Sanctuary

Please give a fabulous Stiletto Gang welcome to the talented Anna Lee Huber.  She is the debut author of The Anatomist's Wife which hit shelves last week.  And make sure you keep reading because you might get the chance to win her amazing book.  (And if you don't, you should check it out.  You won't be disappointed!)  So without further ado, take it away, Anna!

I’ve always been intrigued by the idea of sanctuary, of sacred places and safe havens.  I know when someone uses the word “sanctuary,” most people think of churches and cathedrals, of Quasimodo screaming it from the top of the Notre Dame Cathedral.  But I’m talking about it more in the context of a personal refuge, a place of comfort and security.  Somewhere you can go to escape when the world becomes too much, to grieve when you face loss, to reflect when you feel lost, and to find the strength and serenity to move forward, both for yourself and the ones you love. 

I believe everyone has a sanctuary in one form or another, whether they realize it or not.  When things go wrong, it’s the place you crave, the destination you long to run to, where you know you’ll find your center again.  Sometimes your sanctuary is a specific physical space, like a room or a car, other times it’s a general location, like a hiking trail, a forest, or a beach.  And still for others, like me, it’s more of a space of time. 

I have always been drawn to sunset.  I don’t know why exactly, but something about it calls me to me.  When I was a little girl, we lived in the country, and I would often wander out into our large backyard and find a soft patch of grass or snow to lie in and stare up at the sky.  I would watch the brilliant play of light fade from the sky and the stars begin to appear one by one.  Something about the simple but awe-inspiring transition of day giving over to night would stir my soul and yet soothe me.  Even my parents understood this, and allowed me to wander off as long as I was properly attired, so as not to freeze to death in our chilly winters. 

Sunset—the wide-open sky and spectacular change over of day to night—was my sanctuary.  And still is, though living in the city as I do, surrounded by tight-packed houses, I don’t lie down in my backyard anymore.  Maybe one day I’ll live far enough from my neighbors to feel comfortable doing so again. 

 

In my debut novel, The Anatomist’s Wife, my heroine, Kiera, Lady Darby, also has a sanctuary—the library loft at Gairloch Castle—where her sister, Alana, finds her after Kiera has once again faced vicious accusations and name-calling. 

We sat that way for several minutes, staring past the wooden banister, out at the ceiling of the library.  A large mural depicting the life of Saint Andrew, patron saint of Scotland, covered the entire space from one wall to another.  Though it was certainly not the work of Michelangelo, it had a charming rustic quality I found soothing.  None of the colors were deep or the lines sharp, but the muted shades and blurred lines were somehow appropriate to its location in the far north of the Highlands.

Alana had asked me once why I liked the library loft so much, but I hadn’t been able to explain it to her.  Perhaps there was some sense of peace being so high above it all, with the saint on the ceiling my closest neighbor.  All I knew was that I always felt better, that my thoughts were always clearer, when I was curled up in the little space below the eaves.

 

Do you have a sanctuary?  Where or what is it?

Berkley has graciously offered to give away a copy of the Anatomist's wife (US Only).  Leave a comment today to be entered to win.  Good luck!

The Anatomist's Wife

 

Scotland, 1830. Following the death of her husband, Lady Darby has taken refuge at her sister's estate, finding solace in her passion for painting. But when her hosts throw a house party for the cream of London society, Kiera is unable to hide from the ire of those who believe her to be as unnatural as her husband, an anatomist who used her artistic talents to suit his own macabre purposes. Kiera wants to put her past aside, but when one of the house guests is murdered, her brother-in-law asks her to utilize her knowledge of human anatomy to aid the insufferable Sebastian Gage-a fellow guest with some experience as an inquiry agent. While Gage is clearly more competent than she first assumed, Kiera isn't about to let her guard down as accusations and rumors swirl. When Kiera and Gage's search leads them to even more gruesome discoveries, a series of disturbing notes urges Lady Darby to give up the inquiry. But Kiera is determined to both protect her family and prove her innocence, even as she risks becoming the next victim...

 

Anna Lee Huber was born and raised in a small town in Ohio.  She is a graduate of Lipscomb University in Nashville, TN, where she majored in Music and minored in Psychology.  THE ANATOMIST'S WIFE, the first book in the Lady Darby historical mystery series, has been hailed as “…a riveting debut…” and will be released by Berkley Publishing on November 6^th, 2012.  She currently lives in Indiana with her husband and troublemaking tabby cat.  When not hard at work on her next novel, she enjoys reading, singing, travel, and spending time with her family. Visit her website at www.annaleehuber.com.

 

Facebook: AuthorAnnaLeeHuber

Twitter: AnnaLeeHuber

Storm Warnings

By Evelyn David

It was not my finest hour, day, week. I used to roll with the punches better. But when the lights flickered off, then on, then off, so did my mood.

When Hurricane Sandy had finally abated and we could safely explore the neighborhood, it quickly became apparent that we were in big trouble. On the street behind us, three utility poles had toppled and splintered like matchsticks, blocking driveways, with dozens of broken wires strewn across the tarmac like confetti after a victory parade. Oddly, or not so oddly, I was pretty sure that we weren't on the same electric grid as our neighbors behind us. In the past, we would lose power while they still had theirs or vice versa. But the devastation of the storm and specifically the damage on this street, meant that they had turned off the power for blocks around.

So the minutes stretched into hours, the hours into days.

It didn't help that the cold that had been teasing at my throat turned into a full-blown sneeze fest accompanied by hacking cough. Yeah, it wasn't pretty.

But of course, I knew that so many had it worse. When all was said and done, I still had my house. Sadly, far too many faced crushing property losses. There were storm deaths that were heartbreaking.

We stuck it out for four cold days, and even colder nights. The saving grace was that we never lost hot water, so showers were cleansing and restorative, literally and figuratively. And the sense of community and fellowship with neighbors reminded me again of why I love our little village.

Still, by the time Friday arrived, my husband had convinced me that we should take Clio, our aged dog, and spend the weekend at our son's apartment in the city. He would bunk with friends. We hoped that Clio would qualify as the third passenger required by the Mayor in order to drive a car into the city. Hubby dropped me off at the entrance of the apartment building with a host of suitcases – one of which was devoted to the dog's needs. He would park the car, take the dog for a quick walk so she could do her business, and then we'd head out for dinner.

Son and friends met me, grabbed several of the bags, and then suggested that we skip the slow elevator and walk up to his apartment – on the sixth floor. Not wanting to appear old and feeble, despite the fact that I hadn't taken a breath without a coughing paroxysm, I hoisted one of the bags and gamely headed up the stairs. Let me be honest. Around the third flight, I considered sitting down and declaring "Save Yourselves. Leave me here." But I'd rather eat dirt that admit defeat, so I put on my game face of "Isn't this fun!" and followed the crew to the sixth floor. I flung myself on the couch and tried to pretend that I was fascinated by the political discussion that was going on around me. The truth, however, was that I was trying to figure out where my next breath was coming from, and didn't care how Obama and Romney stood in the polls.

Soon hubby and Clio joined us. The furry one looked confused. Is this a vet's office? Am I getting a shot? She's never been one to relax and enjoy the ride in a car. She isn't a canine who hangs her head out the window, ears flying behind her. Cars mean veterinarians and that can only mean trouble, no matter how many treats they offer you to try and make it up later. But since no one attempted to weigh her, take her temp, or hoist her up onto a stainless steel table, Clio finally settled down, firmly attached to hubby's leg, ears on alert.

Now the next part of the evening was a disaster. I know I shouldn't toss around that term because believe me I know that a lukewarm, tasteless meal does not qualify as a tragedy. I had enough perspective to understand that there were those for whom any meal would be a welcome relief. But I'm just trying to explain why my mood was going South faster than Clio going after that darn squirrel who keeps taunting her by touching down in our yard.

Anyway, we left a wary Clio on the blankets we'd brought for her and headed out into the Big Apple. Our kids had given us recommendations for local eateries and we then proceeded to spend the next 40 minutes criss-crossing the Avenues (the long blocks) and the Streets (the short ones) to find someplace that would accommodate two hungry, one hacking, people for a Friday night meal. Apparently all the hip 20-somethings who live in the lower part of Manhattan had decided to move uptown for their dinners that night – so every restaurant save Subway said it would be at least an hour wait. We stumbled into a place where we had previously had brunch and miraculously they could seat us. Again, not a tragedy of epic proportions, but if ever I thought a glass of wine was appropriate and needed, this was it. But you don't order a Chablis at McDonald's – and while this restaurant was a step up from a fast-food joint, the rule remained. I won't bore you with the details, but mediocre food and almost non-existent service, is tossing around a compliment where none is deserved.

But okay, we can go with the flow, especially if we're talking the bodily fluids spewing from my nose (is that too much information?). Anyway, we head back to the apartment. This time I'm with someone sane, e.g., hubby, who was prepared to wait for days for the elevator because he had nothing to prove by taking the stairs.

Now here was the plan. I would get into my PJs, take some kind of cold medication, read a little, and tumble over the cliff into sleep in a nice warm apartment. In the meantime, hubby would take Clio for a last walk, and he would join me in dreamland.

Here's what happened. He walked and he walked and he walked – and Clio did nothing, zero, but shake. She's an old dog. Her bladder is still pretty good, but she is always willing to mark her territory, except on this night in the Big Apple, she was too terrified by the noise, strange dogs, strange people, traffic, who knows, but after an hour, hubby returned defeated. So at 11 PM, I put clothes on over my pajamas, packed up all the stuff, and we got back in the car to return to a cold, dark house, but with a backyard that said, "Welcome Home Clio." She promptly popped out of the backseat and moved around the yard anointing every bush and leaf. I think she offered to have tea with her nemesis, the grey squirrel.

It was two more days before we got our power back – three more days for our neighbors behind us.

What would I do differently? Besides buy a generator? Move to warm climes? Take the elevator and let them think I was old? Stop at a liquor store and buy wine to go with the bad meal?

Not much. Clio taught me that "be it ever so humble, there's no place like home."

Marian, the Northern half of Evelyn David 

 

__________________________________________

 

Sullivan Investigations Mystery
Murder Off the Books Kindle - Nook - Smashwords - Trade Paperback
Murder Takes the Cake Kindle - Trade Paperback (exclusive to Amazon)
Riley Come Home (short story)- Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
Moonlighting at the Mall (short story) - Kindle - Nook - Smashwords

 

Zoned for Murder
Kindle Trade Paperback

Brianna Sullivan Mysteries - e-book series
I Try Not to Drive Past Cemeteries- Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
The Dog Days of Summer in Lottawatah- Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
The Holiday Spirit(s) of Lottawatah- Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
Undying Love in Lottawatah- Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
A Haunting in Lottawatah - Kindle (exclusive to Amazon this month)
Lottawatah Twister - Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
Missing in Lottawatah - Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
Good Grief in Lottawatah - Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
Summer Lightning in Lottawatah - Kindle - Nook - Smashwords

The Ghosts of Lottawatah - trade paperback collection of the Brianna e-books
Book 1 - I Try Not to Drive Past Cemeteries (includes the first four Brianna e-books)
Book 2 - A Haunting in Lottawatah (includes the 5th, 6th, and 7th Brianna e-books)

Romances
Love Lessons - Kindle - Nook - Smashwords

Beginning on Friday...

By Laura Spinella

My bad! I owe my fellow gang members an apology! I missed my scheduled post today, something I never do. At four this morning I sat straight up in bed and said, “Oh no, today is Friday!” My husband rolled over, muttering, “Terrific. Tomorrow you can start working on the months in the year.” I have plenty of flaws but punctuality is generally not one of them. While I don’t have an excuse there is a good reason for my tardiness.

            A few months ago, I began working on a new book project. This is the part of writing that makes me wish I’d gone to pharmacy school. I HATE beginnings. This is not to be confused with the whole first draft mode, which while aggravating can be an engaging process. I loathe vague ideas that may, or may not, grow legs and strangers who wander into my head and sunroom looking for a home. It’s not that I’m uncharitable; it’s just that I don’t like to waste time. And make no mistake about it. That’s what book beginnings feel like, a colossal waste of time. I think about other books I’ve written, stories with a reasonable beginning, middle and end, the characters who are complete. I convince myself that, somehow, none of that was conceived in this fashion. I know I’m wrong, but I think it anyway, exacerbating the beginning process.

            This time I felt I was ahead of the game. I had firm plot in mind, a workable premise about where I wanted the story to go. I even had a mental deadline. The goal was to get about a hundred pages, or thirty-thousand words, in before THE IT FACTOR edits arrived. I’d hand the new project off to my agent to peruse while I tackled necessary book edits. You know, like a real writer. Well, you also know what they say about the best laid plans. It didn’t go badly. This time the beginning went horribly. The characters looked like one-dimensional Colorforms on a cardboard backdrop, the story about as interesting as a second grader’s What I Did Last Summer, essay. As warm weather faded and fall colors turned up outside the sunroom windows, that’s the way things went. For a while I thought it was a seasonal metaphor about the path of a short-lived writing career: bright leaf green to colorful golden russet to decayed and rotted, hauled away in a Hefty bag.

            Now this is where it would be nice if I had a cathartic experience to share, one that opened my eyes to what this new work was missing. The thing that happened to me that made my characters spring to life, the story finally gel. I have nothing like that. However, two weeks ago, I discovered that I do have a real work in progress. Like the books before, (though like childbirth clearly I block out the process) suddenly there it was a believable beginning.  While I’ll forever dread the frustrating start and stop effort, and a smarter writer would surely find a better way, I suspect this is how I will always muddle my way through beginnings. At the start of this tardy blog, I said I didn’t have an excuse, but I do have a reason. I’ve been so lost in writing that I honestly lost track of the week. That’s when you know it’s going good. You lose track of time, pass off hotdogs as dinner, neglect to make beds, ignore hygiene, show up late for the afternoon job, and forget to write your blog. Interestingly, it all balances out. When the writing is good, the rest of your life spirals right out of control.          

Laura Spinella is the author of the award winning BEAUTIFUL DISASTER and the upcoming novel, THE IT FACTOR: Aidan Royce is the South's own Springsteen; a guy who has it all, haunted by the future that cost him everything. Visit her at www.laurapsinella.net 

                   

Writing Dangerously

by Bethany Maines

Writing isn’t known for being a terribly dangerous activity. Not to say that writer’s in history haven’t faced down terrible physical dangers – Hemingway nearly died in a couple plane crashes, Hunter S. Thompson got stomped by Hell’s Angels – but I think it can be argued that most writers are the stay at home type of people who enjoy sitting still for long periods of time. Other than occasionally chasing sources down a street and tackling them a la His Girl Friday (a classic, by the way, go watch it immediately) the danger most writer’s face is purely internal.

From boredom, alcholism, and writer’s block to children demanding attention, the biggest danger to writing is usually that writing won’t get done.  But that’s not to say that writing doesn’t come with a few physical dangers.  We’ve got carpal tunnel wrists, hunched backs, tweaked necks, and frozen tootsies. The problem with being the kind of people who can sit still long enough to write a book is that sitting still is bad for you.  Humans are meant to move and as our modern way of life moves ever closer to turning us into cyborgs we have to remember to get up, walk around the block, and blink those bleary eyes at the sun.

Which is why my foray into National Novel Writing Month is turning out to be so painful. I admit it, I’ve been slacking off in the writing department for the last few months, but I failed to realize that a consequence would be that when I returned to it, I would be so out of shape for writing.  My neck muscles do not appreciate looking down at a screen for multiple hours on end. My wrists are wondering just what the heck all this typeity typeity is about and my eyeballs are more than a little bit annoyed to be staring at a screen more than they already do for their day job. I’m fortunate enough to know a masseuse who can usually squeeze me in on demand, but that means NaNoWriMo is going to be a very expensive proposition for me.

Well, while I take a stretching break perhaps we should celebrate those author’s who got out there and put some danger besides scoliosis in their lives.

Author’s Living Dangerously:

Maggie Baribieri – Our fellow Stiletto Gang member is still taking cold showers without power post-Hurricane Sandy

Elmore Leonard – worked as Seabee during WWII

Hunter S. Thompson – managed to find a variety of ways to get himself hurt for Gonzo Journalism

Louis L’Amour – worked as professional boxer

J.R.R. Tolkien – served in WWI

Lillian Hellman – forced to testify before the House Un-American Committee about her “Communist” ties

Bethany Maines is the author of Bulletproof Mascara, Compact With the Devil and Supporting the Girls.  Catch up with her at www.bethanymaines.com or check out the new Carrie Mae youtube video.

How Can it be November Already?

It is hard to believe, isn't it? Today is the specified day to vote--though there were some early voting days. Because of the disastrous storm, voting may be impossible for some. I mailed in my ballot a couple of weeks ago though because of the way they do it these days, we'll know who the president is long before the polls have closed in my home state, California--Alaska and Hawaii are in the same predicament.

My heart goes out to everyone who lost their homes in the devastating storm. It's difficult to even imagine how horrible it was and will continue to be for a long time.

Writing and promoting seems so insignificant compared to what is in the forefront of our minds right now, but that what this blog is all about.

I've been busy as I always am. I've been promoting a scary supernatural mystery that's out on Kindle, The Devil's Foothold. It's nothing like anything I've written lately--and getting it on Kindle was an adventure and wouldn't have happened without a lot of help.

I'm in the process of reading--and the rewriting and editing--my next Deputy Tempe Crabtree mystery to my critique group. I'm also writing another Rocky Bluff P.D. crime novel. In my spare time (that's a joke) I'm going over my first published book, an historical family saga, to be published on Kindle.

I'm headed north to Redding for an Author's Festival this weekend. My daughter is going to drive and we're calling it an adventure since it's about a 6 hour drive.

And guess what, since it's November, I need to start thinking about Thanksgiving. Yep, I'll be cooking like I usually do.

And we all know that the best movies come out in November and December--so I'll try to squeeze in a couple.

Here's the cover for The Devil's Foothold, hope it's not too scary for you.

The Devil's Foothold

Marilyn

Creating Lottawatah

 

Despite what readers from eastern Oklahoma believe, Lottawatah, Oklahoma doesn't exist except in the Brianna Sullivan Mysteries series. I've given several library talks concerning the reluctant psychic stuck in a small town, adjacent to Lake Eufaula, just south of Interstate Highway I-40. Everyone thinks they know exactly where it is, some are certain that they've been there.

But, really guys, Lottawatah doesn't exist. I made it up. Well, sort of. There is a road named "Lotawatah" (note: we changed the spelling so we'd have deniability in the case any angry Lotawatahians showed up, offended and seeking compensation for the pain and suffering our portrayal of his/her road had allegedly caused.) 

Anyway, the real Lotawatah Road intersects I-40 a few miles west of the lake. Anyone who has driven I-40 east from Oklahoma City to Ft. Smith, Arkansas has seen the road sign. I've driven by it hundreds of times. I loved the name, I loved saying the word. And believe me, if an author loves something, it's going to show up in a book.

My co-author and I have written nine Brianna Sullivan Mysteries. The first book in the series, I Try Not to Drive Past Cemeteries, had psychic Brianna stopping in Lottawatah for gas and fried pies – not in that order. A ghost hopped in her motor home, begging for her help with a kidnapping. Brianna made the mistake of trying to convey that information to the local police, met the surly but handsome Cooper Jackson, and the rest is history.

Creating the town of Lottawatah was done one or two businesses at a time per book. As you leave I-40 and drive into Lottawatah proper, you'll pass by Tiny's Diner. It's your typical small town diner; abeit a little more rundown than most.

Good EATS…World Famous Apple P…rust Me. The diner hadn't had any glory days, even in its glory days. The linoleum was butt ugly when it was first installed, maybe 30 years earlier. Flecks of brown on a tan background. Maybe the idea was to hide the dirt…it wasn't working. I slid onto the cracked red vinyl stool at the Formica counter and looked expectantly at the guy with a stained t-shirt, standing behind the counter.

I ordered a cheeseburger, fries, and a piece of their world famous pie, then surreptitiously rubbed the grease from the menu on my jeans. I briefly wondered if they sold wine, but decided that a healthy glass of Maalox would be the perfect beverage to accompany my dinner.

The next place Brianna visited was the Lottawatah Police Station.

I shifted on the chair and finished the last stale peanut in the cellophane bag I'd purchased from the station's only vending machine. 10 pm. I'd been waiting more than three hours. Most of the police force, all 8 of them if you include the secretary and maintenance man, had been marching in the Fourth of July parade over on Main until about an hour ago. I'd been stuck with the pregnant staff sergeant whose swollen ankles precluded her joining the Independence Day celebrations.

Even in a small town, a girl has to go somewhere to get her roots touched up and find clues about whodunnit. Sheer Artistry Hair Salon was just the place.

Margo stole a side glance at Sunny, before turning back to me. "Candy and I had a little chat while she did my nails this afternoon. She mentioned you'd been asking around about me and Martha. You're a smart woman Brianna. Sheer Artistry is the place to go to find out where all the bodies are buried." Darn, Beverly. Between her and Candy, the women were unstoppable gossip machines. The whole town probably knew my business.

Since Brianna arrived in Lottawatah in her motor home, she needed somewhere to park it and a part-time job to cover expenses. She found both at a resort on Lake Eufaula.

Ghost or no ghost. Cooper or no Cooper, it was time to get to work. I pulled on my uniform, a pair of khaki shorts and a green polo shirt, with LEC in block letters next to a pine tree and a fish. I thought it suggested that the area was full of dead fish lying next to trees, but Jack Fulsom, the owner, testily informed me that I was missing the high concept nature of the design. High concept my behind! But in exchange for a free full hookup for Matilda, and a commission for every time-share sale I made, I was more than willing to sing the praises of this new, promising condo and cabin lakeside resort. And that meant wearing the cheesy t-shirt. I walked out of air-conditioned Matilda into air so thick you could chew it. The sales office was down a pine-canopied path near the water. I might be getting a free hookup for Matilda, but I wasn't getting a lake view.

Jobs in Lottawatah don't last too long. By February, Brianna was working at a new job and our fictional town of Lottawatah got another new business.

If I was late for my job at Pearl's Soak and Spin one more time, I'd be unemployed and would almost certainly have to hit the road in search of gas and food money. Lottawatah's economy, if it ever had one, had crashed long before the rest of the nation. Jobs, as Miss Pearl had reminded me, didn't grow on trees.

Even though Tiny's Diner was the local hotspot, every town needs more than one place to eat.

By the time Will Dobson let me answer the phone, we'd pulled into the local barbeque joint's parking lot on the edge of Lottawatah. Actually you could be at one end of town and almost see the city limits on the opposite side. Will Dobson had decided that we were going to get on I-40 and head west towards Oklahoma City. The shortest route was right through Lottawatah.

Will just laughed as I struggled with the dog. He didn't notice I snagged my cell phone off the truck floor during the fracas. Outside, I bent down, like I was going to set the dog on the ground, but instead I ran, Leon under my arm like a furry football. I managed enough for a first down before sliding out of bounds under Arnold–the six foot high concrete pig, beloved mascot and icon of the Pig Palace Barbeque Joint. Will Dobson got off one shot. Arnold lost his manhood, but Leon and I just kept sliding until we buried up in a snow bank.

That's all the time (and word space) that I have for our short tour of Lottawatah. To learn more, check out the books. Or you can take that exit off I-40 and see if you can find it. I dare you!

 

Rhonda

aka The Southern Half of Evelyn David

 

 

 

 

 

__________________________________________

 

Sullivan Investigations Mystery
Murder Off the Books Kindle - Nook - Smashwords - Trade Paperback
Murder Takes the Cake Kindle - Trade Paperback (exclusive to Amazon)
Riley Come Home (short story)- Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
Moonlighting at the Mall (short story) - Kindle - Nook - Smashwords

 

Zoned for Murder
Kindle
Nook
Smashwords
Trade Paperback

Brianna Sullivan Mysteries - e-book series
I Try Not to Drive Past Cemeteries- Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
The Dog Days of Summer in Lottawatah- Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
The Holiday Spirit(s) of Lottawatah- Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
Undying Love in Lottawatah- Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
A Haunting in Lottawatah - Kindle (exclusive to Amazon this month)
Lottawatah Twister - Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
Missing in Lottawatah - Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
Good Grief in Lottawatah - Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
Summer Lightning in Lottawatah - Kindle - Nook - Smashwords

The Ghosts of Lottawatah - trade paperback collection of the Brianna e-books
Book 1 - I Try Not to Drive Past Cemeteries (includes the first four Brianna e-books)
Book 2 - A Haunting in Lottawatah (includes the 5th, 6th, and 7th Brianna e-books)

Romances
Love Lessons - Kindle - Nook - Smashwords

Guest blog Jeri Westerson

Hi, it's Linda here. Please welcome my friend and gifted writer of historical mysteries, Jeri Westerson. Jeri's newest "medieval noir" Crispin Guest novel, Blood Lance, has just been published, and Jeri's going to talk to us about the really extreme research she does in order to write about her disgraced medieval knight.

She’s Armed

By Jeri Westerson

When it comes to research, I’m a hands-on kind of gal. So when I had an opportunity to put on some fourteenth century-style armor and get a sword fighting lesson, I was all over it.

I have worn armor before, and have even sat on a warhorse, a 2,000 pound Percheron while wearing light armor. My latest medieval mystery BLOOD LANCE features a lot of sword craft and jousting, and in order to give it the authenticity it needed, I’ve been venturing throughout southern California eliciting the help of chivalrous knights far and wide. And no one knows chivalry more than Scott Farrell. 

I met Scott Farrell some years ago when we did a podcast interview on his site Chivalry Today. But this hot August day, I met him in person, along with his wife April, and Scott’s fellow instructor Kyle Lazzarevich at Team Touche, a fencing club in San Diego, where they agreed to fit me with armor so I can get the feel of it.

Scott is an historical sword fighting coach and an author and historical interpreter on knights, medieval history, and chivalry.He got interested in the Middle Ages in high school and later got the re-enactor bug, and then started doing demonstrations for kids, which led him to think about connecting the code of chivalry into everyday life and to his podcasts. 

Medieval armor was crafted to fit the particular knight. You didn’t just buy it off the rack at ye olde Walmart. So Scott had to cheat a bit to fit it around my middle-aged frame and cheat some more to be able to position the helm where I could half-way see. All in all, it’s unwieldy as you can imagine, and heavy what with not being used to it and all. In reality, a full set of armor or full harness weighs anywhere between 60 and 100 pounds, but with the weight distributed all over the body it’s not as bad as it sounds. Knights had to be able to move, fight, mount the horse, dismount. Though because of the noise of mail and clanking plate, it wasn’t exactly build for stealth. As a matter of fact, I’m betting that it was pretty intimidating hearing that clanking sound approach and being confronted with a man in armor with a sword, mace, flail, war hammer, ax, pole axe…well. You get the picture.

It was wonderful just closing my eyes and feeling the weight of it, the smell, the sense of it on me, and imagining I am Crispin, my medieval protagonist and detective, who lost his knighthood years before these stories began.

Wearing armor is one thing—and a marvelous thing at that!—but what was it like to fight with a sword?

In college I took fencing and was pretty darned good at it. But fencing is a completely different style than medieval broad sword fighting. Fencing is about style. Though it was utilitarian there was more in the way of competition and style points than fighting and hacking away at an opponent. And though medieval broad swords were also used in competition in tournaments, the tournament was more for preparing for actual battle. Technique was important to keep you alive, but it was more about what worked rather than panache. After all, a broad sword is essentially a chopping and slashing weapon. It was your shield in defense as much as it was used as an offensive weapon.

I learned about medieval weapons through books and research. And I have my own cache of weapons I like to demonstrate when I make appearances at libraries and bookstores. But there is nothing like a hands-on approach. It’s not something that you can find readily just anywhere.

Scott gave me a lesson in some medieval long sword techniques. Keeping the blade edge toward your opponent and keeping it close to your body were good tips. The use of the thumb on the leading hand on the hilt can help balance but it is up to the student to decide to leave it vulnerable above the cross guard. When using the sword two-handed, the leading hand controls the vertical tilt of the sword, while the bottom hand controls the horizontal. Flashy Hollywood-style fighting might look good on the screen, but it leaves you wide open for a good gash to the torso. And who wants that?

After real training, could I take on an armored opponent? Well, let’s just say, I’d rather leave the swordplay to experts, like Crispin.

Jeri Westerson wanted to create her own brand of medieval mystery, and combined the concept of medieval mystery with hard-boiled detective fiction into what she calls “Medieval Noir.” Hard-boiled detective Crispin Guest, is a disgraced knight turned PI, solving crimes on the mean streets of fourteenth century London. The critically acclaimed series began with VEIL OF LIES, which garnered nominations from the Mystery Reader’s Journal Macavity Award for Best Historical Mystery and the Private Eye Writers of America Shamus Award for Best First PI Novel, the first medieval mystery to be so honored. Each of the next three novels in the series garnered award nominations and critical praise, as well.

 

Publisher’s Weekly said of the fifth in the series BLOOD LANCE; “Clever twists and convincing period detail make Westerson’s fifth 14th-century historical featuring disgraced knight Crispin Guest one of her best.” Kirkus Review said, “Guest’s fifth adventure again provides a lively tale of historical interest smoothly combined with a worthy mystery.”  The Richmond Times-Dispatch said, “Written with a keen knowledge of medieval history, ‘Blood Lance’ is another riveting tale of honor and heroism, grounded in period detail, a wealth of action and the continued development of her characters.” Jeri looks forward to the sixth, SHADOW OF THE ALCHEMIST in the fall of 2013.

Jeri has done talks around the country about the Middle Ages, demonstrating her cache of medieval weaponry. She has been a featured guest on the radio talk show Writers on Writing with host Barbara DeMarco-Barrett, and a guest lecturer at the Bowers Museum in Santa Ana. Jeri is vice president for the southern California chapter of Mystery Writers of America and is also vice president of the Los Angeles chapter of Sisters in Crime, and co-chair for the California Crime Writer’s Conference for June 2013. She is also a member of Private Eye Writers of America and the Historical Novel Society. Jeri is married to a commercial photographer, has a screenwriter son, and herds two cats, a tortoise, and the occasional tarantula at her home in southern California.

Visit Jeri’s blog www.Getting-Medieval.com for articles on history and mystery as well as author interviews. Or see what Crispin has to say on his very own blog. She is also part of the group blog Poe’s Deadly Daughters and you can follow her on Twitter and see what Crispin is up to on his Facebook page.