Guest Blog: Erastes

This week, we're welcoming historical novelist, Erastes, as she celebrates the release of her latest novel, MUFFLED DRUM, her first release with Carina Press. Please leave a comment for a chance to win one of two generous prizes from Erastes; details below! Here's the blurb:

Bohemia, 1866

They met in a port-side tavern, their lust-filled moments stolen from days of marching and madness. After eighteen months, Captain Rudolph von Ratzlaff and First Lieutenant Mathias Hofmann have decided to run away from everything they hold dear. Resigning their commissions is social suicide, but there's no other choice. Someone will eventually see Rudolph's partiality toward Mathias.

Now their plans have gone horribly awry... When Mathias goes to Rudolph's tent after their last battle, his lover looks at him without a hint of recognition. Mathias can hardly believe the man he knew is gone. He wants to fill in so many of Rudolph's missing memories, but the doctor says a shock could result in permanent damage. The pain of seeing Rudolph on a daily basis, when Rudolph doesn't remember their love, is excruciating. Now Mathias must decide whether he wants to fight for the man he loves or forget him completely...

What makes your recent release, MERE MORTALS, an unusual historical?

It’s great to be back here!

It’s set during a period I haven’t read much fiction about—the Austro-Prussian war of 1866. More correctly called the Austro-Prussian-Italian war, or—if you are from Germany, it’s just called “the German War”! My mother did her thesis on this war and I remember her studying it, and using tapes to do the whole sleep memory thing. Perhaps something rubbed off on me, because I’ve always found the period to be quite fascinating. I thought that a campaign that was rarely mentioned, and a road trip rather than a set-piece with country houses and balls would be fun to do.

What’s it about?

It’s a story of loyalty, and friendship and how far one goes to hold on to something that may or may be gone forever. It takes the trope of amnesia as its theme, and twists it to incorporate a homosexual romance, which goes wrong in so many ways! (It is me, after all—can’t have it going smoothly!) It’s also a road trip.

What gave you the idea?

Well, partly it was from my Dad. He has Alzheimer’s you see, and although he’s still functioning in a “get up every morning and wash, dress and tidy up” kind of way, he’s slipping away from me every month and he can’t forget the simplest things like my birthday, or even my late mother’s birthday. I wanted to explore the devastating effects of memory loss, and how it might affect not only the onlookers, the person themselves.

I have to be honest, too and say that much of the inspiration came from the hussar uniforms, because they are just gorgeous!

Why is it called Muffled Drum?

It was inspired by a poem I found in The Gentleman’s Magazine published in 1805

Ah me! how sorrowful and slow,

With arms revers’d, the soldiers come—

Dirge-sounding trumpets, full of woe,

And, sad to hear, the Muffled Drum!

John Mayne, 1805, The Gentleman’s Magazine

It immediately spoke to me of memory loss, as well as the loss of comrades, and seemed a perfect title.

You tend to use war as a theme often, Transgressions was set in the English Civil War and Tributary was set between the two world wars- why is this?

Well, it’s probably a lazy writer’s way to create conflict. When you place a story in a war you have as many action scenes as you might wish, and the possibility of injury and/or death of characters, whether they are main ones or not. I like to have another edge to my stories, one that doesn’t necessarily concentrate on JUST the relationship, because that would be too limiting for me.

However, in both Transgressions and in this, the battles are pretty much all off-stage. In Muffled Drum you see the pre-battle preparation, and the aftermath—the dead, the wounded and the celebration. The way men can put horror behind them and carry on.

What’s your writing routine?

I’m lucky enough that I have been able to give up my full-time work. I look after my Dad 5 days a week (or at least, I’m with him 5 days a week, obviously I do stuff for him 7 days!) So I go over there, make us breakfast and then set to writing while Dad does his own thing. I try to write 1000 words a day, but as I said, it’s been a struggle this year, and I’m lucky if I can do a fraction of that.

I try to write two books a year, because I’d like ideally to publish two books a year and so far, that’s been happening. I just need to write another one this year, or I’m only going to have one out next year!

On that note, what have you got planned for the future?

I have another novel coming out this year (I’ve had three this year, which is a record for me!)  called Junction X. It’s set in the early 1960’s and is a love story but definitely not a romance. That’s all I’m saying. What I’m writing? A kind of spy/mercenary story set during the Blitz, and a 1920’s murder story, which is very loosely based on Hamlet. Both are kind of stalled though, I’ve been going through a rough spot this year and have written almost nothing.

My second novel for Carina will be out in March 2011, and is a vampire story set in 19^th century Florence; it doesn’t have a title yet though!

Thanks for being here, Erastes—do you have anything for our readers?

Yes!  I will be giving away two prizes to commenters. The first one is a download of Muffled Drum and a goody bag sent by post, and the second is either a download of Muffled Drum or any paper book from my back catalogue. Please say which you’d prefer in the comments. I welcome questions too, so please don’t hold back!

Thanks you, Erastes. Please leave your comment to win one of these generous prizes.

Excerpt Thursday: Erastes

This week on Excerpt Thursday, we're welcoming historical novelist, Erastes, as she celebrates the release of her latest novel, MUFFLED DRUM, her first release with Carina Press. Join us on Sunday, when Erastes will be here to talk about the novel and give away a copy! Here's the blurb:

Bohemia, 1866

They met in a port-side tavern, their lust-filled moments stolen from days of marching and madness. After eighteen months, Captain Rudolph von Ratzlaff and First Lieutenant Mathias Hofmann have decided to run away from everything they hold dear. Resigning their commissions is social suicide, but there's no other choice. Someone will eventually see Rudolph's partiality toward Mathias.

Now their plans have gone horribly awry... When Mathias goes to Rudolph's tent after their last battle, his lover looks at him without a hint of recognition. Mathias can hardly believe the man he knew is gone. He wants to fill in so many of Rudolph's missing memories, but the doctor says a shock could result in permanent damage. The pain of seeing Rudolph on a daily basis, when Rudolph doesn't remember their love, is excruciating. Now Mathias must decide whether he wants to fight for the man he loves or forget him completely...

*Excerpt*

Mathias sat by his tent, bone-weary and half-slumped in his canvas chair. Becher, his batman, knelt before him, struggling with the loops on Mathias’s blood-soaked jacket.


“The threads have swollen, sir,” he said. “My fingers…”


Mathias turned his face away from the man’s sour breath. “Cut them.”


“Sir?” Becher looked positively shocked at the suggestion—whether it was for the uniform or for his fingers, Mathias didn’t know.


“Cut the damned things off.” When Becher reached for his knife, Mathias took it from him. “Give it here.” He ripped the frogging apart, gold threads trailing and the brass buttons scattering around his feet. “Now. Get over to Rittmeister von Ratzlaff’s tent and see how his day went.”


“I should wash—”


“You should damned well do as you’re told, Becher, that’s what you should do!” Breathing heavily, Mathias pulled his hat from his head and leaned on his knees, listening to Becher’s footsteps squelching away through the mud. He knew he’d been too harsh, too quick with the man, but his side hurt damnably, and he’d not seen Rudolph once since right at the beginning of the battle, and even then he wasn’t sure that the man he’d picked out—the dark-haired rider galloping on the far side of the copse, riding straight and fierce—had been his lover.


Gingerly he pulled the dolman off and dumped it on the ground next to his pelisse. The blood wasn’t pouring out of him—or I wouldn’t have made it from the horse lines, I’m sure of it—but his shirt was wet to the touch. Cold, though. That has to be a good sign, surely?


Becher had a pan of salted water on the boil, and he’d put some clean rags beside it. Mathias dipped the rags into the water, then waited a moment for them to cool before wiping at the flesh under his shirt. Soldiers—officers and enlisted men—passed him as he worked, but he didn’t look up. Each man had his own concerns after a battle. One kept to oneself until one could present oneself in a better light than bloody and broken.


Damn it. Let Rudolph be alive. Please, God. Let Rudolph be alive.

He hadn’t allowed himself to think what he’d do if the reverse was true—wouldn’t even allow himself to think the words. Death was something he expected for himself, but never for Rudolph. Rudolph was one of those men who would live forever, the type who would grow huge gray moustaches and bore his grandchildren and possibly even great-grandchildren about the battles he’d been in, the charges he’d led.


Mathias knew he wasn’t half the fighter Rudolph was. While his own sword work was passable— certainly as good as most of the Regiment—Rudolph could disarm him without breaking a sweat. No matter how often they sparred, no matter how often Rudolph taught him the trick of it, he had never taken Rudolph’s sword, not once. Their horse-craft was on a par, just, but Rudolph had been born in the saddle—his family had put him on a sturdy little pony in his first months of life, while Mathias had worked hard from enlistment and trained several times a week. He was, along with all the other men, perfectly capable of guiding a horse without saddle or rein—a man didn’t stay with the hussars for long if he couldn’t master a horse by touch and voice alone—but he never achieved that perfect symbiosis that Rudolph did with his mounts.


He paused for a moment at the image of Rudolph as a fond grandfather, with those ridiculous moustaches. He hadn’t been shocked when Rudolph told him he was married. Not shocked exactly. Rudolph had—although Mathias had never met any of them—a large aristocratic family and a fortune which, although Rudolph rarely spoke of it, was something that needed to be managed. There were always letters that required answering, and sometimes—only sometimes—Rudolph would complain about the incompetence of estate managers who couldn’t manage to find their arses with both hands.


“How is it that your family allows you to risk your life the way you do?” Mathias had asked him once. It had been the only time he’d asked a direct question about Rudolph’s family, and he’d deliberately not said “wife.”


“My parents are both dead—oh, I hardly knew them. Brief visits to the drawing room, that kind of thing. They were both dead—typhus—before I was six. I’ve had the inheritance ever since, but other people have always run the place. And my life is my own to dispose of—to do with what I like. I made that very clear. My aunt Gretchen von Ratzlaff took over my upbringing. Her and a gaggle of visiting relations. Aunt Gretchen was a crotchety widow with firm views on many things. One thing she taught me was to speak my mind, so I did. And I have a healthy younger brother. I’m expendable.”


“And you prefer to do this?” That Mathias found hard to understand. A choice between luxury and comfort and servants and clean sheets—and life in the army.

Photo Essays: 19th Century Boom Town

By: Jacquie Rogers

Many of my western historical romances are set in the Silver City area of Idaho Territory, in Owyhee County (a large county in southwest Idaho with area about the same as New Jersey, but with one person per square mile).  This was a wild and wooly area of the West. 

The gold and silver strike sent prospectors, gamblers, painted ladies, merchants, Chinese miners and merchants, bankers, and newspapermen to Ruby City.  Problem is, the creek liked to flood there so the residents packed up the town, buildings and all and moved them to the Silver City site, where it still stands.

So let's take a tour.  On the right is the sign that tells you how to get there.  I'd advise not to miss the sign.  Oh, wait, there's only one road.  I'd advise you to stay on that road.  If you get lost, you have to pay Owhyee County to hunt for you.  They had to implement this because so many city people got themselves into fixes they couldn't get themselves out of.  It got costly, and the budget just didn't have room for people's errors in judgment.

These pictures are all taken by my daughter, Mercedes Christesen.  Special thanks to her husband, Rodney, for using his day off to chase after pictures for his mother-in-law.  Yes, you get points for that.

Drug Store

Here's the Drug Store.  She wasn't able to get any history on it, but it was either called the Knapp Drug Store or the Model Pharmacy.  Or maybe it was one and then the other.  I think it's just called the Drug Store now.  It's not open for business anymore.  It's a residence now, as so many formerly commercial buildings are. 

There's an open house the weekend after Labor Day every year.  I've been there--great fun!

Silver Slipper Saloon

To the right is the Silver Slipper Saloon.  This is a 20th Century saloon, open from 1918 to the early 1940s but it still looks cool so I included it.  Silver City had many, many saloons and of course also had cribs and a street called Virgin Alley where ladies of ill-repute plied their trade.  On Ghosttowns.com, you can see an older photo of this saloon and the drug store above.

Silver City Trivia:

Houses at its peak, 400: now, 67.  Businesses at its peak, 125: now, 2.  Working mines at its peak, 250: now, 1.  This informaton comes from a sign on the menu at the Idaho Hotel.  The building was constructed in Ruby City and moved to Idaho City in 1866.

Even though Silver City had telephone service by 1880, the telegraph business was thriving for longer distances.

Silver City, Idaho Territory, never did have rail service, but the train service was within a stage ride.  Here's a Union Pacific train ticket:

May 10th. 1869

GREAT EVENT

Rail Road from the Atlantic to the Pacific

GRAND OPENING

of the

Union Pacific Rail Road

Platte Valley Route

Passenger trains leave

OMAHA

on the arrival of trains from the East

THROUGH TO SAN FRANCISCO

In Less than Four Days, avoiding the Dangers of the Sea!

Travelers for Pleasure, Health or Business

(full size photo)

Life was hard in the Old West, especially when you're a couple hundred miles off the beaten path, at over 6,000 feet in elevation.  But this wasn't empty country. A long-standing population of Native Americans from the Bannock and Paiutes were not all that happy about Europeans coming in and ruining their livelihood and cultures.  The next photo is the gravestone of Oliver Hazard Purdy, born September 12, 1824, and killed during the Bannock Indian War in 1879.

Sometimes bad things happen but instead of dying, the perpetrators were put in jail.  It looks as if this jail wouldn't be too secure these days, but it was formidible in its time.

For more cool photos and accompanying descriptions, I highly recommend EdnaPurviance.org and GhostTowns.com.  You can see the school and the church, too, where services are still held.  The Masonic Lodge is still in good condition and is in use as well.

I'll leave you with the coolest hotel ever.  I mean EVER.  This is the Idaho Hotel that I talked about above (menu board trivia).  Yes, you can still stay there--they have 13 rooms in service.  Go to the hotel's website for more cool history about Silver City.

 

Idaho Hotel, in Silver City, Idaho

Much Ado About Marshals takes place in Oreana, Idaho Territory, but the pre-story takes place right here in Silver City.  Stay tuned because another book in the Much Ado series will be set in Silver, and you can bet these buildings will have a strong say-so in how the story goes. :)

Jacquie Rogers writes western historical and fantasy romance.  Her latest release, MUCH ADO ABOUT MARSHALS, debuted #1 in Western Romance at Smashwords, and #2 in Humor. Available also are her contemporary western, DOWN HOME EVER LOVIN' MULE BLUES, a multi-era faery story, FAERY SPECIAL ROMANCES, and a Christmas story, FAERY MERRY CHRISTMAS. She's co-founder of 1st Turning Point, a pay-it-forward website where authors teach, share and learn promotion and marketing.

Photo Essays: A medieval summer

By Lindsay Townsend

My latest historical romance, To Touch The Knight, takes place in summer, a tense summer just after the outbreak of plague in 1348, when people are trying to return to normal.

In more usual years, summer for people in the Middle Ages was both very busy and a time of relaxation and pleasure. After the hard graft of winter and spring, May was a holiday month in early summer, with few tasks in the agricultural calendar. May Day, a blend of Christian and older pagan traditions, was celebrated by everyone, with dancing, revels and drink.

May was the time when people would go wandering in the fields and woodlands, to enjoy the fresh greenery and woodland flowers. It was also blossom time, when the fruit trees and hedgerows burst into bloom, wild cherries and wild apples following each other in glorious profusion.

Later summer was a harder task-master: if a peasant worked on the land, later summer was when the sheep were sheared, then the hay and wheat harvests were gathered in. Summer, too, was often the prime time for military activity, when knights might be called to fight for their overlord or king on campaign. However, even in these months there was merry-making.

Midsummer was marked by bonfires, a pagan ‘left-over’ from the earlier festival of Beltane and celebrated in the Middle Ages as the saint’s day of St John. Young couples would sometimes leap over the midsummer bonfire for luck. Wells could also be dressed with flowers around this time – a relic of earlier water-spirit worship, and still carried on today.

July was marked by St Swithin’s day, when the strewings in the churches would be changed from the winter rushes and straw to the summer hay and sedges, and August saw the feast time of Lammas – loaf mass – to give thanks for the hard-won harvest.

[Photo of oxeye daisies and cornflowers by Colin Smith, photo of well-dressing by Bob Embleton, both of geograph.org.uk. The fifteenth-century stained glass harvesting scene is from the Victoria and Albert Museum. All three sourced from Wikimedia Commons.]

Lindsay Townsend writes historical romance set in medieval England and the ancient Mediterranean. Lindsay's latest book, To Touch the Knight, a story of jousting, deception and romance at the time of the Black Death, is published by Kensington Zebra in July.

Guest Blog: Lorelie Brown

This week, we're welcoming long-time contributor and romance author, Lorelie Brown, as she celebrates the release of her latest novel, CATCH ME, available now from Carina Press. Please leave a comment to win a copy! Here's the blurb:

Arizona Territory, 1882

Maggie Bullock's father needed expensive medical care and if that meant stealing from their friendly swindling banker, so be it. Once her father was on the path to recovery she would face the consequences. The whole thing was surprisingly easy until she's kidnapped by bounty hunter Dean Collier.

Collier is tired of tracking down worthless scum. He's afraid he'll lose his last scrap of humanity and become a stone-cold killer, just like the men he brings to justice. He jumps at the chance to become sheriff of Fresh Springs, Arizona. The one condition—capture Maggie.

He figured it'd be easy. Until beautiful, loyal Maggie breaks through defenses he'd thought cemented. His feelings for her run the range from fury to confusion to love, but if he doesn't bring her in someone else will. Can there be a future between a sheriff and a fugitive?

How do you deal with balancing the realities of historical settings with romance fantasy?

 Actually, I had a bit of a funny moment with that regarding CATCH ME. My original meeting between the hero and heroine had her stopping and bathing after a long time on the trail. The hero watched from the woods while developing a particular sort of interest in her figure. My fabulous editor pointed out this was a bit of a cliché. Accepting that, I changed it to have her sneaking up on him.

The copy editor pointed out that after two weeks on the trail she’d be rather stinky and did she ever have a bath?

I laughed, because what else could I do? My editor and I agreed that we’d leave it as-is with the unsaid assumption that life in the west was hard, but Maggie would have squeaked in a bath where she could have, even out of a basin. Because she’s a romance heroine, she’ll always smell amazing.

It’s just the rules.

Why switch from 1920s to the 1880s West?

I read Stephen King’s The Gunslinger one too many times? Which is just a short way of saying that I’ve had a long-term penchant for the late 1800s, same as the 20s.  To me, the key is that they’re both periods of extreme change. The dynamics of the world were changing. In the Old West, America was pushing her boundaries as far and as fast as possible, in the epoch of expansion. That meant lots of people struggling to find their place in the world. That’s the part that appeals to me.

Will you be writing more in the 1880s?

Absolutely. I just finished a book that’s set in Victorian London, at the same period. Don’t tell anyone important, but I would have much more preferred to set the story in New York. But I took marketing into consideration. Still, I think I kept that different flavor. The hero and heroine wouldn’t be right in any other time period.

Plus if you read CATCH ME, you’ll probably realize what I did: If Dean’s the tasty broody one, his brother Andrew is quite the rake prototype. He’s a lot of fun. I can’t leave him unattached forever.

What’s your favorite moment from CATCH ME?

Dean, Maggie and a pair of handcuffs. Neither of them are particularly happy with each other, but whoa-damn do the sparks fly. That was a lot of fun to write.  A taste:

          Like a conjured ghost, she was there when he lowered his hands. She held the canteen out and the cuffs gleamed in a sliver of moonlight. He hadn’t seen her mouth held that flat since he’d first abducted her from her hotel room.

          He took the water and his fingers brushed hers, sending a fluttery shock up his arm. It rocked him all the way down to his toes, tightening his body and making his dick perk up in eager attention.

          Her gaze ranged over his arousal and she cocked a hip. “Got yourself fully under control, do you? Looks like at least part of you thinks running away with me might be a good idea.” And then she smirked. Downright, goddamned smirked, lips curving in a sultry smile.

          His vision washed gray at the edges. After all this time, she still didn’t understand. The control he had to exercise, the rigid lockdown he had at all times.

          By god, he’d show it to her, exactly how dangerous he could get. And then she’d please, Christ, just shut up already.

          His hands flashed out and sank deep in her hair, yanking her head back and pointing her lush, tempting mouth up. He had only a second to see how wide her eyes went before he swept in and kissed her.

          Except this meeting of lips and teeth wasn’t about giving anything. It wasn’t a prelude to more. It wasn’t a promise.

          It was an exorcism.

Thank you, Lorelie! Please leave a comment to win a copy of Lorelie's latest, CATCH ME!

Excerpt Thursday: Lorelie Brown

This week on Excerpt Thursday, we're welcoming long-time contributor and romance author, Lorelie Brown, as she celebrates the release of her latest novel, CATCH ME, available now from Carina Press. Join us Sunday, when Lorelie will be here to talk about the novel and give away a copy! Here's the blurb:

Arizona Territory, 1882


Maggie Bullock's father needed expensive medical care and if that meant stealing from their friendly swindling banker, so be it. Once her father was on the path to recovery she would face the consequences. The whole thing was surprisingly easy until she's kidnapped by bounty hunter Dean Collier.

Collier is tired of tracking down worthless scum. He's afraid he'll lose his last scrap of humanity and become a stone-cold killer, just like the men he brings to justice. He jumps at the chance to become sheriff of Fresh Springs, Arizona. The one condition—capture Maggie.

He figured it'd be easy. Until beautiful, loyal Maggie breaks through defenses he'd thought cemented. His feelings for her run the range from fury to confusion to love, but if he doesn't bring her in someone else will. Can there be a future between a sheriff and a fugitive?


***

The fine hairs across his neck shivered.


He snapped the cylinder into the frame with a flick of his wrist, then let it spin. Loaded, locked and cocked.


In one move he pointed the pistol at a shadowy figure in the trees, perched on a branch. “Come down.”


“No, I don’t think so.” The voice was another surprise. Low and husky, she betrayed no fear. He could almost hear that voice begging sweetly in his ear while he stroked into her. “Who are you?”


The absurd thought of fucking Margaret was easily shaken off. The sharp-edged anger that often filled him swept through and eased the sting of denial. “I’m Dean Collier.”


“You’ll pardon me if I don’t give you my name. I don’t tend to introduce myself to strange men.” She shifted along the thick branch, crouching lower. A stray beam of sunlight worked down to caress her face.


Perched on her high ground, she seemed wild. Half feral. She wore men’s clothing, for one. Snug breeches clung to her narrow hips and curved thighs. Her hair was a tumbled mess, barely pulled back in a horse’s tail. Dark hanks fell around her face. The hair was a weakness. He could wrap the tangled length around his fist and lead her around.


If he could get past the revolver she had pointed dead at his stomach.


Gut shot wounds were decidedly unpleasant. He ought to know, he’d had to carry in three separate prisoners suffering from ones he’d doled out. They’d screamed and cried from the pain enough to give him a bellyache of his own.


“Can’t say as I blame you.” He shifted slowly from his seated position, but it wasn’t going to gain him much. One of the first rules of tactical advantage was to keep the element of surprise and the higher ground. He needed to know what type of woman he was up against, so he’d let her have them. Death didn’t scare him. Hadn’t for years. “But it doesn’t much matter. Your name’s Margaret Bullock.”


She leaned a shoulder around the rough bark. “I generally go by Maggie, but that’s certainly near enough. Should I know you? Beyond the fact that you’ve been following me for three days, that is.”


He kept his joints loose and his knees barely bent. High ground or no, he could shoot her dead before she even thought about firing. “I’ve come to take you in. You’ve got to go back to Fresh Springs.”


She considered a moment, her head tipping to the side. “You think so?”


“Yes, ma’am.”


An exasperated breath fluffed a lock of hair out of her eyes. “Oh, for goodness’ sake, would you please stop calling me ma’am? I’m only two and twenty. Not exactly a spinster yet.”


A shock of surprise perilously close to amusement lifted his shoulders. She didn’t appear to comprehend her situation. “You’re going to trial, Maggie.”


“I didn’t give you permission to call me that, either.”


“It’s either ma’am or Maggie. Your choice.” This had to be the strangest showdown he’d ever participated in.


“Miss Bullock is still available.”


He stepped toward her tree. If he got near enough, he could at least block off her easy escape route. Hell, he’d like to shoot the twit out of the tree. Taking her feet out would be unwise, since he didn’t feel like carrying her all the way back to Fresh Springs. But maybe her hand… He eyed the fingers splayed over the tree bark. Masterson had insisted he bring the woman back unharmed, though. Said he wanted to dirty her up himself. “Miss is for sweet young ladies. You, however, robbed a bank.”

Photo Essays: Summer in the City, 1920s Style

Anna C. Bowling

A hot summer day can make anybody cranky. Add a toddler and subtract modern conveniences such as air conditioning, television, computers, mp3 players, DVDs and refrigeration. For many, this may sound like the start of a story of modern horror. For those who lived before the age of modern conveniences, it was just summer, and family and friends provided plenty of entertainment.

One of the best parts of historical research is remembering that no matter what era it might be, the people who lived then have the same needs we do today. Since primary sources are the most accurate research tools, vintage photographs can be a window into a world of generations past.

Today, we'll join a young couple and their toddler son enjoying the great outdoors in 1924 New York City. Though these photos may not all be from the same day, it is the same family, and they've invited you to their summer outing.

Either this water is very interesting or someone is looking for the plug.


Gathering with friends means dressing up for everyone. Note the matching caps on the couple and the menswear on the Mrs.



No matter what the era, everything is better when shared with friends...



...and it's always good to go home at the end of the day.



Vintage photos give us the opportunity to exercise our creative muscles. Who are these people and what was important enough about this particular moment that was worth capturing to share with generations to come? Is it so that we can drool over the details of gorgeous clothing, play forensic psychologist and analyze subjects of the photos, or something else altogether? What is it about vintage photos that catches your interest?

Writing historical romances allows Anna C. Bowling to travel through time on a daily basis and make the voices in her head pay rent. Her current release, ORPHANS IN THE STORM, is available from Awe-Struck E-books.

Guest Blog: Eileen Clymer Schwab

Today, we're welcoming historical novelist, Eileen Clymer Schwab, as she celebrates the release of her latest novel, SHADOW OF A QUARTER MOON, available now. Please leave a comment for your chance to win a free copy of the book! Here's the blurb:

Shadow of a Quarter Moon is the suspenseful and moving story of Jacy Lane, the daughter of a wealthy North Carolina horse breeder in 1839. After Jacy's father is killed in a suspicious accident, Claudia (the woman Jacy knows as Mother) reveals a secret that shatters her world. Jacy is not the well-bred woman she believes herself to be, but rather she is the light-skinned offspring of a dalliance between her father and a slave.

The shocking revelation destroys Jacy's sense of who she is and where she belongs in the world. If her secret is revealed, she will be cast out of "white" society. But as she tentatively gets to know her true mother and brother, as well as a protective slave named Rafe, Jacy begins to see life in the South with fresh eyes. To secure their wealth, Claudia tries to manipulate Jacy into marriage with a well-positioned but lecherous suitor. Claudia threatens to sell Jacy's newfound family, forcing her to make a decision that will take her on a treacherous and life-altering journey.

Early in your novel, SHADOW OF A QUARTER MOON, a unique twist is revealed. Can you give us a brief introduction to your main character, Jacy Lane?
 

In SHADOW OF A QUARTER MOON, an unimaginable secret changes the course of Jacy’s life… not once, but twice. First, when it is hidden from her, and then when it is revealed. As the daughter of a plantation owner, Jacy has been raised in privilege until she discovers that she is the offspring of a dalliance between her father and a slave.

How does this shocking discovery impact the story?

The revelation destroys Jacy's sense of who she is and where she belongs in the world, especially when she learns her biological mother and brother are still slaves on the property. Amid the shock and complexities of her mixed heritage, Jacy is simply a woman longing for love, happiness, and a sense of wholeness; however, the 1800s are not a simple time. Jacy begins a treacherous journey that is fraught with danger and life-altering choices and soon discovers that what she chases is as elusive as the secret network she seeks for help.

America’s Underground Railroad is present to varying degrees in SHADOW OF A QUARTER MOON and your previous novel, PROMISE BRIDGE. What draws you to this difficult time?

Any turbulent period in history is fodder for great books and memorable characters. The heroes are more heroic and the villains more villainous because they are woven from truths. The years of slavery in the United States are no different, yet it is a time that we often avoid revisiting because of the horror and shame it stirs in our moral conscience. However, in keeping the door closed on this period, we miss the chance to celebrate and marvel at the incredible acts of courage and daring deeds that were the genesis of social change in our country. The secret network known as the Underground Railroad is the perfect example of the best of America in the worst of America, and it serves as a vehicle of transformation for my main character, Jacy.

Writing a novel against an historic backdrop requires a great deal of research. What did you do to accurately portray place and character?

For me, research is a process of discovery – not just of historical facts, but also of tendencies, beliefs, undertones, and nuances of the time. Through this process, I become better acquainted with my characters and the world around them. I wanted to touch and see as much as I could, beginning at the library, as well as visiting places like the Underground Railroad Freedom Center in Cincinnati and other historic sites found within our National Underground Railroad Network to Freedom. So often the surprises discovered in research shift plotlines or shape characters in unexpected ways. For example, while doing some research in North Carolina, I came across Dismal Swamp. As a writer, I could not overlook a name so vivid and descriptive, and I knew it would be mentioned in my story. At the time, I had no idea that the bleak sounding region was so rich and storied in Underground Railroad history, or that it would play such a significant role in my novel.

What do you hope readers will carry away from this novel?

As an author, my hope is that readers find SHADOW to be a journey worth taking. It was an honor to look back and give voice to a generation deserving of acknowledgment, tribute, and literary life. 

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Excerpt Thursday: Eileen Clymer Schwab

This week on Excerpt Thursday, we're welcoming historical novelist, Eileen Clymer Schwab, as she celebrates the release of her latest novel, SHADOW OF A QUARTER MOON, available now. Join us Sunday, when Eileen will be here to talk about the novel and give away a copy! Here's the blurb:

Shadow of a Quarter Moon is the suspenseful and moving story of Jacy Lane, the daughter of a wealthy North Carolina horse breeder in 1839. After Jacy's father is killed in a suspicious accident, Claudia (the woman Jacy knows as Mother) reveals a secret that shatters her world. Jacy is not the well-bred woman she believes herself to be, but rather she is the light-skinned offspring of a dalliance between her father and a slave.

The shocking revelation destroys Jacy's sense of who she is and where she belongs in the world. If her secret is revealed, she will be cast out of "white" society. But as she tentatively gets to know her true mother and brother, as well as a protective slave named Rafe, Jacy begins to see life in the South with fresh eyes. To secure their wealth, Claudia tries to manipulate Jacy into marriage with a well-positioned but lecherous suitor. Claudia threatens to sell Jacy's newfound family, forcing her to make a decision that will take her on a treacherous and life-altering journey.

EXCERPT

North Carolina, 1839, following the accidental death of Jacy Lane’s father.

The next two days blended into one long vigil of sitting in witness of the lifeless body dressed in his finest suit.  Candles were lit around the room and flowers brought in, their fragrance slowly waning to the odor of rotting flesh.  A stream of neighbors and business associates came and went as we awaited Papa’s interment.  Two distant cousins arrived by carriage and were of great comfort to Mayme, though Mother watched them suspiciously.

     They are probably here to poach my land,” she said when I brought her a glass of lemonade. “Greedy vultures, no different than when my brother in-law made our wealth his own after my own father died.”

     “I am sure you are mistaken, Mother.  They spoke to me with great affection for Papa.”

     “Well, I am one step ahead of them,” she muttered under her breath.

     As was custom, Mother, Mayme, and I shared in the task of staying up through the nights to sit with Papa.  However, by the third evening, Mayme was exhausted in mind and body.

     “I will sit with him tonight, Mayme,” I said as I led her to her room.  It was still early in the evening, but her eyes were heavy with sleep.

     “Do not carry the burden for both of us,” she said weakly.

     “Honestly, Mayme, my heart needs this final night to say good-bye.  Papa will be buried tomorrow and I have yet to give up on my hope that he will climb from his box to embrace me.  Perhaps I will accept his fate in the coming hours, when at last he will prove to be at rest.”

     Mayme reluctantly agreed.  The house was eerily silent as I descended the stairs.  Mother had retired earlier and was not expected to reappear until morning.  However, as I entered the parlor, I heard light footsteps scampering down the hallway beyond the door across the room.  They moved too quickly to be Mother’s, so I followed them through the shadows of the house.  The outer door creaked shut as I entered from the dining room.  Spooked by the intruder, I peered through the window and caught a glimpse of a slight figure slipping into the woods.

     My skin prickled at the bizarre occurrence.  I remained at the window until I was certain the prowler was gone and harbored no threat.  When my rush of fear subsided, I returned to the parlor and settled in the rocker that faced the coffin.  The room was gloomy and stifled by the aroma of death.  The comfort of having my father at home dissipated with his departed spirit.  I felt guilty for feeling so, but burying what remained of him would be a relief.  My eyes clouded with despair until the flickering candlelight revealed three rose petals scattered across the floorboards.  I followed their path to the coffin and looked inside.  I could not bear to gaze upon my father’s sunken cheeks, but there, tucked in his lapel was a vibrant crimson rose, and for one brief moment he was my papa again.  I pondered the unknown footsteps.  Who would leave such a loving tribute in secrecy?  The sweetness of the gesture resonated in me as I stroked my father’s dark hair one last time.

Photo Essays: Roman Interior Decorating

Michelle Styles

One of my favourites bits about doing research is seeing how people lived. Sometimes, particularly with older time periods, this can be difficult. We can only speculate about the exact nature of Viking interior decoration for example. Even with early Regency or Victorian, the interiors have often changed as the houses were adapted to suit present curcumstances. Sometimes the interiors can be recreated but for the most part, we only see fragments. But for the Romans, there is a wonderful record in Pompeii and Herculaneum, saved from AD 79. So I thought I'd share some of the photos I took when I visited in 2008.

It is possible to see the painted interiors of houses. This one shows the seafront of Baiae and is from Pompeii.

Or this one (again from Pompeii) I love the snakes at the bottom.

And sometimes even the furniture -- a bed from Herculaneum Because of the way Mt Vesuvious erupted some of the wooden objects were preserved:

or a clothes press:

 or objects d'art such as this theatre mask (again from Herculaneum) Indeed this house seemed to have a theatre motif. So you have to wonder if the owners were actors or were simply in love with the theatre.

But what I think the most vibrant and evocative are the mosaics. Because they are made of tile, the mosaics are more likely to survive intact. They are still in use today. Thousands trample Roman mosiacs from Ostia on their way to see the Sistine chapel for instance.
This one is -- Beware of the dog! is from Pompeii and is in the front entrance way of a house.

And this one is from the baths in Herculaneum: Many of the mosiacs that are in commerical premises or open to the public seem to be in black and white.  Some of the tiling could be used in kitchens or fromt entrance halls today.

But I really like the coloured mosaics. This is one is from the theatre house in herculaneum.

The colours remain vibrant and look as if they could have been done in recent times. But then you notice the workmanship and subtle colour changes and you realise that they could only have been in Roman times. The skill of the Roman craftsman is long gone. Alas. But if you ever get a chance to see any Roman interior, go and see it.

Michelle Styles writes warm, witty and intimate historical romances in a wide variety of time periods. Her most recent Roman set historical -- The Perfect Concubine was released as a Harlequin Historical Undone ebook in March 2011. Her most recent full length novel was set in the early Victorian period -- To Marry A Matchmaker and was published in July  2011 in both print and as an ebook. You can read more about Michelle's books on her website www.michellestyles.co.uk