Unusual Historicals: 17th century

Showing posts with label 17th century. Show all posts

01 November 2015

Author Interview & Book Giveaway: Alison Stuart on THE KING'S MAN

This week, we're pleased to welcome author Alison Stuart again with her latest novel, THE KING’S MAN (Guardians of the Crown Book 2). The author will offer a free copy of The King's Man to a lucky blog visitor. Be sure to leave your email address in the comments of today's author interview for a chance to win. Here's the blurb.

The second in a tantalising trilogy from award-winning author Alison Stuart, about warriors, the wounds they carry, and the women that help them heal.

London 1654: Kit Lovell is one of the King’s men, a disillusioned Royalist who passes his time cheating at cards, living off his wealthy and attractive mistress, and plotting the death of Oliver Cromwell.

Penniless and friendless, Thamsine Granville has lost everything. Terrified, in pain, and alone, she hurls a piece of brick at the coach of Oliver Cromwell, and earns herself an immediate death sentence. Only the quick thinking of a stranger saves her.

Far from the bored, benevolent rescuer that he seems, Kit plunges Thamsine into his world of espionage and betrayal – a world that has no room for falling in love.

Torn between Thamsine and loyalty to his master and King, Kit’s carefully constructed web of lies begins to unravel. He must make one last desperate gamble – the cost of which might be his life.

Tell us a little about yourself and your interest in the English Civil War?

I was born and brought up in Kenya and only moved to Australia when I was ten. Outside of writing I trained and practiced as a lawyer and now work as a Company Secretary. I am married with two grown sons, two gorgeous daughters in law and I am owned by a very loving cat.

My father loved history and every Sunday he would read to us from HIS favourite books (in retrospect, not always suitable for an 8 year old!). One of the books he chose was Daphne Du Maurier’s THE KING’S GENERAL, a fictional account of the real life Sir Richard Grenville, set in the English Civil War which tore England apart from 1642 until the restoration of King Charles II in 1660. I was mesmorised by the romance of the period, the intrigues and dangers of civil war and these dashing heroes in broad brimmed hats and bucket top boots. That was it. I was lost.

All through my growing up I would scribble stories in notebooks (some of which are still in existence), most of which were set in the English Civil War. I kept scrapbooks and saved up my pocket money for any reference book or novel I could lay my hands on.

I made the mistake of formally studying the period at University which just about killed the passion off and then there was marriage, children, careers etc.

It wasn’t until I dislocated my shoulder in a skiing accident that I returned to the English Civil War and started on what would be my first novel, now published as BY THE SWORD (the first in the Guardians of the Crown Series).

THE KING’S MAN is the second in the Guardians of the Crown series, tell us a little about the series and what we can expect.

The series covers the stories of three men (and the women who love them) across the years 1651 to 1660. It begins with the Battle of Worcester (the last attempt by King Charles II to regain his throne). That battle is pivotal to the lives of Jonathan Thornton (the hero of BY THE SWORD), Kit Lovell (the hero of the KING’S MAN) and Kit’s brother Daniel, who we meet as a callow youth in the first book but has his own story in Book 3 – EXILES’ RETURN which comes out in February.

Where the first two books can be read in isolation, it will probably help readers to have read Books 1 and 2 before Book 3 because EXILES’ RETURN brings the loose ends of the previous two books together.

What was your inspiration for THE KING’S MAN?

Inspiration can come from the strangest sources. THE KING’S MAN began as a snippet about a ‘Miss Granville’ who hurled a brick at Oliver Cromwell. I never discovered who she was or why she threw the brick so I made my own story. It happened to coincide with a time in London where every second inn was frequented by disillusioned royalists all plotting the death of Cromwell and the return of the King. They were universally unsuccessful owing to Cromwell’s brilliant spy network but as a plot for a book, it practically wrote itself.

Tell us about the hero of THE KING’S MAN, Kit Lovell?

Readers’ reactions to Kit have been very interesting. Like all my heroes he comes with baggage and is probably one of the most complex men I have written. He is not an easy man to like, let alone love, mostly because he doesn’t like or love himself. I really struggled with his motivations for some of the truly heinous things he does until he himself told me Daniel’s story (OK…that sounds weird… but that’s how writer’s roll – we know it’s working when our characters start talking to us) and then it all became clear.

Notwithstanding that Kit and Thamsine do earn a happy ever after and the worst of their problems are resolved, I do leave the fate of Daniel unresolved at the end of the book and I hadn’t realised how much that still affected Kit until I began to write EXILES’ RETURN. Normally my stories are told only in two points of view, hero and heroine but In Exiles’ Return, Kit gets a say. I hope that makes sense.

You live in Australia, can you share with your Northern Hemisphere readers a little picture of life ‘downunder’ at this time of year?

I live in Melbourne, the capital of the State of Victoria, which is right at the bottom of Australia. We wave (figuratively!) at Tasmania. Our last winter was pretty cold, for us. I know it surprises my American friends when I say it does snow here… not in Melbourne itself but certainly in the hills surrounding us.

Unfortunately I think we are in for a hot summer. Even in our little inner suburban garden we now have a large water tank for the plants and we are now self sufficient with solar power (go us!). We don’t ‘celebrate’ Halloween or Thanksgiving so it is a little shocking to find Christmas decorations appearing in our shops by the end of August!

But summer holidays are coming which for us means cricket (that inexplicable game!) and of course the Australian Tennis Open which is played right here in Melbourne so if you tune in, be sure to wave! Our family will take a week outside of the school holidays (which are only 5 weeks) to drive for TWO days to my husband’s childhood home in South Australia.

BUY THE KING’S MAN:

AMAZON, iBooks, and where all good Ebooks are sold (see Escape Publishing for the full list)

Thank you for hosting me today.

Today is the last day to enter my RAFFLECOPTER CONTEST for a chance to win a 6” Kindle Ereader… all you need to do is click HERE.

Allow me to take you back to 1654 … the years after a bloody civil that tore the country apart and saw a King executed. The new King, Charles II, sits in exile and England is ruled by a ‘Lord Protector, Oliver Cromwell…

29 October 2015

Excerpt Thursday: THE KING'S MAN by Alison Stuart

This week, we're pleased to welcome author Alison Stuart again with her latest novel, THE KING’S MAN (Guardians of the Crown Book 2). Join us again on Sunday for an author interview, with more details about the story behind the story. The author will offer a free copy of The King's Man to a lucky blog visitor. Be sure to leave your email address in the comments of today's post or Sunday's author interview for a chance to win. Here's the blurb.

The second in a tantalising trilogy from award-winning author Alison Stuart, about warriors, the wounds they carry, and the women that help them heal.

Far from the bored, benevolent rescuer that he seems, Kit plunges Thamsine into his world of espionage and betrayal – a world that has no room for falling in love.

Torn between Thamsine and loyalty to his master and King, Kit’s carefully constructed web of lies begins to unravel. He must make one last desperate gamble – the cost of which might be his life.

**AN EXCERPT FROM THE KING’S MAN**

London

February 1654

Thamsine Granville had not begun the day with the intention of killing Oliver Cromwell.

Around her a jovial crowd pressed against the barricades, determined to enjoy the spectacle of the Lord Protector’s ride in state to dine with the Lord Mayor of London. But from across the road, he had seen her. A triumphant smile crossed his handsome face and he raised his hand to his hat, doffing it as he bowed. She saw him mouth her name and push his way towards the barricade. Thamsine swallowed, her mouth dry with fear. She only had a few moments to make good her escape, but the press of people to her rear hemmed her in, pushing her toward the barriers.

The bells of London, silenced for so many years, rang out, and above her the flags of the City Guilds flapped in the chill wind. A roar went up from the crowd as the coach bearing Cromwell approached.

From where she stood she could see the Lord Protector, clad in a reddish-coloured suit embroidered with gold. He inclined his head to acknowledge the cheers of the crowd with all the aplomb of a man born to such a station. She could see no trace of the simple farmer he had once professed to be. Thamsine’s heart beat a rapid tattoo. Oliver Cromwell, Lord Protector, the false King, was about to become Thamsine Granville’s personal protector.

She stooped and gathered up the broken piece of brick at her feet.

Oblivious to his fate, Cromwell smiled, his right hand raised in a parody of benediction as if forgiving them their sins. At the sight of his face, solid and pudding-like, framed by the open window of the carriage, she raised her arm and threw with all the strength that she could muster.

The brickbat hit the body of the coach barely inches from the open window. She got a brief impression of surprise on her intended victim’s face. The coach stopped, the horses rising in their traces, whinnying in alarm. The crowd, stunned into silence, held its collective breath, every eye fixed on the ugly graze on the coach’s paintwork where the brickbat had struck.

A roar of approbation went up, but Thamsine Granville had disappeared. In the instant her fingers uncurled from the missile, someone had grabbed her from behind. Strong fingers dug into her arm and drove her with force through the crowd that parted before them like the Red Sea. She was only dimly aware of a commotion in the press around her. Soldiers yelled and a woman screamed but all she felt was utter despair. It had all been for nothing; somehow he had reached her.

The world roared in Thamsine’s ears. Her knees buckled and she could feel herself slipping into unconsciousness, only to be drawn back by a sharp, agonising tug on her arm as it was cruelly and expertly bent behind her.

‘Don’t faint, don’t you dare faint.’

She didn’t recognise the voice, and nearly screamed with relief. It wasn’t him.

‘Now, unless you want to end your life on a gibbet on Tower Hill, you will co-operate fully in what we are about to do,’ he said.

Her rescuer thrust her down a dark, noisome alley, pressing her back against a wall. The rough brickwork dug into her spine as he pulled her around to face him, pinioning her arms at her side. His body pressed against her and she closed her eyes, bracing herself for the blow or whatever punishment was coming her way.

She did not expect to be kissed.

Her instinctive reaction was to resist, but with her arms and her head immobilised she was reduced to trying to kick her assailant. He responded by placing a booted foot on her instep. She gave a muffled yelp of pain.

‘Who’s down there, then?’

A voice from the entrance to the alleyway caused her assailant to break off, allowing Thamsine the luxury of taking a deep breath. The fingers holding her arm tightened, digging into her flesh. It was a warning not to move, not to make another sound.

The soldier gave a ribald whistle. ‘Got yourself a tasty piece, then?’

In the shadows she saw her assailant turn his head towards the soldier. ‘Now then, sergeant. Can’t a man get a bit of privacy around here?’ he said in low and well-modulated voice, with an unusual undertone to the accent that she could not place.

‘What’s her charge?’ The sergeant’s voice again.

Thamsine squeaked in protest but the firm and painful pressure on her upper left arm deepened and she kept her peace.

‘My dear sir, there are some pleasures beyond price.’

‘We’re looking for a woman.’ The soldier’s voice became clipped and businesslike. ‘Just tried to kill the Lord Protector. Has she come this way?’

‘I doubt I would have noticed. I have been otherwise occupied these minutes past.’

Thamsine squirmed in the tight grasp. The easy, lascivious intonation of his voice made her want to slap him.

‘Well, good day to you, sir. I wish you joy of it.’

‘He’s gone,’ her rescuer said, removing his boot from her foot

Thamsine found her voice. ‘Let me go. You’re hurting me.’

‘Hurting you? Is that gratitude for saving you from the gibbet?’

He released her and took a step back. She straightened, rubbing at the place where his fingers had pressed.

‘Maybe I didn’t want saving.’

He stepped back and waved at the entrance to the alleyway. ‘Very well. No doubt you can catch up with the good sergeant, if that’s what you wish.’

To her embarrassment she started to tremble with cold, with fright, and with delayed shock, as the audacity and foolishness of what she had done began to sink in.

She had tried to kill the Lord Protector. Men had hanged for less.

In her desperate bid to escape him she had given no thought to what penalty she may have had to pay had she been apprehended. She owed this man thanks for her deliverance, but the words stuck in her throat.

She looked up at her rescuer. In the gloom of the alley it was hard to make out his appearance, and he wore a wide-brimmed hat that hid his face, but she could see that he was clean-shaven, his hair, dark and rough-cut, skimming an immaculate, white collar.

‘You do realise what you just did?’ he asked.

She nodded.

‘May I ask why?’

‘Because I wanted him dead,’ she said, without much conviction in her voice. It was not the Lord Protector she had wanted dead.

‘Well, I’m sure there are plenty who would share the sentiment, but hurling brickbats at a coach is hardly the best way to accomplish that end.’

She drew herself up to her full height. ‘And what do you care?’

‘I don’t,’ he answered. ‘I really don’t care at all. I have enough problems of my own without rescuing dim-witted whores who choose to hurl brickbats at the Lord Protector.’

‘I’m not a whore.’

He touched his mouth. ‘Well, you certainly kiss like one.’ (End Excerpt)

BUY THE KING’S MAN:

AMAZON, iBooks, and where all good Ebooks are sold (see Escape Publishing for the full list)

Thank you for hosting me today.

Please feel free to enter my RAFFLECOPTER CONTEST for a chance to win a 6” Kindle Ereader… all you need to do is click HERE.

09 August 2015

Author Interview & Book Giveaway: Christy K. Robinson on MARY DYER: FOR SUCH A TIME AS THIS

This week, we're pleased to welcome author CHRISTY K. ROBINSON with her latest novel, MARY DYER: FOR SUCH A TIME AS THIS, the second in two volumes about the Dyers. The author will offer one autographed paperback edition to a US postal address, or one Kindle version to US and other countries. Be sure to leave your email address in the comments of today's author interview for a chance to win. Winner(s) are contacted privately by email. Here's the blurb.

In the second of two volumes, Mary Dyer: For Such a Time as This, Mary and William Dyer return to war-torn England and lay a foundation for liberty that resonates in the 21st century. Why did beautiful, wealthy Mary Dyer deliberately give up her six children, husband, and privileged lifestyle to suffer prison and death on the gallows?

**Q&A with Christy K. Robinson**

What inspired your story?

I’ve always been interested in history, church history, and spiritual matters, having been educated in church schools and worked at nonprofits and as a church music director for many years. I had heard disparaging comments about Anne Hutchinson and Mary Dyer, that they were Antinomians, and I started reading about what “against the [Old Testament] Law” meant. Mary Dyer was a very distant ancestor, and I read that she had been hanged by the Puritans because she was a Quaker (incorrect). All I could find on Anne and Mary were the same clichés, over and over, from 19th-century historians, and I was skeptical of them because they were illogical. Many genealogical sites and books have fanciful myths about Mary’s background, and some outright whoppers, like Mary’s supposed royal lineage. There was little about Mary, until I began investigating her husband, friends, and enemies, and reading archived court records from her time. Mary “materialized” from there.

How have you worked real history into the story?

Actually, it was the other way around—I worked fiction into the facts. Out of all the characters I used in the two books, fewer than five were invented. I researched every real good and bad guy and created dossiers on them, and instead of 2D cartoon heroes or villains, they became 3D people I respected. I pored over 17th-century midwifery regulations, cookery, and astronomy, geology, meteorology, and epidemiology events and charted them by year because the people of the 17th century believed that unusual events were direct messages from God. Speaking of religion, there were Separatists, Puritans, Anglicans, closet Catholics, Jews, Quakers, Seekers, Antinomians, and more—in an era where Church of England was the state religion—and I had to learn the differences. I read broadsheets and chapbooks, and skimmed some of the books of their time. I did extensive image searches for fine art, looking for little details and background symbols that spoke of their surroundings. I learned the politics of both England and New England—and found many parallels to today. Working with their Julian calendar (not our Gregorian one), I found motivations and events that no one else has ever noticed until I wrote it. That is an incredible feeling!

OK, you’ve got the historical part down. But where was the fiction in historical fiction?!

Histfic has to have a story that moves through beginning, middle, and end. I had to invent scenes and conversations, of course, to “show, not tell” the story, and I had to leave out 80 percent of my research—ouch. As a magazine and philanthropic feature writer for years, creating fiction was a real killer for me. But the rave reviews say I succeeded. What I couldn’t put in the novels sees daylight in a nonfiction companion book to the novels, my historical blogs, and the Facebook pages and groups I’ve created. I started the Dyer blog in 2010 as a platform for my future books, and as I track keywords, phrases, and concepts, I’ve seen that novelists are using my research to create their own stories about Mary Dyer. Stories that are more imagination than fact, but still use my research and plot devices. (Darn right, I’m jealous.)

What’s so unusual about the setting?

Not many authors have covered both sides of the Atlantic in the same story. What spurred the Great Migration and settlement of American wilderness, the Puritan-versus-Anglican-versus-Quaker thread, the personal tragedies and triumphs, all combine to tell an epic story. I’m not the writer that James Michener was or Edward Rutherford is, but this story is similarly huge, and needs to be remembered and understood. Why? Because history repeats itself. In the 21st century, our civil rights are under constant attack in local and national courts and a singular vision of morality is promoted in legislatures. Mary and William Dyer were the ancestors of all of us in Western civilization when it comes to freedom of conscience and strict separation of church and state. Whether you believe in a religious system or not, you have rights to believe and act according to your conscience because of the Dyers.

Mary Dyer Illuminated, biographical fiction, Vol. 1

Mary Dyer: For Such a Time as This, biographical fiction, Vol. 2

The Dyers of London, Boston, and Newport, nonfiction, illustrated companion book

William and Mary Barrett Dyer research blog

About the Author

Christy K Robinson is the author of two biographical novels and three nonfiction books.

“The Dyers” book series (two biographical novels and a nonfiction companion) are linked to Amazon from her website, http://www.christykrobinson.com/book-author.html

For more (much more!) information on William and Mary Barrett Dyer, visit Christy’s Dyer blog, starting with its most popular article, Top Ten Things You May Not Know About Mary Dyer.

06 August 2015

Excerpt Thursday: MARY DYER: FOR SUCH A TIME AS THIS by Christy K. Robinson

This week, we're pleased to welcome author CHRISTY K. ROBINSON with her latest novel, Mary Dyer: For Such a Time as This, the second in two volumes about the Dyers. Join us again on Sunday for an author interview, with more details about the story behind the story. The author will offer one autographed paperback edition to a US postal address, or one Kindle version to US and other countries. Be sure to leave your email address in the comments of today's post or Sunday's author interview for a chance to win. Winner(s) are contacted privately by email. Here's the blurb.

**An Excerpt from Mary Dyer: For Such a Time as This**

October 27, 1652

London, England

Will thought he hadn’t done badly at planning the day’s outing: a stroll from Henry Vane’s townhouse up to St. Martin-in-the-Fields to recall the day exactly nineteen years ago when he and Mary had been wed at the church doorway, and the same day the following year, when he’d buried their first child. He’d bought the midday meal at Covent Garden, including a bowl of exotic and expensive pineapple chunks, the fruit having been imported from South America via Portugal. He’d hired a boatman at Whitehall Stairs to take them on a sightseeing cruise on the Thames.

The barges and ferries, ships and small boats, were thick on the water’s edges, and boys with baskets of stinking lampreys picked through the muck for shellfish to supplement their catches that they’d peddle to cook shops.

His wife was nestled under his arm for pleasure, not because of the cold. There had been several terrific storms the last several weeks, and the Thames still ran muddy from flood runoff. This day was overcast and cool, and there was an occasional mist, but Mary was a native Londoner and took no notice. They pointed at landmarks like the Tower, St. Paul’s, and as they were paddled westward, the ducal palaces of Somerset, Durham, and York.

His wife seemed pensive and melancholy, and a song came to mind that he thought would lighten her mood. As he sang to her, she nestled closer into his coat and closed her eyes.

The water is wide, I cannot get o’er

Neither have I wings to fly

Give me a boat that can carry two

And both shall row, my love and I.

A ship there is and she sails the sea

She’s loaded deep, as deep can be

But not so deep as the love I’m in

I know not if I sink or swim.

When cockle shells turn silver bells

Then will my love come back to me

When roses bloom in winter’s gloom

Then will my love return to me.

“You left some verses unsung,” Mary reminded him.

“They were too morbid. This is the anniversary of our wedding. We should be rejoicing.”

William changed the subject. “I’ve got my commission. In a few weeks I’ll be invested by the navy, and then I hope for the grant of ships to outfit and sail back to defend our waters.”

Mary squirmed, sat up straight, and spoke sharply. “This war on the Dutch, which began with greed for foreign ports, is only about money, and the power that money buys. You have money, honestly gained by your hard work. You have the money that I brought to our marriage from Uncle John and from my father and brother. Why isn’t that enough? Will, please, I’m begging you: don’t make war on innocent Dutch traders and farmers. Don’t make up charges so you can steal what they’ve gained by honest work. Go home, make just laws in the Assembly, and run the farm.”

He replied, “This situation is much larger than me and the farm, or even about our trade routes and ports. Privateering is an indispensable weapon of war, and as you know, the realm needs the prizes to finance the navy, thereby saving our own people from crippling taxes. It defends our liberties to trade and import what we need to feed our families.”

“Oh, it’s patriotism now?” she retorted. “War is noble and glorious when it’s not our English fathers and sons and breadwinners dying before cannon and musket shot, and it’s only the filthy, greedy foreigners who lose their lives and their women and children die of want.”

“Mary! Is this something you’ve learned from street preachers? Disloyalty to your country? Rebellion to proper authority? And yes, it is patriotism. The Dutch on Long Island have been caught supplying Indians with arms to kill English men and women. We’re not starting a war. The war has been forced upon us.”

Mary lowered her voice so the boatman wouldn’t hear. “Do you go so far as to call Oliver Cromwell ‘proper authority?’ I’ve never met George Fox, though I’ve listened to his followers and respect what they have to say about the peace of God, and making time and place to listen for his direction. If the Spirit speaks, I must obey, though men might call it rebellion.”

“Well, I’ve had enough of this uneducated rabble-rouser Fox, and the Seekers, and naked Familists, and so have you. I’ve spoken to a ship’s master about your passage back to Newport. There’s a ship that leaves the first week of December, and goes by way of Barbados, so you can have a holiday there while cargo is exchanged. Just think of palm trees and warm sand in January!” He smiled.

She crossed her arms. “I’m not ready to return.”

“How can you say that? You have six children who need their mother. Not to mention, your husband loves you and wants you home where you belong.”

“I’m staying in England for a while longer.”

“How much longer do you propose?”

“I don’t know, honestly.”

“If I allow you to stay—” at this, Mary glared at him, “what would I say to the children? Or anyone in Rhode Island? How do I explain a mother’s reluctance to return to her own home and children?”

“You can say that you weren’t willing to risk my safety while there’s a naval war raging, and privateers lurk in bays or under cover of fog banks to snatch away safety, security, and personal property. You can say that Rhode Island and Providence Plantations are in an uproar and can’t even govern their own affairs.”

“Sarcasm doesn’t become you, Mary. What is your real reason?”

“I’ve told you before, and my story won’t change because it’s the truth. God has called me to England for a time. He’s only shown me one step at a time on the path, and I don’t know the destination. But he’s put it in my heart that I should be here now, and he will reveal the time and circumstances of my journey here, and when it’s time to go back home.”

Will was silent for a few moments. “Sweetheart, you’ve plunged a sword in my heart. How can I fight for you when my adversary is God?”

About the Author

Christy K Robinson is the author of two biographical novels and three nonfiction books.

“The Dyers” book series (two biographical novels and a nonfiction companion) are linked to Amazon from her website, http://www.christykrobinson.com/book-author.html

For more (much more!) information on William and Mary Barrett Dyer, visit Christy’s Dyer blog, starting with its most popular article, Top Ten Things You May Not Know About Mary Dyer.

21 June 2015

Author Interview & Book Giveaway: DM Denton on TO A STRANGE SOMEWHERE FLED

This week, we're pleased to again welcome author DM Denton with her latest release, TO A STRANGE SOMEWHERE FLED, the sequel to A House Near Luccoli. One lucky visitor will get a free copy of To A Strange Somewhere Fled. Be sure to leave your email address in the comments of today's author interview for a chance to win. Winner(s) are contacted privately by email. Here's the blurb.

After the sudden end to her collaboration with composer Alessandro Stradella, Donatella moves from Genoa to join her parents in a small village in Oxfordshire, England. The gift of a sonnet, 'stolen' music, inexpressible secrets, and an irrepressible spirit have stowed away on her journey. Haunted by whispers and visions, angels and demons, will she rise out of grief and aimlessness? Her father's friendship with the residents of Wroxton Abbey, who are important figures in the court of Charles II, offers new possibilities, especially as music and its masters ~ including the 'divine' Henry Purcell ~ have not finished with her yet.

Praise for To A Strange Somewhere Fled

While Donatella and her story, full as it is of such a legion of colorful characters, are vastly entertaining in their own right, often Denton’s descriptions of musical performances manage to swoop in and lift the reader up to even greater heights. Her passionate research and personal love of the art both shine through in the remarkable imagery her prose evokes, enrapturing her audience and taking them just a bit deeper into the intricacies of the 17th century setting. Irrevocable in its magic and intrepid in its storytelling, To a Strange Somewhere Fled is a fascinating and delectably original work that readers won’t soon forget.
~Casee Marie Clow, Literary Inklings

DM Denton writes with a lyrical style, which swells, fades, and swells again. Her words pull her readers to the 17^th century like music from that era.
~Steve Lindahl, author of White Horse Regressions & Motherless Soul.

That we can meet (the composer) Henry Purcell within these pages and find him totally believable as a living, breathing human being is a mark of the author’s imaginative powers and literary skill.
~Deborah Bennison, Bennison Books

Denton’s style allows for flourishes, nuances, changes in pace, and variations on themes, as music does. With delicacy and sureness, the author works with her themes of memory, love, and loss.
~ Mary Clark, author of Tally: An Intuitive Life

**Q&A with DM Denton**

How would you describe your writing style?

Reviewers have characterized my writing style as lyrical, descriptive, rule-breaking, meticulous, complex, yet also understated. My first two novels are driven by 17^th century music and its makers, so the lyricism in them is especially pronounced. Certainly there is poetry in my prose. I’m an instinctual writer who works without an outline, sometimes has an idea of an ending and sometimes does not, is anti-formula, and tends to be creative with structure and genre. There is an observational and analytical side to me and my writing, so I’m not just about making pretty with words. I enjoy extensive research and the challenge of combining historical characters and events with fictional ones in—hopefully—a seamless weaving together. I liken my scene-orientated approach to a filmmaker using a zoom lens to get up close and personal. A reviewer recently wrote that I “executed freedom of narrative: some scenes that would traditionally be laid out in show-stopping dramatics may happen quietly, maybe even outside of the narrative completely.” Another said my writing was for readers who enjoy detours and the views along the way, who know reading like life it is as much about the journey as the destination.

Who designed the covers of your books?

I did the artwork and design for both of my novels, fortunate to have a publisher who allows me to be so involved in their presentation. I’ve also done illustrations for two Kindle Shorts I’ve had published and the cover of a friend’s poetry anthology. I’m always open to taking artwork commissions from other authors.

Is there an underrepresented group or idea that is featured in your books?

Perhaps, because of my own experience, I find myself writing about women who are unmarried and childless and need to chart a more unconventional course through life. Once referred to as spinsters—although the meaning of spinster gradually evolved from its reference to a respectable occupation for unmarried women to the perception of them as lonely, left behind, pointless, and even a threat to society—they live in the shadow of others and often in servitude to them. Of course, that is not the case in the 21^st century – or is it? Well, perhaps, today there is the flip side: the assumption that if not to be pitied, a woman who is unattached and, especially, without children, is seen as selfish or ambitious or just afraid to risk for love (not so modern after all, considering the first Queen Elizabeth faced such opinions in the 16^th century). My female protagonists aren’t necessarily averse to letting others into their thoughts, dreams, hearts, and even physical experience. It’s just that their situation, if they let it, will structure their lives in terms of what they are not rather than all they are and can be. I prefer to view them as singularly resilient and explore how they need not be limited by their unmarried, even unmarriageable, status, but can still be nourishing and nourished through their desires, talents, and purpose.

How do you approach developing the world of a historical novel fully in your mind?

It’s not unlike meeting a new lover, feeling the chance of the introduction, instinctively knowing this is someone you want to know better, even intimately; perhaps wondering if it’s a wise or mutual attraction, but in the end deciding—believing—the affair is meant to be. It’s as fortuitous, daunting and magical to encounter the possible subject of a next novel (or even a shorter story)—its characters, time period and setting—realizing how much you don’t know and need to, can’t visualize and will have to, how far you have to go and how long it will take; and then fearlessly embark on the adventure: discovering books, letters, websites, images, music, every significant and seemingly insignificant thing, and so much in the unknown, too. Well, the unknown is where the imagination comes in; and as the imagination comes in, so does the magic of suddenly being present in the past, of understanding a character implicitly, of finding myself able to describe a place because I’m lost in it, and knowing how the clothes feel because I’m wearing them and the food tastes because I’m eating it, how to read by the glow of a candle because I’m writing by the light of one—at least, I’ve pulled down the shades or put the lamp on low because I write better that way. Slowly and suddenly it’s happened: I’ve gone from being a stranger in an alluring place to belonging to its possibilities as if I was born there.

Did your research for both or either of your novels yield any surprises in terms of historical events or illuminate a character in a particular way?

The biggest surprise I’ve experienced so far was in discovering the multi-dimensions of the 17^th – 18th century lawyer and biographer Roger North—a historical character I decided to include in my second novel, To A Strange Somewhere Fled. Unlike Alessandro Stradella in A House Near Luccoli, who was a celebrity in his time and naturally offered the drama of his legendary life and death, Roger North seemed, to quote a character in the novel, “clever but dull”, and probably not someone who would move plot or transform anyone’s life. Certainly, I couldn’t have imagined a male protagonist for A House Near Luccoli’s sequel more in contrast to the temperament and lifestyle of Stradella. But in contrast there often is similarity, subtle as it may be. I like to look for what isn’t obvious and might even seem contradictory: the ordinary in the extraordinary, the vulnerability behind swagger, the influence of even the most unobtrusive of people like Roger North with his reserved individualism and wide range of “practical diversions”—including writing, philosophy, architecture, mathematics, horticulture, sailing, and music. He was a quieter, plainer, more cautious, modest, and moralistic figure than Stradella, but no less remarkable, creative, or complex, which made him as satisfying to write about.

Why did you decide to write a sequel to A House Near Luccoli, why did you set it in England, and does To A Strange Somewhere Fled end the ‘series’?

Although a major character is lost, A House Near Luccoli’s ending is also about the continuing journey of its female protagonist Donatella, her relationship with the 17^th composer Alessandro Stradella bound to affect her for a long time. When I began to consider a destination for her beyond Genoa, it seemed natural that her flight from grief would take her to the quaint but stately village of Wroxton in Oxfordshire, where her parents were living and I had myself for sixteen years. What came out of my memory and I feared might be limited by my experience and prejudice, slowly emerged from a more historically informed and imaginative perspective. I don’t plan on any more novels following Donatella’s story, but that isn’t saying she may never turn up again in someone else’s.

What writing projects are you presently working on?

I’ve begun the first novelette of three that will comprise a book featuring obscure women writers, including the often overlooked Brontë sister Anne, the poetess and sister of Pre-Raphaelite Dante Gabriel Rossetti, Christina Rossetti, and the late Victorian novelist Mary Webb. While working on a larger project, I try to write shorter pieces - essays, poetry, stories – for my blog or publication, and am about to embark on an illustrated book with stories about the cats I’ve known.

To A Strange Somewhere Fled Buying Links:

Amazon (Paperback and Kindle format):
http://www.amazon.com/Strange-Somewhere-Fled-DM-Denton/dp/0990715868/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1433448040&sr=1-1&keywords=to+a+strange+somewhere+fled

Barnesandnoble (Paperback and NOOK Book format):
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/to-a-strange-somewhere-fled-dm-denton/1121461207?ean=9780990715863

Learn more about author DM Denton

Writer and artist, DM Denton, a native of Western New York, is inspired by music, art, nature, and the contradictions of the human and creative spirit. Her educational journey took her to a dream-fulfilling semester at Wroxton College, Oxfordshire, England, and she remained in the UK for sixteen years surrounded by the quaint villages, beautiful hills, woods and fields of the Oxfordshire countryside. She returned to the US in 1990, to a rural area of Western New York State where she still resides in a cozy log cabin with her mother and a multitude of cats. Her day jobs have been in retail, manufacturing, media and career consulting, and as a volunteer coordinator for Western New York Public Broadcasting. She is currently secretary for the Zoning and Codes administration in the town where she lives. Her historical fiction A House Near Luccoli, which imagines an intimacy with the 17^th charismatic composer Alessandro Stradella, and its sequel To A Strange Somewhere Fled, were published by All Things That Matter Press, as were her Kindle short stories, The Snow White Gift and The Library Next Door. She also shares her writing and illustrations on her blog.

DM Denton on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/dmdentonauthorartist?fref=ts

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A House Near Luccoli on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/ahousenearluccoli?fref=ts

Blog: https://bardessdmdenton.wordpress.com/

Website: http://www.dmdenton-author-artist.com/

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6521872.D_M_Denton

Twitter: https://twitter.com/bardessdmdenton

Amazon Page: http://www.amazon.com/DM-Denton/e/B0093NWE4U/ref=dp_byline_cont_pop_book_1