Reviews, podcasts and first chapter dissections.

Tags

Art Gowns, Costume Designer, First Chapters, Jean Lee, Rebecca Budd, Resa McConachy, Scotland, Study in First Chapters, Working with Publishers, Writing tips

HIS JUDAS BRIDE interview/review by RESA McCONACHY.

This fiery, passionate romance thrills without much graphic reference. True, Lady Kara wears a see through gown, revealed at the top of the story. However, it’s not her choice. She makes many choices, good and bad, but her gowns are imposed by her vile father.

Comments are in regular type. My questions are in italics. Shey’s answers are in bold.

1 – Shey, I want to draw Lady Kara in her gowns. It feels like 1700. Is there an exact year to this tale?

I based the Trojan horse premise of this book on the actual Glencoe Massacre. Let’s be clear that whole bit of Scotland was a law unto itself. South of the highland line was an entirely different Scotland. Anyway, the way to get into Glencoe, which was pretty impregnable at that time, was to come as friends. I liked that idea of a small clan who largely survived where they were because no-one could get in or out.

I looked up the Glencoe Massacre. It was in 1692. So, without mentioning an exact year, the flavour of your writing sets up the right time frame.

2 –  Ewen and some other characters speak in a dialect that give the Scottish highlands an authentic feel.“Whit? Can ye no see Ah’m busy.” “How is it no’? Mah horse, laddie.” Is this written by ear, or have you studied  Gaelic? Or?

Now here in Scotland we probably speak English, in  a local dialect. This is sometimes incomprehensible to those who are not local. We also speak…maybe not old Scots but certainly Scots as Ewen and some of the other characters do. Gaelic would have been spoken by the clans. It was mainly spoken in the Highlands and islands of western Scotland. It is still spoken by about 58,000 people in these parts. When you’re writing dialogue and trying to give something an authentic feel, you’re torn between that and being understood which was why I didn’t have everybody–hero and heroine particularly speaking in some form of Scots. I think it’s fair to say we often joke that there’s more than one book set here which we don’t understand because the dialogue is not authentic.  For example ‘donnae’ is a name, not the word for ‘don’t’ which is ‘dinnae’!

3 – I find certain small bits of your writing make me laugh…..such as Ewen’s talents, the description of the green dress and Callm asking himself:

Is it just me? Or do you insert this humour on purpose?

No and no. It’s not just you and no I don’t mean to do it, but it sort of comes out. I mean, I love that people have idiosyncrasies. They are what makes us. Kara’s little habit of firstly, secondly, thirdly, and her mantra about doing  things that she will be happy, or not happy with, when it comes to choices–quite awful things in some instances. These are her little idiosyncrasies.

Also people can be gloriously unselfaware. As you see with Callm asking himself why he shouldn’t be considered suitable, is a rich seam to be mined. Also let’s face it too, funny things do happen to people. Things like Kara not being able to get on that horse and walking round the yard trying to, while making out she knows what’s she’s doing. Well, honestly one day in the middle of nowhere in Yorkshire of all places, this woman asked if I could hold this absolute beast of a horse steady while she got on it. She’d been walking for miles at this point trying to do just that and hadn’t come across anybody.  As for asking me? Well… But hey (no pun intended) I did it. In truth I’ve never been any good at being serious, or keeping a straight face. It’s probably why my palms have half inch fingernail dents in them. Just joking. But not actually.  So I guess I don’t bung the humour in on purpose. It just appears.

4- Near the end of the story, Ewen joins Callm on the mission. It’s a wonderful twist of sorts, that solidifies the family. When asked why, Ewen answers – “Te get mah bride, Kertyn. Or Ardene. Whitever ane will hae me.

Kertyn returns with Callm and Ewen’s entourage. Does this mean Kertyn marries Ewen?

Well now… I didn’t want to ruin it entirely for the poor girl given he’s not exactly an oil painting, but I guess she is gonna be lady ruler of Lochalpin while Kara is gonna rule her glen. That’s if Kertyn doesn’t do a runner next!!!!  I honestly just don’t like writing cardboardy villains. No-one is all bad.  (except maybe Snotra from the Viking!)

Hahahaha! No oil painting! Just oily! Still, you gave Ewen the talents of dancing and cooking/baking! 

Lol…I did!!  I wanted to give him something!! Also, I wanted to explore resentment between two brothers who ultimately are still brothers.

I wanted to explore Ewen as the younger sibling, the one the lassies never looked at. As he says, no very bonnie, he’s loud, overweight, and cos he has had the glen handed to him on a plate, even down to Callm keeping it safe for him, he’s fallen in with the wrong crowd and is throwing his power around. Meantime here’s the big bro who obvi has done so much right… the wife, the child … in the past anyway.

And by the way Shey, OMG! Snotra is a total bitch!!! 

On that note, I thank Shehanne Moore for  answering all of my questions. I totally enjoyed this book! A+

‘So much of her life had revolved around fear and shock, little paths of darkness she had managed to find her way along, to places where she’d always managed to survive, after all. It hadn’t  broken her. Because the thing she had to care about was always there for her to see. No matter how dark the night. To tell herself it was all gone, lost at Maisie’s croft door, and she should now do as she was told, would be an act of unparalleled folly. She’d no intentions.

Yet it was hard when she also saw clearly as the silver moon above her head that she hadn’t lost Arland at the croft door. She had lost him a long time ago.

Until this moment she just hadn’t wanted to see she had.’

His Judas Bride- Shehanne Moore.

ABOUT RESA.

“My name is Resa McConaghy. I’m a Costume Designer for film and television.

“Art Gowns” is a creative project that has sprung from my old Blog,  Queen’s end.

As “Art Gowns” continues on,  I will Post other creative clothing ideas with the “Art Gowns” branding.

All of these ideas, of course, will revolve around the “Art of Glamorous Fantasy”. I’m thinking things like Poetry Shirts, DIY Gowns and DIY Crystaline Accessories.

This is all new to me, and should develop with time.

Cheers! “

https://artgowns.com/

https://jeanleesworld.com/2021/09/08/a-powerful-study-in-character-on-this-firstchapter-fiction-podcast-the-unraveling-of-lady-fury-by-shehannemoore/ via @jeanleesworld

Season 3 Episode 33: Shehanne Moore on the Writer/Publisher Connection https://teatoasttrivia.com/2021/08/16/season-3-episode-33-shehanne-moore-on-the-writer-publisher-connection/ via @chasingart

The Anna Campbell books are coming….

Tags

Anna Campbell, Charles James Fox, Courtesans, Eigg, Elizabeth Armitage, Highland Romance, highlanders, Historical romance, Publishing, Romance, Scotland, writing

‘As many beginner romance writers do, I decided category would be an easy way into the industry. Even though my heart has always been with long juicy historicals.’ Anna Campbell.

 

 

SHEY. ‘As many beginner romance writers do, I decided category would be an easy way into the industry. Even though my heart has always been with long juicy historicals.’  Thrilling words from a thrilling lady and author,  Anna Campbell, our guest today. Anna, would you say that after a long journey to get into the industry,  and a career there that has now spanned thirteen years, that your heart is where it wants to be?

ANNA.  Hi Lady Shey! Hi Dudes! Thanks for having me to visit today. I love writing historical romance – I don’t think any genre sweeps you away into a larger-than-life world the way historical romance does. Having said that, I have a vague idea of writing a historical mystery series but I fear I’m never going to have the time when I’m so busy writing my Highlanders and my rakes and my smart-mouthed Regency ladies.

 

SHEY. Your first book, Claiming the Courtesan which has won numerous awards was  ‘dark and sexy,’

and very different from a number of historicals out there at that time.

Ignoring the dudes please tell us what gave you the idea to go darker?  Were there any true historical stories of dukes marrying their mistress that inspired you?

ANNA  – When I wrote CTC, I had pretty much decided I was never going to be published. I’d written for most of my life without getting a contract – the publishing world was very different back in the early 2000s! So I just went where my heart took me – and that was to a very dark story about a tormented duke and the courtesan he loves. The fashion when I started Courtesan was very much romantic comedy, Julia Quinn and Amanda Quick and all those sparkling Regencies. But as I wasn’t writing for a market but to please myself, that didn’t much matter (so I thought!). Verity and Kylemore’s story came from my imagination but I had a marvellous moment after I’d written the first draft when I read Katy Hickman’s book Courtesans and came across the story of the courtesan Elizabeth Armitage and her aristocratic husband Charles James Fox. These two had a lot in common with my made-up characters. It felt like a sign from the universe that I was onto something.

SHEY –Both  wonderful books for those who haven’t read them BTW. Claiming the Courtesan was the start of a rollercoaster ride where you released a number of books for many major publishers–again, all to tremendous acclaim–but for last few years you decided to go your own way, publishing your books yourself.  What was your thinking behind that move? And how has it worked out for you?

ANNA -I love being an indie, although I’ll always be tremendously grateful for my career in traditional publishing. I learned so much and I picked up a large readership which stood me in good stead when I went out on my own. A few things pushed me down the independent route – I wanted to write stories in a variety of tones. While I’d started my career writing dark stories, at heart I’m actually quite a jolly soul and I wanted to write some romantic comedy. I also wanted more releases a year than a trad career allows.

SHEY– You’ve also gotten deeply into Scotland, especially the unspoiled island of Eigg.

Not that I noticed. Which of your ultra sexy heroes would you want to spend a day with there and what would you do ……. ?

And can you tell us why you find Eigg so bewitching?

ANNA — Ha, all of my heroes! Although perhaps not at the same time. That’s just too much like hard work! Just because he’s the most recent and also because I developed a major crush on him as I wrote the story, I’ll choose Brock Drummond, Earl of Bruard, who stars in The Highlander’s Forbidden Mistress, my latest release.

Brock is a wonderful mixture of heart and intellect and sexiness – so at least some of what I do with him on the Isle of Eigg will involve conversation! Really! I’ve included a picture of the view over to Rum from Laig Beach on Eigg.

It’s pretty obvious why I’m so in love with the place! I’ve always loved islands and this one has such a rich history and such glorious scenery. I also love that when I go there, I feel like the rest of the world is a million miles away (well, a couple of hours on a CalMac ferry, anyway!)

Shey–You know we were up for having our anniversary in Arisaig again,  heading over to Eigg for a day to bag the Sgurr, before winding up in Glencoe. RIGHT NOW ACTUALLY.  Oh well, the best laid plans of hamsters and women, but thank you for giving that wee flavour and here’s hoping for next year. Right now  I gather they are asking tourists to stay away from Eigg before you dudes get any bright ideas here. Anna, you’ve also moved into Scotland  as  a setting for many of your books. Give us the low down, is it the men in kilts, or something else that has drawn you in that direction?

ANNA–Well, a man in a kilt is always welcome!

Not to mention that wonderful accent. Sigh. Actually I’ve been in love with Scotland

since my very first visit back in the mid-1980s. I’ve been back numerous times since and the love affair has only intensified. I think it’s the most beautiful country on earth and the history is full of soul-stirring stories. Not to mention the music. That goes straight to the heart. When I first visited, I wondered if there was something in the idea of the blood calling me home. I am, after all, a Campbell, even if one raised on the other side of the world.

SHEY —How do you do your research for your novels?

ANNA– These days because I know the period I’m working in so well, I mostly do book-specific stuff. For example, with The Highlander’s Lost Lady, a lot of the plot hinged on issues like the age of consent in Scotland in the 1820s so I had a wonderful dive into marital law in the Regency period.

SHEY —What would you say has changed most about  the writing industry since you first started subbing your work?

ANNA — Ha, do you want a 10-page answer?

When I started writing, the only way to get published and find an audience was to get a contract with a traditional publisher, and books were available in print format only. Digital technology has created so many more ways for people to read and to publish. There’s a freedom now that there wasn’t back when I started writing as a teen.

Shey —Returning to that, you’ve written– in the hope of  getting published– since 3rd Grade, getting to the stage where   ‘under the bed was more crowded than the centre of Hong Kong at Chinese New Year,’ with manuscripts, finished, unfinished or rejected, you set yourself targets, goals, often doing mundane jobs,  did you ever think of giving up?

ANNA–I did! When I was in my late 30s, I was working in a dead-end job and nothing was happening with my writing career. I decided that wanting to be published was like wanting to dance for the Bolshoi (also a girlish dream for the young Anna!). It was time to put aside these silly fantasies of being a writer and start trying to build a proper life for myself. I lasted about 18 months and I was absolutely miserable. So when I went back to writing, I decided I needed to be a bit smarter about what I was doing. So I joined Romance Writers of Australia, and I started to write something that had a bit of commercial appeal. It still took a couple of years, but the decisions I made after giving up started me on the road to publication.

SHEY — Would you say that keeping your eye on markets and looking for the way in, with work that is marketable played its part and what tips would you give aspiring writers out there? I’d mention the worthy master here but as Bobby Bub ses, he can’t actually write. He can’t spell neither.

ANNA–The weird thing is I ended up getting published with a book I didn’t think any publisher would ever touch with a barge pole. At the time, the idea of a heroine who sleeps with men for money seemed very out there. I’d also advise against chasing trends. These days, trends come and go faster than a speeding bullet. My tip for aspiring writers is to read a lot in what’s being published now and take note of popular tropes (not trends). Marriage of convenience is a trope; hockey playing heroes is a trend. Also if you start a book, fight through the sagging middle to finish it.

Partly because there’s nothing you can do with the start of a book, but also because finishing a book will teach you more about writing than a million writing courses.

SHEY —What’s next for Anna Campbell?

ANNA–Lockdown has done wonders for the appearance of new Anna Campbell books! There are three more this year to finish up the Lairds Most Likely series. The Highlander’s Rescued Maiden is out at the end of September and as those who have followed me for a while know, I always do a Christmas story. The Highlander’s Christmas Countess should be out end of October. I’m also contributing a story to a Christmas historical romance anthology, but details of that are under wraps right now.

Next year I’m very excited because I’m starting a new series based back in Regency London, stories full of glamour and passion. Stay tuned for the announcement of details, but if you enjoyed my Dashing Widows series, I think you’ll be very pleased with this new direction.

If you’d like to keep up with the latest, why not join my mailing list? Just email me with your contact details: AnnaCampbellOz@hotmail.com Or I regularly update my website: www.annacampbell.com

Bio:

Australian Anna Campbell has written 11 multi award-winning historical romances for Avon HarperCollins and Grand Central Publishing. As an independently published author, she’s released 25 bestselling stories, including seven in her latest series, The Lairds Most Likely. Anna has won numerous awards for her Regency-set stories, including RT Book Reviews Reviewers Choice, the Booksellers Best, the Golden Quill (three times), the Heart of Excellence (twice), the Write Touch, the Aspen Gold (twice), and the Australian Romance Readers’ favorite historical romance (five times).

Links:

Website: www.annacampbell.com

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

Twitter: AnnaCampbellOz

BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/anna-campbell

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Anna-Campbell/e/B002NKV1HQ

Blurb for The Highlander’s Forbidden Mistress:

A week to be wicked…

 Widowed Selina Martin faces another marriage founded on duty, not love. When notorious libertine Lord Bruard invites her to his isolated hunting lodge, he promises discretion – and seven days of hedonistic pleasure before she weds her boorish fiancé. All her life, Selina has done the right thing, but this no-strings-attached chance to discover the handsome rake’s sensual secrets is irresistible. She’ll surrender to her wicked fantasies, seize some brief happiness, then knuckle down to a loveless union. What could possibly go wrong?

 

In a lifetime of seduction, Brock Drummond, the dashing Earl of Bruard, has never wanted a woman the way he wants demure widow Selina Martin. When Selina agrees to become his temporary lover, he soon falls captive to an enchantment unlike any other. He sets out to slake his white hot desire until only ashes remain, but as each day of forbidden delight passes, the idea of saying goodbye to his ardent mistress becomes more and more unbearable.

When scandal explodes around them and threatens to destroy Selina, Brock is the only person she can turn to. After so short a time, can she trust a man whose name is a byword for depravity?

Will this sizzling liaison prove a mere affair to remember? Or will their week of passion spark a lifetime of happiness for the widow and her dissolute Scottish earl?

Excerpt from THE HIGHLANDER’S FORBIDDEN MISTRESS: THE LAIRDS MOST LIKELY BOOK 7

Derwent Hall, Essex, December 1823

Selina was too aware that it was late and that she was alone with a man whose reputation was bad enough to send respectable virgins shrieking for their mammas. Lord Bruard’s company was the closest thing to satanic temptation that she was ever likely to experience.

She swallowed to moisten a dry throat and set the book on the mantel. “I must go,” she said, and cursed the squeak in her voice.

“Must you?” Bruard didn’t sound as if he cared whether she stayed or went. He continued as if they were in the middle of a friendly conversation. “You shouldn’t let Canley-Smythe bully you, you know. If he bullies you now, before he gets his ring on your finger, he’ll turn into a domestic tyrant when you marry.”

She paused in the act of turning away toward the door. “This is none of your business, sir.”

Unfortunately, it was also a perfectly accurate assessment of her future. Selina was no fool, and she had few illusions about what life with Cecil was going to be. But what choice did she have?

With a leisurely grace that made Selina’s foolish heart skip around inside her tight chest, Bruard sat up. She thought she’d committed her whole self to marrying Cecil, but now it turned out that her heart hadn’t signed up to the arrangement. Her heart cried out that she was still young and at last she had the chance to flirt with an attractive man. It insisted that if she ran away now, she was a filthy coward.

“Oh, that’s true.” Again no shame. “But I’m telling you this out of pure altruism. Stand up for yourself now, or he’ll crush every ounce of spirit out of you.”

“Pure altruism?” She gave a snort of amusement that would have shocked Cecil. “It seems the world is completely wrong about you, Lord Bruard.”

The half-smile reappeared, deepening the creases around Bruard’s deep-set eyes. The breath jammed in her lungs. Dear God, no wonder the ladies went insane for him. He truly was extraordinarily attractive. He should have warning signs posted all over him.

Because he was right about her avoiding him, this was closer than she’d ever ventured to the wicked Lord Bruard. This was certainly the longest she’d spent talking to him.

And danger bristled in the air.

So remaining in this room made no sense. Yet remain Selina did.

His gaze fixed on her. “No, my lovely little ghost, the world isn’t wrong about me.”

The power of his attraction made her stomach cramp with nerves, as she remembered all those depraved fantasies that wore Lord Bruard’s intense dark face. Did he know she’d thought of him in the privacy of the night? She had a sick feeling that he must.

“G-ghost?” she stammered.

He shrugged. How could such a prosaic movement make her heart somersault? Except his shoulders were broad and hard, and she ached to run her hands along them and down those strong arms, displayed to advantage in the best of London tailoring.

He wore black. But then didn’t the devil always come in black?

“That’s how I think of you. With your neat little gray frocks, and the way you watch everything you say, and never miss anything that goes on around you.”

This time, genuine fear spurred the unsteady beat of the heart. She hadn’t thought she’d be of the slightest interest to such a famous libertine. It turned out she was wrong. Just as she’d watched him, he’d watched her.

She gulped for air to clear a swimming head and raised a shaking hand to her bosom, before she realized how revealing the gesture was. “You shouldn’t think of me at all.”

His expression grew more intent, and she faltered back a step. She should flee, pride or no pride, but it was as if her feet were tacked to the parquetry floor.

“Nor should you think of me, when you’re marrying that ponderous oaf in a fortnight, and you’re obviously a woman who guards her chastity the way a miser guards his gold.”

Heat blazed in her cheeks, and she avoided his eyes. How could he make her virtue sound like the worst of sins? “I don’t think of you. I…”

Oh, what was the use? Coyness suddenly seemed too shabby to countenance. As he uncoiled and rose to his feet, she made a helpless gesture. “I don’t want to think of you,” she mumbled.

From Prague to Arisaig via Glencoe …

Tags

Arisaig, CSOE, Czech Memorial Arisaig, Glencoe, Glencoe Corbetts, Morar, Operation Anthropoid, Prague, Scotland, SOE ww2 Training Arisaig, The Brecklet Trail, The Duror Trail, The Silver Sands, writing, Writing tips, WW2 SOE

 

MEESTER

 

 

MONSTER

 

 

ARISAIG. Shey on the rocks without a drink too… DAY ONE. The walk was to Rhu Point and back. Shey and the Mr were full of  day one walking anticipation, so they howfed the three and a bit miles there, then back again.

ARISAIG Shey on a moth-eaten swing. Strangely this was without a drink although you might not think it. The Highland Games Dance was yet to come….

ARISAIG A deserted set of swings without anything….

And a phone box somewhere in Glen Roy that took Shey’s fancy largely cos you can’t get a mobile signal… BUT MAYBE there’s a ‘ beam me up Scotty,’ story here, OR It’s the TARDIS… As you can see …many writing prompts here.

 

DAY TWO. Shey at the Silver Sands, Morar before she and the Mr clocked the incoming tide…. and had to walk miles back to the road… or water, lots of it would have been what they were drinking…

MORAR

DAY two the Silver Sands of Morar from a safer viewpoint.

DAY TWO Unperturbed by the diversion at Morar and dancing half the night away, Shey and the Mr drove to Glencoe and tackled the Duror Trail feeling very brisk and loving the joys of walking. So much so they even walked along to Am Torr and back later before howfing it into the Boots Bar.

Glencoe

GLENCOE DAY 3. Despite the sun now beating down Shey and the Mr. set off to bag Meall Mor. From 1500 feet already up –on a forestry road to Ballachulish no less–  with the last bit, straight ahead there, through the bog, round the sheep fence, through the gate   and up the slope, just to go, what could be simpler.  In Glencoe, there is no such thing as simple…

 

The view looking down from the top was quite something.

As for the five and a half hours all told it took Shey and the Mr to do the entire bagging-yes you can spot him there, thinking how one slip would result in him taking the express route down to Loch Leven…, while Shey tried a more zigzagging approach well….that was something too…

But returning…, or rather crawling back…to the Clachaig a surprise awaited. A bottle of lovely bubbly from the staff there for the wedding anniversary. So obvi this picture and all the ones taken after had a drink in them, in fact they had many,  and no wonder.

Now this as blogger Ralpha will know is THAT sign again which Shey, no longer so full of the joys of walking, but rather full of fizz and cask aged cider tried to vary pose-wise.

DAY 4. GLENCOE/BALLACHILISH. Despite outright rebellion in the ranks, the Mr fell into step and did the lonely, overgrown, Brecklet Trail where Ping Pong Monsters lurk….. Monsters that tasted delicious…….

So? Just who was Grace O’Malley?

Tags

Dundee, Edinburgh, Grace O'Malley, Guest author, Ireland, John Quinn, Scotland, The Eyes of Grace O'Malley, writing

 

John Quinn –

I think you mean awesome.

 

John Quinn

Indeed she is but she’s retired now and more of a consultant on rebellious behaviour. Though best not use the ‘r’ word in her presence.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Grace_O%27Malley

https://www.historyireland.com/…/grainne-mhaol-pirate-queen-of-connacht-behind-th…

John Quinn

It’s about roots and turbulent times and love which endures and more…but I was also trying to create characters whose values are out of sync with the world around them but refuse to be cowed. They use their intelligence wit and humour to deal with it.

 

John Quinn,

I’m not Farrell Golden although it is a family name in my family tree. So I’d be lying if I said there aren’t autobiographical elements there. Probably more than I’m comfortable with admitting.

 

John Quinn

No comment. AS for a day in Edinburgh, Scotland’s capital?  Morning at the National Museum of Scotland followed by a pub lunch at Maggie Dickson’s in the Grassmarket or the Abbotsford on Rose Street. Walking round the city rounded off with some live music in the evening at Sandy Bell’s pub. With Shey of course…..

 

John Quinn,

I tried the usual routes and got what might be termed a modicum of interest. I was going to self-publish but then….oops that involves Shey…   Sorry. Did I say something wrong? I think the important thing as with so much in life is to have faith in yourself and keep going. As for what I am doing. How kind to ask.  I’m about 10,000 words into another novel, also  I’m working with a musician I know to write song lyrics which I hope will in due course become an album to raise money for a child poverty initiative in Dundee .. Lastly…more poetry.

 

Available Amazon UK 99p and Amazon US 1.29c

State … Security … Secrets …

Scotland 1972. A turbulent place – miners’ strikes, blackouts, Clyde shipyard workers defying the British Government, oil discovered in the North Sea and the long and deadly arms of conflict in Ireland reaching across the Irish Sea.

Farrell Golden is a bright working class kid from Dundee with an Irish heritage. But he hasn’t always paid it much attention. Thanks to his family he’s made it to the University of Edinburgh against the odds. But does he want to stay there?

There’s beer and there’s women – in particular a beautiful ethereal English girl called Maggie. She’s out of the London stockbroker belt but she’s not all that she seems. Then there’s an Irish girl who is somehow familiar …

Roisin O’Malley’s not like any trainee teacher Farrell’s ever seen. What is she getting away from in Edinburgh? What are her family’s links to the Troubles? What of her ex-boyfriend?

At a Bloody Sunday protest march Farrell sees Roisin in trouble and goes to help. He’s knocked unconscious. When he wakens up he finds he’s stepped down a rabbit hole of Irish history, family ties and state security. Is there a way back? Should he have paid more attention to the family heritage? Who is Roisin O’Malley really?

https://amzn.to/2KtDCdG

 

​About John Quinn

John Quinn’s  Twitter profile tells him he’s a persistent Dundonian, left footer, ex-teacher, global justice worrier and “wid be scriever.” His poetry has appeared in numerous publications including Poetry Scotland, Northwords Now, Mind the Time, and Lallans. He has performed his work including slam poetry in various places ranging from public parks to coffee shops and pubs. However, unlike his Dundonian predecessor, Oor Wullie McGonagall, he has found that to date, people have only thrown words at him. He is also the author of the play ‘O Halflins an Hecklers an Weavers an Weemin’ about the history of Jute and its impact on the City of Dundee. In 2017 the play was performed in the High Mill at Verdant Works Museum accompanied by the music of Michael Marra. John Quinn lives above the River Tay with his wife.

https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100004436284172

@jquinnsco -twitter.

Blog https://t.co/ZZ5lUTQVII

 

 

Apologies for an unexpected break and a Happy New Year

Tags

Loch Lomond song, New Year, Runrig, Scotland

 

 

The Bonnie Prince, the Edinburgh literary greats and some dudes.

Tags

Bonnie Prince Charlie, Bonnie Prince Charlie and the Jacobites, Charles Edward Stuart, Culloden, Edinburgh, Greyfriar's Bobby, Jacobites, Literary Edinburgh, Robert Louis Stevenson, Scotland, Sherlock Holmes, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, SIr Walter Scott, The Jacobites, The National Museum of Scotland

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Fiona-Jane Brown, Aberdeen and a question of Hats

Tags

Aberdeen, Aberdeen History, Aberdeen Tours, Fiona-Jane Brown, Hidden Aberdeen, History, Scotland

FIona.  Hello, dear hamster dudes! Yes, I am indeed, I’ve been running tours for 6 years now! But no, I’ve not ever thought of doing a hidden hamster tour.

Well, sadly, so far I’ve not found any record of hamsters doing anything significant in Aberdeen!

But, I’m sure they did! Just because things are not written down, doesn’t mean to say they didn’t happen! There were loads of secret tunnels and cellars they could have hidden in and witnessed some local dramas over the centuries – although they’d have to be careful of cats!

BUT, sadly hamsters did not arrive in Britain until 1939! You’ll love this though – the name hamster comes from a Persian (Iranian) word meaning “oppressor”!

It all started because I lost my dream job in Portsmouth as Conan Doyle Projects Officer! The funding was never renewed, so I just had to come back home. I decided there and then to never ever work for a council again, cos every council job I’ve ever had I’ve been made redundant from!

 

Anyway, I kinda started it even before I went to the south of England, as early as the spring of 2010, when I took a group of photographer friends around Old Aberdeen, which is where our main university campus is and has the oldest buildings in the city. At that time I had a job as curator for Grampian Police, so I got to indulge my interest in crime history – I planned to write a tour going round the sites of famous murders in the city, and when I came back in 2011, folk were like, “When are you doing this murder tour?” I wrote it up, put an event page on Facebook and 25 people turned up.  It was scary! But folk liked it, so I kept doing it.  I have 18 different routes now with 4 new ones planned for next year already.  Basically, I take people around a set route and tell them stories about the different sites.  I also do three routes which are “ghost tours” – which means that they are street theatre walks involving local actors who are playing real people from the past.  That goes down very well.  Tours involve a lot of writing to start with, then a lot of walking and talking!

 

Because, sadly, almost all of our historic buildings have been demolished and the folk in charge don’t seem to care! I have always wanted to know “what was there before” and take people back in time, if only in their imaginations. Our city was founded as a royal burgh in 1176 AD, but there’s evidence going away back to Neolithic times, so people have lived in the area for thousands of years.

Loads of them! But my real favourites are Johnny Milne, Aberdeen’s last executioner who only got the job because the city needed a hangman and it was a better alternative to being transported to Australia which he would have been as he had been arrested for stealing beehives from his employer. He had a bossy wife who made sure he took the job! 

Fiona-Jane meets Johnny Milne

I also love all the street characters who sold food, goods and generally made a nuisance of themselves, e.g. “Blin’ Bob”, aka Duncan McGillivray, a hawker who would make up all sorts of nonsense to sell anything.  He once bought a stock of old newspapers at the time of the Crimean War, and sold them pretending they were current.  He was accused of being a liar, but he said, “Aa newspapers print lees, so I should be allowed tae sell lees an aa!” I have a huge cast of characters in my head most of the time when I’m on a tour.

They vary! Every Halloween since 2011 I have put on a street theatre performance at a specific place featuring tragic, horrible and scary stories, that’s what the ghost tours came out of. One year when we did “Ghosts & Ghouls of the Aultoun” which goes round the uni area I mentioned earlier, we had fifty people on the tour, it was mad! It was also downright freezing! But folk love being scared.  I think it’s because deep down they know it isn’t real, but they like the thrill of being scared in a safe way.  I don’t dabble with real spooks! .

Last year we had our first indoor performance at the old medical school in Marischal College, it was called “Burkers, Bodysnatchers & Bloody Surgeons” featuring true and semi-fictionalised stories from the time of Burke & Hare, only in Aberdeen, it was the students themselves who would go and dig up bodies to dissect. There was also a storyline about two girls who disguised themselves as boys to study medicine as no woman was allowed near a university until 1891 in Aberdeen.  It ends up with the two girls being found out and bumping off the lecturer who uncovers their secret – they are then helped to hide the body by the horrible, scary Sacrist Pirie, who already has his own trade in killing off Travelling people to sell to the surgeons! It was such hard work, but it was so impressive! To hear and see the cast bringing my work to life was fantastic, it’s the best compliment an author can have to see their work on stage exactly as they wrote it!

Oh I was writing about other things long before I wrote local history! I’ve actually been writing stories since I was about six years old! I got inspired by “The Little Match Girl” and after that I just seemed to come up with fantastical plots and characters.

Eventually I realised that it was easiest to write about things I knew, so the first novel I wrote was all about North-East fisher folk and it was published online in 2012.

 

Indeed, see above, I was employed as the project officer for the Lancelyn-Green Collection, one of the world’s biggest collections of books, artefacts and other ephemera about Arthur Conan Doyle. I’ve always liked Holmes since the Granada TV series and Jeremy Brett.  My Mum bought me the complete Holmes short stories years ago and I devoured them!  The reason that the collection was left to Portsmouth City Library is that ACD had his first medical practice in Southsea, which is the seaside bit of Portsmouth/Portsea Island (yes, it is an island, but joined to the mainland by a road now), and he got bored so he invented a detective based on his old tutor, Dr Joseph Bell, from Edinburgh who had taught him the skills of observation and deduction.  Bell was a nicer man than Holmes though, and was married!

I have written a play and a novella featuring the traditional Victorian Holmes & Watson, but I also wrote a piece of fan-fiction about the BBC Holmes, which was great fun. I have a half-written novella called “The Riddle of the Dancing Dragons” which is Holmes again in his Victorian days, and features him and Watson going to visit a relative of John’s who has been looking after her two nieces.  One of the girls is about to be married to a confectioner, but the younger sister can’t stand him.  The relative also has an “adopted” son who we would probably describe as autistic in modern language, but he’s different, he’s detached from ordinary folk and Holmes is the first person to be able to talk to him.  It promises to be a good one if I can ever get back in the right mindset for it!

Yup – my pen name is Janet Swan and I’ve self-published a novel “Of Fish & Folk”, a novella, which is a pastiche of Ian Rankin’s Rebus, but has a female police detective in Edinburgh called “All the Sinners Saints” and a poetry collection called “A Different Gunpowder Plot.

Hidden Aberdeen 2 – which would be my fourth history book with Black & White Publishing (if they accept it) and I’m in the middle of the sequel to “Of Fish & Folk” – also planning to write a new script for Halloween, and a special war-time performance set in a real concrete air raid shelter. I do hope you like your knitted hats – that’s one of my stress-busting hobbies, knitting! Love to you all and be kind to each other, thanks for inviting me onto the blog! Mwah! xxx

 

Connect with Fiona-Jane here

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Find her on Amazon.co.uk here.

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The Writer and The Rake. Chapter one.

Tags

Contemporary, Dundee, High Wycombe, New book, Newport-on-Tay, Preview, Regency, Romance, Scotland, Shehanne Moore, The hellfire caves, The hellfire club, The Writer and the Rake, TIme Mutants, Time travel books

 

NOW DUDES  THAT IS NOT SO. What’s this then……

 

The Writer and The Rake. Chapter one the illustrated preview version.  Time Mutants series.

Chapter 1

Present Day. Dundee, Scotland.

If life was what happened as she dreamed, then what a bloody nightmare hers was right now. Flashlights pinged. “Sign this, Ms. Carter,” “Ms. Carter, over here,” “Brit-tany, Brit-tany,” screeched legions of adoring fans.

Some were trampled underfoot as she sashayed up stairs that dripped in red velvet, her carefully coiffed, exotically scented, chestnut hair framing her face, pink lips pouting, figure, slim as an ice pick in the little lime-green number she’d ordered from Saskia’s online. A snip at a thousand quid.

At least, in her fantasies people asked her for her autographs, her fans were being trampled and the dress cost that.

The truth?

Not even a mouse at her book signing in some shitty Scout hall.

Another parking ticket to stuff in the overflowing glove compartment. If only the compartment was a magician’s box that would make it vanish. A thwack, as one windscreen wiper tangled with the other, breaking it off and pinging it across the car bonnet in the rain battering off the tarmac.

And need she ask herself what that noise was? The tinkling of a broken tail light. Not hers. As for the dress? Sufficient to say that Zaskia’s wasn’t Saskia’s. So it was stuck in transit somewhere over Europe. She’d fit it all right. For the past week yogurt was all she could afford. Her stomach growled with hunger.

She stuffed her cigarette in the ashtray and creaked open the car door.

“Well, doesn’t this just make my day, ma’am? Stoopid. Stoopid.”

The icing on the cake. A shaven-headed, Neanderthal in a long leather coat, down on his haunches, squinting at his car bumper lying in the road. American, so probably born with a legal writ in his hand. She’d planned on picking up Rab by nine and it was already ten minutes to.

“Look, please don’t blame yourself.” She dragged her cigarettes and lighter from her raincoat pocket. “An accident can happen to anyone. I’m perfectly certain if it’s the first time—”

“Do you think I meant me?”

Forget being sued. On a sliding scale in a galaxy of last things, Rab disappearing to the pub for a quickie because she was late, was her biggest fear. She flicked her lighter, dragged the hot smoke into her lungs, let the heavenly scent waft up her nose.

“Well, darling, I sincerely hope you aren’t meaning me. I mean, I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Brit. Hey, doll, is something up?”

Rab, proceeded by his beer belly, dark quiff plastered to his forehead, his feet rammed into unfastened trainers, splashed through the puddles, guzzling what looked like a half bottle of voddie in a brown paper bag. Or was it a full bottle? It didn’t bode well for taking her revenge on Sebastian when she was doing her best to stay calm.

“You might say, darling.”

“Fine. Why don’t I just get in the car then? Just—”

He almost fell his length while pawing the door handle. When she’d thought about picking him up, she should have realized it would be out of the gutter. She glanced the other way. At least he was here. Sebastian’s was only a fifteen-minute drive through the city and over the road bridge. They’d be there by nine thirty.

“I beg your pardon, ma’am.”

“Yes?”

Ignoring Rab, and the butterflies rising in her stomach, she flicked her gaze over the man on his haunches, streetlight gilding his face.

“Did he just say, Brit?”

She forced a smile. If he had her name and went to the police with it, that would be the end of the plan to sort Sebastian.

“Brita? Yes.”

He stood up, wiping grit and plastic specks from his palms, his voice just audible above the water gurgling down the drain, inches from her toes. “An unusual name. It’s not short for something, is it?”

“It’s second generation Norwegian actually.”

“Really? You don’t sound Norwegian.”

“Oh, I don’t sound a lot of things, that’s why everyone up here calls me a Sassenach. But my grandfather was Norwegian and my mother is English.”

“You don’t say. Brittany Carter? Yes?”

“And what’s that to you?”

Cold trickles of rain ran down her spine as she shot a glance at her car and more importantly Rab sitting like a mountain inside. With that long shiny raincoat and shaved head, this stranger’s faint scent of hot exhaust, mugging old ladies, and extorting money at knifepoint from women like her, were probably as much as he knew. Not that she had much money. He’d be sadly disappointed. Even if he read her books, it wouldn’t do to go leaping about the street. The trick was to appear calm even if she was actively fighting the urge to finger her neck. Waft a little smoke his way. “Well?”

“Fame, success, riches.”

“I think you must have mistaken me for someone else.”

“Nope.”

“Trust me, darling.”

“Fame, success, riches.”

“In your dreams. Last month’s royalty statement wouldn’t pay for a loaf of bread.”

His lips cinched. “I should have added, the choice is yours. So long as you do it wisely.”

“Goodness. That sounds just like a book blurb.”

“Perhaps.” He dug in his pocket. “It only takes one thing.”

Good God Almighty. An autograph? He was a fan? A man like him? Her publisher had stressed the importance of appealing to all sorts. Men. Women. Why argue? Especially when she hadn’t appealed to anyone and this man pulled out a folded square of soggy paper. This was an awful lot better than exchanging insurance details.

“Hold on.” She opened her bag. She wasn’t exactly short of pens. “Although I must ask, do you mean, perhaps it only takes one thing? Or, perhaps? And then, it only takes? Oh, never mind. You’ve bought my books? The Captive Viking? The Captive Viking’s Bride? Then, of course, there’s my latest, A Viking for the Saxon Prince. It’s not as it sounds. The Viking is a lady. Her name is Frigga. Yours is?”

“My name? I don’t see what my name—”

“Unless you want me to guess, which I have to tell you darling, I’m in no mood for. You want a personalization, don’t you?”

She stared at the silver raindrop trickling down his face. An escaped lunatic was the last thing she needed tonight.

“Well, I—I just need you to sign if you are Brittany Carter, then all these things I mentioned can be yours.”

“How kind, but I still need your name.”

“Morte.” His voice rumbled like distant thunder in his chest.

“Mort? How interesting. Short for Mortimer, or Mortmain, is it?”

He shrugged, his face dead as stone. The smile wasn’t a smile. “If you say so, lady.”

“Well, if you’ll just open the paper?”

She waited while he pulled the ends of the piece of paper apart. Screeds on it, in fancy rain-smeared lettering she could barely get her eyes in gear to decipher, stranger than the black symbols etched into his shaven head.

What were they? Crude attempts at reproducing crop circles? A problem with his barber? She screwed her eyes up tighter. She’d signed that mortgage with Sebastian without thinking after all. Now he kept defaulting. She couldn’t even get a credit card company to touch her. Shouldn’t she at least try to see, look knowledgeable, prevaricate? This might be an insurance disclaimer. He moved closer.

“Is there something wrong?”

She jerked up her head.

“Oh I—I—”

“Let me, ma’am.” He shrugged and turned around.

“I’m sorry?”

“You can sign it right there. Use my back as a desk.”

How obliging. More so than any man she’d ever met and she wanted to get to Sebastian’s tonight. Besides, she’d dreamed of this. What possible harm could there be? She tossed the cigarette aside, stepped forward, wedged the piece of paper between his soaking shoulder blades.

“All good wishes.” She scrawled in the wet creases. “‘To Mortimer, my only, I mean my number one fan, with love from Brittany Carter.’ How’s that? Now, if you don’t mind, I really must be getting on my way.”

“Not at all, Brittany. It’s very good of you to sign. Just . . . just remember what I said about choice. It’s important you choose wisely, do you understand?”

“Your car . . .”

He’d asked for her autograph and now she glanced down in the yellow light. That was quite a dent in the boot.

“Don’t worry about it.” A shrug of his expansive shoulders. “I won’t need it where I’m going.”

“Somewhere close at hand, is it? After all, you wouldn’t want to get wet in all this rain if there’s a problem with it.” Or cadge a lift. She dropped the pen back into her bag. “Now, talking rain, I really must go. But, so lovely to have met you, Mort. Take care of yourself, won’t you?”

She nearly shot out of her skin. Thunder clapped right above her head. The street lamps flickered. Sparks showered on the cobbled road inches from her toes so she’d done her damndest to stand there and muffle the shriek. Mort merely stared.

“You should go.”

“Yes.”

“Now.”

“I will. Don’t hang about yourself. Goodbye.”

She sloshed towards the car, relief and alarm coating her skin. Rab had fallen over and was sprawled across her seat. She shoved him upright, squeezed inside.

“There you are, Brit. What was all that about?”

She stuck a cigarette between her teeth. “Not that you were paying any attention, but it was a fan.”

“You?”

“Well, I do have some, darling.”

“Did I say you didn’t?”

“You didn’t have to.” She glanced in the mirror. “His name’s Mort and he wanted my autograph.”

So badly he was splayed on his knees kissing the paper in a dancing sea of rain, raising it heavenwards, the hem of his coat frothing in a perfect circle around him. The unlit cigarette dangled from her lower lip. Who needed a legion of fans when she’d one like this? She’d better be careful driving away. It would be terrible to run him over.

“Jesus!”

Rab’s yell split her eardrums. The bolt of lightning hadn’t just struck behind them. It had struck Mort. Her fan. Her only fan had flames licking all over his coat. And he knelt there, doing nothing. She must save him. She couldn’t lose her only fan. There would be no one to buy her next book.

“Quickly Rab, the extinguisher.” She raked under the seat. “Get the car rug. Hurry. Hurry. Phone 999.”

“Jeez, Brit, what the hell do you think I am? Superman?”

“Now. Now.”

She stumbled out, grabbed the extinguisher. Flames pooled at the hem of Mort’s outspread coat. They spread like golden butter up the coat itself while he sat with his eyes closed, his dark brows in a straight line, his lips too. The acrid smell of burning leather stung her nostrils. Fortunately her eyes didn’t water. She could see.

“Mort!”

Her unlit cigarette was still wedged between her teeth. It gave her something to bite down on as she took aim. Foam scooted in a frothy jet, spattering Mort’s rugged face, covering his eyelids like snow. “It’s fine, darling. I’ve got you.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“You don’t have to be afraid.”

Shock obviously did things to a person. It’d done things to Mort. He couldn’t see blackened, smoking holes punctured his coat and seared his flesh. He hadn’t even fallen over.

“Rab has phoned an ambulance.”

“That too.”

“I’m sorry?”

“You’ve interrupted a process here.”

She bit her lip, the cigarette along with it, scooshed more foam. “Well, if that’s your head going up in flames, I’m glad I did. Or you’d be crisped, darling. Now, just let me get that blanket for you.”

“Do you think that is going to solve anything? A goddamned blanket?”

She turned. The poor man. She shook the blanket out and tucked its soft folds around his shoulders before he got even more aggressive. At least it would be warm. Good for shock.

“There. Let’s just get this properly round you. That’s it. There. Till the ambulance gets here.”

His dark eyes, weary beyond ages held hers. “No. You don’t understand. This is about choices. You just made the wrong one.”

He saw her coming. If he’d known her effect he’d have walked away.

When it comes to doing it all, hard coated ‘wild child’ writer, Brittany Carter ticks every box. Having it all is a different thing though, what with her need to thwart an ex fiancé, and herself transported from the present to Georgian times. But then, so long as she can find her way back to her world of fame, and promised fortune, what’s there to worry about?

Georgian bad boy Mitchell Killgower is at the center of an inheritance dispute and he needs Brittany as his obedient, country mouse wife. Or rather he needs her like a hole in the head. In and out of his bed he’s never known a woman like her. A woman who can disappear and reappear like her either.

And when his coolly contained anarchist, who is anything but, learns how to return to her world and stay there, will And when his coolly contained anarchist, who is anything but, learns how to return to her world and remain, will having it all be enough, or does she underestimate him, and herself?

 

 

 

A guid New year……

Tags

New Year, Scotland

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Have yourself a Merry Highland Christmas…

Tags

Christmas, Cranberry Fudge, His Judas Bride, Scotland, Scottiish Christmas traditions, Scottish Highlands

 

Rule 3: Thou shalt learn to bring Shehanne her slippers without her even asking; fill her wine glass before it’s empty; and help her in her new garden. Reason is, a happy Shey makes for a happy day.

 

 

 

All right, can we shut it up now?

And please welcome Lady Kara, heroine of my book, His Judas Bride, or face getting 1 out of 10?

 

 

 

Dudes, I’m sure if you let Lady Kara get a word in she’d tell you that Scotland is not the moon and while in Scotland we have VERY short days at the end of December. It is dark until around 8.30 am and again about 3.30pm in the afternoon, we celebrate Christmas the same as many other places. Christmas dinner etc etc etc. Of course there’s the pressies and the stockings AND the lumps of coal for those who didn’t behave.

MUCH.

After Kara brought you this lovely Christmas card too.

Well, we’ll be spending it at the castle in my glen–unfortunately because Lochalpin is Callm’s home. But,still we will start with  a nice walk in the snow in the morning, after the children have opened their presents. Of course we will be having a venison dinner later with our guests.

 

Fallon will be getting a new set of knives and Arland, some body armour.

We hope they all will. They are certainly all asked with their families. It makes for quite a party and we all play pin the tail on the hamster. That’s usually after Dug has bitten it off.

The hall is beautifully decorated with pine branches and the fire is blazing. Ideal for roasting all sorts.

Then, when everyone has gone to their beds, we go to ours. More I cannot say, except mulled wine by the fire and the Wolf are a nice combination.  The name Yuletide comes from the Scandinavians, for whom ‘Yultid’ was the festival celebrated at the twelfth month, being the twelfth name of Odin, who was supposed to come to earth in December, disguised in a hooded cloak. He would sit awhile at the firesides listening to the people, and where there was want he left a gift of bread or coins. I’m sure if you’re good little hamsters and start getting ten out of ten,   that’s what you’ll find in your stockings on Christmas morning.

Oh and please…do make my fudge. It’s deliciously decadent served with mulled wine and a roaring log fire and the partner of your choice……….