tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-39375821639763190642024-03-05T20:07:03.283-08:00Erin Kane SpockErin Kane Spock is a historical romance author (among other things.) Erin Kane Spockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05376851676240606472noreply@blogger.comBlogger354125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3937582163976319064.post-48416347730938061552022-07-07T15:41:00.001-07:002022-07-07T15:41:17.710-07:00Consent in Romantic Fiction<p>Romance is ultimately about two people finding love against all odds and living happily ever after. That has been consistently true throughout the evolution of the genre.</p><p>What has changed is the idea of what is sexy. I'm going to go out on a limb here and make a blanket statement that assault is not sexy.</p><p>The alpha male was the ideal romantic character. Add the Byronic, emotionally-damaged element and he was the man a reader could fantasize about healing. He was physically powerful, sexually more-than-proficient, and unreachable... until that one special woman healed him with love. One problem with this is the fantasy that a good woman could change a man. Another problem is that he usually was so sexually overwhelming that the woman couldn't help herself.</p><p>One theory for this standard in romance (60-70s) was the idea that a woman was not empowered to say yes. If she wanted a sexual experience, that made her dirty. The pseudo-rape by the alpha male took her accountability away. She said no, but her body said yes. Wait, did I say pseudo-rape? How understated of me.</p><p>Another theory for the alpha-male fantasy was, as women became expected to be the super-executive+super mom in the 80s-90s, they fantasized about not having to be in control of everything. The idea of being taken, of ceding control, was a fantasy for a different reason than worrying about being considered immoral; it was backlash about being asked to be too much all at once. These books are borderline rape-fantasy books. The first explicit romance novel I read, when I think back on it, removed all sexual agency from the heroine. It's sad that this is what started my own evolution and is still there, hovering in my subconscious, tainting my understanding of self with guilt and shame. Good times.</p><p>My point:</p><p>Romance norms have changed drastically in the last ten years. The alpha is still there, but he's more emotionally available and has respect for women. He listens when she says no, or wait. He doesn't bully his way through. It is a relationship of equals and of equal choice. It's awesome. </p><p>I recently have been going through a well-known author's backlog of books (I do that, find an author I like and read everything by them). I'm back about ten years and came across a seduction scene that made me cringe. It was the alpha male asserting himself and seducing the unwilling heroine with a searing kiss. Unwilling. The minute she said stop, don't touch me, that should have ENDED THE SCENE. The fact that he continued made me instantly hate him. <b>She. Said. No. </b>No means no, m*th*rf*ck*r. The book did not get worse along those lines, but he was already ruined. He was probably intended to be an alpha-male, but I saw a bully and could not get past that. He punished her with pleasure. Yuck.</p><p>The 2nd book in that series involved the man's twin brother. He was confident and funny. He was in no way a pushover, but when said enough, he stopped with no questions asked. That was respect. Super sexy respect. He may be my new book boyfriend.</p><p>I felt like these books represented the shift in expectations within the community of romance readers. Book 2 was published in 2010.</p><p>After looking into this I checked on another author I like (I had done much the same thing as I went through all of her romantic suspense and then backtracked into her historical series). All her current books have respectful relationships with give and take instead of just taking. However, her historical novels meet the standard of the alpha male. When did this change? 2009.</p><p>I did not start this blog post as a treatise on the evolution of romance. I wanted to point out the changing values when it comes to a woman's sexuality. Romance mirrors the reader's romantic fantasies and is a reasonable way to look at how generations of readers view their own role in sexual interactions. The changing dynamic of seduction in romantic fiction tells me that readers respond to consensual interactions. The beta-man used to be the alpha's side-kick, but now he's the more desirable partner. He listens.</p><p>All of the romantic heroes I write would have, 20 years ago, been considered the beta side-kick to a more dominant alpha. I write about a couple finding each other. She is not his property. He does not belong to her... they belong together. You cannot get that partnership without equality and there can be no equality without consent in the relationship. That said, I just wrote a scene where he tells her to wait, that he's not ready... and I vacillated on whether or not she would listen or power through, seducing him. OF COURSE she waited. She listened. They couldn't be equals if she didn't. No double standards.</p><p>Have you noticed a change in the way relationships are written in romantic fiction? What do you think spurred this change? I am interested in your answers.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3sDeyngAFpCPUUdLtChajXwIsmjSJsSuUQa7jSvRMpJU7EizGU6ZpGEG9mZXcAaLxXa3fsFQ7BdqP_NJtY-1k3w6ibLThH2XG_rJ-Y-2IXk81q5ix9claBLqcYeq0GYC_w0_MMoZlrl6bArlIQICDoknx55Z6IGR0Oy1Cc-J0MtmGDJRTdxkFk-nCEA/s1200/nomeansno.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="630" data-original-width="1200" height="168" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3sDeyngAFpCPUUdLtChajXwIsmjSJsSuUQa7jSvRMpJU7EizGU6ZpGEG9mZXcAaLxXa3fsFQ7BdqP_NJtY-1k3w6ibLThH2XG_rJ-Y-2IXk81q5ix9claBLqcYeq0GYC_w0_MMoZlrl6bArlIQICDoknx55Z6IGR0Oy1Cc-J0MtmGDJRTdxkFk-nCEA/s320/nomeansno.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p>Note: I do not "cancel" authors who do not meet my ethical standards. If I don't want to read them, I don't. Easy. Standards have changed over the years. The first book I mentioned that had the alpha-male, I know that to be a product of the system and the era. Had I read it when it was first published, I may not have even noticed the problem. I did not mention author names because I do not want to contribute to any do-not-read lists. They are good authors who continue to produce good books. When I read scenes in older books, I may think to myself that it wouldn't be published today... but neither would many books and movies we think of as classics.</p>Erin Kane Spockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05376851676240606472noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3937582163976319064.post-62147517768076336602022-06-12T21:27:00.000-07:002022-06-12T21:27:14.058-07:00Hello Out There<p> I'm out of practice here. I also have nothing meaningful to wax poetic about.</p><p>You'd be surprised how often I lay awake and compose blog posts for that one day when I blog again. But no, I have nothing.</p><p>Right now my recently graduated daughter is playing Sound of Silence on the piano while my husband scrolls through his phone. I have some artichokes on the stove and expect my younger daughter home any moment from a date. My dog is staying behind the line of demarcation between the family room and dining room. I have increased my viewing size for all my writing to 150%.</p><p>If I don't finish and publish this post soon, it won't happen because my husband keeps talking to me (not a complaint, just an observation).</p><p>The main info I have to share is that I'm writing forward for the first time in a long time. I'm not piddling around with finished books or coming up with new idea... I'm writing and I WILL finish this WIP this month.</p><p>So there. Hello.</p><p><br /></p><p>PS I was writing earlier while my eldest daughter played piano (it was ABBA). Later I shared that I had been writing a steamy scene. She said, "Oh, that makes sense." "Why?" I asked. "Oh, because you said 'straddled him' out of nowhere." Ah. Okay. At least she's old enough now for that not to be too weird.</p>Erin Kane Spockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05376851676240606472noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3937582163976319064.post-48092001455913006522020-06-23T12:34:00.002-07:002020-06-23T12:34:56.335-07:00I'm Technologically Inept<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Greetings. Yes, I'm still alive. And, yes, the last time I posted was in September. Why? I use a Chromebook for school and it won't let me sign out of my school account.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When my school year ended and I dug my ancient but beloved laptop out and tried to log in. For whatever reason it would not let me past the 18-or-older screen... Sigh. It turns out I had to clear my cache.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm not good at this stuff. Even as I write this, AVG is popping up left and right to tell me to clear things and pay for things and whatever. Clearly this laptop needs some attention. I prefer a laptop to the Chromebook any day. I dislike writing in Google Docs. I like to have my work saved both in my dropbox and on my computer and the Chromebook is not set up for that.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There is something soothing about the weight of this keyboard and the size of my screen. I'm glad to be back in my element, but it seems I have some work to do. So bear with me.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In the meantime I will start publishing some of the blogs I wrote in Google Docs over the course of the school year and during the quarantine (I live in Southern California and we were in a "Safe at Home" policy starting in March 2020). I taught my World History and Yearbook high school classes through distance learning. I learned that even though I am self-professed loaner, I do crave some human interaction. And, despite my vampire-like approach to sunshine, I need it from time to time. Vitamin D only does so much.</span><br />
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So hello again my friends. I look forward to posting more soon.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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**fun fact - when I went to post this I had no internet. Everyone in my house had internet, but I couldn't connect. Bleh.<br />
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Erin Kane Spockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05376851676240606472noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3937582163976319064.post-78495147194792283972019-09-07T13:22:00.005-07:002019-09-07T13:22:57.092-07:00A Journey Through My Mess<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I woke up this morning inspired to write. I knew my direction but I also felt like I needed to find the notes I took at a session at the 2018 Romance Writers of America convention in Denver. I could not remember the name of the speaker, but it was about writing for your id. It was a great session and gave me permission not to try so hard to break out of the aspects of romance I enjoyed but worried were cliche. I shouldn't be different for the sake of being different. If it feels right to me, it will feel right to my readers.<br />
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The problem I have is that I have loads of spiral note books and I use them for all sorts of things. Which one I write in depends on which one I grab when I pack my bag. I do dress sketches for Irish dancing. I take notes on staff meetings. I write outlines and scenes for whatever is in my head that day, no matter what actual project I'm supposed to be writing. It's a mess. Most of the notebooks are half-full but not in any sort of sequential order. Some of them include ten pages at the back. Usually the very act of writing it down means I'll remember and then type it out later, but I don't do this with notes from events.<br />
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As I looked through my notes I found such stand alone, with no context at all, statements as:<br />
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<li>200+ years of rape.</li>
<li>Bags of seed save the day.</li>
<li>"I trust you" is the highest honor you can give someone.</li>
<li>Boob situation/solution?</li>
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I found World of Warcraft fan fiction that I'd forgotten about interspersed with teaching notes I never followed up on. The collection of notebooks went back to 2012 and one of the pages includes my attempt to turn the Batman image into Celtic knot work. I found pieces of a chapter based on the characters from Shakespeare and became inspired to work on the that project (something shelved four years ago so I could finish the manuscripts that needed it) then found notes for my actual work in progress that inspired this search through my notebooks in the first place. Thank goodness that got me back on track.<br />
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I did what I should have done in the first place and shoved all the book back onto my bookshelf to go through another time when I wasn't in the I NEED TO WRITE NOW mood. But first I took a picture.<br />
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The crazy thing is that I know there are more somewhere.</div>
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I did a search online after all of the fruitless digging through spiral notebooks and found the answers to all my questions -- but this puts a damper on the sense of urgency I had while looking through years of randomness. The speaker was author Dr. Jennifer Barnes. This post from <a href="https://eightladieswriting.com/2018/09/23/jilly-wood-whats-on-your-id-list/#more-14971">Eight Ladies Writi<span style="font-family: inherit;">ng</span></a><span style="font-family: inherit;"> summed it up well and gave me the basic list I was looking for. The blog post author, Jilly Wood, wrote that, "<span style="background-color: white;">Stories or scenes depicting sex, touch, beauty, wealth, power, competition and danger push our pleasure buttons." Wonderful. Question answered. My journey through years of random notes/writing only served to let me know I needed to be more organized.</span></span></div>
Erin Kane Spockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05376851676240606472noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3937582163976319064.post-63531178406938249742019-08-08T13:31:00.000-07:002019-08-08T13:31:07.381-07:00Historical Costuming<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I had a wall of Rubbermaid containers in my room, four long, 3 high, for about two years.<br />
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My husband hated it.<br />
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Let it be known that <i>it was his fault</i>. He brought them in from the garage because he wanted me to sort through them and thought putting them there would inspire me to get it done. He was wrong--I just couldn't bring myself to do it. Besides the fact that going through them would lead serious allergies and require a good days commitment to having no bedroom, it also meant coming to terms with the fact I would never wear those costumes again. That's right, those bins were FULL of Elizabethan lower nobility costumes, early reign and the remnants of the fabrics I used in their construction. Each gown was the product of hundreds of hours of work, much of it by hand. Each gown was a reminder of the wonderful times spent at the Renaissance Faire* as a lady in the court of Queen Elizabeth. Each had been meticulously researched, designed, and constructed based on portraiture of the period, <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/847482.Patterns_of_Fashion_3">Patterns of Fashion 3</a> by Janet Arnold, and the guidance of costuming mentors within the guild. These gowns (I had a few men's suits too) represented some of the first times I let myself be proud of work I'd done. Yes, there were plenty of mistakes, but when I wore them I felt accomplished. No false humility--I'd made something from nothing and I felt great about it. <i>(Note: not all of the costumes were 100% historically constructed. I made modifications for the ease of dressing since I don't have servants.)</i><br />
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This year I finally went through the boxes and, as I knew I would, gave almost all of them away. I donated them to a dear friend who will see they find good homes and, hopefully, be worn again. It's bittersweet, but it's okay. I keep telling myself that. At least my bedroom has a functional window again.<br />
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I may not be participating in living history events for the time being, but my love of costuming has an outlet in my historical romance. You would be amazed at how much I had to cut out of <i>Courtly Pleasures</i> to make it readable. <i>The False Lady Beatrice</i>, my current work in progress, has a mixture between courtly fashions and the functional clothes of the peasantry. I'm having fun with the dichotomy and what that says about Beatrice's identity.<br />
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Just for fun, here is a short video showing the steps to dressing Queen Elizabeth I.<br />
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Fun random facts about my costuming adventures:</div>
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<li>I once constructed a corset with a lace up front flap to accommodate nursing.</li>
<li>I made my 18 month old a full dress (coral pink, pictured below) and, since it was so small, built it as a single unit. It worked out great so I decided to make one for myself (also pictured below). The dress weighed over forty pounds and was so unwieldly it was difficult to store and required three people to help me dress. Bad idea.</li>
<li>I sewed pockets into my petticoat and could access them from the front split in my overskirt. </li>
<li>I used large zip ties as boning in my corsets and plastic coated laundry line wire on my farthingale. Super not period.</li>
<li>My favorite bumroll was bright yellow and looked like a banana. I called it my butt banana.</li>
<li>I kept one costume, the one that came in first place at my faire's costume competition. There's no way it will fit now, but it might someday. Maybe. </li>
<li>My computer doesn't recognize the word 'unwieldly.' Farthingale and bumroll make sense... but unwieldly? It's not an unusual word.</li>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0gH-8IMZSi2lq8YxtmR1v4gFA4qNKhFxKjk3cc_w_IWKCTsDbZp_DzPAtZNuMxYuVKH8JSg4qzlA5PrE8z4dy0zLsxEYgznE2q2pGPzggg68E-n4RzP3VBgxEZZwky2vQh6DLa8REqKMs/s1600/1923923_31351974881_3403_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="453" data-original-width="604" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0gH-8IMZSi2lq8YxtmR1v4gFA4qNKhFxKjk3cc_w_IWKCTsDbZp_DzPAtZNuMxYuVKH8JSg4qzlA5PrE8z4dy0zLsxEYgznE2q2pGPzggg68E-n4RzP3VBgxEZZwky2vQh6DLa8REqKMs/s200/1923923_31351974881_3403_n.jpg" width="200" /></a>My daughters, ages two and three. I did not include oversleeves, corset, or farthingale because, you know, the age two and three thing. I wanted these to be light, breathable, and to be able to throw these in the wash</div>
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Circa 2009</div>
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I am in the gray dress (it's the awkward, one-piece dress mentioned above) dancing with an actress portraying Mistress Anne Vavasour.</div>
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*Faire: yes, I know it's spelled wrong, but that's how my Ren faire spelled it to make it olde English-y.</div>
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Erin Kane Spockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05376851676240606472noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3937582163976319064.post-34348196077542759072019-07-10T00:30:00.000-07:002019-07-10T10:29:34.655-07:00Courtly Scandals: Abortion<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
When I started <i><a href="https://amzn.to/2uQteqo">Courtly Scandals</a>,</i> one of the defining parts of Mary's life was her abortion.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyfc2YTVZ8W4FYyhcifCOrFRd7Lu_K7o4Yyrh9i0uZAK8RnM-_8AMw5BvmqNCHT6CVj4DiPz_q8TpgJ-MvGYRGTTryxEbhO_BoSF8mO75TnExJtlSV3l-eDDZEuSZWE5zM7FYbgAbklOre/s1600/Cover+Courtly+Scandals+reduced.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="418" data-original-width="270" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyfc2YTVZ8W4FYyhcifCOrFRd7Lu_K7o4Yyrh9i0uZAK8RnM-_8AMw5BvmqNCHT6CVj4DiPz_q8TpgJ-MvGYRGTTryxEbhO_BoSF8mO75TnExJtlSV3l-eDDZEuSZWE5zM7FYbgAbklOre/s320/Cover+Courtly+Scandals+reduced.jpg" width="206" /></a>The story grew as she struggled with forgiving herself, not because of any philosophical discussion of right or wrong, but because she'd wanted that baby and hadn't been strong enough to defy her father. Opposite to today's definitions, she had no right to chose what to do with her own body because she another person demanded she have an abortion.<br />
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I changed the story at a well established author's advice: she said I would alienate readers over a controversial issue. It made sense to me, but I wanted to keep the meat of the problem. It was integral to the story. I changed it to have her lose the baby in a traumatic accident before going through with the abortion. The choice was taken away from her but she still blamed herself for not being strong enough to stand up for herself and mourns what might have been. In the scene where she shares her story with Blanche Parry, Blanche doesn't bat an eye because it's not a unique situation, but that doesn't change how Mary felt about herself. Mary, that was her moment of no return. Rational or not, a feeling of guilt was true for her.<br />
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Whether a reader was pro-choice or pro-life I had hoped that they could accept the struggle to come to terms with trauma from the past. Mary's personal journey was to learn to love herself and realize she is worthy of love. Part of that involved her being able to forgive herself, right or wrong, and move forward with a sense of hope. Personally, I believe there are things in everyone's lives that they have to either ignore or to forgive themselves for everyday. They may have nothing to do with varying ideals of morality or law, just choices from the past that each of us have to live with.<br />
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I have had varying responses and ended up alienating readers anyway. The moral of this story is that you can't please everyone. All readers have their own filters and I can't control that. I can just tell stories and stand behind them. I don't regret putting Mary on this journey. As an author or historical romance I like to link the past with present and show that the people that paved the way for our society were not that different from ourselves, that nothing is new.</div>
Erin Kane Spockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05376851676240606472noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3937582163976319064.post-19307491930206172032019-07-02T13:02:00.002-07:002019-07-03T12:25:09.675-07:00Back on the Grid<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The last time I blogged was in March. That's also when I deleted my Twitter app.<br />
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March was when the RITA finalists were announced and none of them were black. Romancelandia in Twitterverse exploded in rage and accusations. As it seems to happen more and more each day, reasonable concerns lead to vitriol and extremist views. There was no gray area and I found that people I had respected in the writing community were truly toxic. I tried to continue to be active online and NOT engage. The problem was that both sides of the discussion triggered an anger response and I didn't need that in my life. I deleted Twitter. I stopped posting on Facebook. I backed away from the Romance Writers of America and did not go to chapter meetings. I just couldn't.<br />
<br />
Since then I've been a serious reader. Yes, of course I always have been a reader but since I started taking publishing seriously I stopped reading for myself and read for research. That took the joy out of it and made it a chore. So I started reading non-romance so I could just<i> read</i>. I went through almost everything <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1221698.Neil_Gaiman">Neil Gaiman</a>, <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/38550.Brandon_Sanderson?from_search=true">Brandon Sanderson</a>*, and <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/105839.Marie_Brennan">Marie Brennan</a>. I have an hour and half commute every day so many of these were on Audible and Neil Gaiman narrates many of his books so I got to feel like I knew him**.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOVg3c1XiQ-D9Wak8Iq79gXqAxsiTKz0oU7r9kUh98AKUCfGZr7d2CcbGR48EKEZQlwjW5ewz262vM71qZF4K9snI1wo0s-A1GmFeNFqbDW_7obzzWz0xmfG9h2vGq6aFoD2WrA3NHBHh9/s1600/SayNototheDuke-231x350.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="350" data-original-width="231" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOVg3c1XiQ-D9Wak8Iq79gXqAxsiTKz0oU7r9kUh98AKUCfGZr7d2CcbGR48EKEZQlwjW5ewz262vM71qZF4K9snI1wo0s-A1GmFeNFqbDW_7obzzWz0xmfG9h2vGq6aFoD2WrA3NHBHh9/s200/SayNototheDuke-231x350.jpg" width="131" /></a><br />
I didn't read a romance until just recently when my preordered copy of <a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07D2CS1JS/ref=dbs_a_def_rwt_bibl_vppi_i0">Say No to the Duke</a> by <a href="https://www.eloisajames.com/">Eloisa James</a> arrived. I'd forgotten I'd ordered it. I hadn't seen the newsletters or promotions. It was like a surprise gift in the mail and I read it in a day. I read for joy. It reminded me about why I loved romance. Everything about it spoke of healing and optimism. It made me laugh and cry. Yes, I knew there would be an emotionally satisfying happily-ever-after but I never rolled my eyes or yelled at the book on the journey there.<br />
<br />
I write this blog post out of genuine optimism that romance is a place I can find escape and solace again. I am certain that Eloisa James does not need my support or any additional blips on her Google alerts. She's made it as a romance author and this book will be successful with or without my review. That is not the purpose of this post. This is a celebration of the genre and the hope that is woven into the stories, the hope that was stolen by anger and bias in the industry. This book revived me and I am so grateful.<br />
<br />
So I'm back on the grid again.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
*Not including the <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/228665.The_Eye_of_the_World?from_search=true">Wheel of Time</a> books. I read those as a young adult before I really understood the misogyny implicit in all of Robert Jordan's depictions of women. Maybe Sanderson elevated it, but I read those so long ago that I don't care to reacquaint myself. Though I do chuckle every time Sanderson has one of his characters blush furiously. I've used that one in my own books as a joke with myself that I wouldn't expect anyone but my brother to pick up on.<br />
<i>Addendum: Maybe I should give them a chance because, after all, Sanderson is awesome and his heroines are awesome.</i><br />
**I think if you read enough of an author, you do get a peek inside their brain. Don't worry, I have no illusions that Mr. Gaiman and I are buddies. I was excited to learn, however, that he and Tori Amos are friends. It answered the question about who the Neil she referred to in her songs was. When I realized that I felt like I had learned some GREAT TRUTH but no one else was excited about it :(.</div>
Erin Kane Spockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05376851676240606472noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3937582163976319064.post-30036192121380720192019-03-31T13:11:00.000-07:002019-03-31T13:11:01.501-07:00Sneak Peak of a Work in Progress<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I lived in Glanmire, Co. Cork, Ireland from 1985 to the summer of 1988. My grandparents owned the <a href="https://www.viennawoodshotel.com/">Vienna Woods Hotel</a> and my family operated it. We lived in a bungalow at the top of the hill, above the hotel and surrounded by woods. We kept the wood open and maintained the paths. Some of the growth was ancient and some ornamental from the time the hotel was a private home. It was an amazing place to grow up.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I take terrible selfies. <br />I concentrate too much on the mechanics.</td></tr>
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My husband, two daughters, and I visited Ireland this past summer. My eldest daughter, then thirteen, was the same age I was when we left. I tried to share my experiences but the hotel and grounds had changed so much that I felt very little connection and the lack was heartbreaking. I had built this homecoming experience up so much that nothing could have matched the expectation. The saddest part was that the wood was completely inaccessible and even the main opening at the top of the hill was blocked by dumping. One owner at some point had used the wood as their own private waste<br />
disposal for debris from expanding the hotel (it is now about 3 times the size of the original structure). For the record, the hotel was in great condition, the staff welcoming (surprisingly so considering I was probably really weird), and the restaurant experience great. We stayed in a vacation bungalow.<br />
<br />
I need to go back and spend time not being a tourist and just let myself experience Ireland slowly, day to day. I know I will and soon, but in the meantime I hold on to memories of belonging that I never had again after moving back to the states.<br />
<br />
One of my manuscripts in progress is set on the grounds of the Vienna Woods (although morphed for my creative use because a writer I am all powerful). The premise is that a woman returns to the Ireland seeking the connection she'd had to the land, an elemental power within the earth, something that pulsed through the forest itself. Due to disrespect and greed the forest is in peril and with it the spirit that feeds nature itself. This story is a paranormal romantic suspense with only the seeds of my own life experiences at its core. This is <i>The Gift</i> meets <i>Quiet Man </i>meets <i>Avatar</i> and is quirky and creepy and endearing all at once. I look forward to actually finishing it to my satisfaction (I have finished it twice now :(, but both went in the wrong direction).<br />
<br />
Click below to read a selection from the manuscript when Gillian first steps into the wood after thirty years away.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br /><br />
Excerpt:<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
Tendrils of blue electricity glowed
and crackled, hovering over the misty earth. Reaching with fingers of light, it
sought her out. Gillian watched, mesmerized, unsure if she should run away or
give herself to the power one more time. Fear and excitement paralyzed her and
all she could do was wait as the living lightning snaked closer, a pulsing
stream of incandescence, kinking and curling as it crawled. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
All she had to do
was show herself, take two steps into the open, and it would touch her, filling
her with its earthy energy and memories, knowledge of things she had no right
to know. It was tantalizing and, she shivered, scary. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Really, really scary</i>. Whenever it happened, she never knew if she
would ever find herself again. Then that last time…<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
Gillian blinked
against the still bright sunlight of the summer evening, the memory of the old
dream fading as reality settled in. No longer a child hiding from some
fantastical floating light, she knew better now. Experience of years, too many
years, schooled her in the harsh realities of life. There was no magic in the
forest and never had been; her dreams were based solely on the over-active
imagination of a child.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
The last time
she’d stood here, holding her breath in anticipation at the lower mouth of the
woods on the once-paved carriage path of long dead aristocrats, she’d been a
teenager in tears about leaving Ireland. Now, a thirty-five year old widow with
a daughter in college, she didn’t feel any different. The wood before her was
just as dark and ominous, and lush and beckoning, as it had been all those
years ago.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
Her Wellingtons
squelched as she shifted within the sodden indents of the manicured lawn. She
tucked a stray wisp of white blond hair back under her bandanna and
straightened her gloves, ready to work. With a resolute nod, she stomped
forward through the wet morning into the shade of the trees. She had nothing to
fear here. She was an adult, experienced in forestry and ready to respect the
biodiversity that lay before her. The forest would be her friend once more, if
not on a magical plane, then on a basic, fundamental one. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
She came to save
it. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
Gillian crouched
low and picked at blistering bark at the exposed root of an old oak, exposing
dark sap. Even the soil around the base of the trunk had a fetid stench, something
completely foreign to her sensory memory of the wood. The scent she remembered
was earthy and green, this had a touch of hot garbage. There was some sort of
disease at play she hadn’t seen before; never in her research or hands-on work
with the department of forestry in Flagstaff, Arizona. She took a few
photographs of the decay, a sample of the staining sap, and made a note of the
location for her report. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
So much and so
little had changed in the wood at Bailey Towers since she’d left. Expansion of
the hotel itself meant the forest served as inexpensive waste disposal for the
blasted limestone from the hillside. Still, with piles of rubble haphazardly
dumped without regard to the growth in the wood, life flourished. If she hadn’t
remembered so exactly the paths and rises, she might not have even noticed the
dumping ground. Now covered in ivy, ferns, and rampant holly bushes, the rubble
blended in. The forest had claimed it with the most basic of motives—life. Now
something threatened that life.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
Closing her eyes,
she tried to remember that sense of connection from all the years past. Silence
surrounded her, the intensity of it punctuated by the light thrumming of
drizzle on the canopy above. She shook her head and continued her trek back
toward temporary shelter from the increasing spring rain. Bluebells, vibrant
drops of sky scattered throughout the thick green carpet of the forest, swayed
and bobbed in the wake of her passing. This was how she remembered the wood,
vibrant and glorious.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br /></div>
Erin Kane Spockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05376851676240606472noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3937582163976319064.post-62818683227163747752019-02-01T12:25:00.001-08:002019-02-01T12:25:21.364-08:00Do the Thing<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
There are so many things I intend to do... eventually. I put them off because I'm lazy, afraid, or awkward in general.<br />
<br />
This past year has taught me that you may not get that eventual opportunity and then regret sinks in. So do that thing, whatever it is. Whether you think it's for you or someone else, it's actually for you because living with NOT doing it is your burden.<br />
<br />
So here's a public service announcement:<br />
<br />
Paint that picture even if it may be horrible. Write the books and stop all the excuses. Go to France and try to speak the French you learned, even if it's not good enough. Clean up the pile in the corner and give the costumes to someone who can use them. Make that doctor appointment you've been avoiding. Put together the photo album you meant to do fifteen years ago. Tell that person you love them even if it's awkward and uncomfortable -- it will be worse when you no longer have the opportunity. Eventually they will be gone. Eventually <b>you</b> will be gone. Make your mark and do it with gusto. With chutzpah. With excitement. Be fearless. Do it because you still can.<br />
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<br />
No, I am not ill or dying (besides general fact that we're all dying), but my family has dealt with loss this past year and reminded me that time is short.<br />
<br />
All the things I listed above, I should do them (maybe not the France thing, not right away at least). Right now I'm writing one of the books, book one of The Merry Midwives of Windshear Abbey. Then I'll write the next one. Funny how that's less daunting than the pile of crates in the corner full of Elizabethan costumes.<br />
<br />
What thing are you going to do?</div>
Erin Kane Spockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05376851676240606472noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3937582163976319064.post-44880462889255503412018-12-17T12:05:00.000-08:002018-12-17T12:05:09.924-08:00Love Thyself<b>This is, in part, about the word "fat," but mainly about allowing yourself to be beautiful.</b><br />
<br />
I first discovered I was fat when I was 13 and my mother put me on a <a href="https://slimfast.com/?gclid=Cj0KCQiA_4jgBRDhARIsADezXcj9xLGaT6FWCoZBKn2LKTWyNg_0POQt3ZThyHl7hRQ0jkpqMUJgHTwaAs-3EALw_wcB">Slimfast</a> diet. I was 5' 7" and about 130 lbs (which is actually underweight for that height). My body was still figuring itself out and it would later settle in a curvaceous 38-24-36... and I still thought I was fat. I wore over-sized clothes and, even though I was in dance and had legs of iron, never wore shorts. By the end of my senior year I figured out that I shouldn't be ashamed of my body, but I still thought I was fat because I wasn't skinny.<br />
<br />
I haven't used the word "fat" to describe myself or anyone else in over fourteen years. What changed? I had a daughter and an epiphany about self-love. <i>I</i> am not fat, I <i>have</i> fat. I have more fat than I should for my height and it's not healthy, but it has nothing to do with how I face the world or my sense of worth. If I want to lose weight it is for health, not to meet someone else's standards. I can feel more attractive at a size 16 than I did at a size 8. When I hear someone complain about or judge someone for being fat I cringe at the word as strongly as I might if they used a racial slur.<br />
<br />
I now have two daughters, both young teens and nature is working itself out. One has very, very low body fat, that's how she's built. One is more like teenage me, and that's how she's built. I have tried to promote portion size and nutritional values, but I don't teach calories. They know I am overweight and need to exercise for my health. They encourage me to exercise because they love me, not because I should meet some standard of beauty. I don't want "fat" to become part of their regular vocabulary or value system. They will face plenty of struggles in their lives without the ever-present specter of being fat or being afraid of being fat following them constantly.<br />
<br />
<b>How does this relate to writing:</b><br />
<br />
Romance heroines are beautiful... but what does that mean? In my first draft I wrote Frances LeSieur as so-so (with or without the makeover). Not unattractive, but not stunning. I wanted the sense of her beauty to shine more and more and Henry fell in love with her. My beta reader's feedback said I should change that. Why? Because romance has that element of fantasy full of beautiful people.<br />
<br />
The rest of my heroines are, so far and forevermore will be, beautiful. That doesn't mean they will be created from cookie cutters from Playboy.<br />
<br />
Beauty is so many things. Frances is a size 8-10 and has a body that has born five babies. Mary is too slim to be fashionable then but would be adequate today in a size 2-4. In her era, however, this was not a positive trait. Jane (coming soon in <i>Courtly Abandon</i>) is petite and curvaceous in a way that wouldn't fit most clothing today--she would have to shop in the petite plus size section (she is, in fact, more in line with the standard of beauty appropriate to the era). While none of these ladies are a 2XL (yet) they are beautiful in their own ways and highly attractive to their mate.<br />
<br />
None of them worry about being fat. None of their friends complain to them about their fat legs or pooch or flabby arms. It's a non-issue. Mary is a little self-conscious about a very toothy smile and tries to emphasize her bust, but, out of all of them, she might bemoan NOT having more girth.<br />
<br />
If I had to whittle this down to my main points it would be that beauty is subjective and something we force on ourselves, so why destroy it with self-hatred? Romance novel heroines may be figures of beauty (in the book, based on the book's standards) but even there there is no standard they all meet. They find what is beautiful about themselves and learn they are worth the effort of claiming happiness.<br />
<br />
I have fat and I am not thin, but I am me I am beautiful in my way.<br />
<br />
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<h4 class="product__heading" style="background-color: #f2f2f2; box-sizing: border-box; color: #444c59; font-family: Calibri, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; letter-spacing: 0.1em; line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-top: 10px; text-align: center; text-transform: uppercase;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">VENUS, AN ORGANIST AND A LITTLE DOG BY TITIAN (1488-1576)</span></h4>
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<br />Erin Kane Spockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05376851676240606472noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3937582163976319064.post-29755059250107319932018-12-01T13:01:00.000-08:002018-12-01T13:01:55.470-08:00Extended Imaginary Epilogue<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i>Courtly Scandals </i>is set over the twelve days of Christmas. This means Mary and Charles have twelve days to find their happily ever after. While the fates (me) put them in the position to find each other and have a common goal binding them, it's hard to pave the way for them to have a viable future. Sex is easy (although it's something I have difficulty writing, especially with my kids not respecting the fact that I REALLY am working right now), it's the possibilities of what will come next that is really tricky.<br />
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I like to see the potential for success in their relationship. Marriage is tricky and the infatuation based love that comes from our innate instinct to mate and reproduce, is not a long lasting condition. This means the couple has to be able to be friends and have similar values when it comes to fidelity, honor, and the willingness to work on staying in love. This is why I have trouble suspending disbelief for the tropes of the maiden and the rake, especially if there is a broad age difference.<br />
<br />
Personally, I write beta males that can be alpha when needed. Don't get me wrong, they're confident, strong, attractive, and smart but they are not pushy. While the man who takes what is his can be sexy in an escapist fantasy, I want a man who listens and respects the woman he loves. That sort of man would never push a woman to the point where, even though she was saying no, her body was saying yes. He would never steamroll over her dreams. It's not just about consent, it's about trust and friendship. I have a hard time visualizing alpha males being true partners as parents or supporting their wife while she deals with depression or what-have-you. The alpha is so set as himself that it would be hard to grow and change with his partner.<br />
<br />
While I do write epilogues that give the flavor of what comes next, it would be fun to do something ten or twenty years down the road. <a href="https://juliaquinn.com/">Julia Quinn</a> re-released some of her books with extended epilogues and I bought them even though I owned the originals (and loved them). I love seeing what happens next. Romance is so full of potential and hope--it helps promote faith in humanity to see that potential realized. Love can work if you work it and, I think, my characters can stand the test of time. For all that romance is fantasy, it's a good model for life and can help guide good choices for big decisions, even if it's not easy. There's a quote on Julia Quinn's page that says:<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<em style="background-color: white; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #430047; font-family: Alegreya, serif; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: large;">“In some ways, portraying a </span></em></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<em style="background-color: white; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #430047; font-family: Alegreya, serif; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: large;">healthy relationship in literature</span></em></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<em style="background-color: white; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #430047; font-family: Alegreya, serif; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: large;"> is the most revolutionary </span></em></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<em style="background-color: white; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #430047; font-family: Alegreya, serif; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: large;">thing you can do.” </span></em></div>
<em style="background-color: white; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #430047; font-family: Alegreya, serif; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"></em><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<em style="background-color: white; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #430047; font-family: Alegreya, serif; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><em style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: large;">—Julia Quinn</span></em></em></div>
<em style="background-color: white; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #430047; font-family: Alegreya, serif; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
</em><br />
<br />
When you read romance do you think about what comes next?</div>
Erin Kane Spockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05376851676240606472noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3937582163976319064.post-55516754632585517362018-10-27T16:54:00.001-07:002018-10-27T16:54:13.287-07:00Thank You for Happily-Ever-Afters<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Romance gets a bad rap for being formulaic. The truth is that the genre of romance only has two requirements.<br />
1. It has a central love story.<br />
2. It has an emotionally satisfying happily ever after.<br />
<br />
Other than these two guidelines, romance can be anything. I'm not going to jump into a rhetoric of the vast possibilities within the genre versus the stereotypes because that will get me on a self-righteous rant and that is not the purpose of this blog.<br />
<br />
So what <i>is</i> the purpose of this blog post?<br />
<br />
This is a thank you to the romance genre as a whole for giving me the promise of escape into a world where good wins and love conquers everything. Thank you to romance writers who introduce me to beautifully flawed characters and reinforce that perseverance in the face of adversity can lead to happiness. Thank you for feeding my optimism and sense of hope.<br />
<br />
Without going into details, this summer was the worst of my life and, I feel confident to assume, my husband and daughters' lives. My youngest daughter and I were able escape the world into our books. She flew through everything Rick Riordan. Among others, I read Alyssa Cole, Kristin Higgins, Elizabeth Hoyt, Kianna Alexander, and re-read some Julia Quinn because I needed the warm hug and affirmation these books promised. I had to put down Ken Follett because I wasn't in a strong emotional place to take the gritty darkness without a promise that it would all end well.<br />
<br />
So thank you to all the happily-ever-afters that give us hope. I needed it and now I can get back to writing it.<br />
<span id="goog_386593330"></span><span id="goog_386593331"></span><br />
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Erin Kane Spockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05376851676240606472noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3937582163976319064.post-53502749182453271612018-09-11T08:30:00.000-07:002018-09-11T08:30:35.134-07:00Research May Kill Me Yet<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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What is the bare minimum of people/artisans/laborers to run a subsistence level medieval town?<br />
<br />
What are the Elizabethan laws about women artisans? And do those apply outside London? If so, how are they regulated?<br />
<br />
Learn more about medieval:<br />
Thatching<br />
Brewing<br />
Laundry<br />
White washing<br />
Sewage solutions<br />
<br />
Can you dig a fresh water well on a cliff near the sea?<br />
<br />
How would an architect find skilled labor in the middle of nowhere?<br />
<br />
If a countess was a guest in the home of a knight's wife, would precedence still favor the countess or the hostess?<br />
<br />
What is the bare minimum of staff a gentleman's house can have? What roles are filled by women? Could they be?<br />
<br />
I am taking the bones of a medieval town and reworking it into a feminine utopia and, while fantasy is implicit in romance, I'm not sure how much I can get away with in regard to reasonably flipping historical norms on their head. Part of the challenge and appeal is the unorthodox nature of Windshear Abbey. Within my story, my reinvented standards are born from necessity and survival, but there's only so much change you can throw at a medieval peasant and it has to make sense. This means a lot of sociology, anthropology, and history research on my part. While courtly norms at this time were specific to the Elizabethans (and I am very comfortable with these), not much changed in the small towns or among the working poor far away from urban centers so it's safe to use medieval models. But that doesn't make it easier. It's such a BIG undertaking and is getting in the way of actually writing the story itself.<br />
<br />
The good news is that once I've built my foundation in this book I'll be free to write forward within my established norms in the unlimited potential of the Merry Wives of Windshear Abbey. I have so many ideas percolating and can't wait until these stories start to tell themselves.<br />
<br />
In the meantime, can you have successful beehives on a coastal cliff?<br />
How do you make beeswax candles?<br />
How long can a milk cow healthily produce?<br />
How much acreage could three women plant and harvest?<br />
Would a small town have seeds to sell or only enough to plant for themselves?</div>
Erin Kane Spockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05376851676240606472noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3937582163976319064.post-33372356784058314512018-07-26T17:27:00.000-07:002018-08-06T11:55:36.765-07:00Celebrating Successes<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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By the time <i>Courtly Pleasures </i>was released I was thick into edits for <a href="https://amzn.to/2uQteqo"><i>Courtly Scandals</i></a>. My husband wanted to have a release date party but it was on a Monday and it was my Mom's birthday and the kids had dance class... can we do it later? Or maybe after the series comes out?<br />
<br />
We never did it and I didn't mind. I felt weird about celebrating myself, especially when there was so much to be done.<br />
<br />
Fast forward six months to the 2018 Romance Writer's of America national conference in Denver and there I sat, at my first conference as a published author, feeling just as awkward as I always had. Not much had changed. I was still working toward whatever was supposed to come next but, unlike that first conference years ago, it was without a sense of joy. Instead I was stressed out about the books I haven't written yet and needed to write yesterday.<br />
<br />
What happened to me? I should be<i> more</i> excited,<i> more</i> innovative, <i>more</i> confident and productive... right?<br />
<br />
I was in a workshop given by <a href="https://baneofyourresistance.com/">Rosanne Bane</a> about ways to get past writer's block and had a moment of personal insight. The entirety of her workshop had to do with the physiological function of the brain and the way it responds to stress and, in turn, the way we, as writers, respond (usually by creatively shutting down). She gave a list of better brain responses and the way to train myself to shut down my limbic system response and get back into the creativity of my cortex. The <a href="https://baneofyourresistance.files.wordpress.com/2018/07/pdf-of-rwa-2018-powerpoint5.pdf">PowerPoint is available to you here</a>.<br />
<br />
Her points were easily understandable, the solutions reasonable, and I have already started to change my approaches to self care.<br />
<br />
One point she made, more of a side note in the section about the lateral habenula (the teeny tiny section within the limbic system that decreases dopamine) was to follow through on rewards. She advised us to set incremental goals with corresponding rewards for goal completion. I never did this because I was always too busy with the next step. How simple would it be to take the time to pause and congratulate myself? To be proud and excited and feel successful? Instead I jump right back in and feel only the weight of everything else left undone.<br />
<br />
I should have celebrated that contract and the first round of edits. I should have celebrated the second and third round of edits and the book cover. All of these milestones along my journey deserved a moment of acknowledgement. I deserve to acknowledge my own successes as they come. Writing a book, following through, publishing... all of that is hard work and I wouldn't do it, couldn't do it, if I didn't believe in myself. I don't know if it's false humility or that I'm just an absolute buzz-kill, but I feel guilty being proud of myself and celebrating myself and I think it has put a big fat damper on my joy about my craft.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">SO...</span><br />
<br />
I'm going to set goals (baby-steps) and celebrate myself when I achieve them. I don't think it's a carrot on a stick--I think it's allowing myself to write without worrying about everything I could be doing better and just <i>do it</i>. After all, If I'm not writing forward, I'm accomplishing nothing. So huzzah for me.<br />
<br />
Current goal: build sexual tension between my main characters (which is rough because she just had a baby and had been abandoned by her husband before she even knew she was pregnant). It's easier said than done because every time I write, she gets irritable and irrationally suspicious Once I accomplish this I will get a pedicure as a reward and celebration.<br />
<br />
Do you reward yourself for goal completion?<br />
<br />
<br />
***Note 8/5/18: I finished the chapter that I was struggling with in regard to building sexual tension and then I did NOT go for the promised pedicure because I felt like the reward was bigger than the goal and added a new section to the goal (to lay the foundation for a future conflict) and have not been able to write anything since. I think I need to 1. get that pedicure and 2. make sure my rewards are of like weight with the goal. In this case I should have promised myself a cookie.<br />
<br /></div>
Erin Kane Spockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05376851676240606472noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3937582163976319064.post-78222396586661696892018-06-18T12:19:00.000-07:002018-07-27T10:21:48.704-07:00Summer!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I am a teacher from a family of teachers and having a summer break is the norm for me. In my young adult life, pre-teaching, it was reality check when I had a serious job and had to work year round. As a teacher, I really do need the summer or I wouldn't be able to face my new batch of students with a sense of optimism. I teach middle school and the kids test my limits each day and, every morning, I start again by giving them a clean slate and a chance to make good choices about kindness, self-respect and respect for others, accountability, honesty, and character. Sometimes they do. By the end of the year I'm a hairsbreadth away from my spirit being broken and I need the summer to emotionally heal and put me in the right mind-set to start that challenge all over again.<br />
<br />
The good news is that my school year is finally finished. My class is clean-ish and packed up. I have put the polite auto-response on my school email. This means the summer is MINE. From now until August 14th (which, coincidentally, is my birthday) I am free. Sort of.<br />
<br />
During the summer I am a real writer. Writing becomes my job, not just something I squeeze in around everything else. It's great for my acceptance of myself as an author, to have that time where I can take myself more seriously. It's not just a hobby. It helps that the Romance Writers of America annual conference is in July. It gives me a professional goal to work toward which keeps me on my self-imposed deadlines and makes me wear pants. This conference I hope to find a home for my Courtly Love book 3, <i>Courtly Abandon</i>. I will not be signing this year, but I look forward to seeing many of my peers (and taking home oodles of books). The first book of my new series won't be finished, but I'm laying a fertile foundation with my setting and my characters are slowly becoming themselves and starting to tell me their story. Surprisingly, I even wrote a synopsis (blame my critique partner for making me organized) which is something I usually struggle with <i>after</i> the book is finished. It's my hope that the finished manuscript resembles my synopsis, but I never really know what direction my characters will take me. It's a mystery.<br />
<br />
I hope you have a great summer. My family and I will be visiting Ireland next week. I lived there as a child. It's been thirty years since I've been there and I can't wait to share it with my husband and daughters. I'll include some pictures in my next blog post. The image below is of me and my brother (circa 1986) in the wood at <a href="https://www.viennawoodshotel.com/">Vienna Woods Hotel</a> in Glanmire, Co Cork.<br />
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What are you doing this summer?<br />
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Erin Kane Spockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05376851676240606472noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3937582163976319064.post-8703857232352195992018-06-01T10:13:00.000-07:002018-06-01T10:13:15.865-07:00Sneak Peak at Courtly Abandon<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i>Courtly Abandon</i>, book three of Courtly Love, was scheduled to be released by Crimson Romance in July. Due to the kerfuffle (to put it lightly) with Simon & Schuster, that has been cancelled. The good news is that the rights have been returned to me and I'm currently working toward getting it placed with another publisher. I am optimistic it will happen. Eventually.<br />
<br />
<i>Courtly Abandon</i> is the story of Mistress Jane Radclyffe, one of Frances LeSieur's gentlewomen companions. Jane is a firecracker. She knows herself and what she wants. Jane's journey is, perhaps, the rockiest on a personal level because she never considered her real motivations toward her objectives. Out of the three Courtly Love books, Jane's story is the most honest love story. While it has moments that go past silly and right into ridiculous (I can't help myself) it has equal moments of joy, pain, hope, and the strength to grab on to happiness and not let go. There is no lurking bad guy (the bad guy(s) is/are right there, in your face), no intrigue, no conspiracies, no mystery to solve - just good, bad, and in-between courtiers in the country and the shenanigans that ensue.<br />
<br />
Here is a sneak peak at the opening chapter of <i>Courtly Abandon</i>.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Chapter One<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Holme LeSieur, Nottinghamshire, 1573<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
If being ladylike meant wearing
corsets everyday, Jane would just have to suffer through it. Even in one of her
less ornate courtly gowns, a wool dress more suited to her station, she had to
wear the full ensemble complete with corset, bumroll, and farthingale. Given
the confines of fashion, this was as comfortable as it was going to be. At
least the wool was fine and the moss green dye even and smooth. Of all the
gowns she bought when she visited Queen Elizabeth’s court at the end of last
summer, this was the plainest, but even this one was trimmed in rich forest
velvet. It seemed silly to get done up for a dance lesson but if she wanted to
get used to movement in courtly gowns, she had to actually <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">wear</i> them.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
She locked her
chamber door behind her, tucked the key into her bosom, and practiced walking
gracefully down the corridor. She imagined herself gliding, her hem just
dusting the floor. Instead her legs became the clapper for the bell of her
skirts. If she bent her knees a little with each step and tucked her hips
forward, her skirts did not sway so much. Walking like this must make her at
least an inch or two shorter—at barely an inch over five feet, she did not have
much height to spare. If ladylike decorum meant shrinking, she wasn’t sure it
was worth it. Cursing at her self-defeating attitude, she continued to put one
awkward foot in front of the other. The woven rush mat covering the floorboards
seemed to go on forever.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“Mistress Jane!” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
The high squeal
was the only warning she had before little Elizabeth LeSieur barreled into her
arms. Luckily, Jane’s somewhat crouched walk gave her the stability not to fall
flat on her back. She settled herself and shook out her skirts to fix the hem while
<st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Elizabeth</st1:place></st1:city> babbled
excitedly.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“<st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Elizabeth</st1:place></st1:city>, what has gotten into you?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
She was gyrating
in place. “Mother has brought in a new tutor. Master Percy is a gentleman and
able to give dance instruction in the Italianate mode. I met him yesterday and
he helped me learn a song. But today we are dancing!” She twirled once more and
the ribbon slipped off the end of her braid.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
Pausing only for a
moment at the name, Jane picked up the ribbon and gestured <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Elizabeth</st1:place></st1:city> to stand before her. Percy was a
common enough name among the gentry—besides, what would her Percy be doing as a
tutor? A dance instructor, no less! “You have had dance lessons for years.” She
replaited the errant strands and fastened the ribbon. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“Yes, but only in
country and French. The French dances are so boring. These new ones, the
Italianate ones, those are what the ladies do at court.” <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Elizabeth</st1:place></st1:city> did a series of mock steps in a
circle that was probably intended to look courtly. “Mama says if I am to be a
lady, I must know the dances. She told me to make sure you joined in—that you
need the practice.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
Jane groaned
inwardly. She’d had that same lecture from Frances herself. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“Well then, let us
march forth and meet our fate.” Jane took <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Elizabeth</st1:place></st1:city>
by the hand as they reached the stairwell. “Today we shall both continue on our
quest to become proper ladies.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Elizabeth</st1:place></st1:city> giggled and hopped down the steps,
two feet at a time. “Oh Mistress Jane, you cannot be a lady. You are my
friend.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“You have no idea
how correct you are.” Jane smiled as she stepped onto the landing of the second
floor and crossed the broad balcony to turn and head down to the first floor. <st1:time hour="12" minute="0" w:st="on">Midday</st1:time> light poured through the long,
narrow windows, sending shafts of sunlight to guide their way to the main hall.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
Together, they
pushed open the heavy double doors leading to the massive room at the center of
the great home. The great hall served for banquets, as a ballroom, and for
tenant meetings with the magistrate of the Nottinghamshire, Master Henry LeSieur.
The polished oak floors were usually covered in braided rush mats, but in honor
of the dancing lessons, a quarter of the room had been cleared. For the first
time, Jane saw how Holme LeSieur could indeed host visiting nobility. Perhaps Frances’s
house party idea would be a great success.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“Ladies, pray sit
you down. The fiddler will be joining us anon.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
At the sound of
his voice, Jane’s eyes flew to the young man sitting by the massive fire place.
He rose and walked toward them, as proper as a gentleman scholar should be.
Stopping to reverance, he shifted his weight back and lowered himself on the
one leg while presenting the other forward, his slippered foot pointed and his
calf taut beneath the fine wool of his hosen. Hat over his heart, he met her
eye without any sign of recognition.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Mistress Radclyffe, I am Master Percy Mortimer.
I will serve to tutor you in dancing for these next weeks.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
Jane stood rooted
to the floor, her heart pounding in her throat. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Percy was here!</i> She swallowed and remembered to breathe. Somehow
she found the presence of mind to reverance in turn, acknowledging a respectful
meeting of equals. “God give you good den, Master Percy.” Her voice was barely
a whisper. “What would you have of us?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
He directed them
to sit on the chaise before the fire and began talking about something.
Dancing.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
God’s blood, what
was Percy doing here? Why hadn’t anyone told her he was here? Why hadn’t he
sought her out?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
She sat in stunned
silence, just staring at him while he continued his discussion about… French <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">bransles</i>. How could he talk about
dancing at a time like this? <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
He had changed so
much; he was bigger now—a man. Still, with those thick sandy lashes and the
serious set to his jaw, she would recognize him anywhere. She had not seen him
since her marriage five years ago, since the day he told her he loved her… <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">How could he talk about dancing at a time
like this?<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
Well, he was the LeSieur’s
tutor—he was doing his job. Wait, why had he become a tutor?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“Mistress
Radclyffe, are you well?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
Jane looked up
into Percy’s heavy lidded, hazel eyes. His face was so close, she wanted to
reach out and drag her fingertips across the hint of shadow on his chin, down
his neck, beneath his proper pleated collar. His tawny curls, tied back, secure
under his velvet cap, showed no hint of sun kiss the way they used to. He had
always been serious when it came to scholarship, but the intensity in his eyes
made her step back. After all these years... and here he was. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
She wasn’t sure if
she should laugh or cry.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“You have
surprised me, Mistress Radclyffe. I would have thought you more in control of
yourself. After all, you are a grown woman. Married once, soon to be married
again, if I hear correctly.”<br />
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Just as tall, but no longer
lanky, his broad shoulders dwarfed her in a way that made her feel vulnerable.
She had always been safe with Percy, the Percy she knew years ago. This was a
man she’d never met before and she felt anything but safe. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“Pray excuse me,
Elizabeth. I am not well.” She rose as gracefully as she could. “Master Percy,
I thank you for your concern. Allow me to bid you welcome to Holme LeSieur. I
am sorry, but I must postpone this dance lesson. I look forward to meeting with
you another time.” She babbled as she rose and left the room, uncaring about
the sway of her skirts.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
Percy was here,
handsome as ever. Eloquent, educated Percy. She had never understood what he
had seen in her back then, but one thing was clear—he did not love her any
longer. During everything she had endured over the past years, she had clung to
the knowledge that he loved her.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
She didn’t know if
she could handle the next steps of her life without the comfort of that
thought.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
*<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
Percy cleared his throat, hoping
the lump there would dissolve. Seeing Jane again after five years had been
harder than he had anticipated. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“Master Percy,
when can we learn the newer dances?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
Percy smiled at
his young charge. She deserved his attention. “When I know you understand the
subtlety of the old. The break between the steps is a full stop, a rest. You
are, ever so briefly, no longer in motion with no thought that you will move.
But then you surprise yourself and you do move. Try to discern the difference.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
He could tell from
<st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Elizabeth</st1:place></st1:city>’s
expression that she saw no difference. Ah, well, she was only seven.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
He had last seen
Jane at her wedding ceremony. Her parents had arranged the marriage with the
neighboring landowner. Jane had done what she was told despite the fact that
she said she loved him. But then, why would a gentlewoman run away with him, a
third son with no hope of inheritance, when she could be lady of the manor? She<span class="MsoPageNumber">’d told him he lived in a fantasy and married that old man
as if to spite him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
He’d left to
finish university within the week and never saw her again. A couple years later
he’d heard that old Howard Radclyffe had died, but he refused to wonder what
had become of Jane. She had made her decision.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
Then again, could
she really have chosen him? At sixteen she was still in her minority and would
have required her father’s blessing to marry. He’d been only nineteen himself. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
He knew, with his
rational mind, that she had made the smart choice. That didn’t mean he could forgive
her for breaking his heart.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
The years had only
made her more beautiful, if not any taller. Little Jane, elfin and full of
laughter, so tiny he could rest his chin on the top of her head. Petite, or
not, there was no denying she was a woman—of course, stylish court dresses
showed much more than the gowns she used to wear. Though still sweet, her face
had more angles, more personality than the childish softness he remembered. A
vibrant blue, her eyes stood out beneath her gold brow and lashes. She had this
habit of biting her full lower lip when she was nervous. It always drew his
eye. If it weren’t for that involuntary expression, he might have thought the
Jane he knew was gone entirely, lost behind perfectly coiled hair, courtly
attire, and refined manners. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
For all that she
was bundled in a courtly gown, she vibrated with an energy he had never
understood. His Jane longed to be outdoors, to live life instead of sitting and
waiting for the appropriate moments. But she wasn’t<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> his</i> Jane any longer. No, she was the widowed Mistress Radclyffe
and in the market for a new husband. She had fully accepted the role of a lady.
Did she even remember the wild daughter of the forest she once was?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
He should have
thanked Mistress LeSieur for the position and then made his apologies and left
the minute he’d heard Jane lived here. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Master Percy, am I not doing it correctly?” <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Elizabeth</st1:place></st1:city>’s plaintive
voice broke through his musings. She wore a worried look and was continuing her
double <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">bansles</i> in a circle, clearly
trying very hard to make the pause between sets obvious.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“I am sorry I got
lost in my musings. I did not mean to ignore you.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“Oh, you were
ignoring me. That is much better than being cross. You looked as if you were
angry.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“Again, my
apologies. I am not angry with you.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“Are you angry
with Mistress Jane then? I am sad she had to leave—she looked so lovely in her dress.
I wanted to see her dance. I never knew she was a lady.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“I am not angry
with anyone, Mistress Elizabeth. Now, you have done quite well. We will resume
dancing on the morrow and learn about the meaning behind the Italianate steps.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“They mean
things?” Elizabeth’s bewilderment clear in her voice.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“Oh, yes.” Percy
continued, lowering himself to his haunches, eye level with his young charge. “Italianate
dances tell stories. Each step means something different and all the steps work
together toward a grand ending. Some stories are funny, some make no sense…”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“Why would we tell
a story that makes no sense?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“Why, are you
never silly? Some of the great choreographers played subtle jokes on the
dancers and the courts throughout Christendom with dances that built upon
themselves only to end in a fizzle.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“But that’s not
funny.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“If you know the
meaning of all the steps, it can be.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
It was clear <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Elizabeth</st1:place></st1:city> did not agree,
but it did not matter. Percy stood again. “So tomorrow we will study some of
the poetry from Classical Greece, then see how those poems and poets fit into
modern dances.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“Am I dismissed?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“Until tomorrow,
Mistress Elizabeth.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
Percy gestured <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Elizabeth</st1:place></st1:city> to stand after
her elegant reverance. She would make a wonderful little lady someday. She was
already being molded into a noble ideal. She would wed an earl, or at least a
baron, of her parent’s choosing. She probably already had ingrained beliefs
that title and wealth were the most important things in the world.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
Perhaps they were.
Perhaps he was the one with a skewed perspective. Too idealistic for his own
good, he would have walked across fire for one kiss from Jane. Moved mountains.
Love made everything possible—or so he had believed. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Elizabeth</st1:place></st1:city> left the room, the soles of her
soft slippers not making a sound. Percy concentrated on thinking through
tomorrow’s lesson as he dragged the segments of rush mats back into their
proper place.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“Master Percy.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
The authority in
Mistress LeSieur’s voice stopped him short. He turned and gave a low reverance.
“Mistress LeSieur, we have just finished our lesson.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
Was it his
imagination or did she linger longer than usual before gesturing for him rise?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“So I see. I also
noted that your lesson consisted of <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Elizabeth</st1:place></st1:city>
dancing a double <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">bransle</i> by herself
for more than ten minutes while you scowled.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“I beg your pardon
Mistress, but I did not scowl…”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“You scowled. And
then you dismissed her early.” She stepped into the room, toeing one corner of
the woven rug into place. “Your credentials are impeccable. Thus far you have
shown both skill and intuition in tutoring my daughter. I have been very
impressed.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“Thank you,
Mistress LeSieur.” Percy almost reveranced again, then thought the better of
it. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">was</i> impressed until now. What made today
so different?” She had hired him on the recommendation of her mother, but he
had no idea how far to trust that loyalty. She had been courteous with him so
far, but he hadn’t determined whether or not she was a kind woman.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
She sat on one of
the benches flanking the wall and smoothed out her skirts, waiting. He offered
no immediate answer and she let the silence endure, reminding him of one of his
more severe professors at <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Cambridge</st1:place></st1:city>.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“I have a prior
association with Jane… Mistress Radclyffe.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
The blunt truth
was out before he could question whether or not it was a good idea.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
For an instant,
there was a look of concern upon his employer’s face. “Jane.” She was silent a
moment longer before asking, “Pray expound.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“Years ago my
parents sent to me live with Baron Stratham and his family in preparation for
going to University. They had a son of similar age and an excellent tutor. They
live just east of the Ormondes in <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Somerset</st1:place></st1:city>.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
She grimaced,
breaking her gaze from his to straighten her gloves. They must have been badly
askew given her effort. “My own son, Robert, is currently being fostered with
my step-sister’s family.” She cleared her throat and met his eye once more. “I
will see him again at midsummer, then he will attend <st1:place w:st="on">Eton</st1:place>
in the autumn.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“It is a blessing
that he is able to be with family during this transition.” He couldn’t be sure,
but her eyes looked somewhat softer.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
Her smile seemed
softer this time. “And her husband, Master Radclyffe? He was local as well,
yes?” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“Master Howard
Radclyffe. His property all but encompassed <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Taunton</st1:placename> <st1:placename w:st="on">Cross</st1:placename>
<st1:placetype w:st="on">Park</st1:placetype></st1:place>, the Ormonde’s
estate.” Percy paused for a breath. “I met Mistress Radclyffe when she was
thirteen, three years before she married.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“I am sure she was
quite an… energetic, young lady.” What Mistress LeSieur did <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">not </i>say spoke volumes.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“She was high
spirited, yes. But she was very young.” The image of her laughing, skipping
through the tall grass as he strummed his lute. The lips that he had never
kissed curved in a smile that said more than she had known. What was she now? “She
was an innocent girl.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
Mistress LeSieur
raised an eyebrow, but did not naysay him. “You did not pay court to her?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“I could never do
so formally. Her value was in marriage, and I had no prospects at that time but
to find some sort of gainful employment, like tutoring, after my schooling. Her
father would not have accepted me.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“Ah, but would
Jane?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
She had seen right
through him. “No. After everything she chose to marry old Master Radclyffe.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
Mistress LeSieur
was silent for a moment that stretched on toward eternity. Percy had nothing
else to add<span class="MsoPageNumber"> and would not let her silence goad him
into saying what he should not. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="MsoPageNumber"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">That he could not
forgive Jane for hurting him. That he would always love her.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="MsoPageNumber">Spoken or not, he was under the impression that Mistress LeSieur
knew.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="MsoPageNumber">“Master Percy, understanding that Jane is like a part of
our family, do you think you should continue on in this household?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="MsoPageNumber">“In sooth, Mistress LeSieur, I do not know.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="MsoPageNumber">“Tell me this, then. Will Jane have a cause for complaint
at your presence?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="MsoPageNumber">“No, I have never caused her hurt.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="MsoPageNumber">“And never shall?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="MsoPageNumber">She was extracting a promise. He reveranced again as he
said, “Never maliciously.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="MsoPageNumber">Mistress LeSieur rose and straightened the line of her
overskirt so it was completely symmetrical on her forepart. “That is all I can
ask.” Her skirts brushed against his leg as she walked by, having not yet given
him leave to rise. “You make up your mind as to how much you can bear. In the
meantime, I expect you to be an exemplary tutor to my daughter. If you find you
are not able to act as a dance instructor to Jane, please let me know so I can
make alternative arrangements as soon as may be.” She crossed the room towards
the open double doors without even looking at him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span class="MsoPageNumber">“I will be professional and courteous. I apologize for my
earlier behavior.” Percy spoke almost under his breath.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span class="MsoPageNumber">He was surprised when Mistress LeSieur stopped short and
faced him. She stood still for just a moment before finally gesturing for him
to stand. “Mortimer is a common name hereabouts. What is the situation of your
birth?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="MsoPageNumber">Percy ignored the need to stretch after holding the reverance
position for so long. “My birth? I thought you knew.” What an interesting
question. “I am youngest of three sons. My father was the third Viscount of
Kingsley. My brother is the fourth Viscount of Kingsley, currently at Kingsley
Chase not far from here. Mortimer is one of the family names. I chose not to
use the full name, Mortimer Harrington, so as not to play upon the connection.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="MsoPageNumber">Frances’s laugh surprised him. It rang clear, echoing
throughout the empty hall. Still laughing, she turned and left the room.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Erin Kane Spockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05376851676240606472noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3937582163976319064.post-92067860912895726702018-05-25T09:42:00.001-07:002018-05-26T11:31:49.858-07:00To Reverance or Not to Reverance<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
So many historical romance readers are familiar with the curtsy. It is woven throughout period stories and almost is the norm for anything that is olde-timey (<== not a real word). However, just like the value of virginity, it is not true for ALL times. Particularly, not Tudor.<br />
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The curtsy is limited to women. It began it's life known as the courtesy which, as the word implies, was meant to show courtesy or respect to a better or peer. The woman would start feet in turn out, one behind the other, and lower themselves at the knee with their back straight. It is an action similar to a <span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%;">plié</span> in ballet.<br />
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What we now know as the curtsy evolved from the older reverance. In Italianate Renaissance dancing there is a move called the <i>riverenza</i>. Like a curtsy, it is similar to a <span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%;">plié</span> but with the feet parallel. This dance move marks the start of most of the Italian choreography of the period, and Italian dancing was considered very sophisticated and practiced by the English court. The Italian choreographer, Caroso, uses the<i> riverenza </i>while the French choreographer, Arbeau, uses reverance ( <== real word).<br />
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During this same period, the polite response to one's betters or peers was a reverance (often referred to in period pieces as a bow or curtsy, but the period term is reverance). This motion was done both by men and women. Stepping back with one foot, the other foot pointed and forward, the courtier would shift weight to their back leg and bend at the knee, holding the position until signaled to rise. This motion gave men an opportunity to "make a leg" and show off their calf muscles (they were wearing slippers with form fitting silken hose and slops that ended above the knee, their calf was the most exposed body part and consider sexy on a man). Women did the same, but only the toe of the slipper might be seen peeping out from the hem of her skirts.<br />
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A curtsy is faster, but a reverance is more elegant. It makes more a spectacle of showing respect. While the word was in existence in the 16th century, it was not the customary action for show of respect until toward the end of the 17th century. It is no longer in use, but it was during the Elizabethan era. Since I do not write in dialect, I try to use a scattering of period, though some are obsolete, words to give the flavor of the era. And, since what a modern reader may think of as a bow or a curtsy is not the same action as a reverance, I decided to stick with it. I deal with the foreign feel of the word by describing the action during the first example of it in each of my books.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpoMDooasjvgTX2swaiZeAlc5IpWAdscGhaXy-hBgshgrl5hXiNu0ylHALUYVe3dLl0CxnQF1iqKZs5ELSa6HcWZkwFa7UkfU9Fxl8NbTrH3WgmZsBX25J5Y1mOVKHIb856Ht0eoXIdLfm/s1600/the-queens-chamber+reverance.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="864" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpoMDooasjvgTX2swaiZeAlc5IpWAdscGhaXy-hBgshgrl5hXiNu0ylHALUYVe3dLl0CxnQF1iqKZs5ELSa6HcWZkwFa7UkfU9Fxl8NbTrH3WgmZsBX25J5Y1mOVKHIb856Ht0eoXIdLfm/s320/the-queens-chamber+reverance.jpg" width="320" /></a>When I first started writing fiction set in the Elizabethan era, I looked up the word. I wanted to make sure I was using the historically accurate phrase and action and not just adopting renaissance faire-isms. If you were to Google "reverance," they'd automatically show you results for "rever<b>e</b>nce." You have to actually select the small print that says "search instead for reverance" in order to see references to it. They're there, you just have to actually look for them instead of accepting the first Google option that says it's a misspelled word.<br />
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I had to fight to keep it in the book and, while it might have been easier to give in to the popular terminology even if they're not right for the period, I'm happy I kept it. I did put due diligence into being true to the era and <a href="http://courtlyromance.blogspot.com/2018/03/mistakes-in-print.html">though I made mistakes</a>, my choice to use use the reverance as the form of polite greeting was not one of them.<br />
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Erin Kane Spockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05376851676240606472noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3937582163976319064.post-63548190780173237182018-04-14T12:01:00.000-07:002018-04-14T14:36:26.830-07:00Cover Art<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOgZ8KD1-nI3dVKLPPflNTuhxcAl284t0FOXpOBbsanJGOUtzGlFIP0h7gXzFXX2qzUwzlyum9cTqG8ZlDAcjJCw4ixVgMQ-p8c4YIwmQPK2B30A2upvZRzfXGzr2QztGh5uBVph_awgNV/s1600/20180414_140028.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOgZ8KD1-nI3dVKLPPflNTuhxcAl284t0FOXpOBbsanJGOUtzGlFIP0h7gXzFXX2qzUwzlyum9cTqG8ZlDAcjJCw4ixVgMQ-p8c4YIwmQPK2B30A2upvZRzfXGzr2QztGh5uBVph_awgNV/s320/20180414_140028.jpg" width="180" /></a>As a reader of paperbacks, I would examine the cover each time I picked up the book. The cover was part of the experience. It helped set a mood. Those covers were not always successful. I have the misfortune of knowing a lot about historical costuming and it drove me nuts when I saw a zipper or a lack of undergarments. But the important part to take away is that I did pay a lot of attention to the cover. I have bought books based ONLY on the cover. In fact, I have copies of cover art framed in my home (the images featured to the right are from <i>The Snow Queen</i> and <i>The Summer Queen</i>, books I never quite enjoyed like I wanted to, with art by <a href="http://www.michaelwhelan.com/">Michael Wehlan</a>).<br />
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As a reader of eBooks, I only see the cover when I buy it, and even then it's usually a thumbnail. The cover has become less important than the blurb and reviews, whereas in a book store, the cover weighs more in my decision to buy or not to buy.<br />
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When I finished writing my first book, I fantasized about the cover. A candlelit glow with, the Elizabethan ruff undone to show the soft curve of her neck, a partially obscured woman with the center back of her early Elizabethan style dress loosely laced. I pictured specific models, gowns from specific scenes, and a subtle elegance more suited for historical fiction but with just a touch of sensuality (hence the laces).<br />
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The problem with my cover day-dreams is I am a writer, not a marketing expert or a cover designer. It was hard for me to give up my long cherished ideas and trust others to make the decision. Ultimately, whether I trusted the marketing people or not, I was not going to be the final word on the cover.<br />
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Throughout this process I have learned one important lesson about cover design: it doesn't matter how awesome it is if no one reads the book.<br />
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The most important thing about and eBook cover is that it <b>catches the reader's attention in a thumbnail</b>. All the nuances I imagined would be lost in that small image. It has to grab the reader in a split second so they'll click on it. There has to be a story in that single image and, for my books, the story needs to show that connection between the main characters, the physical chemistry in a moment of romantic fantasy. It's dream about happily-ever-afters. After the click, the book description will do the rest.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhrd_LflWnn6TYE5FuP98LhD-Im1YKaKkn5xjssTCaSupXKi4RGn6deWqZ3N7DqpGZI-k1IOB-gSuyo8JtL63r1POJpPE5Yoe3Bm6B18Rb3TJKFHgsCVO3U5yDvIwtQh4vsBadSTnd2lGn/s1600/cover+image+example.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="400" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhrd_LflWnn6TYE5FuP98LhD-Im1YKaKkn5xjssTCaSupXKi4RGn6deWqZ3N7DqpGZI-k1IOB-gSuyo8JtL63r1POJpPE5Yoe3Bm6B18Rb3TJKFHgsCVO3U5yDvIwtQh4vsBadSTnd2lGn/s320/cover+image+example.jpg" width="213" /></a><br />
In my case, I trusted my publisher to represent my books in a way that will a) sell and b) do both me and my publishing house credit. After all, a successful book is in both our best interests and they wouldn't sabotage themselves with a crumby cover.<br />
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My point in talking about all this?<br />
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If you are a reader and notice inconsistencies between the story and the cover, don't blame the author.<br />
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If you are a writer and are either working with a publisher or are self-publishing and choosing your own cover, consider what will get the reader's attention rather than something that will be that perfect representation you've always dreamed about. That dream cover is for you, but the cover has to be to grab the potential reader's attention. And, on the off-chance that your publisher selects a cover that is not to your liking, be professional about it.<br />
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The cover featured to the left is not one of my covers. It is from a stock image online retailer, <a href="http://romancenovelcovers.com/">RomanceNovelCovers.com</a> and a pre-made cover by Delle Jacobs<span id="goog_1715343072"></span><a href="https://www.blogger.com/"></a><span id="goog_1715343073"></span>. This is an image available for purchase. Do you think it would catch a reader's eye in a thumbnail? </div>
Erin Kane Spockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05376851676240606472noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3937582163976319064.post-5735982843300205962018-03-27T14:15:00.001-07:002018-03-28T10:07:27.624-07:00Homeless<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiECGhmeCaKFzD8QIFlpWu_KcVhNc5BmcodNq8uQ3tpnOpxnsuOwLO29wFVLKKubSS5lTwBAyVDfZ_FcuOa8UZFlhaFhZ8ytGVPsm35h9Pjqvko7Gxcdm9iE2d6ETbiT8EMeMBJwDjzGP-9/s1600/3256789558_3a938e17fa_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="350" height="113" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiECGhmeCaKFzD8QIFlpWu_KcVhNc5BmcodNq8uQ3tpnOpxnsuOwLO29wFVLKKubSS5lTwBAyVDfZ_FcuOa8UZFlhaFhZ8ytGVPsm35h9Pjqvko7Gxcdm9iE2d6ETbiT8EMeMBJwDjzGP-9/s200/3256789558_3a938e17fa_b.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
On March 12th, Simon & Schuster announced they were closing Crimson Romance.<br />
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Crimson Romance, an imprint of Simon & Schuster, is/was my publisher. While Simon & Schuster still holds the contracts on<i> Courtly Pleasures</i> and <i>Courtly Scandals</i> (released one week after closing), they reverted the rights of my third book, <i>Courtly Abandon</i> (which was scheduled for release on 7/2/18), back to me. This affected the entire staff of Crimson Romance (who got the news about the same time I did) and hundreds of authors.<br />
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What does any of this mean?<br />
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<i>Courtly Pleasures </i>and <i>Courtly Scandals</i> are still available at this time in eBook. <i>Courtly Pleasures</i> was supposed to available in print on 3/12/18, but that has been delayed and I'm not even certain if they will continue to support the print on demand for this title. Pre-order for the print version of <i>Courtly Scandals</i> was available until this morning, but that was probably just a matter of S&S having not gotten around to canceling it (which kept my hopes up). I am certain Amazon will be sending out the email shortly to any who have reordered alerting them to the cancellation.<br />
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My plan was to continue promoting my books as if nothing had happened. My husband is dealing with the next steps because this has been very difficult for me to process. I'll keep writing and he'll deal with the legal issues (which is a gift to me because, right now, <i>I just can't</i>). It's messy and I hate it. I'm only writing about this here to answer, calmly, like a rational person, the questions that will come from my friends and family having their orders cancelled.<br />
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The worst part, for me, was that I'd started thinking of myself as on a safe path. I've used the analogy of a race in the past, so I'll continue here: I thought writing a book, learning the industry, promoting my product, etc... was the first race with publication at the finish line. I have said that I never felt like I'd won, but that I'd just started a new race. Well, this has shown me that I'm still in that first race and, from here, it doesn't look like there is an end, just more hurdles. I was in a straightaway and lulled into a false sense of security. My publisher suddenly being closed was a major wake up call and I'm still reeling.<br />
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The good news? I have readers, I have two books out that are selling, and I have a completed third book (the best of the three, imo). I'm ready to pitch to publishers again, but I'm a better position than before. I may not be a featured author signing at a convention, but I'll be there with a viable product, sales numbers, and a little more faith in myself. I did it once, I can do it again. And maybe next time around the covers will be set in the right century (I can dream, right?).<br />
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In the meantime, if you look up <i>Courtly Scandals</i> on Amazon, it does not have any matches and asks if you meant "courtly sandals" but does suggest <i>Courtly Pleasures</i> as an option. But if you select <i>Courtly Pleasures</i>, it doesn't suggest <i>Courtly Scandals</i> as book 2. You can see both books if you go to my<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Erin-Kane-Spock/e/B077D2KN1N/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1?qid=1522184980&sr=8-1"> Amazon author page</a>. This wouldn't have happened if Crimson was still supporting my titles.<br />
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I wrote this blog for two reasons:<br />
1. So it's all here in a nutshell and I don't have to explain it any more.<br />
2. The purpose of my blog has always been to document my experiences and life lessons along the road to publication. When I signed with Crimson, I decided to keep up that aspect of myself. Publication is just another part of that journey and, if you're a writer trying to figure all this out, my little babbling anecdotes might help you feel less alone in this mess. I started querying with the expectation that my book was the BEST BOOK EVER and I'd be the exception to the long haul of rejections I'd heard so much about. Well, I wasn't. I'm not. I just keep trying. I'm a better writer because of the rejections. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger and <b>I'm not dead yet</b>.<br />
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Erin Kane Spockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05376851676240606472noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3937582163976319064.post-80591151540105009672018-03-23T19:27:00.001-07:002018-04-09T15:34:53.935-07:00Mistakes in Print<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Typos happen. The author reads through and gives a clean manuscript to the editor only for the editor to show just now messed up it still is. The author and editor fix the mistakes and it goes to a copy editor who finds even more. Then the galley edits come along and everything should be fixed, right? Nope.<br />
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And this is just about story inconsistencies, grammar, and flow.</div>
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I am solely responsible for the history and REALLY prided myself in taking that seriously. I researched saint days and weather patterns, period dress and beer recipes... I took the time and felt like a credible source when it came to history. Even if a reader doesn't like my story, at least I could say the history is sound.</div>
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When I discovered that I mislabeled Katherine Howard (I called her the third wife of Henry VIII) I <i>cried</i>. It's embarrassing and, regardless of everything I did get right, it completely destroys my credibility. It was something that didn't catch my attention in edits because this is an area of history with which I am ridiculously familiar. I didn't double check the big facts the same way I, for example, looked at period inheritance law for a peer who was not yet an adult because I trusted myself. In the edits, I didn't notice. This is, perhaps, an example of not seeing the forest for the trees (if cartridge pleating and such are the trees, the Tudor dynasty is the forest).</div>
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So let me put this out there:</div>
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I hope to republish this title and actively want to fix any errors for the next draft. I'm keeping records as they've come to my attention. <b>If you notice something, tell me</b>. I'll appreciate it, I swear. It will all go to making a better book. You can email me on <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/17300078.Erin_Kane_Spock">Goodreads</a> or leave me a comment here on my blog.</div>
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Just for fun, here's a graphic from a <a href="http://horrible-histories.co.uk/">Horrible Histories</a> book I picked up at <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hardwick_Hall">Hardwick Hall</a> years ago.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9JLxm-v3Kw7PcbKtYhmttqkT-SAzZpAeOeyTBCPbPkxkW3dtmoaI361ezLjGdBxx_w6R8P_Mn-624Xt899C1noMx9YFBGYBIh-KKLUcb9GD_OuMJyYFpdooi6_Z47yPWJCSezZ6tthJ9A/s1600/terrible+tudors.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="723" data-original-width="500" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9JLxm-v3Kw7PcbKtYhmttqkT-SAzZpAeOeyTBCPbPkxkW3dtmoaI361ezLjGdBxx_w6R8P_Mn-624Xt899C1noMx9YFBGYBIh-KKLUcb9GD_OuMJyYFpdooi6_Z47yPWJCSezZ6tthJ9A/s400/terrible+tudors.jpg" width="276" /></a></div>
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Thank you for your patience and understanding.</div>
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Erin Kane Spockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05376851676240606472noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3937582163976319064.post-86453612007966740502018-03-15T00:00:00.000-07:002018-03-15T00:00:00.201-07:00Courtly Scandals Inspirations<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Happy Ides of March!<br />
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I introduced Mary Montgomery in <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Courtly-Pleasures-Love-Book-ebook/dp/B0775RHJ4N/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8">Courtly Pleasures</a></i>. She was Frances LeSieur's no-nonsense friend, both practical and nurturing. She was a problem solver and a little bit of a meddler with a suppressed wild streak.<br />
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B078GYQ5RD/ref=series_rw_dp_sw"><br /></a>
<i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B078GYQ5RD/ref=series_rw_dp_sw">Courtly Scandals</a></i> (due to release 3/19/18 - 4 days!) is Mary's story.<i> Courtly Pleasures</i> ends with Frances heading back to the country and Mary staying behind with her old friend, Anne Cecil, the Countess of Oxford. Mary stayed because she thought Anne needed her, but isn't there long before she realizes there's a world of resentment and judgement within Anne and the friend she was making sacrifices for is a <strike>soul sucking harpy</strike> not worth the effort.<br />
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As I was writing, I realized I was missing something. Without Frances and Jane, Mary seemed so very alone and her romance was so fresh that she needed someone to turn to, someone who would slap any self-doubt or sense of worthlessness out of her.<br />
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And that's when I saw this (some mild language):<br />
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<i>This is what I was missing</i>. Mary needed a sassy gay friend to redirect her when she was being stupid (and there was a plot line with Oxford that this balanced out perfectly). So I built up Girard, a minstrel of the Oxford house, devastatingly handsome, a true friend, honest, non-threatening, but vulnerable due to his very nature and the world he lived in. I realize Mary has a very modern approach in that she does not judge him the way the traditional Elizabethan would -- however, she'd been at court and was familiar with the fact that that the rules are different for people with money and power.</div>
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Girard is not the flamboyant stereotype featured in the video above. I like to think I gave him depth and, though he has a sense of humor and constant twinkle in his eye, there is a gravitas to him.</div>
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<i>Courtly Scandals</i> was also influenced by Virginia Henley's <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Hawk-Dove-Virginia-Henley-ebook/dp/B002IPZK14/ref=sr_1_4?ie=UTF8&qid=1520729001&sr=8-4&keywords=the+hawk+and+the+dove">The Hawk and the Dove</a></i>. I read this many years ago, long before I developed my love affair with Elizabethan England and Queen Elizabeth herself. In this book the main character disguises herself as Queen Elizabeth so disrespectfully as to be almost heretical in the period -- but then her version of Queen Elizabeth is very different from mine. While Ms. Henley's portrayal of Queen Elizabeth was somewhat shrewish (not wrong) and mine is more benevolent, if a little capricious (also not wrong), I nodded to the scene in my own way. Without going into too much detail (no spoilers), the revelry at court over the 12 days of Christmas gives an author carte blanche. Anything can happen.</div>
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<i>Courtly Scandals </i>is the story of a damsel in distress who figures out how to rescue herself. Sir Charles is the knight in shining armor that discovers he needs rescuing too. The story unfolds with a series of what-else-could-possibly-go-wrong-? moments that bring them together in a bond that begins with attraction and ends in trust. </div>
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If you enjoy Mary's story, I look forward to reintroducing you to Jane in <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Courtly-Abandon-Love-Book-ebook/dp/B078M5G12S/ref=pd_sim_351_2?_encoding=UTF8&psc=1&refRID=0VW3B45Q9R8SZBD7Z4D5">Courtly Abandon</a></i>, due to release in July of 2018.</div>
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Erin Kane Spockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05376851676240606472noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3937582163976319064.post-62093807636421056682018-03-09T10:11:00.001-08:002018-03-10T17:17:45.905-08:00The Busiest Time of My Year<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="http://www.simonandschuster.com/books/Courtly-Scandals/Erin-Kane-Spock/Courtly-Love/9781507208809"><i>Courtly Scandals</i> </a>is due to release on March 19th, 2018. My first book, <i><a href="http://www.simonandschuster.com/books/Courtly-Pleasures/Erin-Kane-Spock/Courtly-Love/9781507208526">Courtly Pleasures</a></i>, was released on my mother's birthday, which made the release date that much more special. March 19th, specifically, is not personally significant to me other than it is the spring equinox. While I find that a little magical, what March 19th is, for practical reasons, one of the busiest times of my year. Why? St. Patrick's month.<br />
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My daughters have been active in Irish dance for 7 years. Most of the time that means practices in the evening and competitions here and there on weekends. It means wigs, shoes, dresses, and sometimes a fake tan. This is so normal for me that it's not hectic (although dance moms at their first <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Feis">feis</a> might disagree). St. Patrick's day, however, means multiple performances, sometimes two in a day. THIS is hectic. The driving (So. Much. Driving.), the hair, the costume prep, and trying to get them to eat in between point A and point B - it feels like a race where I won't win anything but I'll be letting everyone down if I fail. At least this year I'm not making dance costumes as well.<br />
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That said, it's wonderful for the dancers to perform instead of compete. We go to retirement facilities, medical centers, churches, fundraisers, and wineries. The girls love it, the audience is always left in awe of the dancer's skill, and we moms can sit back and enjoy the show.<br />
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It's a busy time of year, but, more so, a joyful one. My second book release adds both to the stress and the joy.<br />
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While I am not able to post video images of our dancers, I will include here a video of a St. Patrick's day flash mob in Sydney, Australia.<br />
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Erin Kane Spockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05376851676240606472noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3937582163976319064.post-83302495690934729722018-02-18T11:44:00.002-08:002018-02-18T12:02:00.525-08:00Courtly Scandals, Book Two of Courtly Love<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzsOf1Ar3wX1VSmc3-DhacqhYYWJGJZgadj8CPNBmO_jOwwbqcSneXXWAcaa9b2vQGIL0YguYgk8mv5Lt5NYFVRMiirobxm31aEvDZKtJrUC8Tj2FzLxd5ptOYC22Xf0Q7HJIrVl0Ngoqk/s1600/Cover+Courtly+Scandals.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1036" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzsOf1Ar3wX1VSmc3-DhacqhYYWJGJZgadj8CPNBmO_jOwwbqcSneXXWAcaa9b2vQGIL0YguYgk8mv5Lt5NYFVRMiirobxm31aEvDZKtJrUC8Tj2FzLxd5ptOYC22Xf0Q7HJIrVl0Ngoqk/s200/Cover+Courtly+Scandals.jpg" width="129" /></a><br />
<i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B078GYQ5RD/ref=series_rw_dp_sw">Courtly Scandals</a></i>, book two of Courtly Love, is due to release on March 19th, 2018. It's an Elizabethan historical romance set in the same world I built in <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0775RHJ4N/ref=series_rw_dp_sw">Courtly Pleasures</a></i>. Though it's in the same series, it is a stand-alone story. In <i>Courtly Pleasures </i>we met Mary and she decided to stay behind with court for Christmas. On the first night of Christmas Mary meets Charles, a Yeoman of the Queen's Guard and a true gentleman in character if not in title. <i>Courtly Scandals</i> is their story.<br />
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Circumstances surrounding them throw up ridiculous obstacles, one right after the other, but their biggest internal conflict is that both Charles and Mary are givers. They think about other's needs first. They're just too nice. Neither of them are alpha personalities and both would be really annoying to go out to dinner with. It might go something like this:<br />
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Charles: Where do you want to eat?<br />
Mary: Oh, I'm happy with anything. Where do you want to eat?<br />
Charles: I want you to be happy. I'm happy if you're happy. What are you in the mood for?<br />
Mary: I'm happy just being with you. What would you like?<br />
Charles: I really have no preference. I know you like that Italian place. Do you want to go there? Or you were talking about cheesecake yesterday, so if you would prefer we could go to Cheesecake Factory. Or Red Lobster has those rolls you like. It's up to you.<br />
Mary: We can go there if you want to. I do like cheesecake. I love that you remembered that. Do you want cheesecake?<br />
Me: For the love of God, choose already!<br />
Them: *look at me, conciliatory*<br />
Mary: I hope you aren't upset, Erin. What do <i>you </i>want for dinner?<br />
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Thankfully, through both Mary and Charles's growth (as individuals and as a couple) they get to a point where they can acknowledge what they want. It's not easy for either of them, but if they want happiness, they have to acknowledge their needs and that they deserve it.<br />
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<i>Courtly Scandals</i> has a damsel in distress trope, but the truth is they are both broken and rescue each other.<br />
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Do you have a favorite romance trope? If so, how do you feel when a writer takes a beloved trope and turns it inside out?</div>
Erin Kane Spockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05376851676240606472noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3937582163976319064.post-3444025213940090452018-02-09T08:59:00.000-08:002018-02-09T09:03:53.421-08:00New Release: The Wind Reapers, Book Two of the Blackburn Chronicles<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I'm excited to announce that book two of the Blackburn Chronicles, <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B06WP5MTJS/ref=series_rw_dp_sw">The Wind Reapers</a></i>, has been released today.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Tremblers-Blackburn-Chronicles-Raquel-Byrnes-ebook/dp/B01N7WSGZ7/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1518192054&sr=1-1&keywords=the+tremblers">The Tremblers</a></i>, book one of this steampunk/science fiction/post-apocalyptic/alternative history, action packed saga, came out last month. Reviews have been great. It became one of my new favorite books because it's different. It doesn't follow the steampunk cliches (which I also enjoy) of tea, parasols, witty repartee, and pointless goggles. She incorporates goggles, but they have a purpose, and that could be used as an example of the technology throughout the book. It meets the definition of steampunk in that it takes technology in the time of steam powered industrialism and turns it upside down, inside out, and imagines what could have been possible. Given that necessity is the mother of invention, how far would Victorians have progressed their technological prowess if their existence was on the line?</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXnn8FnkE-crkTN_QbtZB1V9zsDjQTFz4HeNJHryaJuWZzcTx2YyRGJAvaT79WQtw0D5Vef8qvhvLn0fVmyFExTjY-JUJMbuC51Be3ZF7jm56ccW_RJokmOuGSKg8pjc2JT-UmWhG_OHJd/s1600/tremblers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="302" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXnn8FnkE-crkTN_QbtZB1V9zsDjQTFz4HeNJHryaJuWZzcTx2YyRGJAvaT79WQtw0D5Vef8qvhvLn0fVmyFExTjY-JUJMbuC51Be3ZF7jm56ccW_RJokmOuGSKg8pjc2JT-UmWhG_OHJd/s320/tremblers.jpg" width="193" /></span></a><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">And author <a href="http://raquelbyrnes.com/">Raquel Byrnes</a> made certain to threaten their existence: cataclysmic earth quakes, poisonous gasses, devastating storms, and a inexplicable sickness necessitated technological advancement. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">In <i>The Tremblers</i>, we meet debutante Charlotte Blackburn, living under the protection of a domed city state in the devastated post-Great Calamity (a series of earth shattering quakes brought on by on by irresponsible mining) remains of what used to be the United States. Through no fault of her own, she is soon a wanted criminal by the despotic leaders of the Peaceful Union. She escapes to Outer City, a community floating high above the wastelands of North America. This debutante learns how to rely on both her intellect and her heart in the face of extreme opposition. From ball gowns to leathers, opera glasses to guns, she goes from helpless girl to a force to be reckoned with, doing what needs to be done, no matter the cost.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B06WP5MTJS/ref=series_rw_dp_sw">The Wind Reapers</a></i> is book two of the Blackburn Chronicles and brings us to the treacherous badlands outside the domed city states. Hosted and protected (sort of) by a nomadic community in a HUGE spider-like, constantly roaming land vessel, Charlotte learns of a conspiracy that will doom thousands of innocents.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">From the back of the book:</span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin2CJIV9Woda9UHHCW_39TQi3D5U-5yq0_ug5f_gtVbIDuTfA5fgESyh5MlAFb_cP8qCsF6wflnDGTNcZtUCxlKfzKAf-B48mzxZWKtd6chuHqyvec-qUBZgOrHhqMzIGvhi0T_4xk7gYT/s1600/wind+reapers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="305" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin2CJIV9Woda9UHHCW_39TQi3D5U-5yq0_ug5f_gtVbIDuTfA5fgESyh5MlAFb_cP8qCsF6wflnDGTNcZtUCxlKfzKAf-B48mzxZWKtd6chuHqyvec-qUBZgOrHhqMzIGvhi0T_4xk7gYT/s320/wind+reapers.jpg" width="195" /></span></a><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">Charlotte Blackburn—Hero, hunted, the unwitting symbol of a dark rebellion—she thwarted the deadly intent of the treacherous Order of the Sword and Scroll, but at a shattering cost. Now, she fights to survive among a tribe of fierce Wind Reapers who troll the wasteland aboard massive metal walkers. But a new storm is brewing and Charlotte is once again the linchpin in a deadly plan.</span><br style="background-color: white;" /><br style="background-color: white;" /><span style="background-color: white;">Sebastian Riley has one goal: Help the citizens of his floating Outer City to survive the Ashen Croup, a terrible affliction that drowns victims in their own lungs. But help comes in the form of the infamous Lady Blackburn, a woman wanted for treason who is determined to run headlong into destruction to prevent a coming war—even if it means reaching out to those who want her dead.</span><br style="background-color: white;" /><br style="background-color: white;" /><span style="background-color: white;">Pursued by the shadowy Order and hunted by the furious Reaper clan, Riley and Charlotte brave the monstrous hordes of decaying Tremblers and the terrors of the Wasteland to stop the bloodshed and secure a mysterious calculating engine—a device that can bring about the destruction of an entire nation.</span><br style="background-color: white;" /><br style="background-color: white;" /><span style="background-color: white;">With brutal forces gathering against the unsuspecting citizens inside the Tesla domes, a vicious scientist intent on capturing Charlotte for his experiments, and the whole of the country in deadly peril, one of them must make a sacrifice too terrible to comprehend.</span></span></i><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">My review of <i>The Wind Reapers: </i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">This book is a non-stop adventure led by Charlotte, Tesla, and Riley. Technology can only do so much in the face of "blood storms" and a desert veined with fissures releasing searing gas and lava. Outside the dome there are a new set of obstacles and Charlotte doesn't know who she can trust. Having followed Charlotte's journey from naive girl to the point she is at at the start of this book, a competent and somewhat Machiavellian champion for what she perceives as right, this story follows her continued evolution. What struck me the most about this was that the author made the bad guys very real, not archetypal villains. I understood and sympathized with their motivation as well as I understood Charlotte's. This made the right and wrong of the matter very much a gray area. It was thoughtful and threatening, ruthless and emotional. I cried (when a book makes me cry, it has won me over) and cheered and gasped... I couldn't put it down. <i>Wind Reapers</i> is a heartrending adventure that full of hope and fear, a story that challenged me and made me question my own values. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">This is categorized as a young adult title, but the scale of this adventure and the questions it inspires will appeal to all ages.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Book three is (based on Amazon) due to be released next month. I can't wait.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">In the meantime I just discovered there are a few freebies available now that go into the backstory of some of the main characters.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQvQXFT_QQJnMhyphenhyphenhcvp80spcqHTeFbFyTOxCsgfFYGVQ3IpMrpo_lkx42jS5GVqETDdQQpXzvpelKz8r2fK6J8kk3ecBicwNLm3Pl_G1AHPsqkm1dFg_Y440DWsCIEBbbCS0JkQBcgE7LN/s1600/perilous+path.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="346" data-original-width="210" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQvQXFT_QQJnMhyphenhyphenhcvp80spcqHTeFbFyTOxCsgfFYGVQ3IpMrpo_lkx42jS5GVqETDdQQpXzvpelKz8r2fK6J8kk3ecBicwNLm3Pl_G1AHPsqkm1dFg_Y440DWsCIEBbbCS0JkQBcgE7LN/s200/perilous+path.jpg" width="121" /></span></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDqZE6mCyFQtEu0ByeMs25CwLH1sIYs13-Wuf_yj8XKxLwsa_S-9noQSOz574RfM57uk8JQ_30RfvczRUewKRILFkdT6BYnK0rb_68ZN8vLC4fS74zVbLt0t2Wz1X2u9CSqfHAwhdK3uiU/s1600/books+and+blade.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="303" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDqZE6mCyFQtEu0ByeMs25CwLH1sIYs13-Wuf_yj8XKxLwsa_S-9noQSOz574RfM57uk8JQ_30RfvczRUewKRILFkdT6BYnK0rb_68ZN8vLC4fS74zVbLt0t2Wz1X2u9CSqfHAwhdK3uiU/s200/books+and+blade.jpg" width="120" /></span></a><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Books-Blades-Blackburn-Chronicles-Free-ebook/dp/B078TP9YH2/ref=sr_1_10?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1518194570&sr=1-10">Of Books and Blades</a></i> is the story of young Aston Wells and the events that brought him to the order of the Sword and Scroll.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/This-Perilous-Path-Blackburn-Chronicles-ebook/dp/B078TQ81JG/ref=sr_1_11?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1518194570&sr=1-11">This Perilous Path</a></i> is the story of Lizzie and her life before and during The Great Calamity. These are the events that led her to be part of the rebels, fighting for social justice against the Peaceful Union. </span><br />
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Erin Kane Spockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05376851676240606472noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3937582163976319064.post-4780071398352887112018-01-23T12:32:00.003-08:002018-01-23T13:18:32.793-08:00My Writing Journey<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
This blog started out about my journey to becoming published. With some slight deviations, my posts have been about my writing, the process, and the industry as I came to know it. During the years my writing has changed (I like to think I've grown) but my goal remained the same. I knew that I would eventually publish a book; all I had to do was remain diligent and work smart.<br />
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Now I have published a book. My second book is due to be released in March. This blog, however, will continue to be about my journey because it's certainly not over.<br />
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When I first signed that contract I expected to be elated. FINALLY! I thought I'd be proud and confident, that I'd want to celebrate. Instead it was overwhelming. Yes, I got the contract... but what would come next? It was uncharted territory for me. I'd become comfortable with the pattern of rejection and revision, getting back on the horse, and trying again.<br />
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I realized that becoming published wasn't the end, it's just a step on the ladder. One race finished and the next started.<br />
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So, what's next for me?<br />
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1. Continued growth as a writer. I became a better writer with each book. Now I'm writing AND addressing edits. It's a learning process and my editor has been very patient with me as we work out the kinks. I've had trouble with little things like when the form of address is a proper noun and when it's possessive. I'm figuring it out. Eventually it is my goal that I'll get a manuscript back without any basic mistakes and only comments about content. Content adjustments aren't embarrassing. Basic English errors are. As far as my journey goes, this part is very organic and doesn't scare me. As long as I'm open to learning, I will grow.<br />
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2. Finding balance as a professional writer. With my book(s) out there, I have a new job: marketing. I need to be writing new material, editing the old, and figuring out how to make connections with my readers. Being me, I tend to obsess over little things and I need to step back and see the big picture, and organize my efforts in a healthy way. I'm working on it. This part is not easy for me.<br />
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3. Finding balance as a human. I'm a mom, a wife, a teacher, an Irish dance mom, a reader, an artist, a puppy-mommy, a dress designer/seamstress, a daughter... I'm a lot of things besides being a writer. I thank God for my husband. He's shouldering some of the weight of marketing/social media. The other day I forwarded him an email and told him my brain was full and I couldn't think about. He took it over with no questions. This is a process I have to figure out.<br />
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So the journey is far from over and this blog will continue to follow that journey. Thanks for letting me share it with you.<br />
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Erin Kane Spockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05376851676240606472noreply@blogger.com6