Corpse Call

There are just days left before the book launch for A Corpse in Cipher – A Tudor Murder Mystery. As the first in the new Elspet Stafford Mysteries (set in early 16^th century England) I'm both apprehensive and thrilled. The book was received well by my readers but what about the public? There was also that debacle about my pen name (which has been altered to Lizzy Drake due to another author having published as I was editing and taking the name I had first wanted). As another author had taken the name, I had to pull the book, seek out my wonderful cover artist, Berni Stevens, and beg for a change of name on the cover, get a new ISBN (as the book had just been approved to print by the printer) and upload everything fresh. One heart attack and two new Facebook pages later, Lizzy Drake was launched as my official pen name for the Elspet Stafford Mysteries and the kindle book is up for pre-order.

The print book is due to arrive any day for final approval (again, but with the revised name). I can't wait to hold the book in my hands. It's been a long while since I've been excited about one of my publications and I'm a little proud of this one. One international move, a crashed computer, over 500 lost photos of Tudor palaces that I'd taken during a year of research trips, missing boxes during international shipping and one name calamity later, this book represents so much more than a new series for me, it also heralds the absolute change of lifestyle.

From now on, my writing schedule has changed and become incorporated into my daily work. One new mystery title per year is now the bar (as well as entering the new titles into as many literary competitions as I can). Balanced with apartment renovations (this year I've learned how to lay laminate flooring; I've gone from excavating Roman flooring to laying new ones), blogging and research between school runs, the future looks to hold more dark and alluring crimes set in Catherine of Aragon's early years as Queen. Already book two is in the research stage and set at Framlingham Castle...

Lizzy Drake's first Elspet Stafford Mysteries book is out 15^th of December.
 ISBN 978-1519569448

Tudor Mysteries, Moves, and HNS

It's been ten months since the relocation – we still have some boxes in the garage and everyone is settled in their new work/school routine. I expected that a move to such a sunny location would alter my writing from the Tudor feel I was after, but instead it has helped me dive deeper into the era somehow. With my dedicated writing room/library (the former formal dining room, we've never had one of these, so there is no need to start now) I've been whizzing through scenes of intrigue and betrayal, inns and court, kirtle and... well, you get the picture. Having spent all of 2014 in dedicated research, by January I was ready to write. By late June I had a strong working draft and by September, I had an edited version for my trial readers.

Now that most of the dust has settled and book one is drafted and edited (currently going through another edit), the timing of the Historical Novel Society's 2016 Oxford conference tickets being on sale was just right. I've booked my place at the conference, accommodation and evening costume gala, which, I do believe means I'll be the only one in my group of historical fiction friends who will be dressed as a Tudor; the rest of them seem to be Georgian-heavy. As I'm used to sticking out like a sore thumb everywhere I go, this is probably a good thing (or, at least, in my comfort zone). This means getting out the continuing work-in-progress known as the Tudor gown and getting some appropriate Tudor undergarments (Elizabethan era rather than early Henrician as my story is set, but hey).

With England in my sights again, I've also put together a Tudor tour so I can go back to both Hever Castle and Framlingham Castle (book two is set mostly at Framlingham Castle) since my photos were lost in transit due to a bad memory stick and a defunct laptop; my current WIP was the only thing to go smoothly in the past twelve months.

Which, somehow brings me back to the manuscript. I had sent it out to US agents and also one UK agent who had invited me to submit at the last HNS (still pending a response, I know they are busy) and I wasn't sure if I was going to be happy having my book with US spelling (something I'm not fond of), so I've made the decision to keep it to UK English. Sounds like such a simple thing, but writing Tudor era stories with a modern edge to keep the speech intelligible to the general public is hard enough, dropping the extra vowels that are so unique to UK English is a soul-killer.

I've also finally joined the Historical Novel Society as a member and am looking forward to getting more involved and writing up more research-based blogs. Happy days!

Long Haul

Here we are, halfway through 2015 and I'm finally getting back to my blog post. It's been an unusual few months - international move, new everything, new way of doing things and more computer complications (I'm currently writing this on my IPad rather than the new ACER computer... let me say I really, really miss my old DELL).

All my research from last year was packed on the container ship along with my personal research library. My computer had crashed, but I'd backed up all my files and photos on a memory stick as I knew I didn't have much time (as all good things must go, including the 8 year old laptop). Then I accidentally left the memory stick with my things to be shipped on the container (which took over 3 months).

So, I'm pleased to announce that despite all the setbacks, the historical fiction WIP that I'd spent all of last year researching for, is nearly drafted. Just 7000 more words to write (ish) which, at my current schedule means the middle of next week. Hoorah! Bliss! 

I'm a little sad that I've lost about 300 photos I'd taken during my research (Tudor strongholds, castle grounds, etc) as the memory stick apparently doesn't do photos very well. But that just means I have an excuse to go back and take more. So what if I'm on the other side of the planet - what's life without a little travel? Historical Novel Society 2016 will be in Oxford and I'm very excited about attending.

I would write more... about Catherine of Aragon, about my character Elspet and the cipher she's discovered, but well... I just need to finish a few more scenes. TTFN

The Body in the Courtyard

(above portrait is of a young Catherine of Aragon)

Now that I’m no longer in between novels, I finally feel like things are back to normal.  Except that they aren’t.  Instead of working on my next teen fiction, I’m researching the early 1500s for the setting of my next series; a Tudor Murder Mystery series for adult readers under a pen name (which will be disclosed upon release of book 1).  The main character will be/is fictitious, but the story revolves around historic events, so although it’s a fiction, I absolutely must get the setting and history right.  Which means a lot of research, which I love doing.

I’ve always wanted to write a whodunit and I’ve always wanted to explore the Tudor era in more depth (the Masters degree was in Early Medieval Archaeology, so anything past Conquest was too late for me).  Now that I’m more engaged with the latter medieval, I find myself getting sucked into the era. The more I learn, the more I want to know.

Which brings us to 1513, the year my novel is set.  I knew a bit about the first wife of Henry VIII; that she was treated pretty roughly towards the end when his wandering eye took his interest (and hopes for a son) to Catherin’s lady-in-waiting, Anne Boleyn. I also knew she bore many children although only one survived (to become Queen Mary).  I didn’t know that she’d been assigned Regent for six months while Henry was away in France, that heavily pregnant, she donned full armour, rode north to address her troops who were due to invade Scotland.  England had been at war with Scotland for some time and she and her army won the war. Her child, however was born in October and lived only 52 days.  Small wonder, reading about what she’d been through. Catherine of Aragon was much more than just wife number 1.  She was the strength that the King depended on, trusted to run the country for him while he was away.  And that trust was not misplaced (now if only she could have trusted him).

But Catherine of Aragon is not my protagonist – she’s just part of the background tapestry of my setting. My main character is a young woman of no real consequence.  Her father is a Lord, her fiancé is in France fighting along side King Henry, but her life is about to make some unexpected changes. Not only is her fiancé reported fallen in the battlefield, but her parents ship her off to the countryside to care for a bedridden great aunt that she’s never heard of.  And then there is that body in the courtyard…

July Ink and Beyond...

We've booked our winter escape from the future cold!  Muahahahhaaaaa... palm trees here we come, time for grandma to spoil the little one (and us!).  But that's months away.  For now, it's glorious weather here and the only downside is that it's keeping the toddler up late at night which digs into my writing time. And I still have to see that jeweller about doing an internship while I'm out there (didn't want to contact him before we had the dates set firm).

I’ve got just the rest of the month to draft out the rest of Downtrodden and then send it to an agent… I wasn’t intending on sending it out, but a glorious writer I know has suggested I do it (although the deadline is my own and will probably extend into next month).  She is currently working as an intern for said agent.  I dare not get my hopes up – Downtrodden is not the standard novel and it’s not written in third person limited in a single voice; it’s third person limited from many voices in many sections (yes, yes, as I said earlier, it’s not normal – it’s like a miniseries on TV).  Which is why I can’t get my hopes up.  I’ve broken rules…

Yet seeing the end to the draft will mean my celebrating – I started Downtrodden years ago, first as a flash fiction competition submission when I very first started writing seriously in 2008 after finishing (I use ‘finishing’ in the loosest of terms as I didn’t bother going beyond the fiction section as at that time there was no individual course for just fiction, let alone children’s and teen fiction… yet I’ve made my money back and then some, which is the only way to get a ‘pass’, but I’ve never bothered to send in for my certificate, I’m THAT lazy) Writer’s Bureau course.

If said agent isn’t interested, or is just shocked that I’ve send in something so abominable to the written word, I’ll publish it on kindle as a short series of four ‘books’, every other to be a free download – if people like it, then they can buy the next instalment, etc.  At any rate, it will be a fun experiment J

As for the rest of writing, knowonder no longer pays staff writers which is a shame but understandable.  They are, however, still paying general writers, so if anyone other than staff was considering submitting, don’t be put off. I’ll be spending more time of Highlights submissions in the future; it’s such an established magazine, I don’t expect it will have too many cuts (gulp… famous last words?)

The Isabella edit is taking longer than expected (did I say that last time too?) but the finished product will be very nice.  As for Three Women… it will be done on time (really, it will!) but Isabella is taking most of my hours and I’ve not even done anything for Seadrake this month – except pull my work from both high street shops.  I’m putting it all on etsy with sale prices to flush it out before I start on a new line. Onwards and upwards, yada yada…

 

 

Inky Drakey Plans

 (Oyster Fayre 2012)

 

All’s quiet on the Wyvern for sale front (if I’ve not yet mentioned, Wyvern Publications might have a buyer, but we’ll see how it turns out – I’m very excited about it! It means authors will have a chance to have their work back on the market and Wyvern itself still going).  Which suits me fine at the moment because it’s all about Seadrake in two days.  I never had a chance to finish the two brass leaf brooches – there were too many other things to do and my knuckles were aching in the cold, damp workshop (someday, after a lottery win, I can have the workshop insulated and have proper double glazing).  Today I’ve got to finish painting my Seadrake Creations banner for the Oyster Fayre.  I’m on plot A6, which is a big move up from last year and exactly the opposite far end of where I was before.  It’s going to be so much fun regardless of the weather.

 

Sales, however, will suffer if it rains… which brings me to the question I’ve been nagging myself over.  Is it all worth it?  This is the beginning of year 3 for Seadrake and I’ve struggled with it (as most new businesses will).  The difference is that I don’t really know if it’s worth the struggle anymore.  Goodness knows I’m not charging enough for my time or even enough to cover basic tools let alone PLI and pitch rentals.  There has been a renaissance in hand made traditional crafts but nobody outside London wants to (or can afford to) pay for the time and money it takes to produce something handmade and beautiful.  Something whacked out of the factory in the third world can give a similar effect for a fraction of the cost.  Let’s face it, we’ve all been belt pinching which is what brought on the handmade revolution in the first place.

 

And curse this whole issue of needing sleep and getting tired.  WHY can’t I get up at 5am all chipper and work and play with my toddler, get dinner on, bake fresh bread every Friday, grow fresh flowers and veg in the back, juggle Wyvern Publications, tackle the hedge, write two non-fiction books and one novel, keep a jewellery business going and still have time to write the blog without falling asleep or feeling like a zombie?  Okay, I get up at 7… but if I could, I’d wake up fresh at 5.  Can I pull the teen thing and say, “it’s not fair”?  It really isn’t.  My body can’t keep up with all these life plans I’ve got.  I’ll do the usual of working like mad, getting ill then having everything fall to a standstill for three months.  I know many people who struggle to get up in the morning just to face the day, so I am being greedy with wanting to do more.  Sorry peops, I’ll stop griping.

 

I do need to streamline again.  The allotment (you remember, the thing that was going to be my priority this year after family?) is on my axe list.  Every time I get on top of it, something happens to set me back months and not just the weather.  It’s time to move on and use the backyard as my growing space.  It will be after the season finishes, so I can harvest the last of the berries and rescue all my berry bushes and the shed and tools, water butts and composter.  The rest can stay there for next year’s grower. Shed BTW is going to be toddler’s own outside playhouse.  I’ll paint it up brilliantly for her.  The front is going to have a mini bridge over water plants (not real water plants, but plants that I feel represent water) and she’ll have her very own mini garden in front of her house to tend.  It will take some time (like, a year) but it will be good and I won’t have to worry about… well the things that have been helping me make the decision about dropping the allotment.

Now to bring on the Oyster Fayre and then I’ll only do Seadrake work for special orders for the next month as I’ve got to hammer out the draft of Three Victorian Women in Asylum and edit the Isabella anthology for Springbok Publications.  Forget the fact that I spent yesterday writing three new business plans.  Maybe I should just relax for a bit…

April Escapes and May Showers

 

It’s been a while since my last blog (the usual… life got in the way again) but this time I have a slightly better excuse and yes, it is the weather.  The relentless winter got me (and I know even hardened individuals suffered this year) down, my light box was still ‘missing’ since the move to the new house, and the new house was/is an icebox with freezing cold air pouring off the outer wall.  Even paying outrageous fees in gas and electricity kept us wearing double to quadruple layers indoors, which frankly, I found rather offensive.

 

So, with a bitter feeling of cold despair, I begged for an escape home to sunny CA and my supportive husband readily agreed.  Two weeks of sunny bliss, family gatherings, meeting up with old friends (at one point it felt very ‘Housewives of Orange County’ except we weren’t bitching, it wasn’t Orange County and well… let’s face it, I was the only ‘housewife’ in the group).

 

On the trip, I had my e-mail account hacked – typical timing and I spent some time trying to fix it on my mother’s computer which felt a bit like wearing someone else’s underpants (the keys responded differently, screen alien, and well, it just wasn’t my computer).  I’d meant to abandon all computer-related activity so it was just by chance that I checked my e-mail and received a mass of informants.

 

But when the two and a half weeks were up, I was ready to go back to reality – it was even warm for the weekend before plunging back down to the gloomy weather we’d left.  Two weeks in and I’m still reeling over the catch up I’m trying to do.  And balanced with recovering from jet lag, an excited toddler and growing lawn, my workload is feeling a bit overwhelming.

 

Writing – I’ve got my short story for the Springbok anthology to do – well, I’ve just finished the draft and need to change a few bits before sending it in – it’s due at the end of the month.  Then after the Oyster Fayre, it will be ‘all systems go’ to get this non-fiction drafted in time (Three Victorian Women in Asylum).  I’ve also been compiling a fairy anthology of retold ancient lore and new tales with an ancient feel.  It will be illustrated by my fabulous mother and talented artist, Linda Gunn.

 

Wyvern – There are still two books on the lists – then will close.  Or it was going to (I had no time for my own writing whilst running a publishing company).  I’ve got a potential buyer, hoorah!  So authors might have a chance to receive new contracts, which I’m thrilled about if it all goes through.  I’ll keep posting updates as they happen.

 

Seadrake – Gulp!  Only a few weeks left before the big weekend of Oyster Fayre – the market that sums up Seadrake perfectly and the event I look forward to every year… I’ve got all my stock put together, but there are some final bits that have been giving me trouble (combined with a toddler who keeps trying to break into my workshop means I can only work when she’s asleep… which is usually when I crash out too).  I have to brass leaves to saw and finish into beautiful medieval brooches – they are all etched beautifully and are ready for the wrist and knuckle breaking moment of hacksaw (which takes forever).  There are costumes to drag out of the closet – I’m selling off as much of my historical wardrobe I can this year, so if you need a Tudor/Renaissance/Saxon/Arthurian gown, drop by for a steal.

 

Fab, so it’s all systems go until June 1… Bring on the Oyster Fayre!

Digging up the year...

I’ve decided that I should no longer be that manic girl… the one chasing her own tail and running herself into the ground with a million and one different projects on top of the normal everyday duties that life brings.  This year is going to be all about growing.  Not personal growth (although I’m sure a bit of that will happen) but vegetable and herbs. 

I was going to give up the allotment – with my little girl too young to not in danger on the plot (there are a lot of poisonous weeds and stinging nettles), and with moving house, I knew I wouldn’t have any time for it anymore.  I was gutted.  The allotment was, ironically, really the only thing that kept me truly rooted in the UK, even in the winter.  But having thought things through (mostly not wanting to dig up our apple trees and relocate our berry plants) it’s staying. 

Last three seasons were horrible to veg – if anyone grows their own vegetables, they’ll know exactly what I mean.  From drought to floods; frost to heat wave and back again, those little plants have a hard time surviving, let alone producing fruit or tubers (my first earlies crop of potatoes were mini and most of my lates had rotted themselves in the ground after having lain in permanent puddles despite the well draining soil).  But the berries… oh, the berries loved it!  They could handle the dry weather and still bring fruits, the heavy rain just made the produce more.  Even the birds couldn’t get their fill of those amazing blueberries and raspberries.  The strawberries did okay… I’ll work on those too.  But for the next season, the allotment is going to be about raspberry canes and blueberry bushes.  I can never get enough of them anyway and being low maintenance and easy to grow, they’ll keep the allotment producing until my little girl is big enough to go to school. Then maybe this horrible extreme weather would have settled a bit and I can get back on to growing the basics.

The new house has got some amazing potential too for a herb garden in one area, a potted veg patch in the other, and space for a cob nut tree and couple of apples.  There will be… a lot of digging going on in the next few months.

That said, I still have been very busy with writing and jewellery.  I’ve been lucky enough to be asked back as a judge for the Paws n’ Claws competition for children’s fiction stories, I still have to edit and complete my fantasy book, Downtrodden (might even have a chance to upload it before the new year), and of course, writing for knowonder.com.  And sending out to agents… but that’s a given rather like breathing.  And I’ll keep it all low key.  Even now that I’m part of a new publishing group, Springbok Publications, I’m staying low key for a while and asked to only be assistant editor due to time constraints.

As for Seadrake Creations, I’ve got my etsy shop all pretty and will be working on new lines casually and adding them when I’ve got a moment to do so.  This year for Seadrake will be less focus on selling and publicity and more time spent on learning new techniques and skills.  Rather like an extended internship.

So, whew!  Bring on those long days so I can get back to digging over the allotment…

 

The California visit was lovely; I got to wear short sleeves again and wear sunscreen and sunglasses while playing at the beach in the mornings and having fun with family in the afternoons.  Claudia loved getting her feet splashed by the sea and chasing the waterline as it rushed and receded (well, I did lift her when it rushed at us, but she did the chasing right afterwards).  As always, there just wasn’t enough time to do everything and see everybody, especially as afternoon naptime interrupted the usual routine we’d do during a visit.  Sorry to all my friends I didn’t have a chance to contact.

Writing has slowed to an invisible crawl this month – but will be renewed with a ferocious vigour with the work on my non-fiction book, Three Victorian Women in Asylum.  Well, it may be a booklet, rather than a book.  I want it to have a good impact without being too heavy for general public reading. 

Another rejection from Highlights Magazine.  Apparently, my writing was spot on but my timing was out and they couldn’t use it.  As prompted, I’ll keep trying! 

There is just not enough time to work on all my projects, but after my non-fiction book, this winter will be all about creating new works of art in the form of rings, polymer clay dragons, and other Seadrake Creations.  After talking with a designer in Long Beach who made the most amazing sea-inspired jewellery, I’ve fallen in love with lost wax casting.  I have a few other works to polish off and sell before I can buy any more equipment, but I’ll be posting my new items on the Seadrake Creations etsy shop, so do keep an eye out.  I’ve also obtained a beautiful morganite stone and two small pink diamonds that I’m planning on designing a gold ring around.  I can’t wait!



Inky Names

The season is changing and it's time to soon upload the historical novel.  In about five days, it will be on kindle (hoorah!) and I keep chaning my mind on what name to publish it under.  The traditional marketing ideal is that for each genre of book, there should be a different name.  My historical fiction name would be Elizabeth Drake, which I love (old family name too), but as I'm not publishing traditionally, I think I'll stick to my nearly established name of Holly Stacey.  If (emphasis on if rather than when) I ever get a traditional publishing deal, then I may branch out a bit and use a pen name.  But not now.  The pen name didn't do terribly well for Raven Wyrstone (The Howling Moon - http://www.amazon.co.uk/The-Howling-Moon-Raven-Wyrstone/dp/0956036341/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1347304373&sr=8-1) although I love the book.

Okay, it's written in my blog, so I've got to stick to it.  No waking up at 2am and deciding to change again (the 2am waking is thanks to my lawyer troubles... still that one bit of paper is awaiting a signature).  Truly.  Sticking to the one name.  Except for the non-fiction on Victorian asylums.  That will be under H.E. Stacey...

Ah, and here is my kindle link for my YA urban fantasy - http://www.amazon.co.uk/The-Faerie-Conspiracies-ebook/dp/B00955JPCK/ref=sr_1_1_title_1_kin?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1347304405&sr=1-1

Solicitor Splats

 

We were supposed to exchange on Monday.  Our solicitor has been a dream.  However, all solicitors in the chain are meant to be in the office at the same time.  I’m sure someone is on holiday without having told anybody else.  Not only that, but they were all talking to each other two weeks ago and now… silence.  Number X in the chain is not available to anybody, solicitor or not.  All house moves are on hold.

 

Its crazy, isn’t it?  How so many people can have their lives on hold just for one phone call?  And what happens when one of them is hit by a car? Has a family accident? Gets a real flu?  The world shouldn’t have to come to a grinding halt.  The system is terribly flawed.  We are chain free – we don’t even have to wait for our house to sell and with a good solicitor, it’s taken eight weeks (and counting) for all the house checks to come through (that’s checks, not cheques, which they’ve been having no problems accepting).

 

So where does this leave us?  Boxes are strewn everywhere.  Poor Claudia has to eat in front of the TV (tough, isn’t it?) because the dining table is covered with boxes (and the cat… she loves boxes).  My projects are all on hold and I’m going absolutely stir crazy.  Still, we went out to Chappel Beer Festival last night and that was good.  A date night with beer (although I ended up on a rather nice medium-sweet perry) and chocolate – there was a chocolate stall!

 

Fingers crossed we get a phone call today… Fingers crossed that nothing is mortally wrong with that solicitor!

Introductions

Despite having put all projects on hold for a few weeks, I thought it might be good to post the introdution to my Three Women in Asylum book.  In fairness, it was written while waiting for my train home.

Also, as the book will be dedicated to Isabella, a girl from the late Victorian Era who helped guide me back to Borthwick, I've posted the photo of 'The Dreamers' who I'm writing about for the fiction anthology.

Introduction:

 As an archaeologist and children’s author, it may seem strange that I’ve decided to write a book on women in asylum in the Victorian Era.  Stranger still when my archaeological focus has always been early Medieval.  Having excavated with several rescue archaeology teams, I had occasionally come across Victorian archaeology – it couldn’t be missed although it was almost always taken for granted and discarded.  The answer is very simple.  When I was a MA student in York, my class was led to the Bothwick Institute to look at medieval city plans.  They were truly amazing, but what caught my eye the most and what lodged deep into my psyche, were the photographs on the wall.  At the time, Borthwick was located on the premises of what used to be Clifton Hospital – the North Riding Mental Asylum.  The photos were on inmates, women who were deemed to be insane. 

            I knew a little of what Victorian asylums were like – they had a reputation, along with prisons, as being places of unrest.  Suicides were common and recovery rare (or so I thought at the time).  Women who were postnatal depressive, who were mourning the loss of a young child, who may have miscarried, were almost always sent to an asylum.  Not a very healthy way to grieve.  Not only this, but these women were lumped in with maniacal and suicidal dangerous women; those with lunacy in the family.  Melancholia seemed to be the number one problem with women in asylum, followed closely by ‘mania’.  With so many mental illnesses clumped together, it was hardly a recipe for recovery.

            I wondered then, and for over a decade afterwards, what had happened to these women; what was their confinement in an asylum like, and were they ever released?  It wasn’t until I was writing for a fiction anthology based on a Victorian portrait of a young woman who looked pregnant that I was finally tempted to research the Clifton Hospital records.  Writing for the anthology brought back those eyes, staring at me through their protective glass.  Young unwed women of pauper backgrounds like the one in the photograph I was writing about were often sent to the asylum and the babies whisked away to orphanage or workhouse.

            And so, halfway finished with a fictional short story, I ended up booking a train to York.  The Borthwick Institute had relocated since I’d been.  At the time of writing, it was located at the main university’s campus library. The photos I’d seen before, now packed away; only one lonely image of a Clifton Hospital patient remained, pinned to the notice board, watching me research.  I enjoyed the moral support. 

            I started with the female photograph album and then moved onto Female Patient Admissions, then to Female Case Studies.  Each tome offered thousands of names, their origins, their history and family, sometimes their address.  One thing was certain, by the time I’d read through their case, I felt like I knew them.  On my first day of research, I kept reading entries of women who’d spent a lifetime in asylum.  Their reports went much the same, about four entries per year from Dr Nicolson, who I also felt an affinity for (I was saddened to learn that he’d spent years in the same role, only to become an alcoholic and dismissed from service because it was discovered he’d married and had a family outside the hospital; something that was against the rules).  When I’d read the final entry, ‘patient died in the presence of the ward nurse,’ I’d often feel like crying.  My second day of research yielded much happier results as most of the women I’d read about ended up ‘cured’ and discharged.  There were so many women, youngest having been 16 and many up to their 60’s.  One woman was so bereaved when her doctor husband died, she was suicidal and distraught.  She’d constantly told Dr Nicolson how she and her husband ‘were ruined’ and how she was ‘lost’.  Finally, two of her good friends wrote to the commission and requested her release.  There were no more notes, but I hoped that they were looking after her well.  Of her adult children, there was no mention.

            So how did I get to just three case studies?  As I said above, there were thousands of entries in the handful of years I wanted to focus on.  1889 was the date I was primarily after, as the photo book with the patients’ images was set to that date.  I first looked through the photos, picked out about five and then started hunting for their records.  Of those, three had such telltale signs of postnatal depression, broken heart and bereavement that I felt those were the women I should focus on.  It was difficult not to be swept up in every story and I would strongly urge anyone interested to spend just a day reading up on these women at Borthwick.

Borthwick Inklings

At the moment, I’m typing at York Rail Station, waiting for my train.  It’s a good thing, I think, that all the stores close at 5:30, museums are locked, and I’m given a chance to do some more work.  I’ve just finished chapter 2 of my Women in Asylum book and I’m excited about delving deeper into my notes to write up more.  Although, I am limited on time as the staff here won’t let me plug in as the plugs are ‘untested’.  I’ve about half an hour of juice left in the machine!

It was good meeting up with a friend last night (when I was supposed to be writing) and having a pub dinner was especially tasty!  So, with the request made to me on the night, I’m ‘blogging more frequently’.  Michelle, this is for you :-)

 

So I may not have mentioned the non-fiction book I’ve been working on.  To be fair, I’m not sure how far I’m going to take it.  I was bewitched by the photographs of Victorian patients in the North Riding Mental Asylum about 12 years ago and now I’m finally following up on the research I’ve always intended on doing.  I spent all of today and half of yesterday in the Borthwick Institute, looking up case files from 1887-1889 of some of the female patients. 

 

I wanted to focus on post-natal depression, and I think I found a few, but as it was all labelled either ‘melancholia’ or ‘mania’ it’s difficult to tell even when the put the ‘supposed cause’ on the file.  The case notes have given clues into the lives of these women, but my favourite must be the woman from Whitby who was convinced her husband was lost at sea (he wasn’t, but she was looking after three children, the youngest being only three months).  She made a full recovery in a matter of months and also learned some fine needlepoint on the journey. 

Not all the entries were so uplifting.  One girl was in for ‘loss in love’ and ended up dying in the asylum having spent every day absolutely listless and in despair.  It’s hard not to feel an attachment to each woman in the case books – reading each entry from the point of admission to the point of release, death, or relocation ends in either jubilation at a full recovery or extreme melancholia when they don’t.

 

On other projects, here is a brief update.  Blood Tide is halfway re-edited.  I’ll pick it up again after the move and it WILL be ready by Christmas on Kindle.  I’m still writing for Knowonder and they’ve been fabulous.  My Cornwall tales seem to be going over well, and some of my other stories are rejected so I don’t always get it right, but I’m getting the hang of what works and what doesn’t.  Lillia and Rose is still going but slowly – I don’t want to rush this one and I’m working on writing it out by hand so I can really savour it.  Again, jewellery work is on hold until the move is finished and I can prep my new workshop.

 

More later…

some random updates

http://www.knowonder.com/?s=holly+stacey is my latest children's story for knowonder, and my favourite so far :)

Ah, the baby is out with husband shopping for food, the cinnamon rolls are rising in the oven, I’ve done the washing up, put on the laundry, managed to brush my  hair and pour a coffee.  I’ve not drunk the coffee… it’s now stone cold, and I expect I’ll have the baby and husband come in any second, put a stop to my writing, and any chance of updating my blog (until baby has afternoon nap in which I’m actually meant to be tidying up the allotment).

Things have been manic.  As my friend Kirsty says, “Yes, it has everything to do with having children.”  So it’s not just me being disorganised (is that me relieved or worried?)  But I just can’t help myself.  I’ve been doing more writing now, having given Wyvern Publications a limited amount of time while I focus on my own work (after three years of helping other authors, editing other manuscripts, and learning things about PDF that I never knew I’d need to know, I’m now looking at getting my own work out and about).

We’re also mid-move.  Still waiting on one mortgage (or re-mortgage) but the company changed the rules half way through our application and have asked us to re-apply and pay more fees (which I am assured by our financial advisor he’ll get back for us).  I’m sure everything will pan out fine, but home isn’t home anymore, it’s become a building site.  Not to mention, I can’t get over how much builders make.  On a per-hour basis, it’s looking mighty fine – I think doctors get less!  So, maybe I’ll stop this writing lark and pick up some tiling equipment (as that seems to need less start up items than the rest of the building choices, lol).

Oops, rolls out of the oven now (nearly missed it!) and coffee still stone cold but now half finished. 

Right, where was I?  Ah, just a writing update (curses, the door is opening and I’m needed for baby-pushchair retrieval)…

Okay, now, where was I.  Writing.  That’s it.  I’m halfway done with the latest edit of Blood Tide (followers will know I’ve been reworking this novel for the past two years) and I’m hoping to (truly) get it up on kindle before Christmas.  It will be my first time using the kindle upload pages, although I’d like to do the same with The Faerie Conspiracies.  I’m not even going to look for an agent for Blood Tide – it has dialect and therefore is risky.  Agents aren’t taking any risks.  Main publishers aren’t either.  There is a revolution in the publishing industry and it’s been easier than ever to self-publish.  Agents are in dire straights, but still need authors, who no longer need them.  The average self-published author makes $10,000 a year from their writing (this is an average, about half will not, according to recent survey, make more than $500, many won’t make their money back if they’ve paid someone to do it for them).  But have a look at the kindle book Memory of Snow by Kirsty Ferry – you’ll find some excellent fiction just at a click of a button.

Aside from editing Blood Tide, it’s been all about keeping up with the quota of stories needed for knowonder.com, who’ve been amazing to work for.  It may have taken a few months longer for the re-launch, but the wait was well worth it.  Lillia and Rose, my latest children’s novel is going more slowly than I’d anticipated, but I don’t mind.  I’m enjoying taking my time over it.  I’ve also been sending some submissions out to various paying anthologies.

With the house move on hold, most of my jewellery making has been on hold too.  But I have got a workbench sourced (second hand kitchen top) and some more tools for cutting and soldering.  I’m keen on working with some traditional techniques for a set of medieval rings that I can take to the next Oyster Fayre. 

inky edits

Things have once again been insane and manic, but good fun.  I’ve been doing more baking at home, which has made my taste buds very happy (but the washing up has been a real chore). The house is a tip (or is that just me because I see so much of it every day?) despite my constant cleaning.  I wonder how my Grandma Betty always kept the house in perfect order.  She always was a bit of a Doris Day (and practically perfect in every way).

Knowonder is developing well and the 1 June launch looks to be all good to go from what I’ve been hearing (so hoorah for new uploaded stories!) and I’ve been able to get my 3 stories a month sent in.  I’ve also been accepted as one of their team editors, which is wonderful.  I edited my first three assignments last night and I’m now getting the hang of how to use the submishmash programme.

My first every Chicken Soup for the Soul story entry has been sent out.  ‘Hysterically Historical’ was based on my Tudor dancing group (not to worry, names were changed, but the wiggle wiggle dance does make an appearance). My plan is to do every submission I can for them as they pay well (with a 3-year wait for payment and publication if accepted).

Next port of call for subs is Highlights Magazine, something I used to get as a child and enjoyed reading.  Hopefully, it will be something I will enjoy writing for!  Of course, all this does take its toll on time and having only two hours a day when Claudia is asleep, means the housework does suffer (as I said earlier, the house is a tip).

So… while the writing front has been busy, the ‘find and agent’ front has been non-existent.  If history has taught us anything, it’s that fighting on more than one front at once will weaken the attack.  So, it’s write, write, write for this year, and agent will be reserved for when I don’t have so many submissions to send out.

All in all, hoorah for paid submissions!!!

kno inky updates

Huzzah! It seems that knowonder! has made some fabulous changes and instead of paying $10 per story, it’s paying up to $50 per story which means I can relax about sending out overseas subs via pricey snail mail. And… stories go up on 1 March.

I’ve also made motions to re-start writing for suite101.com as I had stopped in 2009 to get Wyvern Publications off the ground and running.  Now that we are about to publish our 9^th title (and 10^th before Christmas) the team will be focusing on publicising titles already up and I’m taking a year out of editing so I can work on my own books.

With two regular paying markets taking my work (one fiction and one non-fiction) I do feel a bit more confident about calling myself a professional writer.  I had been feeling pressure about bringing more funds into the household and although I won’t exactly be earning a high salary (or even minimum wage…) I can at least know the groceries are covered!

Which brings me to… the allotment! It’s looking amazing and certainly tidier than it had before.  I’ve bought three seasons of seed potatoes to keep us chip-happy and asparagus and more dahlias are going in.  The asparagus is low maintenance which is nice and it just keeps giving year after year (and tastes amazing).  It’s great working outdoors for something that gives back more than I put into it and I even use my archaeology trowel to get my sides straight in the seed bed areas.  Not that the area is devoid of any archaeological evidence.  There are pot sherds galore, broken pipes, slag (and some evidence of a small forge – probably just for shoeing horses), medieval peg tile and loads of iron waste which makes for good ballast when I want to keep a weed cover from blowing about the place.

We’re having some good productiveness on the home front too with two chickens producing eggs now.  Ruby, the ex-batt has decided it’s not fair for just Gemima to lay, so she’s back in action and looking two years younger (that’s about two decades in chicken years).  Star is looking better although she’ll never be at 100% after her illness (she had chicken bronchitis – or so said the vet after the last visit).

Things seem to be balancing out nicely now and I’ve nominated the first Friday of every month to be ‘find an agent’ day.  I’ll give Blood Tide another round and this time focus on US agents as they don’t seem to be baffled by having to read dialect.  Then it will be another edit (it’s out with three readers at the moment and I’m getting some excellent new suggestions), then up on kindle if I’ve had no offers.

Rabbit Ink

Goodness, where does the time go? It’s been a year since I boldly stated that I’d be sending in one submission every two weeks and would, hopefully, bag an agent.  I sent three submissions to large agencies last year and got no love back.  It was nice to get a few things in anthologies, but I was so hoping to reach a wider audience.

Which brings me to the new endeavour – Seadrake Creations.  It’s doing okay, I’ve got a new fair to set up for 21 April and it should be interesting to see what sort of things sell this time (at the Christmas fair it was only the children’s things that sold out).  I am getting more interest in my silver leaf pendants, but as PMC costs so much, I’m not really making money off it, just having a bit of fun.  I’ve secured the domain www.seadrakecreations.co.uk but have yet to transfer my seadrakecreations.googlesites website over to it.  After the debacle with google recently, I should do it quickly before its gone forever (Google was about to delete my account for being 8months old… I was setting up a youtube account and put the age of my business instead of my personal age.  Seems obviously silly now!)

I am trying hard to think of ways of working from home and staying self-employed – I’m going to be running craft workshops, but until I get my level 1 PMC certification, I’ll not have any access to discounted PMC and supplies (curses!) so that’s another thing to save up for (and getting a second hand camera that has a manual focus).  I’ll also be putting up demos on youtube and some project downloads will be put on the website (maybe even a kindle book with a load of projects).  There is always so much to do in the few spare hours when Claudia sleeps.

As for WIP – there are too many things to even count.  I know I should just stick to one, but my writing is in limbo until the last few things I sent in to knowonder are published.  So far, I’ve been writing story after story and have been biting my fingernails, checking their website to see if anything is ever published.  I’m guessing March will be when things are up, but that’s such a long way off considering the team has been putting stories in the pot since New Year. Patience has never been my strong point - the stories will go up when they are ready!

That, and I’ve been looking at new places to have fiction published.  Paying places *big grin*.  Highlights Magazine is my next port of call (even though I must post my work via snail mail overseas WITH a SAE; how expensive will that get?) and a few others of similar ilk. 

Here is a bit of one of the works I’ve been sneaking down – it’s been in my head for years and it’s a bit different from the usual stuff.

The Rabbits of Carrot Wood

(a series)

book 1: Into the Wood

Ostra looked up at the bright stars through the clearing of trees and thumped on her hind paw.  Her thick grey fur looked silver in the moonlight, but soon, she knew, it would appear golden when the fires began. 

In seconds, the entire forest floor was quaking with the thumps of several rabbit’s hind paws.  Tall ears popped up from holes in the ground, followed by long, sleek bodies.  More hind legs joined in the warning and soon even the birds in the trees had taken flight in the night.

“Is the council gathered?” It was Freya who asked Ostra, one of the rabbits to whom the next role of leadership would fall.

Ostra bowed her head.  “They are gathered.”

Freya nodded and raced off, her hind legs flashing like lighting to the summit.

An owl flew low, his talons out, searching for any small prey.  He too, must have sensed the change in the air and was taking advantage by finding food.  Ostra dove into one of the warren’s holes, knowing full well that she was just small enough to be taken by those sharp talons.  A few moments later, she heard his frustrated scream – her den-mates were safe.  Surfacing again, she watched the wings flap towards the plain and away from the colony of rabbits.

She pulled the rest of her body out of the hole and shook off dust and soil.  She’d have to do a proper wash later – after this council business was sorted; after the fires had passed.

Many latecomers rushed past her to get to the gathering point; a large oak stump in the centre of the clearing.  Already, the four council elders sat in their honoured positions, each facing outward in the cardinal directions. 

“Hush”, Elder North called.  The crowd of rabbits settled down.  The crowd was managed by the guardians; twelve strong warriors to keep their eyes on the skies for predators and behind them for sly foxes.  Each was armed with a spear ending in a stone point, their backs covered with a long, blue stripe of paint to mark their position as protectors.

Elder South nodded to Elder North and raised his front paws.  “We are gathered here this late night to witness the passing of the moon’s shadow as foretold by our seers.  In honour of this spiritual event, we shall light the fires as is custom.”

There was a hiss of breath as the crowd took in the knowledge. There had not been any fires lit for the past twelve generations.  Legend was strong in the tribe, but the

marks on the earth told the tale more solidly than any storyteller.

“Firedancers!” called Elder West.  “Now it is time to put to use your years of training! Prepare the cinders.”

Two small rabbits with patches of red on their heads came forward, eyes wide and frightened.  They brought with them a basket of smoke.  Behind them followed four young females, each carrying a bundle of twigs.  They dumped the twigs in the centre of the elders’ oak stump and scurried away on all fours like wild rabbits.

The four elders hopped off of the stump, allowing the two firedancers to approach.  They placed the basket gently in the centre and stripped off their woven robes.  The black and red flame patterns heaped onto the earth below them and each of them took deep, slow breaths before opening the basket.  It was apparent to Ostra that they had spent hours in preparation for the eve.

“Begin! Begin! Begin!” The four elders started the chant and were soon joined in a cacophony of others as the crowd opened their mouths to add to the chorus. It wasn’t long before those rabbits who had been wary, became fevered with the need to see flames – and the result of those flames devouring both flesh and flora.

Ostra felt the need to look away, but something held her attention captive as the two dancers reached into the basket with their bare paws and, screaming, threw the live embers into the pile of sticks.

“More, more, more!” The crowd and the elders’ voices were one now, like a hive of bees with only one thought for the many.  Even Ostra found the words seeping from her tongue when all she really wanted to do was run. 

The dancers’ screams turned from fear into screams of maniacal joy – they threw more embers into the air, letting them catch the sky and form arcs of light.  Yet, despite their fur touching all the flames, they didn’t burn.  The glowed.  The fire seemed to come from inside them now and each of the dancers, inflamed with magic of the dance, began to swallow the coals and embers, belching out long flames then leaping over.

The ground began to shake, this time without the aid of any rabbits’ thumping.  The dancers stopped leaping and began digging.  They bored into the earth like worms, their bodies glowing under the patches of turf and soil.  Long pathways of steam showed the crowd were the dancers were moving; each of them in perfect harmony with the other to form first a perfect circle around the crowd, and then spirals.  Rabbits jumped high as the dancers burrowed under their feet, but still nobody left.

This is madness, thought Ostra.  But she too, could not escape.  The sky then seemed to be falling – the stars streamed in the sky and the moon, covered by an invisible cloak, disappeared slowly into the night.  The dancers surfaced, exhausted, but untouched by fire.  Except, perhaps, the fire in their eyes, observed Ostra.  They had a new life in them that hadn’t been there before.  But they seemed spent and almost hobbled to the centre oak.  Satisfied, the elders covered each with a flame-coloured cloak and looked up to the sky.

“Prepare yourselves!” said Elder North.  “For now we shall see the vision.”

****

Once upon a time, long, long ago, there were three rabbits.  One was grey and one was brown.  The other was pure white.  The white rabbit wanted to lead, for he felt that only he was closest to the gods; why else would they keep him as pure in colour as the snow?  The grey rabbit felt that he should be in charge, for was he not the very colour of a fallen star – which everyone knew was the physical body of an angel.  The brown, however, said nothing.  For he knew that the gods would give to them what the gods would give.

The white and the grey rabbits quarrelled.  They bit and tore at each others’ ears.  Soon, they had lost their sight.  Soon after that, they had lost their ability to hear the gods’ whispers.  But the brown rabbit prayed.  He prayed that his two aggressive brothers be spared; that they live in peace.

The gods heard his prayers and granted them.  The grey and the white rabbit were made one – every winter the rabbit would be white and every summer, the rabbit would be grey, each blending in harmony with the land around him; never meeting each other or overlapping.  But they had become simple.  They could not speak.  They could not plan or think.  They could live, but live simply.

Happy that his brothers could live, but lonely, brown rabbit then asked the gods for a mate.  And once again they granted his wish.  A beautiful female rabbit came to his den one morning.  She could speak the language of the flowers and knew healing spells.  She too could communicate with the gods and her name was Ostra.  She gave the brown rabbit a name, so that he too could be remembered in song.  His name was Oak.  Together they had many children and became the founders of our way of life.  They kept the forest and woods tame and knew that their needs would always be met; using their minds and skills granted to them by the gods.  But they also knew too, that if they did not keep the law of the earth, the gods would punish them in the same way they did to grey and white rabbit.

****

Ostra woke in her warren, her familiar blankets firmly tucked in around her.  It had been a long time since she’d dreamed; and this dream was beautiful. It was full of colour – blues and greens and a huge mass of water.

“No,” she said aloud, “it wasn’t a dream…” It had been the firedance – they had seen a vision.  She knew, though she couldn’t pawpoint how, that each of them had seen something different.  Hers had been of a place far, far away – there were white birds with black tipped wings, heavy winds, and no trees.  It made her feel exposed, but she felt inexplicably drawn to it nonetheless.

It was very early – she could smell the dew in the earth and hear the deep breaths of the rest of the warren.  Creeping out as quietly as she could, she popped her head above the ground and sniffed the air.  Fresh.  Clean.  She opened one eye, a little frightened of what she might see.  It was green and lush; without any scarring from the night’s ritual.  But when she hopped to the clearing, she could see the markings in the ground where the dancers had burrowed – instead of scorching there was moss. 

What does it mean?  She scratched her left ear with her hind leg and hopped onto the oak stump to take in the entire pattern. She hadn’t remembered going back into the warren – just a vague knowledge that she did see a vision when she looked up to the stars.