Iâm in the middle of a deep dive post about The Awakening, Kate Chopinâs novel, of course, but while I mull, I wanted to share a sliver of beauty.
You know that the beach is my happy place. Well, in all of the years that my sweetie and I have been going to this particular beach, Iâve found tiny pieces of beach glass but nothing big enough for my purposes: to have a former classmate who creates gorgeous necklaces make me one that I can carry when the sun decides to hide. Which is way too often, IMO.
In the past I have found smallish shards (red, clear, brown, green, and blue) and have placed them all over the house: in with my toiletries, on windowsills, just any place for an unexpected glimpse of joy. Occasionally, I carry a piece on my person. (ShhâŠ)
Barry and I returned to our paradise this weekend, and I was, per usual, walking the beach, scanning for rocks of interest and beach glass. I intersected with a woman who was also scrutinizing the sand, and I asked her what she was looking for, in hopes Iâd find something useful for her. She was likewise searching for beach glass. I told her about my hope to find a large enough piece for a necklace (or bracelet; I have a bracelet collection) and we wished one another luck.
Though I found a couple of tiny pieces that morning, my true treasure was the peace that the water brings, the stretching in the sun, the people watching, and knowing that my hubby awaited me when I returned to our chairs.
The next morning, we returned to the beach and pretty much repeated the day before, though we didnât climb Mt. Tom as we had the previous day — it’s steeper than the photo below makes it look. (It was taxing but so rewarding! And now I want to complete the three-dune challenge. I donât think the bodyâs up to that just now, but itâs a goal.)
I was maybe thirty seconds into my walk when I came across this!
Just minutes later I found another, smaller piece. I scanned the beach to see if the woman I had seen the day before was there so I could share, but she wasnât.
In light of my mindset coachâs suggestion that I find many ways to âfailâ by trying things I am unfamiliar with, I am going to attempt to make the necklace myself, guided by YouTube. I donât think it will be too difficult, but if I fail, I will be reaching out to my friend in Florida and though she is a busy ice cream shop proprietor, I will beg her to help me!
You have no idea the happiness it brings me to imagine carrying summer with me all year.
P.S. In other âtrying something newâ news, because my favorite coffeehouse to write at is closed today, I am writing at the library instead. So far, so good. And I donât have to resist a row of pastries, so thereâs that.
And Iâm going to drop in on a gentle yoga class tonight. I told the instructor that Iâm nervous, but Iâll give it a try. I told her probably six months ago that I was going to stop in sometime. When I read on social media this morning that she has some slots open, I knew it was time to reach out before I lost my nerve.
Stay tuned for both that longer, more somber, post on The Awakening, as well as the chronicles of my âfailures.â I have no doubt Iâll be good at that!
And let me know if thereâs something new at which youâre going to attempt to âfail.â Iâd love to applaud your efforts and successes. I mean, failures. đ
I’m pretty sure I just convinced myself to put “complete the three-dune challenge” on my list. Dammit…
I’m being “serenaded” by my hubby’s band which is practicing downstairs right now. Damn, are they good! Just now they played “I Want You to Want Me” by Cheap Trick. Mission Accomplished! (Hubby sang lead on that, BTW, just so you’re not scandalized.)
Okay, that had to be said. It’s hard to focus on the task at hand while I’m hearing that fluid lead flaming off a guitar, the snap of the snare drum, and the plunk of those rich bass notes.
Anyway…When I find something helpful, I love to pass it along. So here’s this: I’m working with a mindset coach right now. Gasp! Did you know there was such a thing? Neither did I until a few months ago. When I found myself stuck, unable to move forward on a (non-writing) project and I also learned a person with whom I feel simpatico was becoming a mindset coach, I gladly signed up.
We initially talked about how to balance my schedule so I can write, work, and take on this new project. She suggested I listen to this episode of UFYB, the Pleasure First Principle. WARNING: THIS EPISODE IS NOT SAFE FOR WORK! The gist of it is, put the things you WANT to do on your calendar FIRST! Then DO THEM!
My coach and I determined pretty easily that writing should go on my schedule first. So, voila! I can’t say I’ve kept every writing appointment with myself, but at least I’m writing more, and that’s the point. She and I are meeting via Zoom weekly and she’s asking me my progress on not only my project, but my writing and other goals. I find myself rushing to finish up what I’ve said I would do before our next call so I don’t “disappoint” her. It’s been so useful. She calls me on my excuses and challenges me to rise to what I say I want to accomplish. She helps me past my fears and self-flagellation for my mistakes, missteps, and wasted time.
If you’re feeling unable to move forward with something you say you really, really want to do, maybe you should consider a coach, or maybe just schedule an appointment with yourself to identify and complete one baby step.
For me, that meant breaking my project down into small parts and assigning tasks to myself in ASANA. It’s a lot easier to complete a task such as “Write a list of five things about (….)” than it is to ask yourself to complete it all in a day.
I feel better for the progress I’ve made. More soon on that front.
Oh, and now Hubby’s playing the blazing lead from Van Halen’s version of “You Really Got Me.” Have mercy!
Let me know if you need a nudge in the right direction. I’m not a mindset coach, but I can at least cheer you on. Go, us!
I had this lovely book with me last summer on the beach, yet somehow I neglected to share my thoughts on this beauty with you until now. Iâm sorry for the oversight, and when you read this quiet, elegant book, youâll see why I owe you an apology.
This timeless book feels as if you could have taken it down from a library bookshelf fifty years ago and read it. Itâs set in the 1950âs and 60âs, so I suppose its classic nature makes sense.
Opening with a raging fire in Margreeteâs kitchen, that first scene helps the reader quickly see what Margreete cannot/will not: the older, independent woman should no longer live alone.
Since she will not give up her lifelong home, it falls to her daughter, Liddie, and her family to uproot and move in with her. Thus begins a decade with the stunningly well-drawn family.
Liddieâs inability to find more time for her cello practice amid increasing family responsibilities speaks to the inherently sacrificial nature of love. Yes, she finds small gulps of fulfillment, but she gives up her larger goals in service to her motherâs wellbeing.
Sheâs not the only one to sacrifice. Her husband, Harry, has finally settled into a teaching position he likes in Michigan when Liddie insists they move back to Maine. Eventually, he jeopardizes his new teaching position by speaking political truths not in the textbook, and one gets the feeling thatâs not the only thing heâs questioning.
Their children adjust to the move and have many tender moments with their grandmother. Little Eva allows her grandmother to share her bed when her grandparent takes to roaming the house at night. Bernie doesnât complain about his grandmotherâs idiosyncrasies such as hiding the remains of dinner in her purse, lovingly interacting with her.
Written with lyrical, compelling prose, this novel is literary fiction at its finest. And its title does it justice: her family has become Margreeteâs harbor, and you love them for it.
If youâre already a fan of Eleanor Morse or of Anne Tyler or Ann Patchett, (and I am a fan of all three) this book is for you.
Full disclosure: I have known and admired the author, Eleanor Morse, for over a decade. Sheâs a brilliant writer with a kind, gentle soul. All of her novels are just as thoughtful as she is, so if you’re not familiar with her work, now’s the time to consider picking up one of her books.
As a fan of Gretchen Rubin and Elizabeth Craft, of course I made a “22 for 2022” list. After four years (I think) of creating these lists of things I want to do within the current year, this year I remembered to include some fun, relaxing, and immediately achievable things.
So I ordered earbuds for my Mac: check. Twenty-one (or so) things to go.
Hubby and I have already had one date night, with four dates to go. (All five count as one item. Slick, aren’t I?)
There are other items on my list that are in progress, such as painting the bathroom. I’ve mostly completed that, but it needs touching up. Badly.
I sprained my ankle climbing up and down the ladder and am waiting for it to heal before I complete the job. But the color is a gorgeous lilac. It makes all the difference in the small room.
One of the things I am most excited about on my 2022 list is having a day devoted to reading. I asked Barry if he’d like to join me, and he gave an enthusiastic yes, so this Saturday is the day!
Even better — we are going to read the same book, Daisy Jones and the Six. I read it a few months ago, and it affected me so much I couldn’t even talk about it. I added a t-shirt with one of its best lines to my Christmas wish list.
When I opened the gift and teared up, Hubby asked why it moved me so much. I finally mentioned the book, but I still couldn’t talk about it. It gutted me, that book. I don’t know why, but it’s exquisitely written, so there’s that. And I’ve just written a novel about songwriting, so that may play into it.
One of my favorite Christmas presents.
Nope, I’m still not ready to talk about it, but I am ready to re-read it. I can only hope Barry enjoys the book as much as I did. And devoting a whole day to reading? What a luxury.
I can say this much about the book: it explores the seductive power of co-creation, and how the result of personal heartache can be damn fine art, though at what cost? The author, Taylor Jenkins Reid, has said it is loosely based on imagining what happened in the band Fleetwood Mac. (If you don’t know that story, it’s worth an internet search.)
We both have a pile of backup books if we’re not feeling Daisy. If I know Hubby, there will be a stack of comics beside his reading perch just in case. I’m 100 pages into a novel I’ll probably abandon, though I rarely do that, but reading it is an option. This is the third time I’ve attempted to read this author, and she just doesn’t send me, which I hate, because everyone says such good things about her work.
I’ve been meaning to read Daniel Deronda for a few years now, so maybe it’s time to dip into that, if I need to change it up. Winter is the best time to read lengthy tomes, don’t you think?
They are making a miniseries out of Daisy apparently featuring Elvis Presley’s granddaughter, Riley Keough, if the reports are accurate. I both want to see it when it comes out and not. I have a love/hate relationship with screen adaptations of most books. It’s complicated. Well, maybe it’s not: if it’s too much like the book, I prefer the pictures in my head. If it’s too dissimilar, I get indignant at the liberties they’ve taken. I had a friend once say I’m a complicated woman. He’s not wrong.
If you have any free time this weekend, I invite you to spend some of it reading. If you do, let me know what you read.
This beautiful childrenâs book, When Children Ruled the World, by Sena Jeter Naslund, is a gem. From its heartwarming story featuring little Una to its exquisite wood engravings by Joanne Price, this is an instant classic. (Una is a name familiar to Sena’s readers. If you know, you know. If you don’t, go acquaint yourself with the parallel.)
Barry holds our newly arrived copy of Sena’s book.
Oh, and it mentions pine cones! Have I ever said over here how much I love pine cones?
I don’t want to say too much about this slim volume, because I don’t want to give away its glories, but ah, read it if you want a cozy, holiday read.
Full disclosure: Sena is one of my favorite people in the world. Her gorgeous writing is only one of those reasons, but wow can she write! I want so badly to share some of the vivid images found in this book, but I won’t. The discoveries along the journey are part of the fun of reading, aren’t they?
I found myself studying her sentences as I devoured this Christmas cookie, following each word eagerly. Perfect, each! I’m so, so happy this gorgeous book is a part of our world, and particularly, a part of my world now.
Brava, Sena. Brava! This is going on our bookshelf right beside A Christmas Carol. We love it!
Order yours today! It comes wrapped in brown paper just like a gift, and you can only order it through the mail, which I also love. What a thing of beauty.
P.S. Barry and I have had the privilege of meeting Hugo, the bright young grandson to whom Sena dedicated this book. I know he will cherish it just as much as the rest of us do and ever will.
It came wrapped like an old-fashioned parcel from a store. How fun!
Title: When Children Ruled the World, A Christmas Story
By: Sena Jeter Naslund
Wood Engravings:  Joanne Price This book was handset in Cloister Lightface type, printed on a hand-fedC & P , then handbound. Regular edition (paper): Handsewn with a paper wrap:  $28.00 Regular edition (cloth): Handsewn and bound in red Japanese book cloth over boards: $36.00 Send Orders to: Larkspur Press, 340 Sawdridge Creek West, Monterey, Kentucky  40359
MAKE CHECKS PAYABLE to Larkspur Press. For special editions with marbled papers by Debbie Shannon and two-color engravings by Joanne Price, signed by author and illustrator: $175.
I have been staring at a particular wall in our house every time I pass it. Why, you ask? Because I spent part of an afternoon painting that wall!
Previously, I hated that very wall. It was a paneled “accent” wall that did anything but. It was kinda off white with burgundy and tiny designs. Yuck!
For some reason, I have tolerated it the entire time we have lived in this house, sixteen years now. Once the pandemic hit and the world started with the daily Zoom calls, I had to face facts: I could no longer bear that wall behind me on calls.
Side note: if you’re like me and you’re not a fan of the phone, try adding on video. So. Much. Worse. Why, world, why? I’ve grown accustomed to it, but at first…
I have had “paint the dining room wall” on my list now for months. I kept moving it forward. I put “choose a paint the wall or pay” date on my calendar. What I meant was if I didn’t paint it by the date, I would hire our neighbor (a professional house painter) to paint it. But I’m frugal, and I like to do things on my own schedule.
Still, I couldn’t seem to get that wall painted.
The week came, and I chose a date, because I try to follow my calendar. It’s how I get things done even when they are things I don’t enjoy. Especially when they are things I don’t enjoy. (Never underestimate the power of crossing items off a list.)
Reader, I’m sorry to report that the appointed day came and went and I DID NOT paint the wall. Sigh.
So I put on the calendar “PAINT YOUR DAMNED WALL.”
I tried focusing on the new message center I’ll be adding to it, and how I will be able to put my two prints of Victorine in that spot, and how I won’t have to wrinkle my nose every time I passed the wall, but for some reason, I couldn’t make it happen.
Except.
Except when I told the manager of the cafe I often work out of that I likely wouldn’t see her the next day because I was going to make myself stay home and paint, she commiserated with me, having a similar project she has been putting off herself.
When I explained to her what was holding me back, it no longer seemed so difficult. So what that I had to move a few things, find the paint and painting supplies? And as for not wanting to make a mess, hadn’t I been saving those annoying free newspapers they send every week (The very paper at which I once worked! I was halfway there.) for months? So what that I couldn’t immediately lay my hands on the painter’s tape. Couldn’t I simply buy more if I needed to? (I found it, btw.)
Not that I started it on Friday after all. But I did start it (and finish it!) on Saturday.
I did it in stages, another trick that works for me. I stripped the artwork off the wall. I shifted my guitar from its spot by the wall (Yes, I play. Rarely, but I do a tiny bit.). Barry helped me move the furniture.
I located the roller refills, the paintbrushes.
After brunch last Saturday, after Barry and I had spent a fun half hour buying Christmas decorations, after we took a gorgeous fall drive (and I told him to get me home while the caffeine from brunch still had me energized enough to dive in), I rounded up the last of the supplies, put in my earbuds, and closeted him in his music room (because it’s just off the dining room) with instructions to knock and be sure I’d heard him before he exited the room so I wouldn’t accidentally paint him!)
Barry was in his music room for a particular reason: we are going to be part of an opera workshop in February. I’m not sure how much more we’re allowed to say about it yet, but I am so excited to be performing with him. The opera he was in last year was on PBS recently. I’m always so proud of his performances.
So he was learning his music, pounding out notes on the piano while I was listening to The Book Review Podcast by the New York times. (I inevitably don’t get to it until Saturday afternoon.)
I took the project step by step, which is generally the best way to take projects, especially when you’re like me and randomly suffer from anxiety over nothing and everything. I taped the trim. I stirred the paint, did a bad job of it, called Barry in to look at it because I wondered if I’d fetched the wrong can of paint. He stirred it better than I had (oops) and then it was fine. Go figure. (Has a Tom Sawyer and the fence vibe to it, doesn’t it? I promise that wasn’t my intention, but it worked out that way.)
Then I just did it. I just started painting. It didn’t even take very long.
Afterwards, I browsed Etsy for new outlet covers, laughed to see that the ones I wanted cost almost $20 each, and promptly watched a YouTube video on how to decoupage some myself. Now I’m having all kinds of fun deciding what paper to use. (I kinda already know — I’m probably going to use my vintage art postcard collection. I can’t wait to dive in!)
My point is, we all have an unpainted wall. Whatever yours is, I encourage you to paint it. This weekend. After all, now I get to pass mine every day and admire it. I’m going to have a wall behind me on Zoom calls that prettily displays things dear to me. That means a lot.
So go paint your damned wall. Bonus points if you come back here and tell me what yours was. I’ll be here, rooting for you. As always.
I’m pleased to share that an essay of mine has been included in the UK-based anthology, Stay Home – A Year of Writing Through Lockdown, out now. I wrote the essay what seems like a long time ago.
My thanks to the editors at Chasing Driftwood Writing Group for including my essay. Re-reading it, I’m remembering those days in the backyard, drink in hand, listening to Barry play guitar, having him home all the time, which I loved. (As a matter of fact, my husband is mowing said yard as I write. But there will be no drinks tonight, only work for me. And that’s okay.)
Alas, the good times we tried to focus on during the lockdown were not all good. I don’t believe I’ve mentioned here that I lost my sweet Aunt Dorothy to COVID-19 a few months ago. She was my mother’s last surviving sibling, and thankfully I was able to see her four years ago after not having seen her for years (due to distance).
When I was a child, she took me to my first dental appointment and she was a great comfort to the apprehensive child I was that day.
She was fashionable, gorgeous, and funny, despite having the lifelong sorrow of having lost her daughter, Jennifer, when my cousin was just a toddler.
Of course, I am not at all alone in having lost loved ones to this horror of a pandemic, but it sucks.
In the future, this anthology I was lucky enough to be included in could well be research material for those who come after us who haven’t experienced this time.
Proceeds from the sale of this anthology go to fund future projects of the CIC. I am pleased to have been included in it. The initial essay I wrote that ran on their website caused me to pause mid-pandemic and reflect, and I’m grateful for that opportunity.
How are you doing with Delta, and I don’t mean Burke? The crew at my favorite coffeeshop has been hit by it, leaving only one intrepid employee who was away on vacation and so was spared infection, to manage the whole place this past week. This stuff is no joke! Try to stay well.
In Lisbon in 1755, a devastating earthquake changes the city forever. The months just before the event are the intriguing backdrop for Stephanie Renee Dos Santosâ vivid debut novel, Cut from the Earth. Closely examining the overlooked origin of the art of the figura de convite style of tilework, this richly detailed novel both arrests the reader with the sensory pleasures Dos Santos provides and compels the reader to continue on. A stunning blend of intriguing plot and lyrical language, this novel delights.
The figura de convite style of tilework, life-sized, cut-out tiles of figures, welcomed visitors when they visited palaces, and were produced in the 18th and 19th centuries. They are only found in Portugal. Dos Santos says not much is known about the creator of the style, other than the initials PMP. Her novel imagines just who PMP was and what the creatorâs life was like. The mere concept of the novel enthralled me, as I like mysteries, as I like the teasing out of things we have no way of knowing. I was not disappointed!
Even the tragedy that strikes Lisbon is told with such force and detail it is as beautifully described as the tile making. Dos Santos immerses her reader into this world, both the time and place, knowing, like a good conductor, when to ask the horns for more, when to ask the woodwinds to back off. This novel is just stunning.
Interweaving charming scenes of family life with brutal scenes of the other side of society at that time, Dos Santos knows when to apply the pressure and when to relieve it. For instance, PĂȘro and his lovely daughters, Constanza and Isabela, view the display at a bakery shop: âIsabela lingered in front of a pastry shop, its pane filled with golden egg yolk custards and doughy delicacies of barriga de freiras, âbelly of nuns.ââ I find that so sweet and beautiful. The shops they pass are described in such gorgeous depth that you want to really be there. No, you think you are there.
The opening scene gives us this hint of cruelty: âPĂȘro glanced at his own right hand, to the stumped third and fourth finger, his mouth a tight white line.â We know this has been done to him, and we learn just how barbarously it was done.
When the earthquake strikes, it brings tragedy and leaves everything in jeopardy.
Combining rich historical facts and imagination where needed, Stephanie has created one of the most memorable books of the year, one I canât wait to re-read. I long for the next installment.
The story follows her journey of self-discovery and she has to pluck up the courage to leave a man who doesnât appreciate her, rebuild her confidence and be true to herself. Can someone who shies from the limelight, step out of the shadows and show the world how incredible she really is?
Kai is a jaded music producer who has just moved outside of town. Seeking solitude from the stress of his job, heâs looking for seclusion. The only problem is he canât seem to escape the band members and songwriters who keep showing up at his house.
When Kai wanders into the bar and Violetâs life, he accidentally discovers her closely guarded secret. Can Kai help her rediscover her self-confidence or should some secrets remain undiscovered?
International bestselling author and award-winning inventor, Lizzie Chantree, started her own business at the age of 18 and became one of Fair Play London and The Patent Officeâs British Female Inventors of the Year in 2000. She discovered her love of writing fiction when her children were little and now works as a business mentor and runs a popular networking hour on social media, where creatives can support to each other. She writes books full of friendship and laughter, that are about women with unusual and adventurous businesses, who are far stronger than they realise. She lives with her family on the coast in Essex. Visit her website at http://www.lizziechantree.com or follow her on Twitter @Lizzie_Chantree https://twitter.com/Lizzie_Chantree.
I’m a sucker for cafes of all types and those who work there, and for anyone in the music business. I, for one, look forward to reading this delicious book by this author I became acquainted with over on social media.
What are you still doing here? Go get yourself a copy! And tell me (and more importantly, Amazon and Goodreads)what you think.
I met my guest today over on Twitter, where she caught my attention by being a helpful, welcoming presence. When I discovered she was also an aspiring historical fiction writer, I got to know her better, and even shared an interview with her previously here and in my newsletter.
Today, I’m pleased to feature another interview with her to announce her forthcoming debut novel! Please take a read to learn more about our darling Emma. Scroll below for an exciting excerpt of her novel as well.
What inspired you to write DISCERNING GRACE (Book 1)?
Iâve always been a little nosyâI know, I know ⊠curiosity killed the cat! But back in 2001 during one of my regular letter-writing sessions to my grandmother in England, I decided Iâd like to know a little more about our family history from the older generation. Once theyâve passed itâs so hard to find out what kinds of people they knew and the sorts of things they got up to.
So, my darling late grandmother, whom I was incredibly close to, indulgently began answering my questions and documenting memories of her own childhood and stories of ancestors. All it took was for me to read the opening to one of her letters and I just KNEW I had to write a story about it! This is what the letter said, âYour GGG grandmother was only 16 when she ran away from home to marry a sea captain ⊠her family cut her off and she sailed the seas with him âŠâ
Come on! What author couldnât resist a little bit of real-life inspiration like that?
And so, that is how my purely fictional, historical naval adventureâ with a dash of romanceâblossomed. Iâve been thrilled by the journey of writing it and all the research too, but most of all, Iâve loved imagining the incredible courage and fortitude it would have taken my ancestor to choose such a life! Plus, there is my GGG grandfatherâs side of the tale to consider too. As my grandmother put it, they were âobviously a very enlightened couple, and she a very, very liberated woman.â
What was the best piece of writing advice you received when starting out?
To give my main character, Grace Baxter, more agency instead of her being a victim of circumstance. I was pushed to get her to create and direct her own circumstances. This was a bit more of a challenge having a female lead character in the early 1800s because of societal restrictions on women in those days. But I also figured that there had to be pioneering women, even back then, who broke the mould. Since Grace is inspired by my three times great grandmother, who indeed bucked the norm in her day by leaving her well-to-do family in England to elope with an English sea captain and live with him at sea, I felt I had a little more leeway to play with when writing Graceâs character. And besides, whatâs a rollicking romantic adventure without a feisty heroine!
What is your favourite historical era and why? Do you have a favourite historical female? Why?
Iâm open when it comes to reading historical fiction through the different eras, from Jean M. Auelâs prehistoric The Clan of the Cave Bear, to Vikings and Romans, through to later centuries like in Wilbur Smithâs Courtney series. As for writing it, Iâve been so immersed in the 19th century since Iâve been writing my own books, that I have a soft spot for this era. Thereâs a great balance of knowledge and information out there since it wasnât too long agoâsay unlike the ancient Egyptian era. I have huge admiration for historical authors who write about ancient times. The research required for that is mammoth (snigger)!
While there are many well-known historical females, my research unearthed a whole world of unknown women whose stories have not had a spotlight shone on them. These have been my favourite historical females to findâmothers penning journals about parenthood, sisters writing letters to relatives from the other side of the world, wives aboard ships keeping diaries that recorded tiny details of daily life not captured in a shipâs log books. It took me ages to find some resources that spoke about women aboard ships who were not just there to entertain the sailors, but who played a pivotal role in sailing the ship, raising a family aboard, and supporting industrious endeavours. These are some of my favourites:
Seafaring Women by renowned historian, Linda Grant De Pauw
Female Tars by Suzanne J. Stark
Hen Frigates by maritime historian, Joan Durett
She Captains by maritime historian, Joan Durett
What message are you sharing in your books?
The themes in my first novel, DISCERNING GRACE (Book 1), include:
an independent woman
the importance of love over money
appearances can be deceiving
love can conquer all
triumph over adversity
Does each book stand alone, or are you building a body of work with connections or themes between each book?
I love reading a long series where you can immerse yourself into another world and get to know the characters intimately through several books, so it felt perfectly natural for me to write a series too. It has been a joy to evolve my characters from their young and naĂŻve selves in the first book, and mature them through their life experiences in subsequent books. Discerning Grace (Book 1) is out now. The second book is nearly ready to publish, and I have complete draft manuscripts for books three and four.
A movie producer wants to turn your book into a movie and you get to make a cameo. What would you do in the movie?
Ooo, isnât this every writerâs dream!
Due to the nature of my story aboard a 19th century Royal Naval tall ship, there arenât that many female characters, though I could play no role on the ship since I get hideously sea sick!
I would have to stick with a role that is safe on land, so perhaps one of the dinner guests in my opening scene.
You have created images for your main characters, how does that help you write them?
I asked my beta readers to send me images of real-life people who they thought most looked like Seamus and Grace. Those images, along with the descriptions from my book, created the basis for the artwork Iâve commissioned (because I can barely draw a stick man!) They turned out exactly as I envisaged them in my mindâs eye!
It has been marvellous to have them drawn so young and fresh when we first meet them. For the subsequent books in the series, I can envisage the deepening of Seamusâs smile line beside his mouth, or the crowâs feet around Graceâs aquamarine eyes. I donât necessarily speak to my characters, but I do sit and watch them interact and play out scenes in my head (it must look like Iâm staring into space, and not working, when I do this!) I only need to look at their body language in their artwork for an inspirational reminder about how they react physically and verbally to different situations.
Since I own this artwork, Iâve actually created my own Redbubble store called, By-the-Book (yes, like the name of my newsletter), where my readers can grab their own favourite keepsakes.
What do you do for fun? What does a perfect day look like?
In everyday life, Iâm Mum to four teenage sonsâmy men children, all of whom are taller than meâand two cantankerous cats who often thrash it out for a spot on my lap! I live in the perpetually sunny city of Brisbane in Australia. I love building jigsaw puzzles (especially Wasgij, backwards puzzles), playing Candy Crush (my secret shame!), and playing board games with my boysâthough gone are the days when used to I beat them, they whip me soundly now. And I totally suck at Risk! Having raised four rambunctious boys, my perfect day these days constitutes solitude and silence. It doesnât matter where, as long as those two ingredients are present.
BOOK SPOTLIGHT: DISCERNING GRACE by Emma Lombard
Publication Date: 22 February 2021
Print Length: 370 pages
ISBN: 9780645105803
Ebook ISBN: 9781393725831
Genre: Historical Womenâs Fiction
Blurb
London 1826. Wilful Grace Baxter, will not marry old Lord Silverton with his salivary incontinence and dead-mouse stink. Discovering she is a pawn in an arrangement between slobbery Silverton and her calculating father, Grace is devastated when Silverton reveals his true callous nature.
Refusing this fate, Grace resolves to stow away. Heading to the docks, disguised as a lad to ease her escape, she encounters smooth-talking naval recruiter, Gilly, who lures her aboard HMS Discerning with promises of freedom and exploration in South America.
When Graceâs big mouth lands her bare-bottomed over a cannon for insubordination, her identity is exposed. The captain wants her back in London but his orders, to chart the icy archipelago of Tierra del Fuego, forbid it. Lieutenant Seamus Fitzwilliam gallantly offers to take Grace off the fretting captainâs hands by placing her under his protection.
Grace must now win over the crew she betrayed with her secret, while managing her feelings towards her taciturn protector, whose obstinate chivalry stifles her new-found independence.
Uncle Farfar beckoned a young man, the single epaulette on his right shoulder announcing that he was a lieutenant in His Majestyâs Royal Navy. âAh, Fitzwilliam. Just in time,â beamed Uncle Farfar, his face flushed with pleasure. Uncle Farfar was actually Admiral Arthur Jameson Baxter, highly decorated for his successful engagement in Admiral Nelsonâs campaign at the Battle of Trafalgar. He had lovingly endured the childhood nickname Grace had bestowed upon him when she was eighteen months old, and unable to pronounce his name, Uncle Arthur. He had not escaped the deep weathering of a man who had spent his life at sea, and though his face was much rounder these days, Grace thought he still had a kindness in his eyes.
Centring himself between Grace and the new arrival, Uncle Farfar said, âLieutenant Seamus Fitzwilliam, may I introduce you to Miss Grace Baxter, my niece and the delight of my life.â
Grace smiled politely, admiring the shades of gold shimmering across Fitzwilliamâs smoothed-back hair, caught tidily in a black silk ribbon at his graceful nape.
âThe pleasure is all mine, Miss Baxter,â said Fitzwilliam, formally kissing her hand.
âLieutenant.â Grace took her hand back, fingers curling, and Fitzwilliam clasped his own behind his back.
Uncle Farfarâs sharp eyes flicked across the room, and his cordiality shrivelled. âGod save us, see who approaches? Lord Silverton.â
To Grace, Lord Silverton appeared closer to a hundred years old, despite him only being in his early fifties. He was also a childless widower of renowned wealth and lineage. His bulging midriff announced no shortage of good food. He had been a mysterious figure on the outskirts of Graceâs life since she could remember, but no number of years had lessened her discomfort around him.
Grace dipped her head in greeting, lowering her gaze from Silvertonâs beady eyes to the neatly tied cravat at the base of his bulbous, waggling chin. How could any respectable lady willingly draw herself to the attention of this crusty, timeworn creature?
âYour gown is simply delightful, Miss Baxter,â said Silverton. âReminds me of the gossamer wings of a dragonfly.â Silvertonâs obtrusive stare seemed to blacken Uncle Farfarâs mood further.
Oblivious, Silverton droned on, âFascinating creatures! Dragonfly rituals of courtship may seem romantic to those inclined to observe the world through rose-coloured spectacles, but the amazing show of flips and spirals is usually the female trying to escape the boorish behaviour of the males.â
âI cannot possibly imagine how that feels,â Grace muttered, peering impassively around the crowded room. Fitzwilliamâs quick dry cough sounded suspiciously like a laugh, and Grace studied him from the corner of her eye. His face betrayed nothing.
Just then the butler rang the bell. Silvertonâs beady eyes fixed on Grace. âWould you care to dine with me this evening, Miss Baxter?â
Uncle Farfar cleared his throat. âIf you donât mind Silverton, Iâd appreciate my nieceâs company this evening.â Uncle Farfar drew Grace away before Silverton could say anything more, and ushered her into the dining room. Fitzwilliam followed two steps behind with his allotted dinner companion, Miss Pettigrew. Her petite hand curled in his elbow, and her coifed black hair barely met his shoulder. Grace had made her acquaintance only once before, and realised with a sinking heart that she was in for an evening of little to no conversation with the demure creature, should she sit beside her. The stretched table was laid with the snowiest of linen, and set with such precision that even the King of England would have been pressed to find fault.
Uncle Farfar waved at the empty chairs. âWould you care to sit between Lieutenant Fitzwilliam and I, Grace dear? You might need to give me a kick under the table if we bore you with too much naval chatter.â
Grace sank into her chair. âNonsense, Uncle. I do so enjoy your tales.â
Fitzwilliam waited for Miss Pettigrew to be seated as she gave him a simpering smile. A wave of relief washed over Grace at not being stuck with Silverton for the evening. Uncle Farfar clearly had the same thoughts, and he chuckled, âAt least youâre squirrelled with us, away from that pompous windbag.â
Fitzwilliam pulled in his chair, and nodded at Captain Steven Fincham sitting stiffly opposite him like a squat Napoleonic figure. Dark circles beneath Finchamâs bleary, bloodshot eyes gave Grace the impression that he was in poor health, was suffering from the crapulous effects of intoxication, or both.
With the soup course over, Grace eyed the line of footmen entering with platters laden with succulent roast lamb. The thin slices looked perfectly browned on the outside with just a peek of pink inside. Her stomach grumbled at the rich buttery scent of the potatoes being served onto her plate. She intended to enjoy every mouthful. At the sound of cutlery pinging on glass, Grace turned her attention to her father, Lord Flint, who rose with his wine glass raised.
âAs you know, my dear wifeâs partiality to dinner parties ensures they happen with alarming regularity.â A polite smattering of laughter rippled around the table. âBut tonight, we have two guests who deserve our well wishes.â Father inclined his bewigged head at Captain Fincham. âCaptain Fincham and Lieutenant Fitzwilliam will soon be leaving Englandâs fair shores in an effort to expand our great nationâs knowledge of the world.â His crystal cut glass glimmered in the candlelight. âTo a safe and prosperous journey, gentlemen.â
âTo a safe and prosperous journey,â echoed the diners.
Uncle Farfarâs grey head peered around Grace at Fitzwilliam. âWhere are you off to this time, Lieutenant?â
Relieved to be released from Finchamâs melancholy, and Miss Pettigrewâs muteness, Grace widened her eyes, equally interested to hear his answer.
âPlymouth first, to pick up the rest of the shipâs company and fresh supplies, before we sail to Tierra del Fuego,â said Fitzwilliam.
âDamned notorious waters off the Horn of South America, eh?â declared Uncle Farfar.
âAh, yes, the hydrographic survey! I recall hearing of it around the Admiralty.â Uncle Farfarâs eyes blazed. âThe Royal Navy has been around those parts for years, but theyâve few charts to show for it. About time someone had a crack at it.â He inclined his head at Fitzwilliam. âSounds just the kind of adventure a young man like you would relish.â
âIndeed, sir.â Fitzwilliam agreed.
Grace tucked a chocolate corkscrew of hair, that had rebelliously come undone, behind her ear. âWhat a pity you shanât be here for the ball next week, Lieutenant. Mother will no doubt outdo herself again.â Fitzwilliam was about to reply when Lady Flintâs tinkling laughter drew his attention down the other end of the table. Despite numerous suitors declaring that Graceâs natural beauty stemmed from her mother, Grace thought Lady Flintâs shrewd eyes and downturned mouth erased all prettiness. She glanced back at the handsome naval officer beside her.
âYouâll have to pardon me, Miss Baxter,â Fitzwilliam said ruefully. âI find society balls to be little more than an exercise in attaching one unwitting party to another, usually for monetary gain.â
âHear, hear!â Fincham banged the table, jangling the silverware. Miss Pettigrew squeaked with fright. Fincham blustered, âThe oceans of the world are far less dangerous to navigate as far as Iâm concerned.â
Grace laughed. âI quite agree, Captain Fincham. Father had me all but married off to Colonel Dunne until he found out heâs as poor as a church mouse and about to be shipped off to India.â She turned to Fitzwilliam, one brow arching as she whispered from the corner of her mouth, âDull as a butter knife too.â
Clearly amused by her honesty, Fitzwilliamâs shoulders jiggled with silent laughter, and he smirked. Grace had never understood how Father threw her at suitors who were highly suitable on paper but wholly unsuitable in person.
AUTHOR BIO
Emma Lombard was born in Pontefract in the UK. She grew up in Africaâcalling Zimbabwe and South Africa home for a few yearsâbefore finally settling in Brisbane Australia, and raising four boys. Before she started writing historical fiction, she was a freelance editor in the corporate world, which was definitely not half as exciting as writing rollicking romantic adventures. Her characters are fearless seafarers, even though in real life Emma gets disastrously sea sick. Discerning Grace, is the first book in The White Sails Series.
Thanks so much, Emma, for returning to my blog today. I wish you every success with your wonderful debut novel. And readers, if you like historical fiction, do yourself a favor and buy this one now!
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