What Mark Noce Learnt When Writing About Medieval Wales

Today I am pleased to welcome to my blog, Mark Noce, author of the Queen Branwen Series. Mark was born and raised in the San Francisco Bay Area, and is an avid traveler and backpacker. By day, he works as a Technical Writer, having spent much of his career at places like Google and Facebook. When not reading or writing, he's probably listening to U2, sailing his dad's boat, or gardening with his family.

What Mark Noce Learnt When Writing About Medieval Wales

Thanks for having me here today and giving me an opportunity to talk about my latest novel, Dark Winds Rising! Set in early medieval Wales, Dark Winds Rising is the sequel to Between Two Fires and the latest in the Queen Branwen Series that chronicles the life of a young Welsh queen who must confront Saxon and Pict invaders in order to save her people and her family.

As a historical fiction author, I’ve been fascinated by all eras of history and enthralling real life stories from the myths and legends accompanying them. Along with my degrees in Literature and History, I’ve always found that research goes beyond merely reading the available “facts” of an era. Two invaluable aspects that inform my writing are what I consider a hands on approach and a hypothetical approach. Hands on basically means that if I write about my character growing wheat, then I research what type of wheat was grown and actually grow it in my own yard, harvest it and mill it by hand (yes, I’ve actually done this). Little things like this really give me details I couldn’t find anywhere else and also brings up emotions that are quite useful – such as what it feels like if a wild animal eats the wheat you’ve spent three months raising!

The hypothetical approach involves using myths and legends for information. What is a myth? Even though it may be “untrue,” it’s basically a hypothetical situation that lets you know what a historical people thought was correct and what was not. It tells you what they valued, what they would do, and wouldn’t do. Medieval Wales is certainly rich in legend and myth, from Arthurian to the Mabinogion.

These types of approaches were invaluable to me when researching early medieval Wales, because very little has actually survived from the period. The longest piece of surviving text comes from St. Gildas, and it’s less than 30 pages. That gives you an idea of the stress society underwent at the time. The archaeology bears out large scale destruction and few preserved remains. However, common sense also tells us that the Welsh people clearly endured, survived, and continued to persevere because they are alive and well today. These were some of the salient facts that informed me when putting together the historical backstory for Queen Branwen’s plight. Even though Branwen herself is an amalgamation of historical characters, she is very real in her situation and is both a creation of history and the heart.

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What Sharon Bennett Connolly learnt when writing Heroines of the Medieval World

It is my pleasure to welcome to my blog, Sharon Bennett Connolly, author of Heroines of the Medieval World and blogger extraordinaire!

Sharon has been fascinated by history for over thirty years and before embarking on her writing career she had many jobs including being a tour guide at historical sites, including Conisbrough Castle.

She is now having great fun, passing on her love of the past to her son, hunting dragons through Medieval castles or exploring the hidden alcoves of Tudor Manor Houses.

She runs the fabulous blog, History…the Interesting Bits, where she writes about the lesser-known stories and people from European history. Her first non-fiction book, Heroines of the Medieval World, was published by Amberley in September 2017. Sharon is now working on her second non-fiction book, Silk and the Sword: The Women of the Norman Conquest, which will be published in late 2018.

What Sharon Bennett Connolly learnt when writing Heroines of the Medieval World

Getting the opportunity to write Heroines of the Medieval World was a dream come true – I have always wanted to write a book. It came about after I entered a competition run jointly by Amberley and the Historical Writers Association, where I had to send in a synopsis of the book, chapter plan, 2,000 word introduction and a short bio of myself. I got the best rejection letter ever – and email from Amberley saying I didn’t win the competition, but they liked my idea so much they would like to publish it anyway. Writing your first book is a huge learning curve. Heroines of the Medieval World is a non-fiction book, so it took a huge amount of research, checking and double-checking facts and sifting the fact from the fiction.

The first task was picking my Heroines. I had to decide who to include, who to leave out. I wanted a wide-ranging assortment, with a combination of the famous, not-so-famous and even the obscure. Some heroines more-or-less refused to be left out – such as Eleanor of Aquitaine and Joan of Arc. You can’t have a book about medieval heroines and leave out the two everyone knows about. They were also two of the easiest to find information on, because there has been so much written about them over the years. Although, the fun part with each of these women was that some of the sources were in French. I have ‘A’ Level French and have worked in Paris and at Eurostar, so I’m not ‘scared’ of French. Although medieval French is a different level! It was challenging and time consuming, but it was good to get the old brain cells working overtime.

With the more obscure Heroines, however, it can prove difficult to find enough information in order to write their stories. I like to use as many sources as possible, preferably primary sources, to make sure I get a full picture of the lady in question. Some of my Heroines were very local to where I grew up, in Yorkshire and Lincolnshire, such as Nicholaa de la Haye; luckily, although Nicholaa is practically unknown on the national and international stage, as Castellan of Lincoln Castle, she is a local celebrity and as a result there was a lot of information in and around Lincoln itself, including the church in which Nicholaa is buried. It also meant I could visit the locations associated with them, explore Lincoln Castle and chat with the guides there, to get a more personal view of Nicholaa. It also helps that Nicholaa has been in the news in 2017; this year is the 800th anniversary of the Lincoln siege in which Nicholaa held the French at bay until William Marshall could get to her with his army.

These days there are some very useful sources available at your fingertips, including some of the greatest chronicles of the medieval era, such as Froissart and Orderic Vitalis. British History Online provides historic documents such as wills, pipe rolls, court proceedings etc. A fabulous resource came from Columbia University, who have a project known as Epistolae, in which you can find the Latin letters – and their translations - of some amazing medieval women, such as Heloise, Hildegard of Bingen and Adela of Normandy. These are the letters written, or dictated, by the women themselves and provide the best insight into what these women thought and what they were concerned about, not just in their everyday lives, but in their wider influence on the world. The problem with this, of course, was having to try to stay focused and avoid getting side-tracked with so many fascinating letters to read.

The research itself helped me to define the structure of the book. It made me realise that the best way to organise the chapters was to use the reasons the women were heroines – such as the warrior women, the writers, the rulers and the survivors. Divided into twelve chapters, this meant the book can be read from cover to cover, or by dipping into each individual chapter, depending on which type of Heroine you would like to read about.

I hope it works.

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What Mary Anne Yarde Learnt about the folklore of King Arthur when writing The Du Lac Chronicles

It is my pleasure to welcome to my blog Mary Anne Yarde, award-winning author of the International Bestselling series, The Du Lac Chronicles.

Mary Anne grew up in the southwest of England, surrounded and influenced by centuries of history and mythology. Glastonbury, the fabled Isle of Avalon, was a mere fifteen-minute drive from her home, and tales of King Arthur and his knights were part of her childhood.

What Mary Anne Yarde Learnt about the folklore of King Arthur when writing The Du Lac Chronicles

I have always been passionate about history. One Christmas, I must have been around three-years-old, my Grandmother bought us a set of encyclopaedia — I know that does not sound particularly exciting, but I loved those books. I would often take one of these massive books off the shelf. I would then lie on my stomach, on the floor, flick through the pages and look at the pictures. I don’t know how I knew which one was the history encyclopaedia, but that was the one I always got down. History fascinated me, and it still does.

Growing up near Glastonbury meant that I knew, from a very early age, all about the stories of King Arthur and his Knights. What I didn’t know was that this love for history and King Arthur was not only going to inspire me to write an award winning book series, The Du Lac Chronicles, but also I was going to become a lover of folklore.

Researching the life and times of King Arthur is incredibly challenging. I am not going to say I have discovered who Arthur was because I haven't. There are so many possible Arthurs, so many theses as to who he was. But one thing where Arthur is prevalent, and you are sure to find him, is in folklore.

Folklore isn’t an exact science. It evolves. It is constantly changing. It is added to. Digging up folklore, I found, is not the same as extracting relics!

Arthur, as I said, lends himself to folklore, but it isn’t just Arthur the man I found myself looking for. I wanted to discover what influence he has had on Britain over the centuries, and what I found, surprised me.

The Dark Ages, where the majority of Arthurian stories are set, is notoriously difficult to research because of the lack of primary written sources. Of course, there are the works of Gildas, Nennius and Bede as well as The Annals of Wales, that we can turn to, but again, they are not what I would consider reliable sources, even the Anglo-Saxon Chronicles, which were compiled in the late 9th Century, have to be treated with caution. Archaeologists have had more luck, but even they have not found Arthur, and they did try — they spent four years trying to locate his body at Glastonbury Abbey and came up with nothing. Which begs the question...

Why did the monks claim that they had found Arthur's body in the first place?

I have learnt of three reasons.

Firstly the Welsh were revolting and Arthur had become their figurehead. The English needed a body to prove that this Welsh figurehead was dead. Secondly, there was a new interest in Arthur thanks to Geoffrey of Monmouth’s newly released, History of the Kings Of Briton and thirdly, there had been a fire at the abbey and it was in desperate needs of funds. The monks of Glastonbury were nothing if not pragmatic and they knew that Arthur would bring in the coins.

Glastonbury Abbey

Geoffrey of Monmouth's book is now considered a ‘national myth,’ but for centuries his book was considered to be factually correct. Can you imagine that?  A work of fiction that was believed to be a true account of Arthur's life! Monmouth did have his critics, but they were mostly brushed aside and ignored. Monmouth made Britain glorious, and he gave us not Arthur the general, but Arthur the English Christian King. And what a king he was.

Let’s take a quick look at Edward III (1312-1377). Edward wanted his reign to be as wondrous as Arthur's. Edward believed in the stories of Arthur and his Knights. He had even started to have his very own Round Table built at Windsor Castle. He also founded The Order of the Garter— which is still the highest order of chivalry that the Queen can bestow. Arthur, whether fictional or not, influenced kings, and I find that fascinating.

Edward III

In have discovered that there is always a little ring of truth in Folklore, and I love that. I guess all stories have to start somewhere. I never thought I would be a champion of folklore, but now I have discovered that I am.

Folklore can tell us a lot about a nation and I have learnt not to overlook it. I am just sorry that it took me so long to understand what a priceless treasure it really is.

In my series, The Du Lac Chronicles, I decided to weave history and folklore together and I am so glad I did because I get to embrace two of my favourite things at the same time — history and the stories of King Arthur!

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Image attribution

Edward III as he was depicted in the late 16th century ~ Wikipedia
Picture of the Knight ~ Pixabay
All other photographs are copyright Mary Anne Yarde.

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What Ruadh Butler learnt writing Lord of the Sea Castle

Today's guest blog post in the "What I Learnt..." series comes from historical fiction author, Ruadh Butler. Ruadh as born in County Derry at the height of the Troubles. A degree in Biomedical Sciences at the University of Ulster, as well as study in Virginia and London, couldn't entice him into a life of scientific research, but to keep the wolf from the door he worked in laboratories, in newsrooms, and in bars. He even tried his hand as a soldier, musician, security guard and lifeguard during his twenties. Ruadh lives in Northern Ireland and Lord of the Sea Castle is the second novel in his Invader series.

I was lucky enough to get an advance copy of Lord of the Sea Castle. It's a great read. Here's what I said about it:

"From tourneys to treachery; from Welsh Marches to Irish marauders, Ruadh Butler propels us into the tumultuous times of the twelfth century. The clangour of swords and battle cries of knights echo from the pages of 'Lord of the Sea Castle', as Butler tells a gripping tale with skill, verve and gusto."

What Ruadh Butler Learnt writing LORD OF THE SEA CASTLE

1. You can still visit ruins built by the Normans in 1170.

My new novel, Lord of the Sea Castle, takes place in the summer of 1170 and follows directly the events of Swordland. This book charts the activities of a small advance force of some 120 men (and one woman) that cross the Irish Sea in order to build a bridgehead and prepare the way for an invasion by a Welsh baron named Strongbow. Led by the wonderfully named Raymond the Fat, the historic figure upon whom my lead character is based, they immediately began constructing a defensible position on a headland called Dun Domhnall in south County Wexford. I had the pleasure of visiting the site (which is now called Baginbun) a few summers ago as part of my research and was amazed to find that the earthworks his men had built almost a millennia ago were still visible. And what a construction! The wooden palisade which had once topped the double entrenchments would’ve disappeared or been stolen soon after 1170, but the bulwarks still soared over my head, running between the sea cliffs for two hundred yards or so. It was not difficult to stand atop those dramatic ruins, in that wind swept place, and imagine what it might’ve been like to be a Norman invader beset on all sides by enemies and pounded by the weather off the ocean. Given the importance of the campaigns that followed I admit to wondering if the site deserved better than a mere sign noting the date of Raymond’s arrival.

Baginbun Head with the Norman earthworks running east-west between the two beaches at the narrowest point in the headland.

2. Irish names can be tough!

While Ireland was an easily accessible place for traders from across Europe in the Age of Invasions it nonetheless remained, culturally at the very least, an alien place to those from the Romanised world of Christendom (as well as to us now in the western world). This is perhaps most readily seen in the difficulties pronouncing the non-Anglicised versions of places and people. Where does one start when attempting Máel Sechlainn Ua Fhaolain, Donnchadh Ua Riagháin and Máelmáedoc Ua Riagain?! They are certainly confusing, but to go with ‘Connor’ rather Conchobar or ‘Rory’ rather than Ruaidhrí would be for me to lose an immediate and easy access to what the Normans experienced when they first arrived in medieval Ireland. That is the distinct and very real feeling of unease with the unfamiliar. My desire is to transport and immerse the reader in the twelfth century and I hope that this small ruse helps that cause! In Lord of the Sea Castle, the second instalment of the Invader Series, readers will be introduced to the world of the Ostmen. They were the descendants of the Viking Norse and Danes who had founded the great cities of Ireland such as Waterford and Dublin in the ninth and tenth centuries. A three hundred year old and unique culture by 1170, the Ostmen retained many of the customs of their Scandinavian ancestors, mingling them with Gaelic beliefs adopted from the natives. It was against them that the full force of the Norman war machine would be directed. So rather than names like Diarmait we will have to contend with Sigtrygg and instead of Osraighe we visit places as easy to remember as Veðrarfjord and Strangrfjord!

3. The Normans were the first proponents of Ikea-style self-assembly wares.

They were the descendants of Scandinavians after all! However, the Norman version of Ikea products was less about furniture for inside the house and rather more about exteriors. They brought ready-to-assemble wooden castles with them whenever their sights settled upon a new land to conquer. Many of these fortifications were subsequently rebuilt in stone, but when they first took England, swarmed across Wales, and later invaded Ireland they erected motte and bailey castles. Speed of assembly was essential. The castle was the greatest weapon that the Normans had to help them survive beyond the frontier in hostile terrain and so in preparation they cut and numbered timber boards and trunks to bring with them. With these they formed the lower portion of the castle, the bailey, bringing all they had with them inside and secure. The longer process – the building of the high earth hillock, the motte, and the digging of a defensive ditch – could then begin safe in the knowledge that their horses and supplies were behind a sturdy barricade. While it is not recorded whether the men who invaded Ireland brought a ready-made castle with them to Ireland, they did leave remnants of their work for us to see. In a bend of the River Slaney at Ferrycarrig just outside Wexford Town, the first invader of Ireland, Robert FitzStephen, built his castle. While that fortress has long since disappeared, you can still visit its location and the castle reconstruction at the Irish National Heritage Park.

4. It was the Welsh bow, rather than the Norman lance, that really conquered Ireland.

From the very early days of their invasion of Wales the Normans had fallen in love with the natives’ most deadly weapon, the longbow. The Lords of the March soon began employing Welshmen into their armies and quickly found out how effective they could be when deployed in combination with Norman cavalry. Needless to say when the time came for a new adventure across the Irish Sea the Norman lords made sure they had archers from Gwent on their side.

At the Siege of Baginbun in 1170, Raymond the Fat’s force of 120 was almost two-thirds made up of archers with only a handful of the heavy cavalrymen we consider so characteristic of the Normans of the period. The remainder, usually treble that of the heavy cavalry, was made of ‘half-armoured’ horsemen believed to be esquires or apprentice knights. The same structure would continue to be used by the Cambro-Normans throughout the twelfth and thirteenth centuries and would remain all most irresistible even when the invaders were outnumbered many times over in a hundred different battles against the Gael and the Ostmen.

Picture taken looking down between the earthworks at Baginbun Head in Wexford. They were constructed by Raymond the Fat in 1170.

5. The final conquest of Ireland by the English crown came as a result of the murder of Thomas Becket.

The invasion of Ireland began as a private enterprise undertaken, not by the state or a king, but by individuals. The first to try their luck in 1169 were the Geraldines, a family from west Wales linked through their shared kinship to the famed Nest, daughter of the last King of Deheubarth, and led by Robert FitzStephen. This clan had been considered all but outside the control of the centralised state created by King Henry II of England. In Ireland they no longer felt the need to make even token acknowledgement to the throne as overlord. They found freedom beyond the frontier. The Geraldines were followed to Ireland by Strongbow. Though a rich landowner in Wales, he had been exiled from the royal court for fifteen years and was suffering under the financial and social constraints imposed by his disgrace. In Ireland he sought a crown of his own. King Henry feared that he might succeed and raise a rival Norman state in Ireland. He feared the potential drain on his warriors and the threat to his western borders. He feared losing control. But Henry II was not the sort of man to waste money on military escapades. His campaigns were more often led by lawyers and justices and fought with court decrees rather than sword and steed in glorious battle. His first attempt to derail Strongbow and the Geraldines was to ban shipping to Ireland from all English ports. Without supplies or hope of reinforcement from their homeland, the Norman adventurers only just managed to maintain their hold over their new lands. Little did the adventurers realise, but the murder of Becket in December 1170 would bring about an end to their, and by extension Ireland’s, independence.

According to some sources, Pope Adrian IV had issued a Papal Bull in 1155 granting governance of Ireland to Henry II in return for his enforcement of Papal reforms on the island. However, the king, having only just taken the throne, had his hands full imposing control over his unruly subjects in England and put a pin in the idea. Fifteen years later, when Henry found himself under the threat of excommunication by Pope Alexander III following Becket’s murder, and with a sudden and very real need to absent himself from England, the king remembered Pope Adrian’s Bull. Bringing the hitherto self-governing Irish Church (particularly all the associated revenues and profits) back under the auspices of the Church of Rome was, Henry considered, something that might just put in back in the good graces of the pope. It was even worth the great expense of putting an army in the field overseas, the miserly king reckoned. But of course there remained another reason for him to take a force of 4,000 men across the sea: Strongbow and the Geraldines. The price of appeasing King Henry in October 1171 was a heavy one for the insubordinate adventurers to pay. Strongbow was forced to give up the cities of Waterford and Dublin in order to retain the rest of Leinster. The Geraldines fared worse. They lost all their hard won Irish estates while their leader, Robert FitzStephen, was imprisoned for several months by the king. The Irish princes and chieftains probably thought that they had a good deal when they made their submission before the might of King Henry. Little did they know that in the decades to follow Henry and his sons would use this compliance as an excuse to award their kingdoms to Norman knights in need of reward.

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What Louise Turner learnt when writing historical fiction set in late medieval Scotland

It has been a while since the latest "What I Learnt..." guest post, but I am delighted to welcome to the blog novelist, Louise Turner.

Born in Glasgow, writing has always been a major aspect of Louise's life and at a young age she won the Glasgow Herald/Albacon New Writing in SF competition. Her second novel, The Gryphon at Bay, which follows on from the events described in her first novel, Fire & Sword, is set in late 15th century Scotland and was published by Hadley Rille Books in March 2017.

What Louise Turner learnt while writing historical fiction set in late medieval Scotland

I came late to historical fiction.  I started out as a reader (and writer!) of science fiction. I first studied Archaeology at university as an interest-based subject because I thought it might help me write better science fiction. I soon became passionate about prehistory, to the point where I specialised in archaeology as an undergrad before continuing my studies at a postgraduate level, focusing in particular in Bronze Age metalwork hoards.

At that point, I regret to say that I had absolutely no interest in anything from the Claudian invasion of AD 43 onwards. My excuse at the time was that there was something lacking in the material culture of the Roman period, and I’d cite as examples the fluid ingenuity of La Tene metalwork as opposed to the regimented mass-produced consumerism of Samian ware... No doubt this attitude was only reinforced by the fact that I dropped history early on in school, so I could concentrate on geography.

With this kind of background, you may wonder what on earth possessed me to write a historical novel in the first place. At first, the motives were entirely self-serving. I was coming to the end of a short-term contract working for the local authority archaeology service, so I decided to find myself a writing project to keep me occupied in the downtime before my next contract.  Historical fiction seemed to be quite a good way to combine writing and archaeology, so I decided to give it a try.  I mean, how hard could it possibly be?

I soon realised that I knew very little about Scottish history.  Though born and raised in Scotland, I’d learned virtually nothing about our nation’s past at school. In fact, the only way I’d ever experienced medieval Scotland was archaeologically.  I’d worked on several important urban sites, but only at site assistant level. From this meagre experience I’d learned that Scottish medieval archaeology could be summarised by burgage plots and backlands, green-glazed pottery and oyster shells.

This gave some kind of a grounding, I suppose, and initial research at the local level soon revealed the kernel of a story. I’d stumbled across John, 1st Lord Sempill, a fairly unprepossessing minor baron who’d lived in the late 15th century and died at the Battle of Flodden in 1513. Right away,  I noticed something odd about his life story: he was made a Lord of Parliament just a year after his father died fighting for the losing side at the Battle of Sauchieburn in 1488, the battle which left King James III dead and his son James IV upon the throne.

Of course, at this point, I’d never even heard of the Battle of Sauchieburn. So there followed a very intense course of swotting up on Scotland’s past, a process which has, quite literally, changed my life. It’s easy to be secure in the assumption that Scotland’s past is simple, cut and dried.  The Scots fought the English, they got gubbed.  And so, ad infinitum, ad nauseam.

But it’s not like that. Not at all. Scotland’s history is rich and complex, and it’s well worth wandering off the beaten track in an effort to find out something new.  My fictional biography of John, 1st Lord Sempill did just that, rapidly transforming into a complex, twisting tale of intrigue and political manoeuvring. What began in Fire & Sword has recently been continued in The Gryphon at Bay and that’s not the end of it, either. What I’ve learned from this is that I don’t have to go to England or Florence to get caught up in the personalities or the complexity of the past, it’s happening right here, literally on my doorstep!

This moment of epiphany was, of course, just the starting point for a long journey of discovery.  It’s impossible to write about politics without understanding more about the people. Late 15th century Scotland is quite a tough call, in a way, because there are large gaps in the record. Perhaps that’s why there’s a tacit understanding amongst modern readers that Scotland – compared to England, say, or Italy – was backward and regressive.

I was equally guilty of making such assumptions at first.  But the more I find out about late medieval and Renaissance Scotland (because this process is still ongoing...), the more I realise that it was in fact a country which punched above its weight in a cultural sense. During the late 15th and early 16th centuries, the court of James IV allowed the creative genius of composers like Robert Carver and poets like Robert Henryson to flourish.  Architecturally, Scotland achieved great things, but its achievements in the design and execution of high status secular buildings (such as Holyrood or Linlithgow Palace) tend to be overshadowed by Henry VIII’s and Cardinal Wolsey’s achievements south of the border.  Scotland’s merchants were in with the bricks and mortar in important trading centres like Middelberg and Antwerp. And our rulers were Renaissance men to be proud of: James IV - remembered best for his untimely end at Flodden – was in fact an educated, articulate man who dabbled in astrology, dentistry and linguistics.  He also invested heavily in cutting edge military technology, financing the construction of Europe’s largest warship, the Great Michael.

In short, Scotland was not a backwater.  Scotland was a small player, perhaps.  But as a nation, she tried very hard to be up there with the big boys.  As for the, savage, uncultured Scots...  Well, documentary evidence tells us that royal decrees were required during the 15th century to try and prevent Scotland’s urban populations frittering away all their wealth on the medieval equivalent of designer clothing. They liked to look good. They had a penchant for claret, and altogether, they seem to have been quite a sophisticated bunch.

But ambitions at the national level were constrained by what was happening locally, and this was where I made one of my most exciting discoveries.  Just about everything that was reported locally as an episode of small scale violence and local feud was a response to something much larger, an echo of grievances and differences being played out in Edinburgh, where the king and his government were largely based.

For example, one of the recurring themes in my novels is the feud between the Montgomerie and the Cunninghame families, which culminated much later in the cold-blooded murder of the 4th Earl of Eglinton during the 1580s. While this tends to be dismissed as an ongoing clash between a succession of personalities who just couldn’t put their differences aside and get along together, the truth is much more interesting. Between the 1480s and the 1540s, the Montgomeries were led by the hawkish, uncompromising Hugh, 2nd Lord Montgomerie (later 1st Earl of Eglinton) who served as a Privy Councillor and was briefly appointed Vice-Regent of Scotland by James V. Hugh was 87 years old when he died, and during his life, he’d been ruled by five different monarchs: James II, James III, James IV, James V and Mary.  That’s actually quite mind-blowing, especially when you’re trying to balance this realisation against the fact that we always see life in the past as being nasty, brutish and short.

Hugh murdered a few folk in his time, and yet at the same time, he appears to have been one of the first secular, non-royal householders in the west of Scotland to have window glass installed at his residence, Eglinton Castle. All this suggests a level of sophistication (and wealth) which we wouldn’t necessarily expect from your average late medieval/early post-medieval Scottish nobleman.

Balanced against this evidence of conspicuous consumption on the part of the wealthy, I’ve been intrigued to learn that the society we dismiss as ‘medieval’ was in fact tightly regulated in order to help protect the poor and disenfranchised from exploitation. The burgh councils did their best to impose trading standards, stipulating the size and quality of loaves and fining dodgy tradesmen. I’m sure the system wasn’t perfect, and that corruption was rife amongst the ruling classes, but at least they were trying to make things equitable and fair.

I suppose what this whole process has taught me more than anything is that Scotland’s history remains very much underappreciated and unknown, and that, if you ask me, is a great pity. But there have been some other, unexpected, surprises, too. Born in Glasgow of Welsh parents, for years I’d always felt a bit of an outsider.  My friends used to think I sounded ‘English,’ and my Welsh relatives used to say I spoke ‘proper Scots.’  I can’t read or write in Scots, and I don’t expect many of my readers can, either. So I translate narrative and dialogue into something which I consider to be English.

But the thing is: it’s not really English.  The way I speak, and write, is full of idioms that I couldn’t erase if I tried. I’m always using Scots words like ‘burgess’ (as opposed to ‘burgher,’) ‘tron’ (the burgh weighing machine), ‘laverock’ (skylark) and even ‘outwith,’ which I’m told is peculiarly Scottish parlance. So yes, after all these years of assuming I’m an outsider, I’ve now learned that I am, actually, Scottish. The country of my birth has shaped me, made me who and what I am today.

It’s been quite a journey, and it’s taken me a long, long way from burgage plots and backlands, green-glazed pottery and oyster shells….

Louise Turner
March 2017

Buy Louise Turner's books on Amazon:

UK:
Gryphon at Bay
Fire and Sword

US:
Gryphon at Bay
Fire and Sword

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What Stephanie Churchill Learnt while writing The Scribe's Daughter

Today, I am pleased to host a guest post from Stephanie Churchill, an author whose work I have talked about before on my blog. I reviewed her debut novel, The Scribe's Daughter, and later discussed her use of fantasy that is firmly embedded in historical reality.

Stephanie Churchill is a talented new voice, writing reality-based fantasy that reads like historical fiction. She is currently working on the sequel to The Scribe's Daughter, The King’s Daughter, which she hopes to release by the end of 2017.

"Woe is me. I think I'm turning into a god."

Contrary to the suggestion of Vespasian’s famous last words, no, I am not dying, and no, I am not turning into a god.  The quote is useful however, because it points to a very significant thing I learned while writing The Scribe’s Daughter, and its follow up, The King’s Daughter.  Or rather something I learned that I still need to learn.  That is, the problem of how to write effectively from the perspective of a limited character or reader while simultaneously being an omniscient, omnipotent author.  How do authors know how to unroll the scroll of mystery, doling out just enough clues along the way for the satisfaction of the reader while not giving too much away?

I didn’t set out to write a mystery.  I set out to write a character-driven, pseudo-historical book about a young woman who had a bad hand dealt to her.  (And if I’m honest, a series of bad hands repeated over and over through the book.)  The series of hardships and traumas she experiences grow her, develop her, turn her into a better version of herself than she was at the beginning of the book.  Never mind that writing a mystery was not a conscious decision.  The mysteries driving the plot became the tool to accomplish my main goal, the river in which Kassia swam in order to develop her character.  As Henry James said, “Plot is characters under stress.”

Since the element of mystery in my book caught me off guard, I wasn’t prepared to know how to approach the unraveling of those aspects as I wrote.  When I first sat down at my computer, I anticipated that the craft of writing involved nothing more than telling the tale as it unfolded before my eyes.  I found that it was much more complicated than this.  I realized that as the author, I know more than anyone else, and this knowledge had to be doled out slowly, carefully, and with much deliberation.

How subtle could I be?  How much could I rely on readers to catch?  If I made things too obvious, astute readers would grow bored.  I didn’t want to insult their intelligence.  On the other hand, if I remained overly obscure, readers on the other side of the spectrum might finish the book scratching their heads wondering how in the world that just happened, feeling blindsided and cheated.  As an author, you risk alienating one or the other audience.  Thus the necessity of careful, thoughtful deliberation.

It is difficult to know the beginning, middle, and end of a story as an omniscient author while writing it from the perspective of a person who is discovering the story as it unfolds – either as one of the characters or as a reader.  As the author, I had to constantly jump between broad plot arc, being the only one who could see the full parade from the helicopter above, and the “boots on the ground” parade float which can only see what’s just ahead.  I had to maintain notes along the way that reminded me who knew what at any point in the story.  At times I found myself writing dialogue only to delete and try again once I realized that this or that character couldn’t possibly know the thing I’d just made them say.  Not yet at least.

From a certain perspective, this job was slightly easier because I was only ever writing from the perspective of one person, Kassia.  I chose very deliberately to write this book in a first-person narrative.  This made the business of keeping straight who knew what at any given point much easier, I think.  But it still didn’t mean that other characters might not give things away in their conversations with Kassia.  How to realistically and authentically write dialogue for a character who knows a secret they are not willing to tell was one of the most difficult things I faced in the drafting and editing process.  How could Kassia quell her curiosity in the presence of the tight-lipped knower-of-things without wanting to throttle him or her to loosen their lips?  If you’ve read the book, you know Kassia would have been quite willing to throttle people!

I suppose authors who write primarily in the mystery genre handle the unraveling of a mystery in their prose often enough that it comes easily.  Maybe authors of formulaic stories do too.  But for me, holding a vast cosmos of an idea in my head – playing at being a god – while trying to mimic the more limited mind of a mere mortal, was a challenge that never left me.  As I write the second book, The King’s Daughter, the challenge is the same, and I’m not confident it will ever get easier for me.

To quote Disney’s 1992 animated movie Aladdin:

Aladdin: You're a prisoner?
Genie: It's all part and parcel, the whole genie gig.
[grows to a gigantic size]
Genie: Phenomenal cosmic powers!
[shrinks down inside the lamp]
Genie: Itty bitty living space! 

As an author, I often feel like I have phenomenal cosmic powers.  As a writer of fantasy I am not constrained by the historical record.  My characters can go and do what they want.  However, there are days that those powers must be tamed and subjected to the itty bitty living space of the plot and the necessity of pacing and good storytelling.  I don’t claim to have mastered this, but I have learned that I will need to work hard at it with every book.

“Woe is me.  I think I’m turning into a god.” – Vespasian 

To learn more about Stephanie, follow her on Twitter, like her Facebook page, or visit her webpage at www.stephaniechurchillauthor.com.

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What Prue Batten learnt whilst writing Guillaume

The latest author in the "What I Learnt..." series is Prue Batten. Prue has written fantasy novels in the past, but in recent years has become a successful historical novelist, first with her Gisborne Saga trilogy, and now with her spin-off series, the Triptych Chronicle. I reviewed the first of that series, Tobias, earlier in the year. The latest of her novels is Guillaume, which is set in twelfth century Lyon. I was lucky enough to get a sneak peak of it and here is what I thought:

"With her customary elegant use of language, Prue Batten plunges us effortlessly into the mercantile houses, twisted alleys and secret shadowy tunnels of medieval Europe. Guillaume is a riveting tale of twelfth century trade, treachery and intrigue."

So read on, and find out a little of what Prue learnt while writing this great novel.

What Prue Batten learnt whilst writing Guillaume

1. The secrets of Lyon.

I had no idea! In the twelfth century it was a sophisticated town built on its strong Roman foundations, foundations that contained labrynthine tunnels snaking upward from the Saône to the centre of the town. The very placement of these tunnels (called traboules) gave any users quick access to and from the river. For merchants, an added bonus – goods could be carted from barge to warehouse without being seen, giving wily traders an edge in the marketplace. Once I discovered the traboules in my reading, the next step was to secure information of their condition and usage in the twelfth century. There’s barely a time in Lyon’s history where the traboules haven’t been used. Even to WWII. (But that’s another story.)

For me, I had a location for murder and mayhem in the twelfth century.

2. Did the Reformation really happen in the 16th Century? Or was it much earlier? Perhaps in the 12th Century?

Called the Waldensian movement later in history, it began with the wealthy merchant, Pierre Vaudès. Vaudès became a reformist thinker and gave up his wealth in favour of following a simple path based on the Gospels. He had parts of the Bible translated to the Lengua Romana, so that the common man might understand that God’s love was not dependent on money, images and plenary indulgences. His preachers, of which there were many, became known as Sandalati because of their simple footwear. But more particularly they were known as The Poor Men of Lyon. The Church declared the Sandalati heretics, and the preachers and followers were forced into hiding in fear of their lives, eventually leaving France for the hidden valleys of Piedmont and giving the world a simple reformist philosophy long before Martin Luther.

This gave me an interlacing plotline…

3. That it is entirely possible to include the loveliest poetry and music in a novel.

I love the inclusion of relevant poetry and music from the times in which a novel is set. Dorothy Dunnett was iconic with her usage of the device. One of my characters is a minstrel, a poet and an aesthete. He allows me to make use of other word-forms and thus it was that I was able to use the beautiful ninth century poem, Pangur Bàn about a white cat and a monk. I sourced the online translation by Robin Flowers and when Guillaume, Tobias and Adam stay at the small priory of Pommiers en Forez, they are cared for by Brother Hugo, who has a white cat.

I also read about the most emotive piece of music this year, Carmina qui Quondam. As it dates from the eleventh century, I felt it would most definitely appeal to a minstrel of Tobias’ standing. And I included other song lyrics from the times as well.

These were indulgences in the writing of Guillaume, but like the colour in stained glass, I hope they add to the novel’s depth.

4. I learned a new word – one that resonated and one that I just had to use in my novel.

This year, I purchased a wonderful book called Landmarks, by Robert Macfarlane. Essentially a list of colloquial words to describe landscape, for me it was like discovering precious gems. One word stood out – ‘endragoned’ – first coined by Gerard Manley Hopkins to describe a roiling sea. Could I use this word? Why not if I acknowledged its provenance? Thus:

‘They entered the hall – a wave of sound rolling toward them like an endragoned sea crashing upon rocks. Nothing but men’s voices, a grumbling roar that made one search for the soft ameliorating face of any woman at all…’

Macfarlane’s book is a true treasure and I don’t think this will be the last time I use it.

But I learned many other things during this year of writing. Research fills one’s mind with such things as one creates the framework for historical novels. All providing layers and dimension for one’s story.

Thank you, Matthew, for allowing me to reveal four special ones.

Buy Guillaume

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What Elaine Moxon Learnt when writing the Wolf Spear Saga

This month's guest in the "What I Learnt..." series is Elaine Moxon. Elaine writes early medieval historical fiction as ‘E S Moxon’. Her debut ‘Wulfsuna’ is the first in her ‘Wolf Spear Saga’ series of Saxon adventures and was published in 2015. She is currently writing the second Wolf Spear Saga, set once again in the Dark Ages of 5th Century Britain. Elaine is a member of the Historical Novel Society and a contributing author on the blog of ‘English Historical Fiction Authors’. You can find out more about book two from Elaine’s website and on her blog, Writers’ Grove, where she talks about writing and research.

What Elaine Moxon Learnt when writing the Wolf Spear Saga

I’ve always had a love of history. It has been an integral part of family life for me from a young age. Both sides of my family are keen amateur genealogists and I remember visiting a wealth of ancient sites along the west coast of southern Britain and Wales during family holidays. If there was a stone circle or a castle, we were there! One of my great-grandfathers was a member of the Ancient Order of Druids and hearing about him as a child filled me with wonder. This early fascination remained with me and found its way into my Wolf Spear Saga series in the form of seers and wood sages.

As a teenager, I was intrigued by the Saxons and Vikings, whose beliefs were the stuff of fantasy novels. I think I felt close to these people of the past as I had a Saxon maiden name and often dreamed about who my ancestors were. Moxon is a Norse matrilineal surname stemming from ‘son of Meg’ with roots in northern Britain, particularly Lancashire. This Germanic and Norse presence remains today not only in surnames, but in place names and of course our language; their legacy left behind in everyday words such as ‘thank you’, ‘bread’ and ‘field’. Being an island, Britain has always been subject to waves of migration and invasion. My heritage provided another link for me with these distant travellers, as the granddaughter of Italian immigrants, fleeing famine and fascism in rural Italy. And so, migration too is a main theme in ‘Wulfsuna’.

When writing the first saga, I learnt that rising sea levels were killing livelihoods for fifth century Germanic tribes, who began to search for new land. Many took up service for the Romans as mercenaries or ‘Foederati’. They were conveniently placed to hop over to Britain when numbers needed bolstering. The wall at Vindolanda often required additional troops to hold the Picts at bay and in the south-east, shore forts ensured Germanic savages not allied with Rome didn’t make it through the defences. Of course, these southern fortifications placed uneasy decisions upon those stationed there, who had perhaps married into the British population; they were fighting kinfolk from their homeland and I imagine this did not sit well with many of them.

All of this was conscious knowledge I had grown up with, read and researched prior to writing and publishing ‘Wulfsuna’. One major thing I did learn, however, occurred after publication. My heroine, Morwyneth, is a young Seer whose new-found powers of foresight result in her expulsion from her home. She is then found by the Wulfsuna tribe, who toss her in the back of their last wagon, fearful she is a river-witch or ‘Nix’ sent by their enemies. As the Wolf Sons travel across country, Mowyneth goes with them, receiving further visions of the future along the way. The mode of transport was a logical decision I made early in the story. The Wulfsuna knew they would not be returning to Germania and had brought wheels and axles with them so they could butcher the ship’s wood into wagons.

Researching for a blog post, quite by chance I came upon a very ancient cult involving a wagon goddess. This goddess or priestess travelled across country in a wagon, visiting towns and villages foretelling the success of the harvest for the forthcoming year. Bad fortunes resulted in ritual sacrifices of beast or man, or in some cases the kings themselves! At the end of her tour, the priestess would be ritualistically cleansed by her accompanying priests or slaves, who themselves became sacrificial victims, for they had seen the goddess unclothed. Thousands of years old, this cult is prevalent in not one, but several cultures worldwide. We can find elements of wagon travel, sacrifice and ritual cleansing in the Norse ‘Vanir’, the Celtic Nicneven or Cailleach and of course Sulis, the revered water goddess at the springs in Bath. Nerthus, another Celtic deity, lived in a wagon and is mentioned by Tacitus and the Indian texts of the ‘Rigveda’ allude to a sun chariot ridden by the sun’s bride.

I had unwittingly tapped into an ancient archetype. Morwyneth was a wagon goddess! I learned that even if we don’t consciously draw on our own experiences, segments of our lives (and perhaps things in the past we’ve read or viewed) and ancient archetypes seep through into our work as we write. Hidden layers from our subconscious or primeval memories linger beneath the surface; treasure we or our readers, may or may not uncover. But what fun to know they are there, waiting to be found! It certainly gives me food for thought as I put pen to paper, or fingers to keys, wondering if my subconscious is secretly plotting out aspects of my novel as I write.

Connect with Elaine Moxon:

Writers' Grove blog
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Buy Wulfsuna from SilverWood Books

What Kelly Evans learnt researching The Northern Queen

This month in the "What I Learnt..." series I am pleased to welcome to my humble blog author, Kelly Evans.

Born in Canada of Scottish extraction, Kelly graduated in History and English from McMaster University in Ontario, Canada. After graduating Kelly moved to the UK where she continued her studies in history, focusing on Medieval England and the Icelandic Sagas (with a smattering of Old Norse and Old English).

Her first novel, The Northern Queen, was released in 2015 and she is currently working on the second book in her Anglo-Saxon series, set in the years prior to the Norman invasion.

What Kelly Evans Learnt when researching The Northern Queen

Eadric Streona was truly a horrible person.

The BBC survey named him the worst Briton of the Eleventh Century, and with good reason. What a fantastic person to have as a character!

He was a rising star and trusted advisor in the court of Aethelred and was responsible to the death of my main character’s father and two brothers. It was a dangerous time for England: the country’s borders were weakly protected and England was a tempting prize for Danish invaders. After an invasion of the Danes in 1009, Aethelred was prepared to retaliate with force but was persuaded by Eadric to pay nearly 50,000 pounds of gold to make them go away, a hugely unpopular move: most wanted to see their king fight back, not give in and bribe the invaders.

After the Danish invader Sweyn Forkbeard died, his son Canute took over. Rather than side with his king, Eadric declared his loyalty to the invader Canute, shocking his fellow countrymen. At a battle where he fought for Canute against Aethelred’s son Edmund, Eadric cut the head off of a soldier who looked like Edmund, held it in the air and told the English that their leader was dead, an act which further sealed his reputation as worst Briton of the time. Eadric wasn’t done however.

Late that same summer Eadric switched sides once again, swearing loyalty to Edmund. The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle’s comment on this act is revealing: “No greater folly was ever agreed to than this one.”

In October the final battle occurred and with it another of Eadric’s treacheries. Edmund should have won the Battle of Assandun; his forces were superior to the Danes and he had enlisted fresh fighters, compared to the Danish forces who were fewer in number and battle-weary. But at a pivotal moment, Eadric fled the battlefield, his many supporters along with him. The sides were now numbered in favour of the Danes and the English suffered a crushing defeat.

Eadric ingratiated himself enough with the new king to remain Ealdorman of Mercia but by the following Christmas, 1017, the mood had changed: Canute either suspected Eadric of treason or had already accused him of such and he was executed.

Such a fun character to write!

I really enjoy researching my novels. A lot.

My characters are related to Rollo, whose story is currently being told in the TV show Vikings. 

While researching my characters I traced their family trees for completeness sake, and also to provide additional information for readers on my website. Rollo, played by Clive Standen (and erroneously listed as Ragnar Lothbrok’s brother – they weren’t related), after attacking Paris and Bayeux (and marrying Poppa of Bayeux), was granted land in what we now call Normandy (‘land of the northmen’). His descendants lived (and still do) in most of the royal courts across Europe, including his great-granddaughter Emma of Normandy who was offered to the English king Aethelred in a marriage treaty that would help to protect England’s interests on the Continent. Emma is one of the main characters in my novel, and my main character’s enemy.

How Manipulation was Used by Women

It was incredibly difficult for a woman, even one of high birth, to gain and wield power. Emma of Normandy was the daughter and sister of the Dukes of Normandy but was considered a pawn in the political game between Normandy and England. Arranged marriages of high-ranking noblewomen was commonplace, with little to no consideration for the woman’s opinion. But Emma became a skilled manipulator, gathering wealth and support through bribes, promises of wealth and power, and gifts of money and land, enough to eventually affect the course of events in the country.

My main character, Emma’s ‘nemesis’, Aelfgifu, also from a noble family, was married to the Danish invader’s son Canute in what may or may not have been a love match. It was certainly an astute partnership as the act brought with it support for the Danish king. Despite this she was deemed unsuitable (their marriage ceremony hadn’t been presided over by a Catholic priest, rather they used the ancient practice of hand-fasting) and replaced by Emma, who, after Aethelred’s death, was seen as a perfect match for the new king Canute. Despite Emma’s support and machinations, Aelfgifu gained her own powerbase, to such an extent that she was able to persuade the country to accept her son, Harold, as king after Canute died. Through carefully thought out gifts of land and promises of more, Aelfgifu’s influence meant that she was able to aid her son effectively in his rule.

To prepare for writing The Northern Queen, I had to do extensive amounts of research into the people and period. My previous historical study only just touched on the Anglo Saxon period so I had a lot of work to do to get all of the details just right. More than just right, historical fiction readers are an exacting bunch! I started with a broad picture then narrowed my research considerably. And I loved it, the individuals, the rulers, the politics. The whole time period. And I loved finding a new history book, or a new source of information on the internet. I’m a data addict, and the research scratched that itch for months. All to ensure I told the best, most accurate, story I could.

Another huge advantage to the research is the people I’ve met, others interested in the early medieval period, from all over the world and dedicated to bringing the period to life. And while I’m working on a novel that takes place in a different time period (black death!), I still try to write a historical article on an element of the Anglo Saxon age each month for my website. You never stop learning!

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What Annie Whitehead Learnt when Researching her Anglo-Saxon Novels

This month in the "What I Learnt..." series is author, Annie Whitehead. Like me, Annie writes novels set in the Anglo-Saxon period, albeit later in history.

Annie is a history graduate and prize-winning author. Her novel, To Be A Queen, is the story of Aethelflaed, daughter of Alfred the Great. It was long-listed for the Historical Novel Society’s Indie Book of the Year 2016. Her new release, Alvar the Kingmaker, which tells the story of Aelfhere of Mercia, a nobleman in the time of King Edgar, is available now. She has completed a third novel, also set in Mercia, and scheduled for publication in 2017. Annie has also recently been involved in a project re-imagining the events of 1066, called 1066 Turned Upside Down. She has twice been a prizewinner in the Mail on Sunday Novel Writing competition, she won first prize for nonfiction in the new Writing Magazine Poetry and Prose competition, and she has had articles published in various magazines, on a wide range of topics. She is also an editor for the English Historical Fictions Authors blog.

What Annie Whitehead Learnt when Researching her Anglo-Saxon Novels

1. That flour dust is highly flammable. 

Writing a particular scene, I wanted a fire, or better still, some kind of explosion, but I knew that, for that very reason, smithies/smiths’ forges were kept away from the main buildings. Fumes from metals might have bothered jewellery makers, occasionally causing them to be overcome or even unconscious, but that was too specific. I got in touch with Dr Kevin Leahy, (National Adviser, Early Medieval Metalwork -The Portable Antiquities Scheme):

“The danger with bellows is, I am afraid, rather mundane, if the hot gasses (and they would be very hot) were drawn back into the bellows that would set fire to the wood and leather bringing proceedings to an abrupt end. A simple flap, opened by the air pressure when the bellows are blowing, but shutting as air is drawn in ready for the next push would have solved the problem. If you are looking for a loud noise in the Anglo-Saxon period thunder is probably a better bet.

‘If you are looking at a man-made explosion these did occur in flour-mills during the Middle-Ages and it may have occurred during the late Saxon period. The suspension of fine flour in air is a highly explosive mixture which could be set off by a candle or a bearing of a wheel running hot. I suppose an Anglo-Saxon water powered mill is less likely to run away than a wind-mill (supposedly introduced during the Crusades) but in any event the explosive mixture would have been present.”

I had my interesting fact, and I had my pivotal scene!

Interior of a watermill.

2. That there was a thing called the ‘Eavesdrip.’

I had a scene where a newborn infant died and I didn’t want to assume that, a la Victorian novels, babies were not allowed to be buried in cemeteries without undergoing baptism. I contacted my erstwhile tutor and Anglo-Saxon specialist, Ann Williams:

“The only reference I can find is in John Blair (The Church in Anglo-Saxon England, p471). There he observes that the later infant burials in the graveyard at Raunds, Northants (one of the few to have been thoroughly excavated) encroached on the reserved strip of land closest to the walls of the church; and in a footnote (201) says that ‘this looks like a case of the widespread practice of burying infants under the ‘eavesdrip’ and refers to Stephen Wilson, The Magical Universe: Everyday Ritual and Magic in pre-modern Europe p216, ‘for the idea that water running off the church roof conveyed some kind of posthumous baptism.’ It kind of makes sense!”

I was able to write a fitting end to the scene and lay the tragic infant to rest.

Anglo-Saxon Church” attribution - G. Baldwin Brown [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

3. That novelists end up chasing the tiniest facts, just to get it ‘right’.

Could my character describe another as having almond-shaped eyes, I wondered? Were almonds known to the Anglo-Saxons? I learned that yes, they were, but they were new and exotic and definitely ‘foreign’. Debby Banham, historian and author of Food and Drink in Anglo-Saxon England, says:

“Almonds and pine-nuts are mentioned very occasionally in the medical texts, but there are no archaeological finds … it is possible that they were just names, and never really used … however, they could have been imported in small quantities as part of the spice trade without making any impression on the archaeological record. Only the rich would have access to imported nuts.”

I suppose they were the Beluga Caviar or Kopi Luwak Coffee of the age!

Almond Plant

4. How vellum is made.

Writer Hugh Scott talks about verisimilitude and whilst I don’t quite agree with his definition, he says you have to “slap your reader with detail that he wouldn’t think of for himself.” Rather than simply mentioning that there was a pile of vellum on the table, I wanted a different detail. I learned how calf hides are softened in a lime solution before the bristly hair is scraped off with a really sharp knife, a process known as ‘scudding’. The skins are then stretched out on a frame known as a ‘herse.’ I learned all this just so I could have a character walking past the frames. But I thought this would be more interesting and a better setting of the scene than to mention the vellum sitting in the scriptorium waiting to be written on.

Charter of King Eadwig (Edwy) AD956

5. That, paradoxically, fiction turns historical figures into real people.

I have studied the Anglo-Saxon charters and other primary sources for many years, but it became a much more personal enterprise when I began writing about these people as characters. Above in the (vellum) document, Aelfhere of Mercia’s name is clearly visible. The fusion of the historical person with my fictional character was enlightening and very satisfying.

Pictures attribution: Watermill, copyright Annie Whitehead. All other images public domain unless stated otherwise.

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What Cynthia A. Graham learnt while researching for Beulah's House of Prayer

Next in the "What I Learnt..." series is Cynthia A. Graham. She is the winner of several writing awards, including a Gold IPPY and a Midwest Book Award for Beneath Still Waters. Cynthia is a member of the Historical Novel Society, the St. Louis Writers’ Guild, the Missouri Writers’ Guild, and Sisters in Crime. Her latest book, Beulah’s House of Prayer, is her first foray in the land of magical realism.

What Cynthia Graham learnt while researching for Beulah's House of Prayer

The past has always been fascinating to me because I never felt like it was some distant, forgotten time. It surrounds me, influences me, it contains the building blocks of who I am and where I’ve come from, it is everywhere. My family has always been a family of story. My dad was a master storyteller, relaying to me tales of his own childhood and those of his ancestors. Stories of covered wagons, twisters, music, and chopping cotton filled my thoughts and dreams.

 I grew up reading the books of Laura Ingalls Wilder and Louisa May Alcott and when I matured devoured every novel by Jane Austen and any sister with the surname Bronte. While the stories they wrote were contemporary for their time, I was struck with the fact that our basic human needs and desires have not changed over the decades or centuries.  These authors helped me to fall in love with the mannerisms and the hardships of the past.

The Great Depression has always intrigued me, perhaps because I have known people who actually lived through it and have seen firsthand how it changed them. Their experiences colored their lives and the way they looked at the world forever. I suppose I wrote Beulah’s House of Prayer because so much of the American mystique regarding the Depression is defined by John Steinbeck’s novel, The Grapes of Wrath. But not everyone who lived through this time was a Joad -- an Okie traveling from home to try their hand in another place. In fact, the majority of Oklahomans stayed behind and these were the people who fired my imagination. I wanted to learn about them, why they stayed and what they suffered.

The Oklahoma Panhandle, where I set Beulah’s House of Prayer, was particularly devastated by the “Dust Bowl” days. It is easier to see the big picture when it comes to dust storms -- those eerie black and white photos of enormous clouds swallowing up houses -- than it is to understand the everyday nuisance and the absolute misery these storms created.  It is nearly impossible to comprehend how difficult it was to keep the dust out of a house. It had to be carried outside with a shovel after every storm. Towels and washcloths were wetted and placed in window sills to keep the dust from seeping in. Spiders, centipedes, and other insects sought shelter inside of homes and people would often wake to find them in bed.

It was also impossible to keep the dust off of and out of bodies. It is strange to think that something so seemingly benign could be deadly, but inhaled it caused dust pneumonia, an often lethal disease. To try and combat this, the Red Cross distributed Vaseline to citizens, instructing them to rub it in their nostrils to try and keep the lungs clear. But the dust was stealthy; it crept through masks, nestled in shirt pockets, and filled ears. It was impossible to escape.

Every day living was tedious and difficult. The storms were powerful enough to cause car batteries to short out leaving motorists stranded and they created the phenomenon known as St. Elmo’s Fire. Even a doorknob could deliver a considerable shock if the storm packed enough energy. Day after dust-filled day blotted the sun and eventually killed livestock and choked creeks and rivers.

But, above all, I believe these dust storms wore away at the fortitude of those living through them. They were soul killing. The mental and emotional toll caused by the constant monotony of storms, cleaning up, and hunger was staggering.  While some died from the dust outright, in the form of pneumonia or exposure, there was a hidden death toll in alcoholism and suicide. Those who didn’t succumb lived on prairie chickens and jackrabbits but they survived. And the heroism in this simple act of survival, in enduring one of the worst natural disasters in recent history, was what I sought to honor with Beulah’s House of Prayer.

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Keep up to date with Cynthia online: 

www.cynthiaagraham.com

@cynthiaa_graham

Buy Cynthia's books:

Beulah’s House of Prayer

Beneath Still Waters

Behind Every Door