worn those gloves, but he did not feel as if he had fingers.

He pulled the handkerchiefs out of his coat pocket. The ones with the stupid flags that the kids seemed to like. Especially the pirate one. That worked well in LA. The Pirates of the Caribbean were so close at Disneyland that most kids around here new about them before the movies had started to come out.

He had done the rings once, but did them again. That was when things became different.

The secret of the ring trick was that one was split. The one that you kept in your hand at all times, the split part. The sleight of hand kept your audience from ever knowing that they hadn’t had a chance to examine the ring with the break.

Except he had nine rings. Eight good ones and one with a split.

Eric had to have been drunk. He started the trick and couldn’t find the split in his ring. He started to stall and was running out of words. He then told everyone that he had nine rings and to count with him. They all came up with eight and he could not find the ninth. Eight rings there was no way to make the trick work without the broken ring.

Eric knew that musicians were told to keep playing if they missed a note, and not go back. Singers to sing through where they forget a word. Actors to ad-lib when they forgot their lines on stage. And he was acting then.

“It has been a long day, and this has been a great party. Dylan did such a great job yesterday, and now here you all are celebrating, but I think I may have run out of my magic. We can’t find my ninth ring, and you remember we had it earlier.” Eric had said to the children and those adults who watched also. A few his age, and some seniors, but most of the parents and others were sitting at their own tables not paying attention.

Eric knew he could make the trick a joke. “Well, without my magic we may not be able to get the rings to converge, but I will try. Just one more time. Abercadbra, Hocus Pocus, Shala Khazam, and Igfonotus!” He then struck the joining ring lightly once against the catching ring, twice, and they with a heavy clang that he was sure would cause the ring to bounce, a third time.

That was when what should not have happened, did. The joiner passed through the solid steel of the catcher and went inside completing the trick.

It was a trick. There was no way that could have happened. The audience though loved it and applauded his efforts.

Knowing a thing, and seeing a thing though are two different pieces of life. He had learned that from when he began his quest. Old timers would pull your leg that you would have performances like this. Especially if you liked the juice too much. And Eric now did like to drink more than he should.

He gingerly tried another joiner, and it too passed into the catcher. Two on the main ring.

He took those two and then adding one to them, instead of the catcher, a trick that usually needed two broken rings. It worked just fine. He made another join and another. He used all eight rings, then took two out. He had six all connected.

He made them form a cube, saying his words agains, “Abercadbra, Hocus Pocus, Shala Khazam, and Igfonotus!” It worked. It worked and he lightly tugged at it, and it stayed a cube. He passed it to Dylan and told the kid to pass it around.