Guest Author Victoria Hanlen of New England, USA

Romance...beautiful, wonderful romance.


The Scribbler is fortunate to have an author of historical romance as our guest this week.

 

             Thank you for having me on your blog, Allan!

            To introduce myself, I’m Victoria Hanlen and I write Historical Romance.

In 2016 I published two novels with HarperCollins:

The Trouble With Misbehaving and The Trouble With Seduction.

 

 

 

I was fortunate to have a father with a flair for storytelling and a mother who was a schoolteacher. Dad would entertain us with witty stories about the farm he grew up on and the places he'd traveled.  Mom made sure we learned our three R's and encouraged the love of reading. As a kid, I enjoyed the Nancy Drew Mysteries and fairytales with happily ever afters. In junior high we were assigned to read Wuthering Heights, and I’ve been a big fan of historical romance ever since.

          I've written all my life and later worked in jobs that required strong writing skills. Along the way, I sang in professional opera and performed in Shakespeare and regional theater.

          Eventually, I started writing short stories and then novel length. The cross training in theater applied well to character motivation and scene development. I especially love improvisation and the concept of saying 'yes' to a crazy idea and building a scene on the spot.  I also find it thrilling when my characters come alive and say or do something outrageous. 

 I’m a member of Romance Writers of America, RNA, The Beau Monde RWA, and Connecticut Romance Writers. I live with my husband and a host of wildlife in rural New England, U.S.A.

 

VICTORIA HANLEN Guest Post

A question I’m often asked is how I came up with the idea for my stories.

 

Let me tell you about my novel The Trouble With Misbehaving.

I can’t say the story came from any one big idea. Rather, it evolved through research, family history, travel, and from previous stories I’d written. Out of that research, I realized there were a lot of stories about the American Civil War from the American prospective, but we rarely see one written from an outside viewpoint.

This started me thinking. What if Misbehaving is approached from a UK point of view, since both North and South were buying their guns, munitions, ships, etc. from the UK? Sometimes the purchasing agents for both the North and the South sat side by side in a UK company’s outer office, waiting to place their orders! Additionally, many of the blockade-runners were formerly in the British Royal Navy.

I also had a very persistent character running around in my head. C.C., the heroine in Misbehaving, was a villain in one of my earlier books. She’s such a dynamic, interesting character and kept insisting she was misunderstood, demanding I tell her side of the story!

When I toured Marble House in Newport Rhode Island, U.S.A., pieces of the story started to fit together.

 

 

Alva Vanderbilt, the woman who had Marble House built, was born in the South (Alabama) to a family that suffered untimely deaths and unstable fortune. She was determined to marry well. And so she did. She married William Vanderbilt, one of the wealthiest men in the United States at the time.

She also had lofty social ambitions and intended to be one of New York society’s leading lights. Initially, however, as new money, she was snubbed by the older factions of New York City’s High Society.

Bullheaded, intelligent, and courageous, she challenged convention and used her husband’s vast wealth to maneuver the society leaders into doing her bidding.

She had Marble House built (they called the gilt-lined jewel box a ‘summer cottage’) on property right next to the ‘summer cottage’ of the queen of New York High Society. And Alva spared no expense in making it the grandest around.

Later, Alva’s divorce from William Vanderbilt (in an age when divorce was rare) rendered her an outcast. She regained her social position by marrying off her beautiful daughter, Consuelo, to Charles Spencer-Churchill, 9th Duke of Marlborough.

C.C. and her mother, Delia, have similarities to both Alva and Consuelo.

The story is set at the end of the American Civil War (1864-1865), a period of enormous struggle and strife. It was also a time when captains could demonstrate their brazen nerve, technical skill, and shameless audacity.

 

A quick recap of the story: Following a horrid scandal in New York City, C.C. is sent to London to live with her father’s relatives. She is told to find and marry a titled lord so she and her family will be accepted back into NYC high society. Untimely deaths make C.C. the sole heir to her father’s fortune and with it she decides to forge her own path.

The American Civil war begins and then drags on until the South is in desperate straights. When she receives a letter from her mother begging her help, C.C. must find a captain who will take her to North Carolina to save her family.

With the dangerous tightening of the blockade, C.C. knows she must hire the best captain available. Notorious Captain Beauford Tollier is such a man and one of the most successful blockade-runners to sail the seas. He also happens to be her cousin’s brother-in-law, and the third son of the Earl of Grancliffe. The only problem is, Captain Beau has just been released from a Union prison and is beset by battle demons. He’s vowed to quit blockade running.

C.C. must convince him otherwise. He’s wily, commanding, and stubborn, and he will not be cajoled. He presents more of a challenge than C.C. bargained on.

 

Captain Beau has aspects of a real captain, Augustus Charles Hobart-Hampden (later, Hobart Pasha) the third son of the 6^th Earl of Buckinghamshire who was a very successful blockade-running captain during the American Civil War. 

The story takes place in England, The Bahamas and North Carolina, U.S.A.

My husband and I took trips to research details about the history, setting, and language people used. The trips themselves were a great experience.

We spent three weeks in England touring the country at the time of year when certain parts of the story take place.

We took a cruise from New York to the Bahamas in December, the time of year C.C. and Beau would have sailed. I wanted to know what it would have been like for Beau and C.C. to sail on a blockade-runner from the Bahamas to Wilmington, NC—the only Confederate port still open at the time the story takes place.

The Royal Victoria Hotel where C.C. and Beau stayed in the story was a real hotel in Nassau, the Bahamas (a famous blockade-runner hotel), built in 1861 and closed in 1971.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

http://www.oldbahamas.com/id11.html

 It was a short walk from Nassau’s wharf. I have a picture of it’s famous gardens and a memorial plaque on my website. victoriahanlen.com

On visits to family in North Carolina, we took side trips to Goldsboro and Wilmington, NC to explore the towns, historical homes, plantations, forts and railroad museums.

It’s been over 150 years since the American Civil War, but the language people use to refer to it in the North vs. the South still continues to be distinct.

 

The Trouble With Misbehaving was a finalist in eight Romance Writers of America contests. When I entered it in Harlequin’s ‘So You Think You Can Write Contest’ I didn’t win the big prize, but I was given a two-book contract!

 

Thank you so much for having me on your blog, Allan! It’s been great! J

 

 

 

 

Thank you Victoria for being our guest this week.

 

 

 

 

For all you readers, Victoria would love to hear from you by visiting these links.

 

 

Website: victoriahanlen.com

FaceBook: https://www.facebook.com/VictoriaHanlen

Twitter: https://www.twitter.com/VictoriaHanlen

Goodreads: http://bit.ly/2jPkFoy

Newsletter: http://bit.ly/2ktxaYV

Amazon: http://amzn.to/2l5eLVi  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A special Thanks to you Awesome Visitors for stopping by the Scribbler. Please leave a comment before you go.

 

Guest Author Ian McKinley of Sackville, New Brunswick

You're in for a treat!

Ian McKinley is a Canadian diplomat currently on leave to follow his wife of 23 years, Josée Lanctôt, to beautiful New Brunswick. He writes what he calls “fantastic realism,” a genre that seeks to escape the traditional tropes of fantasy, wherein pure good confronts ultimate evil for global domination. Rather, Ian’s narratives are driven by alignments and/or collisions of human interests and values. 

His first novel, The Gallows Gem of Prallyn was released to positive reviews in November, 2014. It throws together an explosive mixture of zealotry, class oppression, and nationalism, the results of which take the reader on a gripping adventure. 

Ian unveiled his second novel, Harbinger, Book One of Northern Fire, at the 2016 Frye Festival, in which he participated as a “Prélude Emerging Writer.” In Harbinger, Ian explores questions around culture and the type of societies particular cultures construct, the various tools of societal control that societies develop, as well as the question of whether an individual can change the fate of an entire nation. Ian is working on edits to The Winter Wars, Book Two of the Northern Fire duo-logy. If things go to plan, it should be available by November, 2017.  

Ian was born in Calgary, Alberta, and grew up in Northern Ireland and on the Canadian prairies. He graduated from the University of Lethbridge and joined the foreign service shortly thereafter. He has served Canada abroad in Colombia, Kenya, Zimbabwe and at the Permanent Mission of Canada to the United Nations in New York. 

Ian has seen his non-fiction published in Bout de papier and Au courant. 

Ian is a member of the Writers Federation of New Brunswick as well as the Sunburst Award Society for Excellence in Canadian Literature of the Fantastic. He speaks English, French and Spanish.

 

 

 

And now an excerpt from Harbinger.

 

 

 

 

    They sailed from Cape Terror on the dawn. The mainland off Rignil’s port rail rose in sheer cliffs and the first of the Demon’s Teeth neared off the starboard beam. As if on cue, the winds found them; between mainland cliff and sea-bound tooth, the gusts buffeted the longship from changing directions. Then the rain began. At first it was but a mist, hard to differentiate from the spray thrown at them by the swirling winds from the wash rising off the prow or from waves surging against their sides. It turned into a steady drizzle, and, just before midday, to rain. Lars muttered. “Can this get any worse?”

Before Thay or Cairn could reply, Krüllig laughed and said, “Of course it could, lad! Be glad this is a summer crossing. In winter, you could be treading freezing cold water and watching our stern slip beneath the waves! But I wouldn’t worry too much about that; Kindron’s been through the Teeth two-score times. He’ll see us through.”

As if to underline their captain’s skill, Kindron delivered them a small blessing. He leaned against the rudder and turned them into a channel that ran between two jutting islands. He brought Rignil close to the southern island’s cliff face and ordered oars raised. The crew all leaned forward on their oars, panting in the pouring rain, but laughing as well as they saw that Kindron had found a current that pushed them along faster than any wind could. Then only he had to work as he controlled the rudder, pushing it or heaving against it as need be. But he grinned as he did so and that grin gave them all a fire in their bellies to combat the cold rain. Thunderer and Northern Fire hove-to and heard their fellow Sea Wolves bellow approval from the other boats.

Their respite lasted long enough for them to gobble down a damp meal. Kindron even threw them a skin full of wine to pass around. However, the captain’s face darkened at a low drumming of thunder that suddenly rumbled across the waves. Before it echoed off the cliffs, the men were back on the oars. By the time the boats shot out the other end of the channel, lightning arced between the Teeth. The clouds turned jet and sank lower to the water. The seas, too, surged and dipped, currents colliding and waves coming at them from every direction, once combining to heave the stern aloft and throw men backwards onto the oars of their crewmates.

Thay looked about him. Lora, huddling near the stern, looked as worried as he felt. Beside him, terror was carved on Cairn’s burly features: the big youth looked horrible, with his dark hair lank, wet, and clinging to his ashen face, his brown eyes red-rimmed and wide, and his head twisting from side to side as he shot panicked looks at the sheer cliffs bursting from the swirling sea on either side of their longboat. Thay felt Cairn strain against the oar, quickening the rhythm but for the countering control that Thay exerted; it would not impress the captain if they broke the unison of the crew. It occurred to Thay that though Cairn, the son of herders, had never sailed in a storm.

“Calm down,” Thay grunted between oar strokes. “This crew knows what they’re about.”

“The cliffs close in on us!”

“That’s just the boat shifting in the swirls,” Thay responded, but he glanced at the mountains involuntarily as he did so. At first glance, it did indeed look like the great wall to starboard loomed closer and the cliff to port filled more and more of the roiling grey-black sky.

Suddenly thunder boomed overhead, drowning the drumming of Asgear and wiping the grin off Kindron’s face. Thay quickly realized how much he had drawn confidence from the captain. Kindron studied the low, swift-flying clouds and then ordered the sail unfurled and trimmed. Rignil listed away from the wind and held to a course Thay hoped would steer them clear of the fangs of rock that rose from the waves. Salt spray carried on the wind from the bow showered him and mingled with his sweat. Behind Rignil, Thay could see that first Toftig on Thunderer, and then Albig on Northern Fire, followed Kindron’s example, unfurling and setting their own sails. He could see less to starboard as the boat leaned in the water, but he saw frothing whirlpools and white foam splashing off the ever-approaching cliffs to port. He gave a start when he heard the crash of a wave against a jutting point of rock an oar’s length from the gunnel.

They passed a headland to the south and heard Kindron yell from the stern, “Hang on!” As Thay hooked his legs around the prop of the bench in front of him, he saw terror on Lora’s face. Then the instant was gone as a wall of water hit them from starboard. As he rose into the air, he reached for the gunnel. He saw Cairn pitch sideways and flail at the bench. Then Thay flew.

When he broke the surface, he gasped from the shock of the cold water and fought to keep his head above the waves. Against the backdrop of the Tooth to the north of them, he saw the flotsam of the boat all around him; men, oars, cloaks, planking, sea-chests and rope bobbed on the water. Six men had gotten their bearings after having been thrown even further and they began swimming towards him. Thay twisted his head around and saw Rignil floating low in the water only an oar’s length from him. Improbably, the only person still in the boat was Cairn.

“Thay!” Cairn yelled. “Grab the oar!” The big lad stood unsteadily and ran out an oar.

As Thay swam he called out, “Sit down, you ass! And lean to the other side of the boat!” Cairn did so, scrambling to a bench and then straining with his great strength to haul Thay to the gunnel. Thay scrambled over and Cairn ran out his oar to the six men swimming closer.

Thay sloshed over to the rudder as Rignil bobbed on the waves. The wave that had tossed them overboard had also left the sail flapping in the wind, but pulling on the rudder only brought the water-logged boat around slowly. Thay looked then to the sea and saw another massive wave bearing down on them. He knew the rudder would not turn the boat around quick enough to point the prow into the wave, there were no crew at the oars.

Quick as he could, he pulled on the rope lashing the anchor to the stern, expecting the slip knot to give and release the heavy stone in its wooden cradle. The rope, however, was thick and sodden, and some misfortune had pulled the ends of the knot too tight to allow the loop to slip. He fixed his legs and gave the lashing a great heave. Still the knot would not give. He whipped out his dagger, pried its point into the knot and used the blade as leverage, hoping to loosen it. He glanced over and saw that it was not another man at all that had clambered into the boat, but Lora. He did not breathe a sigh of relief. Rather, he glanced at the approaching wave, suddenly much nearer, and put his entire strength behind a last heave of the rope. It gave way in a sudden rush and he fell back onto the deck, the anchor thumping onto the deck at the stern.

“Lora!” he yelled, “Trim the sail!” She did not reply but scrambled over to the loose ropes that set the sail.

Thay lifted the anchor from the deck and heaved it astern, towards the rock face of the nearby Tooth rearing up from the frothing sea. He could not heave it far, but he hoped it would be enough as it trailed its rope behind it, just as he hoped the water would be shallow enough for his gambit to work. As the anchor’s rope unwound with a whir, the prow crept to starboard, towards the wave that approached with alarming speed. But then suddenly the rope stopped unwinding. He knew he had to change dramatically the angle of the prow to the wave and that pulling on the rope from the stern would have no effect. So, with the black wall of water looming above them, Thay grabbed hold of the slack coils of rope attached to the anchor and ran, bounding from bench to bench above the water in the boat, to the prow yelling, “Hang on.” He looped the rope once over the prow, forming a noose for the wolf that was the figurehead, and he hung on for dear life. They were not going to make it, Thay suddenly realized in the moments before the wave hit. They did not have enough forward momentum to swing the boat around.

That was the moment that Lora got the sail properly trimmed. Being the daughter of a fisherman and so bold as to insist on accompanying her father out to sea to learn the handling of boats, she knew how to catch the wind in a sail. In the near-gale now blowing, she pulled the sail into position, it caught the wind and the boat lumbered forward and it came about. As the sea welled up and the wave towered over Rignil, Lora kept the sail in the wind and they turned. Thay pulled on the anchor rope with all his might, tugging the prow southwards. The wave crashed against their starboard side at an angle, but the prow had come about enough to cut into the onslaught. The boat lurched but did not capsize or toss them overboard, and then the wave was past them.

Only one other such wave hit them, but by then Kindron had relieved Thay at the rudder and had pointed the prow into the swell. The men hauled out of the sea had also bailed a great deal of water out of the boat and Rignil rode the waves with greater ease.

Northern Fire drew up beside Rignil after having scooped up Lars and Krüllig. Thunderer returned another five crewmen to them - sodden and shivering, but all grinning. Kindron did a head count, and then repeated it with Asgear, before dousing the momentary elation. “Hossig’s gone.” He strode from prow to stern, looking into the dark water, the other two captains looking around them, but they saw nothing. “We’ll mourn on the other side of the Teeth,” Kindron declared and then set about putting his boat in order.

The wind and seas calmed and Kindron passed around his wineskin again. Then he had them finish the bailing, return the sea-chests to their owners and re-stow them, secure the rigging and order the sail. He took his own woollen blanket from beneath the deck and, though it was sodden, just like everything else, he draped it over Lora’s shoulders, patting her on the back. He gave Thay and Cairn each a serious nod. All three knew they had just received Kindron’s deepest thanks.

 

 

 

Thank you Ian for being our guest this week. Looking forward to reading more of Harbinger.

 

Drop by Ian's website to  discover more about him and his novels and watch for his next novel.

http://northernfire.net/

 

 

 

 

And a huge thank you to our Faithful readers for visiting this week. Please leave a comment below before you go.

 

 

 

Back-to-Back Special Guest Chuck Bowie of Fredericton. NB

He's Back...!

Another back-to-back feature on the Scribbler last week and this one. We are fortunate to have Author Chuck Bowie from Fredericton, New Brunswick, who joined us last week with an essay on the topic of his writing. (if you scroll down to the end of this post, you'll find it there) He's back this week for an interview with a different format than the regular 4Q  you are familiar with.

The Scribbler is ever grateful to have Chuck as a frequent guest. His stories are entertaining, witty and a treat to read. You will find his links below.

 

Today, we’ll put Chuck on the hot seat, asking him a few questions about his favourite writing: Genre Fiction.



Genre Fiction (Or, As I Like To Call It, Fiction)

Question: Do all writers of fiction novels write genre fiction?

Answer: Certainly, there are a number of kinds of fiction writers, some being literary fiction writers, some genre writers. Literary Fiction is anything that does not fit into a genre. If you’ve written The Great Canadian Novel, in which man’s inhumanity to man is explored, it can be amazing writing, but somewhat more challenging to classify. Oftentimes, this type of novel would not be classified as genre writing.

Today, though, I’d like to chat about genre fiction. As a species, we humans like our lists, our boxes…our shelves. If, for example, you write a thriller and classify it as such, it is lumped in with millions of others. If you refine this identification—as I do by identifying my series as an international suspense-thriller series—it’s far easier, in this way, for the reader to anticipate that they’ve found the kind of thriller they were seeking.

Q: So, what is genre writing?

A: Fiction can be classified by content and theme. Here is where we find our common genres: adventure stories, science fiction/fantasy, mystery, horror, romance, realistic fiction, and historical fiction. One thing to keep in mind while reading different texts: genre categories aren’t always clear-cut. You can have a crime/mystery story set in the future (science fiction) or in the past (historical fiction). Some readers quite enjoy ‘mashing up’ genres to suit their reading desires. SteamPunk, for example, is an entertaining mashup of history and science fiction.

Q: And you prefer to write genre fiction?

A: Absolutely. Regardless of the genre (or sub-genre), this kind of storytelling encourages the writer to create a world according to their design, populate it with the characters they feel are necessary to tell a specific story, and begin that story exactly where the author tells them to! That, I feel, gives my imagination free rein to manage all of the components of the story. I like that.

Q: Tell me more about the specific genre of writing you engage in.

A: As I mentioned, I am writing an international suspense-thriller series called Donovan: Thief For Hire, and I’ve just finished Book 4, entitled The Body On The Underwater Road. Thrillers usually begin—in the first few pages—with a dramatic act. Tension rises, and remains quite taut throughout the entire novel. The climax is very near the end of the book. As a thief for hire, my man Donovan travels all over the world, taking things that don’t belong to him in exchange for large sums of money. One of the pleasures of writing thrillers is I have the opportunity to experience, vicariously, what it is like to do things I would never consider doing in real life. One of the perquisites of the job!

Q: You’re beginning another novel now. Is it a continuation of the thriller series, or have you embarked on a new project?

A: Ah. It’s a new series, and I’m switching genres. It will still be a mystery series, but not a thriller. The genre for this one is a cozy mystery, set in a fictional town in New Brunswick, in fact.

Q: What’s a cozy mystery?

A: This genre is a very popular form of the murder mystery (although there doesn’t always have to be a murder, there usually is). Specific constraints include restrictions on graphic sex, violence and language. Charm, warmth and wit are considered attributes of the cozy. In my novel, the small town itself will in a sense become one of the central characters the reader will love. We’ll see.

Q: Can you give us a summary of the plot?

A: I’m sorry; no. For many writers, it’s bad luck to say too much about their story while it’s still being written. Suffice it to say, there will be a murder or two, the town will be charming, and we’ll all be rooting for the protagonist.

Q: I wish you good luck on this foray into a new genre. Will you come back to talk with us when your fourth Donovan novel is published?

A: I’d love to! In the meantime, here’s something to ponder:

 

 

 

 

 

Stephen King once posed the theory, based on the notion that all stories are love stories of one form or another, that there are essentially three kinds of stories. There is finding love (sometimes known as power), losing love, and losing and then finding love. The advantage of this sort of generalization is it’s easy to sort this type of categorization. I would argue this applies to genre and literary fiction (as well as flash fiction!) Perhaps we need to ask ourselves: ‘Why the compunction to classify at all?’ But perhaps a blog on Chaos Theory is for another day.

 

Thank you Chuck for being our guest again this week. Always a pleasure having you on board!

Chuck’s novels can be found on Amazon

https://www.amazon.ca/s/ref=nb_sb_noss_2?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=Chuck+Bowie

Barnes and Noble, his publisher’s site:  https://museituppublishing.com/bookstore/index.php/our-authors/51-our-authors/authors-b/189-chuck-bowie

and at Chapters-Indigo.

You can read more about Chuck and his works at his website: http://www.chuckbowie.ca

 

 

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