“The men are testing me as much as I’m testing them. They want to see if I’m softer than my father. I have to show them I’m not.’
Hephaistion shot him a scathing look. ‘Most of them have known you since you were a boy. Where in all Hades would they have got the idea that you’re soft?”
“You could stay with your father and raise horses. There’s honour in it.’
‘I could,’ Hephaistion agreed. ‘And I will, when all this is done. But right now that would mean leaving you to your own good sense, and from what I can tell that’s thin on the ground.”
The setting of the novel I’m currently working on: Abaron Hall. Set during the last few days of September in 1899, Ophelia Allred and eleven others are invited by the enigmatic recluse, Lord Alvin Fane to his home for a special competition. But with strange visions, ruthless co-contenders, and rumors of spirits walking the halls at night, it’s clear that there is something far more sinister at hand
A rough design of a potential cover for the novel I’m working on (at least it has the vibes i’m trying to capture).
I want to start talking about it more regularly on here, hopefully start generating some hype. If you like mystery, ghosts, historical fiction, gothic or academia vibes, and lgbtqia rep, then follow along with the writing and editing process!
Did you know the mythical figure of Merlin may have been based on a historical Scotsman? More importantly, did you know he had a twin sister? This is Languoreth’s story, sister to a great Wisdom Keeper, daughter of a king, destined to marry for strategy rather than love, one of many powerful women nearly lost to history. (more…)
The King of Crows (The Diviners #4) was one of the books I was most excited forthis year and it certainly did ring in a flourishing finish to a fantastic series. And how fitting to end this story just as we reach the ‘20s all over again? After four books, my vocabulary is stocked with 1920s slang and I have a new appreciation for all the different ways society was shifting during the roaring…
Spending some time with my main #WIP tonight, a novel about the story of Anne Boleyn. Working on the particularly trying epic of Cardinal Thomas Wolsey. He sacrificed his prized possessions in order to save his skin from King Henry VIII. Spoiler: it didn’t work.
How far would you go to save your skin? Would you give up your most prized possessions? Do any of your characters do anything crazy to try and save their own skin?
In terms of historical fiction, we look back. We look back because that is where the answers lie. It is all about context. The research must be fun. It must also fit your story, and lift the narrative. Show us the ‘personality’ of that era, so that the historical setting becomes almost another character: show the sexual, gender and social politics, the mood of the times etc.
Five ways to add context
History itself. Who was in power at the time? Why? What was the main trade? What were the marriage laws? Historical detail is a great way to inform or give impetus to the plot, such as the London Season for Debutantes, etc.
How circumstances affect characters. We must never just lay on historical information, but rather weave into the story and it should ideally be seen through the lens of the character. How does she feel about how society treats women, etc.?
Sense it. Make use of the senses—the smell of the docks, the latest French perfume, the sight of a new ship or a building, the type of music in vogue, etc. – and tie those to the historical ambience of the world
Dress it. Make sure you know what your heroine is wearing, what undergarments support it, what was considered appropriate or risqué, and what kind of dress would suit your character best
Detail it. Go for small details that signal the reader that you’re building an authentic world – the dress, the dinner plate, the food, a cherished pet, an artwork or an objet d’art etc. Other details that may lift the narrative: modes of transport, whether it is a carriage or a horse (what kind?), the architecture, furniture, the literature of the day, details of places of worship and churches, the type of medicine, etc.
We need to go under the surface of the story, to know what life was like in that era and how your character is experiencing it. Remember that your reader may not know anything about the period or time—they need the writer to build the world, paint the picture, give colour, texture and emotion.
The characters don’t live in a vacuum-we need to build the characters’ world through details, sensory description; the world must be believable and entertaining.
Five exercises to help you
Print images from Internet or collect photocopies from books and create a collage of these for your writing desk
Describe the interior of the heroine’s bedroom as if you were writing for a nostalgia magazine or for a new experiential museum
Describe the morning ritual of the hero: how he shaves, dresses, what ritual he may follow
Create a dinner menu for a typical social meal of the time, and source ingredients for it – imagine the trip to the market
Imagine a time traveller from the present happens upon your setting —have her write a dispatch back home to describe this extraordinary experience!
The Glory plunges immediately into the violence and upheaval of the Six-Day War of 1967—and continues the dramatic story of Israel’s struggle for survival. Get this ebook by Herman Wouk for $2.99. https://amzn.to/2NS4sBh
I rarely DNF a book, but I had to with this one. I tried, but it’s 36% and NOTHING and I mean ABSOLUTELY NOTHING has happened. This reads like a journal of post grad students complaining about how hard post grad is, fighting for primary sources and living on ramen noodles. I am very disappointed - I really enjoyed the previous book but this one, it’s repeating what we already know from book one 10 years later - that is it.
I received this book via NetGalley in exchange for an honest review. Thank you Publisher!
5 out of 5 stars
I decided to pick up The Woman in the White Kimono because I have been craving something different than my usual reads. And boy am I happy that I got approved to read this heartbreaking and at the same time heartwarming tale.
The Woman in the White Kimono is a tale of the American Occupation of Japan from 1953 to 1957 and the consequences of it. The reader is presented with a split narrative - that of a young Japanese woman in 1957 (Naoko) and a young journalist with a dying father in present day Detroit (Tori). I must say that the start of the novel turned me off for a bit - it read like a Japanese Romeo and Juliette and the perfect relationship between father and daughter just did not seem real. However, all of that changed, into a really dark novel.
Slight Spoilers ahead
The novel turns into a story of what happened between the Americans who occupied Japan and the women. As in any occupation, babies happen; sure some come from love but a lot of them came from rape, opportunistic practices and other encounters. Whichever way, the women and the babies born during this time were ostracized and vilified. Over ten thousand babies were born to Japanese woman and American men. They did not belong to any country and those that did survive found a lifetime of hardship and discrimination. Japan is a nation of tradition, deep spiritual beliefs and profound pride - anything which shames and disrespects these must not be tolerated. The half Japanese and American babies were a product of losing a war, of losing honor and of deep shame - they were swept under, not to be seen, heard or spoken of. The Woman in the White Kimono explores all of these notions, shows the struggle of women found themselves in these predicaments and explores the unbelievable amount of courage these women had. It speaks of love, fear, family, pride and the ever-changing time. This is the story of Naoko, while Tori must come to terms with having a not so perfect father.
“Father is but another name for God” (Jay Kristoff) and when you find out that your own father is not the perfect man you have always envisioned and believed - it shakes you to the core. Like I said before - Tori’s relationship with her father in the beginning of the book was completely unreal to me - I am sorry but a grown up woman who cannot see any faults in her father is just unbelievable. However, once she finds out that he had a previous marriage and a baby in 1957 in Japan - it changes. All of a sudden she realizes that she doesn’t know who he is and what happened and to make peace with his past she must find his previous family. Tori’s story revolves around understanding that a person does not have to be perfect to be a good father. She comes to understand that to accept and love someone is to do so with every choice they have ever made. In the end - Tori re-establishes her faith in her father and understands herself better.
All in all - it is a wonderful book, full of wisdom, life struggles, love and family. My only issue is that the ancestry of the father get’s mixed up in a few passages - at first the author says he is from Slovakia and then Hungary - while those two countries border each other - they’re not the same. Otherwise I really enjoyed this novel.
So I know that OFMD is anachronistic as hell lol Ed wears a purple t-shirt, Fang has a Hot Topic belt wrapped around his head, and Stede uses a Crown Royale bag to cover his shovel
But just to nitpick for fun, here is a list of Things I’ve Seen in Fanfics That Did Not Exist During the 18th Century
☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡
Toilets - self explanatory
Teabags- tea would have been served in loose leaves or in compressed blocks
Rifles - these technically existed but weren’t used commonly until the next century
Underwear - there were no boxers, briefs, or panties, everyone was pretty much going commando. In most cases for men the undershirt fell to their mid-thigh or knee and was tucked into the pants (bloomers were also not a thing yet, and historically accurate bloomers were crotchless)
Corsets - 1700s stays were similar but not the same, also no one was being tight laced at the time
Windows/portholes below deck - In the Captain’s cabin the big bay window would be relatively normal, and if guns (cannons) are kept below the main deck there would probably be gun ports. The rest of below deck would likely be very dark
Rubbing alcohol - in a world where the booze options were pretty much beer, wine, rum, whiskey, and moonshine, why would they have rubbing alcohol? In a pinch they might have gin but that was largely produced in England at the time. I suggest moonshine or rum for period accurate disinfection (also boiled water)
Pain medication - see the above note on available alcohol
Cake frosting - glaze is fine
Bedside tables in the crew’s quarters - crew’s quarters are generally not meant for comfort and crew members tended to keep their property in bags. They might have had narrow bunks, bedrolls, or hammocks to sleep in and store their things. Where the crew slept depended very much on the individual ship.
feel free to add anything on! I may post updates because like the Crown Royale bag this delights me
Zippers. Because I’ve read at least one fic with zippers. Only a couple hundred years early for that one, and I promise, Blackbeard’s clothing is entirely buttons, maybe some lacing, that one buckle.
Novels! I’ve been dying to talk about this, because the English novel barely existed in the early 18th century, and in fact some of the earliest examples are adventures like Robinson CrusoeandGulliver’s Travels, but both are written after the show takes place. Stede’s beautiful library would instead be full of poetry, plays, works on natural philosophy and other intellectual pursuits, but not novels as we know and love them today. In a few decades, absolutely! But not when he begins his new life as a mighty pirate. (The earliest ‘proper’ novel is The Tale of Genji, which would have been a fun, technically accurate but highly anachronistic for translation addition to be on Stede’s bookshelf.) Also, the piano(forte) had onlyjustbeen invented and it’s highly improbable to have made it across the ocean yet, they would have had a harpsichord instead :)
Books I’ve read this year: ‘The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo’ by Taylor Jenkins Reid, Historical Romance, 5/5
“When you’re given an opportunity to change your life, be ready to do whatever it takes to make it happen. The world doesn’t give things, you take things.”
My baptism was one week away. One morning, Philippe and I decided to make our way to the kitchen. I always had a voracious appetite for as long as I could remember. Philippe was a finicky eater. He would only put the finest of delicacies in his mouth. But if the food was good, he could eat as much as I could.
If our mother had known of our near daily sojourns to the kitchen, she would have locked us in our rooms. As royalty, we were fraternizing with commoners too much. How could we not? They were friendly to us. Their children were uninterested in our titles and more into play. On this day, there were few people in the kitchen but there was plenty of food.
Straight away, Philippe headed for the macaroons. I helped myself to the omelettes. While I poked a piece in my mouth, I saw Philippe reaching for his treats. He dropped one and chased it as it rolled under a table. One of the servants noticed him squatting down to reach it.
“Thank you,” he said. “I am Philippe.”
“Who are you talking to,” I asked him.
“A girl,” he said without looking up. I noticed a little hand coming from under the table holding the macaroon he dropped.
A woman gasped and reached under the table and pulled out a little girl. She was as little as Philippe, with a head full of long black curls covering her features.
“Tu es une mauvaise fille,” she said angrily. “Are you stealing food again?”
“No,” she said, tearfully.
“She gave me my macaroon,” Philippe said, his mouth full. He walked over to the girl, and handed her a macaroon. “Here.”
She took it, smiled and ran out of the kitchen. Philippe gave the woman a mean look.
“Come, Philippe,” I said. I could see he was about say something awful.
He slowly turned toward me, still scowling at the woman.
“She is not nice, Louis,” he said, looking at me. I looked at the woman as I took Philippe’s hand. I did not say a word to her but I could see she feared what we might say to our parents. I led my brother away putting the incident out of my mind.
**** **** **** ****
No more than a few days before my baptism, I was playing with Philippe in the hall. Our mother approached us followed by several ladies with 2 girls and boy.
Everyone stopped in front of us and bowed.
“Louis, Philippe,” Mother said sweetly. “This is Gabrielle, Louis and Diane-Françoise. Louis and Diane have come to play with you.”
I did not know what to say but Philippe did.
“Why,” he asked.
Mother seemed a loss for words as several of her ladies tried not to laugh.
“Philippe, be polite to our guests,” she said.
“Why?”
“Yes, Maman,” I said quickly.
She smiled and left us with the little boy and girl as the older girl left with mother and the other ladies.
“I am Louis,” the boy said.
“Me, too,” I said.
“This is my sister,” he said. “Her name is Diane but we call her Françoise because she is named after our mother.”
“She is a girl,” Philippe said.
“I know,” she said. “And you are a boy.”
Philippe stuck his tongue out at her.
“Who is the other girl,” I asked Louis.
“That is my other sister, Gabrielle,” he said. “Papa said Maman is going to have another baby. I hope it is a boy this time.”
“That is a lot of girls,” I said. “Philippe is my only brother.”
“He is little,” Louis said.
Philippe gave him a mean look before pulling Diane’s hair.
“Philippe, stop,” I said. “That was not very nice.”
“No, it was not,” Diane said, hitting Philippe on the arm.
“Françoise,” Louis said. “You cannot hit him. He is a Prince.”
“That is right,” Philippe said, hitting her back.
She hit him again.
“Mine is two,” Louis said, pulling her away.
“So is mine,” I said, holding Philippe back. “They are still babies.”
“I am not a baby,” they said in unison.
“Come,” I said. “We can go play in the garden. We have a puppy out there.”
**** **** **** ****
On the day of my baptism, I entered the chapel with my mother. Philippe was to remain behind in the pew without our governess. As always, Philippe had other ideas. He managed to escape her grasp, and follow me down the aisle to the altar. Our father was waiting for us beside the font. His skin was pallid and his eyes did not seem to have the shine I remembered. He never moved from his position. He smiled at us as we met him and the priest at the altar.
It was intimate ceremony with only important members of the household in attendance. I stood before the altar of the chapel, I knew it was a solemn occasion even as I was too young to understand its meaning. I stood with my parents before the baptismal font as the priest began to speak.
Suddenly, I heard a splash. At first, I thought nothing of it. Then I heard it again and again. I looked down to see Philippe reaching into the font. I gently nudged him to get him to stop. I should have known that would entice him to continue more vigorously. I noticed everyone trying to ignore Philippe. It was a feat that was futile to attempt. My father gently pushed my brother’s hand away, and Philippe put it back. Even our father knew it was best to let Philippe have his way. So as long as he kept quiet, there was no harm done other than a slightly damp priest.
Papa did not say a word nor moved through it all. He just smiled and nodded once it was over. He and Maman exchanged glances while the priest and I exchanged words before mother took our hands and us out of the chapel of Château-Vieux.
The next time I would see my father would be 23 days later upon his deathbed.
**** **** **** ****
It was a quiet morning. By I remember I was playing with Philippe in my room when our governess came in. Her face was stoic.
“Your Highnesses,” she began, her voice trembling. “His Majesty wishes to you both.
“Papa,” Philippe exclaimed excitedly. “I want to see Papa.”
I knew something was wrong. Everyone in the room seemed disheartened. She picked up Philippe and offered her hand to me. I cautiously took it and she led me away to my father’s room.
It was the last moments of his life.
In his room, I could smell the scent of death and feel the burden that was about to put upon me. Though I was only four years old, I knew my presence in the moment gave everyone a feeling of helplessness and hope. When I saw my father, I was frightened at how sallow he was. Maman, Mazarin and Bontemps held vigil by his bedside as we approached.
“Louis,” he said, weakly. “Philippe.”
Our governess put my brother down beside me. I did not dare move closer to my father. I was afraid; he looked like the corpse he was to become.
“Papa,” Philippe said. “You look sleepy.”
“I am,” he whispered, with a faint smile. “I am going to sleep, Philippe. For a very long time. Louis, remember what I say to you. You will make a fine king. I know you will.”
I nodded. I did not know what else to do. I was passed a torch I was not yet able to carry. Suddenly, Papa said something I could not hear, took two labored breaths, then fell silent. Mother gasped as others in the room weeped softly.
“It is a quarter past two,” Bontemps said softly.
With everyone around him, my father slipped away peacefully.
“Why is Papa sleeping, Louis,” Philippe whispered.
“I do not know, Philippe,” I answered softly.
I knew our father was gone forever, but I did not believe it. Even I thought he was sleeping. It would be a while before I realized he had said his dying words to me months earlier at the château. Watch after your brother for me. Take care of Philippe. Looking at my father’s corpse, I said to myself, But who will take care of me, Papa?
Soon after, everyone turned and looked at me.
“Le roi est mort,” Mazarin said. “Vive le roi.”
I was the King of France.
“You are the king now,” Maman said to me.
“I do not want to be king,” I said.
“Your father is dead,” she said. “You must take his place now, Louis.”
“I do not want to,” I said loudly. “I do not want to be king!”
“Louis,” she began.
“No!”
I ran out of the room and down the hall crying. I did not want to be king. I did not know what it meant to be king, much less what it was. When I reached my room, I expected to see my governess, but there was another woman in her place.
“Who are you,” I yelled.
“I am your new governess, Your Majesty,” she said.
“No,” I yelled, pushing her. “Go away!”
I threw myself on my bed and started to cry into the pillows. I cried myself to sleep. I remembered hearing soft whimpering next to me. When I opened my eyes, it was evening and I was dressed in my nightgown. Philippe was lying next to me, his eyes red from crying.
“You scared me,” he said.
“I did not mean to,” I said.
“Why are you sad, Louis,” he asked.
“I do not want to be king but Maman said I am,” I answered.
“You are too short to be king,” he said. “You have to be tall like Papa.”
“I think he is gone, Philippe,” I said.
“When he comes back, you do not have to be king,” he said yawning.
He fell asleep, leaving me to my thoughts. I did not think Papa was coming back to us this time.–The Secret of the House of Bourbon–XIV by Jaynaé Marie Miller. 5-07-2022
I’m back it has been quite a journey. One of the longest journeys. One of these days I will talk about it when people actually care. Until then, read.
It would be a few more days before we got see Papa again. I had never seen Philippe so excited. I will admit, I was anxious to be with our father again. As much as I loved our mother, her demeanor had become indiscernible since father had gotten ill.
After our morning routine, we were taken outside to the gardens where father was sitting upright in a long chair with a blanket covering him from the waist down. Our governess led us to him. When he saw us, he smiled.
“See, Philippe,” he said. “I told you would take you and your brother into the gardens. “Thank you, Françoise.”
She bowed and left us together.
“But Papa,” I began. “You are still not well, and Philippe has not behaved as you wished him to.”
Philippe sneered at me, then kicked me.
“Now, Philippe,” Papa said. “That was not nice.”
“Louis is not nice,” he said. “I have, too, been good, Papa. I did not drop my porridge on the floor today.”
“Well,” Papa said. “I am very proud of you, Philippe.”
“See, Louis,” he said, sticking his tongue out at me. “Papa is proud of me.”
He climbed up on Papa’s lap.
“Are you still ill,” I asked. “Why are you not in bed?”
“I wanted some fresh air and to see my sons,” he answered. “I am feeling better, but I still need some rest, Louis. Do not worry. I will be fine.”
Somehow, even then, I found that hard to believe.
“If you cannot walk,” Philippe began. “Then I will stay with you.”
He curled up on Papa’s lap, with his arms around his chest. I put my head on Papa’s shoulder. We remained quiet together for some time. It was a moment I never wanted to end. After that day, Papa would try to be with us as much as he could, even as his sickness started to take him from us.
**** **** **** ****
One morning, as our governess was taking us to our father’s apartments, we heard a familiar voice coming from his room. When the door opened, we our mother speaking with Papa.
“I do care what the doctors say, Anne,” we heard him say. “I will not miss my son’s baptism.”
“You can hardly stand up as it is, Louis,” she said. “You do not need to exert yourself unnecessarily. There will be other things in his life you will get to see providing you follow your doctors’ orders.”
Papa looked at us standing in the middle of the room with our governess. I felt Philippe take my hand. The room was uncomfortably silent. I could see our parents trying to create an explanation for what we had just heard.
“Louis,” Papa said.
I knew what they were talking about. I did not understand it entirely, but I knew something was wrong. I wanted to run out of the room, but I could not leave Philippe. I did the only thing I could do—I took him with me.
I turned swiftly and led Philippe out the door we had just entered. Once outside we both began to run as fast as we could. We had not idea where we were going. We found a dark corner under behind a statue. We could hear our governess and several others calling for us. I put my fingers to my lips. Philippe nodded. When everyone had gone, I sighed deeply.
“Louis,” Philippe whispered.
“Yes.”
“Why are we hiding,” he asked.
“Philippe, listen to me,” I began. “I think Papa is very ill.”
“Why?”
“I do not know,” I answered. “I wish I knew why.”
“Louis,” he said. “What is ill?”
“That is when you do not feel well,” I said.
“I do not feel well, Louis,” he said.
“Are you ill?”
“I do not know.”
“Come, Philippe,” I said, as we crawled out from behind the statue.
“Your Highnesses,” a voice said. We looked up to see our governess looking down at us. We stood up. Immediately, she picked up Philippe. “Why did you run away?”
“Papa is very ill,” I said. “I am afraid for him.”
“People get ill,” she said. “They also get better.”
“I am ill,” Philippe said.
“No, you are not, Monsieur,” she said.
“Yes, I am,” he replied. “I do not feel well.”
“What is the matter,” she asked.
“I do not know,” he said. “Louis said I do not feel well.”
“I did not,” I said loudly.
“You Highness, I know you are worried about your father, but you should not.”
“I am ill like Papa,” Philippe said.
“No, you are not,” I said.
“But you said I do not feel well, Louis.”
“Monsieur, you need a nap.”
“Because I am ill,” he answered.
“Because you are annoying,” I said.
“Come, Your Highness,” she said taking my hand. “I think you both need a nap.”
She took us to our room and put us in bed.
“Now, Your Highnesses, do not move,” she said. “Rest for a while. I promise you will feel better. I am going to see your father to tell him you are safe.”
We nodded. Once she closed the door, Philippe climbed out of bed and went to the door.
“Philippe, she said not to move,” I scolded.
He looked at me for a moment then continued to try to reach for the door handle. I got out of bed and grabbed him.
“Where are you going,” I asked.
“I want to see Papa,” he said tearing up. “I am ill, too.”
“No, you are not, Philippe,” I said. “You are fine.”
“I do not want to be, Louis,” he said, starting to cry. “I want to be like Papa.”
“Philippe, Papa would not want you to be ill,” I said. “He would want you to be well.”
“If I am well,” he began. “Will Papa be happy.”
“Yes,” I answered. “He would be very happy.”
He wiped his tears away then smiled. As soon as I let him go, he tried to open the door again.
“Philippe, what are you doing?”
“I want to tell Papa I am well.”
I knew I was going to regret what I was about to do but I did it anyway.
“I am going with you,” I said. “You are too young to go alone.”
I slowly opened the door and looked out. There was no one in the connecting room leading to the hallway. I put my finger to my lips to keep Philippe quiet. He nodded as he looked around. We ran to the door. I know there had to be a guard somewhere. I slowly opened the door and looked out. Two guards were there but they were occupied with several ladies. Quietly, we slipped out the door and tiptoed in the opposite direction. When we were far enough away, we began running. Needless to say, we got lost. I had no idea where we were. We went around another corner to another long corridor. I could not tell doors from the walls. When we heard footsteps, we looked around for a place to hide.
“Where do you two think you are going,” a voice asked. We turned around to see Papa in the hall.
“Papa,” Philippe yelled excitedly running toward him. I followed him. Papa must have felt better because he scooped Philippe up.
“Why are two out of your apartments,” he asked.
“Philippe and I were looking for you, Papa,” I said.
“Yes,” Philippe said. “I want to tell you something.”
“What,” he asked.
“I am not ill,” Philippe answered.
Papa started to laugh.
“Well, I am glad, Philippe,” he said.
“We heard you and Maman,” I said. “Philippe wanted to be like you.”
Papa sighed and put Philippe down. Kneeling down, he embraced both of us.
“My sons,” he said. “I love you both so much. I am glad for your good health. I do not wish either of you to be ill, Philippe. Please, Louis, do not worry about me. You are far too young to worry about such things. I will be fine.”
“Are you happy,” Philippe said, yawning.
“I am as happy as you are sleepy.”
“I am not sleepy.”
Papa picked him up. Philippe put his arms around his neck and fell asleep.
“You must be very happy, Papa,” I said.
“Yes, I am, Louis,” he said. “Let us go put your brother to bed. Do not tell your mother about this. Promise me.”
“Yes, Papa,” I said, taking his hand.
He returned us to our apartments. That was the last time I would see my father walking again.–The Secret of the House of Bourbon–XIV by Jaynaé Marie Miller. 1-15-2022
It will not be long before little Louis becomes king of France.
