Pass the Pepper, Please!

 I'm so pleased that this week saw the re-release of A Widow's Salvation. As the Akron Beacon Journal said in their review, "It's high time Pepper has her turn at romance." 

After serving as a secondary character in the previous seven Cotillion Ball books, Pepper gets her own story, a year after her husband, Michael, died at the first battle of the Civil War. This war affected everyone living in America during the time, so it would have been unusual for the large Fitzpatrick family to not have one fatality. Since I was so entrenched in the series, as I hoped my readers were, I didn't want to do away with any of the Fitzpatrick men, so Michael seemed the logical choice, since he was related only by marriage. Here's the way the story opens: 

New York City, July 1862

Pepper Brown yanked open her bedroom armoire and stared at the sea of black. Her widow’s weeds, as people called them. They were showing up in increasing numbers on the streets of New York, on women of all ages. The Civil War, which both sides had thought would be over in a matter of weeks, marked its one-year anniversary today. Which meant today was also Pepper’s one-year anniversary as a widow. She drummed her foot on the floor while she perused the black dresses. Was she ready to move on? Michael had thought she would be. In fact, he extracted a promise from her before he left for the war. One year and not one day more, he had said. Her mother thought so, too, or she wouldn’t have planned their outing for today. All Pepper now needed was the courage to convince herself they were right. The churning in her stomach told her she had a ways to go yet.

She straightened and turned her back on the black.

“Molly, please come help me dress,” Pepper called down the hall to her lady’s maid. “I’m going out today.”

“Aye, ma’am.” Molly, a young Irish girl with light brown hair and matching freckles across her pert nose, came quickly into the room. “Which gown would you be liking?” She began fondling the various dresses in the armoire.

“None of these. I’m done with these dresses. Besides, most of them are maternity gowns. I want to wear something fresh, something different.”

Molly nodded vigorously, and the little white cap on her head bounced askew. She righted it before she spoke. “Perfectly understood, ma’am, and you should be stepping down to half mourning. Perhaps I can find a nice gray or deep purple gown among your other things.”

Pepper shook her head. “No, no half mourning for me. What kind of silly term is that, anyway? I’m going out with Mother, and I want our day to be special. I want to wear something bright. I think the periwinkle dress Jasmine created for me right before Michael’s death will do. Yes, the periwinkle.”

Pepper smiled at Molly’s horrified intake of breath. She obviously disapproved, which meant it was the right decision.

“Periwinkle? Forgive me saying so, ma’am, but isn’t it a wee bit too much of a difference?”
“Why yes, it is, Molly.”

I am constantly surprised, and amused, at the way history works with my stories. Pepper was now a single mother raising three young boys, so she possessed the inner strength of every mother who's ever raised a child. What I didn't see coming when I began the story was how the Civil War led to the advancement of the use of prosthetic devices. Who better to take on the task of getting grown men to use a prosthetic leg than a mother? There are several scenes where Pepper whipped these men into shape and got them to walk again. I hope you enjoy Pepper's story as much as I enjoyed writing it. 
https://www.amazon.com/Widows-Salvation-Cotillion-Ball-Saga-ebook/dp/B07TVPD6SJ/ref=sr_1_2?keywords=a+widow%27s+salvation&qid=1563029753&s=gateway&sr=8-2

Forever Friends

In our busy and portable lives, we meet a lot of people who become acquaintances. You know, the kind you send a Christmas card to each year. Then, there are the people who you might hear from via phone a couple of times each year. But there is no better friend than a forever friend. Like my friend, Linda. In the many decades of our friendship, we've been through a lot with each other, regardless of which state I happened to be living in. She knows me better than my sisters do. And she's the only person I wanted to visit after three years of medical issues.

My trip began with another trip–down memory lane. Shortly after we had moved to DC back in the day, Linda and I rented a house together. Or part of a house, anyway. We had the English basement and first floor of a townhouse on Capitol Hill. Two men shared the top two floors. We were very close to our old stomping grounds after visiting the National Arboretum, so we took a slight detour to see what the place looked like today. We loved living on the Hill. Our house was only a block from our favorite bar and the neighborhood was safe for those nights when we staggered home.

But, as an author of romance, and historical romance at that, I couldn't get this close without paying homage to the great Nora Roberts and touring a battlefield. We made a trip to Boonsboro, MD to her Turn The Page bookstore, where I spent way too much on books, of course. We saw but couldn't gain admittance to  the historic Boonsboro Inn featured in one of her trilogies, and had lunch at Dan's, the restaurant owned by one of her sons. The other restaurant in town, Vesta, is owned by her other son, Jason. 

And then, we were off to the Antietam battlefield. Bearing the distinction of being the bloodiest single day in the history of any American war, our ranger told us that bodies were falling at the rate of one per second during the height of the battle.

The battle ended in a draw and was the turning point of the war, since France and England were about to help fund the Confederates had they succeeded in trouncing the Union Army. Such a huge price to pay. We walked around the quiet fields that afternoon, walked on the Burnside Bridge, one of the major battle sites, and tried to imagine the horror and chaos that faced the men that day.

Having made the move from this part of the country back to Ohio, I realized this trip that, while I don't miss the congestion and traffic, I do miss the vibrancy and history of Virginia. That may be why I write historical romances today. 

Happy Mother's Day to all the moms out there. And to everyone's forever friends, give them a special hug today.

The First 500

Ask any writer about their method of writing and you'll get a different answer each time. Colleen McCullough, who death is currently being mourned, was a manic writer, who could pen 20,000 words in one 18-hour sitting. I'm sure there are other manic writers out there, especially during November, when NaNo is going on, but I'm not one of them.

I use Scrivener to write my first drafts. This program not only allows me to color-code in whose head I am with each scene, it allows me to set a schedule for the project, and then it calculates the amount of words I need to write each day in order to accomplish my goal and get the work done on schedule. It will even flash a "Goal Met"indicator and ring a bell for you.

My current WIP is the 8th book in the Cotillion Ball Series, and is the first book in which I face the effects of the Civil War head on. The setting is MacDougall Hospital, set on Fort Schuyler in the Bronx. At the height of the Civil War conflict, this hospital cared for 2,000 wounded soldiers. The tone of the book is much darker than my normal, because of the subject matter, but I'm finding it exhilarating to write. That is, after the first 500 words.

My writing goal, according to the almighty Scrivener, is nearly 1,000 words a day. Which roughly translates to one scene a day. I like to write this way, since I can stay clearly in one person's head throughout. Today, it was Elijah's turn. I planned how I was going to start the scene last night, as I was drifting off to sleep, so I tore up the screen for the first 80 words or so. Then, I stared at the blinking cursor for several minutes, uncertain where to head. The next sentence came to me as if through a vat of molasses, then the one after that. I kept pulling down the "Targets" tab on my Scrivener program to see how many words I had yet to go. When I got to 200 words for the day, I got stuck, so I stared at the pulsating cursor for a few more minutes. The rest of the scene unfolded in my head, finally, and I began to type quickly. When the bell rang that I had met my goal, I wasn't ready to stop, so I kept going until the scene was finished.

I surprised myself that I completed the scene, and that once I got past the first 500 words, I got so sucked into the scene that the ringing bell was an annoyance rather than a blissful chime signaling that my day's torture was done. And the little extra bonus from not stopping until the scene was done? Tomorrow, when I settle in to write the next scene, I'll have a few fewer words to write to get to my daily goal.

So, how about you? Do you write in all-out sprints like Colleen McCullough, or do you plod along like I do? I'm curious to see how many different styles I'll be able to record in the comments.

On The Cutting Edge

My latest entry into the Cotillion Ball Series will be unveiled on September 1. That's only one week away!

The Duplicitous Debutante is the sixth book in the Fitzpatrick family saga. And it features some

goodies that don't appear anywhere else. What, you might ask? How about a family tree? On the advice of my good friend, I used my own genealogy software to create a family tree for the Fitzpatricks. I was having problems remembering who among the children was having babies and when, so laying it all out on paper was a good exercise. And the tree looked quite impressive. I sent it to my publisher, who thought the idea had merit. So, the first version of the family tree will appear in The Duplicitous Debutante, and will be updated in each of the remaining books in the series.

While we were piecing together the tree, the publisher asked if I had titles yet for the remaining three books. I had a title for the next book in the series, and synopses for the two after that, but no titles yet.  A quick check in with the brain trust (me, my best friend, my sister, and my writing partner) and I had my titles. Book 7--Expressly Yours, Samantha, is about the Pony Express and will make its appearance in March, 2015. It features the last boy in the family, Valerian. Book 8 is The Widow's Salvation, due out in October, 2015. It takes place a year after the Civil War begins and features Pepper. Her husband has been killed at Ft. Sumter, leaving her alone with three young boys. She volunteers at an Army hospital and meets a doctor. Book 9 will finish off the series by featuring Saffron, the youngest Fitzpatrick. She's entered her teenage years during the Civil War, and all the men who would have been suitors are off fighting the war. She's The Forgotten Debutante. It is scheduled for release in March, 2016. My publisher and I also realized we were missing the story of Charlotte and George's courtship, so I wrote a novella, Charlotte's Unconventional Courtship, as a prequel to the series. No release date yet on that one.

I'm also trying some new things to promote the book. I've got two blog tours lined up--one for September and one in October, something I've never tried before. I've got ads scheduled for September in Eye On Romance and The Romance Reviews. I'm also a participant in The Romance Review's blog hop during September, and appearing on several other blogs as a guest. I'll try to keep everyone informed on when and where I'll be. I'm also attempting something new, using social media. It's called Thunderclap. I need to line up 100 volunteers to join me in putting a message out on social media on September 1. You don't even need to think about it beyond offering your support by signing up here: http://thndr.it/1lXOcXX Thunderclap does the work on September 1.

Will all this effort work? I'm hoping it will, but there are a lot of things being tried for the first time, so I don't know. I want to always be shaking things up with my promotional efforts, and trying new things. I've been looking for the magic bullet that will vault my books to the tops of Amazon's charts, but, just when I think I'm starting to get a handle on things, the floor shifts once again.

I'll keep trying.

The Results Are In!

As long as I can remember, there's been a myth in our family that great-grandma Missouri Belle was half Native American. My uncle and I have had many fireside chats about her and how she came to be Indian. If it was true, it happened when Missouri's mother was keeping the homestead going while her husband was off fighting the Civil War. Was it rape, as my uncle speculated, or was it an impetuous love story? My mind buzzed with ideas, and I began doing genealogical research in an attempt to find out what tribe she was descended from.

We thought we had hit upon something last summer, when we found Missouri's grave. The name on her tombstone wasn't Missouri, but Missouria. My brother did a search and discovered there was once a Missouria tribe, but they disbanded in the 1800s, as their number dwindled. Paydirt! We were elated. So much so, my brother decided to give me the gift of a DNA test for Christmas.

I got the results a few days ago, and it revealed some fascinating stuff. My family is mostly from western Europe--Germany and Switzerland, which I knew about. Following a close second was Scandinavian, which I had no idea existed in my genes. More research must be done to find out if I'm related to any Vikings. I knew about the smidge of English in my blood, but was totally unaware of the 10% Irish in me. Since one of my heroes was Irish, this makes me very proud.

But the Native American? Not a trace was found--anywhere. The DNA revealed a drop of European Jewish, but not a bit of Indian. I discussed it with the family, and we think my uncle should get tested, since he's one generation closer to Missouri Belle, so we're not giving up entirely. But to say we were disappointed would be an understatement.

Fortunately, I love to write historical romances, and the impetuous love affair between my great-great-grandmother and her Missouria Indian can still happen. Stay tuned. Someday, you'll see Susannah Myers' illicit tale come to life. That fact that it's fiction rather than real-life won't really matter.

Give Me A Graveyard

I’ve always loved roaming around graveyards—the older, the better. There’s something about being in the presence of these old souls that experienced the life that I write about that makes me feel peaceful. Not sad or solemn. Just peaceful. Especially when the fog rolls in.

My obsession with old graveyards began long before I started doing any genealogical research, but that’s the excuse I use when someone asks me why I venture in when most would rather stay in the car.

Of course, roaming old graveyards does not come without peril. Over the course of my years, I’ve been scared out of my wits. Not by ghosts, which is what you’d expect, but by humans. I’ve been chased off private graveyards by men wielding shotguns. My sister got sucked into a grave when the ground around an old headstone gave way. It rattled her so much, she gave up helping me look for Jedediah Smith’s mother’s grave and left the cemetery. I trespassed on an old farm to find my Shank relatives’ graves and a man walked out of the fog dressed in 19^th century farmer’s clothing. As it turns out, he was Amish, and was quite helpful, but gave me a fright at first.

 

This past weekend, I was in the DC area for a visit with friends and my brother, who was in town for a conference. Sunday morning was heavy with fog. A perfect day for going to a graveyard. But this was a graveyard like no other. Arlington National Cemetery still was decorated with Christmas wreaths—one at every grave. As my friend waited in the car, I began walking closer to the graves, snapping frame after frame. The air smelled of balsam from the wreaths, and was moist with fog. I stared at row after row of the good men and women who served and, at various times, fought, for our country, and thought about those battles. The Civil War, World War II, Vietnam, Afghanistan. All were significant events in my life, and they certainly were significant to those brave souls who rest in this beautiful cemetery today.

Who would have thought that one of my favorite moments of the weekend would be standing alone in a foggy graveyard, smelling the pine? I think anyone who knows me well could have predicted that one.