Babies and children on WIP Wednesday

29e344e7e89a24d7c75d422b5a5b5aedPerhaps because I’m a mother and a grandmother, I tend to have children in my novels. Such were the times, that an author can easily write a story without ever including scenes with children, leaving them safely out of sight and out of mind in the nursery or schoolroom — but I like them.

So, with apologies to those who can’t play, this week’s work-in-progress Wednesday is looking for the little people. Post me an extract with the child or baby in your work-in-progress (or published novel, if your current WIP doesn’t have any).

Here’s mine, having breakfast after an eventful night.

Aldridge watched Antonia eat.

Gren was sitting beside her eating bacon, eggs, and toast as if he had been starved for months, and it was to him that Antonia addressed the question.

“Uncle Gren, why does He keep looking at me?” The initial capital was audible. “Is he my uncle too, like you and Uncle David?” Gren stopped, a fork halfway to his mouth. He put it down while he considered the question, looking from Prue to Aldridge.

It was Aldridge who answered. “Yes, Antonia. I am your uncle.”

She slipped from her chair and gave him a polite curtsey. “I am pleased to make your ’quaintance, Uncle. How do you do?”

He bowed, gravely. “I am well, thank you, Miss Virtue. How do you do?”

Antonia considered this. “I am sad to be leaving my chickens and my pondering tree, but I think the journey will be a very great a’venture. We are travelling a long way and will have a new home where people do not call names, Auntie Charity says. And it is closer for Mama to visit, Mama says.”

“Sit and eat your breakfast, child,” Charity told her. “Lord Aldridge says we must leave soon.”

Aldridge accepted a loaded plate from Cook and took it to sit on the other side of Antonia. Soon, they were engaged in low-voiced conversation. The Aldridge charm, Prue noted, worked as well on six-year-olds as it did on grown-up females.

Brothers or sisters on WIP Wednesday

d78ec673dec2a74d62d4bed3f8dd7badAll of a character’s intimate interactions can help to display or develop character, and in some ways no one knows you better or can more easily push your buttons than your brothers and sisters (or cousins or other close relations that you grew up with.

In this week’s WIP Wednesday, I’m looking for an excerpt that shows your related characters in a scene where we learn something about them because of what they think or how they behave.

They had talked it over at length while still staying with Charlotte, and in the carriage on the way from Essex. At inordinate length.

Charity could not, would not stay in Selby’s cottage. She would go somewhere she was not known, and introduce herself as a widow, using another name. Mrs Smith, she said, for who was to find one Mrs Smith among thousands?

But how she and the children were to live was a problem. Prue would help, of course. She could double the allowance she was paying for Antonia’s care, would triple it if Charity would allow. Tolliver’s work paid well enough, and she had a little set aside.

Charity wanted to borrow Prue’s nest egg. She had some idea of setting up a milliner’s shop. Not in London, but somewhere that was cheaper to live and safer for the children. “Even you said I make beautiful hats, Prue,” she argued.

True enough, but running a business required more than an eye for fashion and an artistic touch with a needle. Prue didn’t want to see her savings disappear and leave Charity and the girls in a worse case than before.

“We need somewhere for you and the children while we think about how best to make your plan work,” she told Charity. “I know a lady who supports women in trouble such as yours. She may have a place.” Or she may never wish to speak to Prue again, in which case they would have to think of something else.

One thing Charity was determined on; Prue was not to ask Selby to support his daughters until they were somewhere he could not find them. “It is not as if he is going to give us any money, anyway, Prue. He barely gave us a thing when I thought I was his wife. Just a few pounds now and again when he visited. He paid the servants directly and is several quarters in arrears, Prue. Oh dear. Should I not pay them before I let them go?” Another problem for her to worry at until Prue was ready to leap screaming from the carriage with her hands over her ears.

You cannot always choose both

choicesMy usual answer when I’m asked to make a choice between two good things is ‘yes’. Would you like chocolate cake or banana muffins? Yes. Would you prefer to have a bath or watch tv? Yes. Do you want to dance or have a glass of wine? Yes.

And this last two years, since I’ve started writing fiction for publication, I’ve been piling on the ‘boths’. I figure I have four lives, any one of which could be full time: writing fiction, a full-time day job, family and friends (including some fairly demanding responsibilities as an arms-length care giver), and then a whole mix of community activities I’m involved in.

It is interesting, sometimes thrilling, and mostly a lot of fun. But there’s no room for anything else. With a couple of health and family crises simmering since November, somethings had to give. I’m two months behind the frequently revised date for my draft of Embracing Prudence. And my marketing activity is way, way down, as shown by my book sales figures.

Thinking about priorities

I had a wake-up call, recently. I read a published book by a writer I admire, and it sounded to me like a first draft. Lots of long sequences of backstory, telling rather than showing, some odd sequencing stuff. And I think I know why.

Publish a book every three months, received wisdom says, and then live in the marketplace telling people about it. The pressure is on to rush to get stuff to the publisher or (in the case of us independent publishers) to get it on the bookshelf. And the time isn’t there to make it as close to perfect as we can.

I am not playing that game. I want every book to be better than the last. Because I don’t like doing the same thing over and over, I may not always please the same readers, but I need to know that at least I’m improving my grasp of the craft of writing.

Here are my priorities, more or less in order.

  1. to deepen my relationship with God
  2. to look after my family
  3. to stay healthy
  4. to give my employer my best attention and commitment during working hours until the mortgage is paid and I can retire and write fiction as my full-time job
  5. to write books I am happy to put my name on
  6. to share those books with readers.

So writing comes ahead of marketing

When the squeeze is on, as it has been over the past four months, in future I’m choosing writing over marketing. Maybe this means that I’ll have another two years of adequate but not spectacular sales. (My author rank at Amazon generally sits somewhere in the 20,000–25,000 bracket. To put that in perspective, I’m not millionth, but each step from here is tightly fought, and I won’t be anywhere near making even a modest living till I’m up around 10,000th.)

In two years, when the mortgage is paid, I might be able to spend more time thinking about how to get my print books into libraries and book shops, and which review sites and other gate keepers might be persuaded to take a look. Meanwhile, I’m in the writing cave. I’ll pop out to play with my friends. Yes, and to do a bit of marketing, too, when I have time. But my priority is going to be the books.

What’s next from Jude Knight?

I’ve recently been project manager for the Belles on the Combined 2015 Editions of the Teatime Tattler, published last week. Click on the title to find out about it, and to get your copy while it is still free.

While you’re there, check out our previous box set, Mistletoe, Marriage and Mayhem. We’re removing it from publication on 31 March, so get it now for only 99c, all proceeds to the Malala Fund. After 1 April, we’ll each publish our own novella. I’m targeting 8 May with my Gingerbread Bride, which is about Rick Redepenning and his courtship of Mary, seven years before the events in my novel Farewell to Kindness.

Before the end of June, I plan to publish Embracing Prudence. That’s pretty tight, since I’m only halfway through the beta edit, so it may slip (once more), but no later than July.

I’ve made a good start on A Raging Madness. I’m 12,000 words in, and I have the rough plan for the rest mapped out. I expect to publish before the end of the year, possibly as early as September.

I have a 1 May deadline for the novella for the next Bluestocking Belles holiday box set, which has a house party theme. All our novellas have their lives affected in one way or another by the festivities at Hollystone Hall. The venue has its own Facebook page, where we’re posting character sketches and scenery on our way to publication on 1 November. My contribution is titled The Bluestocking and the Barbarian.

And Mariana Gabrielle and I are cowriting a novel that ambushed us when we were thinking about something else. We haven’t set a publication date for Never Kiss a Toad, but watch this space.

Celebrations on WIP Wednesday

Rowlandson1809CropIn honour of the first birthday of the Bluestocking Belles, I’m looking for celebrations today. birthdays, Christmas, Harvest Festivals, weddings… anything you wish, really. As always, please post an extract in the comments, and don’t forget to share on Twitter and Facebook.

I’m stretching the envelope here. Embracing Prudence is not full of celebrations—quite the contrary. But I have a bit of a description of a rather dissolute masquerade party that might fit the bill. David wasn’t there, but many of the suspects in the murder he is investigating were.

“Ah, now that is interesting. At some point during the evening, they were all at the same masquerade as Talbot. I found a witness who was there the whole evening, and she recognised Talbot, Selby, Annesley, Barnstable, and Tiverton, and also Aldridge and Elfingham.”

“As paying customers, I take it,” Prue suggested, clearly guessing the profession of the witness.

“It was a big event, apparently, with most of the rakehells of London in attendance, and a number of its more racy ladies.”

“Not the Carrington Masquerade?” Prue asked.

“Yes. Lady Carrington was the hostess, though it was at Richport’s.”

The Duke of Richport was not yet thirty, but had acquired a reputation for debauchery well beyond his years. Given his rank, all would be forgiven him if he ever ventured into polite society. He quite openly declared that if he was going to go to hell, he expected more entertaining surroundings than the ballrooms and parlours of the Beau Monde, and warmer devils than the ladies of the ton.

 

Assumptions on WIP Wednesday

eve2I’ve been banging my head against assumptions today. Four different parts of my busy life blew up on me because of diverse assumptions where people had decided what was happening without checking the facts. So I’m late posting, but it is still Wednesday somewhere, right? And keep right on adding those excerpts, folks. People look at these pages right the way through the week.

Wrongful assumptions, or diverse assumption, can be a useful plot hinge. Have your characters gone off in different directions or locked horns because of assumptions? Mine have. I haven’t yet written the major incorrect assumption that my heroine Sophia has about my hero James (that he is courting her sister), but Embracing Prudence is full of assumptions, Never Kiss a Toad has quite a few, and here’s one from A Raging Madness.

“Lady Melville keeps very little in her room,” he commented.

The maid frowned, and moved closer to him, lowering her voice to a thread above a whisper. “Miss Kerridge packed it all away. Said the lady did not need any of it and might use it to harm herself. They could have left the poor lady with her father’s picture. And the toy Sir Gervase bought for the baby. It was soft. She couldn’t hurt herself with a stuffed cloth cat.”

A baby? Ella had said nothing about a child.

“Perhaps they thought the child should have his father’s gift? Or hers. A boy or a girl?” Not that it mattered.

But the maid was shaking her head. “Poor little mite. It died. It was terrible.” Her eyes gleamed with the pleasure of a dreadful story. “The master was dead, and the old mistress had taken to her bed with a seizure (she was never the same again, poor lady) and my lady slipped on the ice. The fall started the baby coming. But it was not the right time, and the wee one was not lying right in the womb. She had it powerful bad.”

“The baby was born dead?” Dear God.

“Not then, sir. First Mr and Mrs Braxton arrived, and then the baby was born, and we were that pleased, and then the mistress was sick, and the baby, he just died in his sleep, poor little lamb. She looked fit to be buried herself, poor lady, but she got up from her bed and started nursing old Lady Melville, and she nursed her ever since, these three years till a month gone.”

Three years. Three years ago, Braxton had come to London to collect the body of his younger half-brother. He had said that Ella had refused to come with him—that she had social engagements she would not leave for a husband she did not want. And Alex had believed him. When he travelled down here for the funeral, he had made his contempt clear to a pale and silent Ella. How had he not seen that she was ill and grieving?

 

Sunday retrospective

time-machineToday’s Sunday retrospective reaches back to the second half of October 2014, when I was writing the last third of Farewell to Kindness. I was reporting progress—and hiccups—as I went. I finished the month with a photo of the printed first draft of Farewell to Kindness and the heading #amediting. A couple of days before that, I posted a list called ‘Editing the book’ — everything I needed to do between finishing the first draft and sending the book for beta reading.

Criminal injustice was the post I wrote when I found out about the sea change in the British criminal justice system, and how this affected my plot. In 1807,  the old system was no longer working and the new system had not been invented.

Our modern view is that one law should apply to all. It doesn’t always work. Money buys better lawyers, for a start. But the basic principle is that we have laws that lay down the crime and the range of punishments, and judges who look at the circumstances and apply penalties without fear or favour.

The pre-19th century situation in England was far, far different.

I also posted on why I changed the name of my heroine in Farewell to Kindness in a blog post with the longest titleI have ever written: Ewww, just ewww: or the cautionary tale of the perils of naming characters in a whole lot of books at once and then starting one without reference to the real world.

I waxed philosophical about romance writing as a genre in a couple of posts that largely picked up what other people were saying:

  • Fear of vulnerability reports on research that suggests fear of vulnerability underpins the common dismissal of the romance genre by readers of other types of fiction
  • Romance novels are feminist novels has excerpts from a much longer article that directly confronts the view that all romance novels are trivial, and turns it on its head.

The first review I published on my website was for the wonderful Lady Beauchamp’s Proposal. Four months later, I was thrilled to find author Amy Rose Bennett as another potential Bluestocking Belle, and we’ve been colleagues and allies ever since.

And I also published a review of Darling Beast by Elizabeth Hoyt. In less than a fortnight, I’m hosting a Belles’ Book Club discussing another of the Maiden Lane series, Scandalous Desires. Elizabeth has agreed to pop in for an hour, so don’t miss it. You can join the event here: https://www.facebook.com/events/929180810491602/

Fights in WIP Wednesday

In the summer of 1892, Princess Pauline was the Honorary President of the Vienna Musical and Theatrical Exhibition and Countess Kielmannsegg was the President of the Ladies’ Committe of the Exhibition, and the two clashed over some of the arrangements for the Exhibition. (Several sources claim it had something to do with the floral arrangements.) Heated words were exchanged, and the two women agreed to settle their differences with a duel.

In the summer of 1892, Princess Pauline von Metternich was the Honorary President of the Vienna Musical and Theatrical Exhibition and Countess Anastasia Kielmannsegg was the President of the Ladies’ Committe of the Exhibition, and the two clashed over some of the arrangements for the Exhibition. (Several sources claim it had something to do with the floral arrangements.) Heated words were exchanged, and the two women agreed to settle their differences with a duel.

Today on work-in-progress Wednesday, I’m looking for fights. Physical or verbal. Arguments, fisticuffs or sword fights. Between any of your characters. Your choice.

Fights punctuate the action and ratchet up the tension. And talkative fighters let things slip in their anger, which can be very handy for driving the plot.

My piece is from Embracing Prudence: a confrontation between my hero David and his half-brother the Marquis of Aldridge.

“I won’t let you hurt her again, Aldridge.”

“Your turn, is it?” Aldridge mocked. “Who are you to judge me?  You’re swiving her, too.”

“She was an innocent when she met you, Aldridge.”

“She would not have stayed one, Wakefield. She was ripe to fall. If it had not been me it would have been one of the others, and they would not have waited to make sure she enjoyed it.”

David’s punch caught him by surprise.

“She did not enjoy being abandoned in a prison for a week, you self-centred, spoilt, idiot.”

Aldridge shook his head to clear it. “I will concede that was not one of my finest moments. I told them to treat her with every consideration. I found out later that the King’s man thought me a fool in the toils of a scheming woman, and countermanded my orders. By then she was gone, though.” He frowned. “I’ll never understand why. I would have given her anything she wanted, showered her with presents, set her up in style…”

“Anything except your name.”

Aldridge’s eyes widened at David’s comment. “She did not honestly think I meant marriage, did she? I could not marry a nobody, and one who wasn’t even pure.”

David punched him again

First kisses on WIP Wednesday

Today, I’m featuring first kisses. With four works-in-progress underway at the same time, I have a few to choose from. Two of them are not at all far along, but I was in a party on Facebook where kisses were the theme of the day, so I wrote a kiss scene for each.

Below is the first kiss between Alex Redepenning and Ella Melville, hero and heroine of A Raging Madness, the second Golden Redepenning book. How about showing me yours?

In A Raging Madness, Alex Redepenning is rescuing the widow Eleanor Melville from her scheming relatives. Alex and Ella are fighting the attraction between them. I haven’t yet written as far as their first kiss, but I’m guessing it is going to go something like this:

“How is your leg?” she said, doing a creditable job of keeping her voice steady. Alex could not be so calm. He had nearly lost her!

She knelt beside him looking anxiously at the pernicious limb. To hell with the leg. “Ella!” She turned her head to meet his eyes. He said it again, his voice breaking. “Ella.”

Her eyes full of wonder, she lifted her hand to touch his face, and he noticed the holes in the crown of her hat.

“Your hat!” he managed. She untied and unpinned it; removed it and poked a finger into one hole and then the other.

“The bullet went through my hat!” She sounded surprised, but not alarmed.

“Too close.” Unable to bear the distance, he tugged her into his arms. “Too close, Ella.” He folded her close and tucked his face into her hair.

She pulled back, warning him, “Alex, be careful of your leg!” Her face turned up to him tempted him beyond measure, and he covered her mouth with his, the thwarted desire of a decade or more released by the fear of the last half hour.

Damn the leg, he would have said, but her mouth had risen to meet his, and he had no breath for speech; no mind with which to think. In all the universe, there was only Ella.

Partings on WIP Wednesday

This week on work-in-progress Wednesday, I’m inviting you to post about partings. Do your characters leave a lover, a friend, a relative, an enemy? Do they part for an hour, a day, a month, forever? Show me what you’ve got.

(The video clip is the wrong period, but the right mood for my excerpt, which is below.)

In my current work in progress, the hero and heroine both work, and their commitments take them in different directions several times in the course of the novel. I like this parting.

Gren kept up a light patter of social conversation over the meal, and Prue made a valiant effort to contribute, though she was dreading the coming parting, and kept lapsing into silence to just watch David and soak up her last moments with him.

He was quiet, too, and Charrie oscillated from bright and bubbly to morose and silent. Without Gren, it would have been a dismal meal.

When the men got up to leave, Gren suggested to Charrie, “Shall we leave them the breakfast room for a moment, Charity? I know my brother wants to kiss her goodbye, and he doesn’t want to embarrass her in front of her sister.”

Charrie looked from one of the men to the other. “You are brothers?”

“Half brothers,” David confirmed.

Charrie opened her mouth, thought better of whatever she was about to say, and shut it again. Without another word, she left the room, Gren trailing in her wake.”

As soon as the door closed behind them, Prue walked into David’s arms.

“Travel safely,” she said.

“I’ll call for you on my way back.”

“No; I doubt I’ll stay long. I will go back to London. Come to me there.”

“Stay at my place, Prue. Mrs Allen knows to welcome you and make you comfortable. Treat it like your own home.”

“I will. I would like to.”

They kissed, and it was a hello and a farewell all at once. This one kiss would have to sustain them for a month or more. It lasted an eternity and was over too soon.

“I do not want to leave you,” David said at last, drawing his head back but keeping her locked in his arms.

“I do not want you to go. But we each have our duties. Go, David. Finish your enquiries and come home to me.”

David smiled, more a warmth in the eyes than a movement of the lips. “Home. Home is wherever   you are, Prue.” He kissed her again, a gentle benediction, then stepped away and opened the door.

Secondary characters on WIP Wednesday

He’s doing it again, and I refuse to let him have another blog post. I always intended some of my characters to play a role in a number of books — either always as secondary characters, or in lesser roles when they weren’t taking centre stage. But the Marquis of Aldridge is trying to horn in on Prue and David’s love story. I’m not going to talk about him. Or his mother, who also

Lord Jonathan Grenford

Lord Jonathan Grenford

pops up in places that are not always convenient.

But I am going to give you an excerpt with another secondary character for Embracing Prudence. Please show me yours? Usual rules. Nine to ten lines, and I’m not too strict about it. And share away on Facebook and Twitter as much as you please!

So here is Aldridge’s younger brother, Lord Jonathan Grenford, joyously helping his half-brother David with the murder investigation. He has just been to try his charm on the Earl of Selby’s mother and aunt, and is reporting that they all but threw him out.

After that, the two women cut the visit short. Gren was escorted firmly to the door, and Miss Remington informed him that she would be speaking to his mother, a threat that Gren found highly amusing.

“Mama, if she even receives the woman, will inform her that it is about time I had a hobby.”

But Gren’s report was not over.

“So I wandered around to the kitchen entrance, to thank the cook for her particularly delicious almond macaroons. And she insisted on making me a cup of tea and serving me some more. I will need to visit Mama.” He had a bite of his bun while his listeners pondered the non sequitur.

Prue decided to give him the satisfaction of asking. “Very well, Gren. Why do you need to visit Her Grace?”

“I might have promised to the cook a position  in one of Mama’s houses,” Gren’s eyes were dancing. “She isn’t very happy in the Selby household. Not only are they unappreciative of her talents, the whole household knows that they don’t have a feather to fly with and expect to be jobless at any time, and—besides—she is almost certain that one or both of the old harridans greased the steps that the former Earl of Selby slipped to his death on.”

Satisfied with his verbal bombshell, he finished the bun.