Dress for Historical Success Workshop presented at RWA 2010 Orlando, FL

Moderator Peg Herring with authors Coralie Jensen, Jade Lee, Jeannie Lin,
Julia Justiss, Judy Ridgley, Pam Nowak, Linda Joyce, Isobel Carr, and
Elisabeth Burke

I attended this workshop primarily to support three authors from two chapters that I belong to. Elisabeth Burke, Linda Joyce, and Judy Ridgley, but came away with a wardrobe of photographs and a new respect for those that dressed before us.

I managed to sneak in late and grabbed a chair along the wall so I could sneak & take photographs. I should have planned better and hung out at the back of the room with others that were taking photographs, but I still managed to get some good shots. I took quite a few shots of each costume presented but some came out better than others. If you are represented here and you only see one frame it is because I failed in my other attempts. My apologies, I would have represented everyone here equally if I could.

I have to preface this by admitting the descriptions that appear below were written by each of the ladies who appear in the photographs. I wrote up my own descriptions but my memory was so bad that I finally contacted Peg and got the segments provided by each of the authors. Thanks so much to Peg Herring who got the descriptions to me in time to post them. And more thanks to Linda and Elisabeth who got me in contact with her in time to post this blog. My comments are in italics and the photographs and descriptions appear in the order that I remember them. Not necessarily the order in which they actually appeared. Such is my memory. I got the corrected order later, but deemed it too much work to move everything around.

Note: Comments are moderated so don’t be surprised if they don’t appear right away. You don’t need to repost. I’ll publish the first comments entered. thx gj

The fashion show began with the moderator dressed in a beautiful gown and headpiece.

Peg Herring chose to appear as Catherine Parr, sixth wife of Henry VIII and a character in Peg’s mystery, HER HIGHNESS’ FIRST MURDER. Catherine was Elizabeth Tudor’s last stepmother, and she was a good one. Of course, Henry had already disposed of two wives named Catherine, one by divorce, one by beheading.

Peg’s costume is suitable for a formal occasion, such as a day at Court, and is similar to one Catherine wore to have her portrait done in the 1550s. She would begin with a shift, a light under-dress with fitted sleeves and a low neck. Over it, she would fasten a hoop skirt known as a farthingale, tied on at the waist. A bum roll, a tube of fabric stuffed and also tied around the waist, emphasizes the curve of the derriere. Next she would add a corset, tightly laced to narrow her waist and flatten her bosom.

An under-skirt, plain at the back and sides but fancy in front, comes next. Over that is the dress itself, split in front to show the underskirt’s elegant front section. The overdress has very elaborate sleeves with cuffs of one fabric and inserts of another draped back and under to make a puffy look. The waist is tightly fitted, with a “V” shape in front to help create the triangular look that ladies favored at the time.

To cover her hair, Catherine might add a cap with a veil, although more elaborate hats were also popular. Hair decorations often accompanied the hat, such as feathers or jeweled hairpins. Peg has also chosen a lovely beaded necklace that shows well in the dress’s squared neckline.

Coralie Hughes Jensen’s costume is an outfit worn by a landed gentleman similar to one of the Yorkshire characters in her historical novel HAWKSWOLD ABBEY, set in the time of Henry VIII. In the early 1500s, wealthy English landowners who were not part of the court or nobility lived well from the rents paid by tenants who farmed their estates. Members of the landed gentry were upper class, a highly desirable status. Particular prestige was attached to those who had inherited landed estates for generations, the “old” families. Sumptuary laws prohibited the lower and middle classes from using gold or silver thread, silk, velvet, gems, or anything signifying wealth. Doing so would land the common man or woman in jail. It was important for those with land, money, and social standing to display their rank.

The gentleman farmer’s attire was multi-layered. In full garb, he would have worn a wide-sleeved linen or cotton shirt under a waistcoat, which would be covered by a doublet, a vest or jacket of quilted material or wool embellished for formal occasions. Below, he wore upper stocks, fitted knee-breeches or fuller slops, sometimes slashed and lined with colorful fabric pulled through the slashes and puffed out to emphasize the color contrasts. Over the lower stocks, or hose, he wore shoes or knee-high boots. The flat cap, worn both indoors and outdoors, had a narrow brim, often turned up. It sat horizontally on the head and might be embellished with buttons, pins, or feathers.

Coralie’s interest in history is not limited to the Tudors. Her just-released romantic suspense, WINTER HARVEST, is set in a western Massachusetts religious commune and takes place in the early 1800s, during the heyday of the group known as the Shakers.

Judy Ridgley appears as the “Domina’ Julia Galeria Casca, a character in her Vulcan’s City-Herculaneum. This Roman lady of the upper class is attired in the traditional gown or ‘stola’, as it was called in Ancient Pompeii. Her iridescent green stola is bordered on the hem, which is typical of the gowns of married dominas just before Vesuvius erupted on A.D. 79. Fortunately, for Julia, she survived this catastrophe to be with us today.

The lady covers her head with a maroon shawl or ‘palla’. In the early Republic period, a domina seen with head uncovered gave her husband, the dominus, grounds for divorce. Times have changed. Now, during the First Century, a woman accents all her stolas with this garment as she shops the streets of Herculaneum.

The silk stola and palla would have traveled the Silk Road through Jerusalem and on a galley to Rome. The lady’s jewelry (will have to give the details when I have them) displays the wealth of her own family and of her husband, and reveals his position as an equestrian and owner of many merchant galleys.

Julia’s hair is parted in the center and swept up, which for first century dominas revealed their married status. Her sandals are open due to the warm climate around the Tyrannian Sea where this wealthy city was situated.

Elisabeth Burke, also known as Leigh Stites, appears as Mattie Parker, a Cherokee healer living in the foothills of the Ozarks in the mid 1860s. Mattie is the mother of John and Jay Parker, two sexy sons of Missouri whose stories are told in companion novels: 2009 award-winner Broken Road and this year’s Golden Heart finalist, The Healer.

Throughout their struggles, Mattie is the glue that holds the family together, which is not surprising. The Cherokee are a matriarchal society, so ‘Ma’ wears the pants—even if it’s a dress.

The extra fullness and slightly shorter length provide freedom of movement to do daily chores. A decorative sash and bandolier bag for carrying her healing supplies add a cultural flare. When she’s working around the farm, Mattie wears a wide-brimmed bonnet to shield her face from the sun. What’s underneath? Leggings in the winter, cotton shift on cooler days, but on warmer days–nothing.

You won’t find Mattie in buckskins. The Cherokee, especially intermarried families, adapted quickly to the lifestyle of early white settlers and gave up wearing leather in favor of more easily made cloth fabrics. They did not, however, give up the comfort of their moccasins or the decorative touch of beads made from glass, shells or local seeds.

Like many Cherokee women, Mattie is an expert weaver. She also sews all the clothes for her family. This dress combines the practicality of traditional Indian ponchos with pioneer wrappers, featuring a split bodice closed with whatever is handy (in this case, it would have been a locust thorn except that it was confiscated by airport security). Though Mattie’s sons are grown, she’s still considered in her childbearing years, and this dress allows for easy nursing.

Linda Joyce is wearing the classic uniform of a 19^th century schoolmarm and is here to educate her class about how proper young ladies need to dress.

Around 1907, women’s clothing became more man-tailored. The two-piece outfit with a “shirtwaist” or as we would say today, a blouse, opens in the front with buttons and has a collar. Notice the detailed pleats and gathering in the back.

The seven-gore skirt, made of seven pieces including an inverted pleat, is considered a most figure-flattering garment. It has one button and several snaps.

While clothing for a schoolmarm is made from simple fabrics like cotton, this outfit might be made of silk, taffeta or linen as well. If the fabric of the skirt and blouse are the same, the outfit is called a “shirtwaist suit.”

Notice the difference in the bonnets between the one Linda is wearing and the one Elisabeth wears above.

She gave us lessons in propriety and I was frightened that she might be hiding a ruler. No worries though this was a kind, proper and wise school marm.

Jade Lee is wearing touristy crap circa 1950. Doesn’t she look stylish? Jade is here to show the clothing her distant relatives wore to the CHIN dynasty court. Since Jade would have to cut her body in half to wear either outfit, she’s put them on a couple of dolls. The blue outfit (not shown) is typical of everyday wear in the 1800s. A silk jacket with braiding is worn over a pleated silk skirt. The pink outfit is more typical of court attire. It has the same general style, but the top and bottom match, and both are extensively embroidered.

Jade is wearing—appropriately—some jade jewelry. She claims there are a zillion superstitions surrounding this beautiful semi-precious stone, most common being that it can stabilize or preserve the body’s CHEE, or spirit. Some believe that jade will change to a richer green color if it “likes you”. And many, probably jewelers, claim that if you wear a jade bracelet and it breaks, the jade will take the harm instead of you. Our Jade recommends that you wear a lot of jade so you will never get hurt!

The colors were fabulous and the embroidery amazing.

Yes, we’re pretending to ignore those bare legs in the background that looked like they’d just done a Sharon Stone.

Our next model had more clothing than anyone so there are quite a few photographs here. It’s always difficult to show detail in black but I did my best.

Pam Nowak’s costume is patterned on an 1873 wedding dress. Black wedding gowns were common among middle class women, since the brides could reuse the dresses later. The dress is similar to what Miriam, Pam’s heroine in CHOICES, might have worn. More formal than practical calico and clearly indicating the wearer was aware of the fashions of Harper’s Bazaar, it would announce her status as an officer’s daughter. Though suffragist Sarah Donovan, heroine of Pam’s HOLT Medallion winner CHANCES, would have wrinkled her nose at the dress in favor of a simple brown work skirt, Miriam would have found it the perfect compromise between style and functionality. The dress is comprised of separates (a bodice and a skirt). Box pleats on the underskirt and the DAMask inset in the skirt front add style to the otherwise unadorned gown. The uncharacteristic diagonal pleat was copied from the original dress and may have been the result of an alteration or repair. A crinoline or petticoat and a detachable bustle would have been worn under the skirt.

The boned DAMask bodice features twenty fabric-covered buttons and accents the waistline, drawing attention to the wearer’s curves. A rear fan pleat does the same. Sleeves are set at the top of the shoulder and, except for the slight puff at the top, are tight. Original lace accents the collar and cuffs.

Accessories such as a broach, hat, gloves, parasol, and reticule complement the dress and add color.

The third frame is where the proper lady began to be a bit improper. But we encouraged it, so I believe we are at fault for ruining her too. She did keep her hat on though.

I am to be flogged for not taking notes as I was taking photographs but this gown was just spectacular as is the lady who wears it. The color and texture of the fabric and the rich colors are not accurately represented here, but I did my best with it. It is more orange than pink. Some of the photographs were dark so I enhanced them to provide better visibility. My apologies to the authors if their terrific gowns are misrepresented because of it).

Isobel Carr shows us what a woman of the Georgian era might look like. Her favorite era is late 18^th century, the time of such films as The Duchess, The Affair of the Necklace and Amazing Grace. There was an air of decadence, revolution, and exuberance with the Enlightenment, as well as the thrill of war. So much going on. So many changes.

In just a few years, fashion will undergo swift and momentous change, but for the moment we are still in an era of layers, of strict corsetry, and of male elegance. Clothing is, for the most part, very structured. Hoops are on their way out, replaced in everyday dress by hip pads, though formal and court gowns are still worn over the magnificent hooped petticoats so familiar from depictions of the doomed Marie Antoinette. Into this world suddenly springs the very first “round gown”, meaning that it goes all the way around the body, pulling on over the head, without the need for a stomacher or any other parts. It is called Chemise a la Reine, Robe a la Reine or simply, the Chemise dress. Some sources claim it is of English origin, but it is Vigee le Brun’s portrait of Marie Antoinette in what critics called her “underwear” that popularized the fashion and gave it the name by which it is known today.

While the chemise would still have been worn over the ridged stays of the day, the lack of hoops and the light fabric’s ability to mould to the body, especially the legs, was a revolution in terms of female fashion. It is from this gown that the light and diaphanous gowns of Regency will be born. What Isobel is wearing today is the chemise’s successor: a true round gown with a “robe” over it similar to those worn in Emma Thompson’s version of Sense and Sensibility.

Julia Justiss appears in evening dress as Lady Honoria Carlow, heroine of her August release, THE SMUGGLER AND THE SOCIETY BRIDE. The Regency period saw a simplification in aristocratic women’s dress. Gone are bum rolls, separate sleeves, stomachers and elaborate layers of underskirts. Often a lady’s dress, even for the most formal occasions, would be just a variation of a simple “round gown,” a one-piece garment that tied, pinned, or fastened in the back. Though England was at war with France for almost the entire period of the Regency, French fashion still had a strong influence on English dress. The high-waisted, puffed-sleeved, slender-silhouette gown introduced by the Empress Josephine at Napoleon’s court replaced the more elaborate Georgian gowns and remained in fashion for several decades.

The line of the dress might be simple, but the decoration was often elaborate, with French terms sprinkled throughout. One popular trim was the “rouleau” (roo-loh,) or “roll”, literally a roll of fabric often decorated, as it is on Julia’s gown, with flower or ribbon trim. Lace was a favorite trim material for skirts, sleeves and bodices, as were jewels such as pearls, crystal (called “brilliants”) or even precious stones, which are NOT shown on Julia’s gown.

Although cropped haircuts were appearing, most women still wore their hair long, done up for evening in elaborate arrangements of curls. As the period progressed, caps and turbans were worn, but in 1814, at the time of Honoria’s story, a simple style of curls threaded through with ribbons or pearls, perhaps capped by an Ostrich feather, would finish the ensemble.

Gloves were always worn, often dyed to match the color of the gown. My lady would carry a reticule, forerunner of the modern purse, and no toilette would be complete without a fan. These were often as elaborate as the gown, displaying painted scenes, intricate lace or ivory carving. On her feet, my lady usually wore flat slippers of soft kid, similar to the Mary Jane or ballet slipper of today.

Jeannie Lin is showing off the elegant Hanfu robes featured in her 2009 Golden Heart award winning debut novel, Butterfly Swords. The story is set in the 8^th century, during the Golden Age of Tang Dynasty China.

The traditional garment consists of a form-fitting bodice draped with a floor-length robe. The style was then modified according to the fashion of the times. During the Tang Dynasty, trade along the Silk Road was at its height. The magnificent clothing and accessories reflected the wealth and artistry of the period. Robes became more elaborate, with long, flowing sleeves and vibrant colors. Layers of silk and gauze gave the illusion of rippling water as ladies swept across the courtyard.

In Butterfly Swords, the heroine, Ai Li, wears this beautiful robe as she sneaks out of the palace to say farewell to the hero. She hopes that he will remember her as a woman, rather than the sword-wielding tomboy he rescued.

Explore the elegance and drama of the Tang Dynasty in Butterfly Swords, available in October from Harlequin Historical. The linked short story, The Taming of Mei Lin, will release in September from Harlequin Historical Undone.

I can’t say enough about the effort these ladies went to to provide us with accurate, well researched and generally stunning gowns. I know I appreciated the effort they went to and really enjoyed the workshop.

Here is the last photo, a group shot showing all the participants dressed for historical success!

Check out the participating authors’ newest/upcoming releases
Isobel Carr - Ripe for Seduction
Peg Herring –Her Highness’ First Murder
Coralie Jensen - Winter Harvest
Julia Justiss - The Smuggler and the Society Bride
Jade Lee –Wicked Surrender
Jeannie Lin - Butterfly Swords and The Taming of Mei Lin
Pamela Nowak - Choices
Judy Ridgley - Vulcan City—Herculaneum

A few of you may be old enough to remember the old western TV comedy show F-Troop.  Well, this headline goes that far back but refers to something a little further into the remote regions than the wild west.  And if you don’t remember F-Troop get it on NetFlix.  It was wholly un PC and really funny to a nine year old at the end of the sixties.  Probably wouldn’t get on the air these days.

Balloo is the big blue bear from Jungle Book, a Disney flick from way back when.  I don’t remember much about it except the triple jointed looseness of the boy Mowglie and the song that the ape sang.  ”I wanna be a man, man child, and walk right into town…”  So when I came across a seven foot tall Balloo and Ape in the Animal Kingdom I couldn’t hold back those irrepressible lyrics.  Keep in mind that my friend Denise and I had been out for hours by then and my signature color was sweat stained from the 1200% humidity.  I still maintain that it was condensation collecting on the surface of our skin since we were two hot babes in the woods.

Now you might think that I had enticed Balloo over to have his picture taken with me but no, in fact he was drawn to me by my melodic crooning.  Balloo wanted his picture taken with me.  So naturally I obliged.  It’s a pretty good photo of Balloo, but I’m afraid it’s a bit dodgey of me.  That Florida sun is unforgiving.  You’ll notice the resemblance between us in shape.  Yes, well, I’ll have to work on that.

But this wasn’t the only fun we had in Florida.  No, we were there for serious business.  My friend Denise and I were celebrating our Semi-Centennial year.  We will both be skipping across that meridian that separates youth from whatever follows, later in the fall.

We celebrated the entire weekend with trips to three Disney parks, both of the Universal studio parks as well.  There we discovered that the Harry Potter ride at Universal Studios called the hippogriff (or something like that) was not designed using the standard American Buttwidth.  In fact we suspect the designers may have been using the French Buttwidth or even perhaps the Japanese Buttwidth universal measures.  We very nearly didn’t get into the cars.  You will see us here in the photo I’m holding (although this is from Expedition Everest).  We are the ones wedged into the back seats.

As you can clearly see we are having what they call fun. But even more fun was yet to come.

Later that evening while we were enjoying a frosty beverage and massaging
our feet we recalled that we were not the only ones celebrating.

Dick Powers (his real name) was also celebrating the half way mark without us in Lawrence, Kansas.  So we serenaded him in a birthday salute that I will spare you.  I do have a still from that event that I will share just because it proves that you’re never too old to make an ass of yourself.

So this was my last hurrah prior to rejoining my romance writer sisters and brothers at the RWA National Conference.

Consider this the obligatory vacation slide show.  You have been subjected. The work of Conference would soon begin.

Now, go write.

And congratulations to Gretchen Jones (the young blonde talented designer)  for winning the first challenge and making it to the next round on Project Runway.

to update my blog again.  Well, I suppose it is.  I haven’t really anything new to say.

Mom and Dad are moved.

I have seven or eight new pairs of shoes.  Yes, I am going for the championship at Nationals this year.
This pair of flats are cute (if I do say so myself, and Carla said they were too, so it must be true)

But the pumps I purchased rock.

So I went to the grocery store today and weak girl that I am I popped into a boutique and picked up two dresses, four shirts and a pair of capris.  Now my cute shoes have company.

I am simply a poser though.  The true champions at Nationals are those ladies who have made lists four or more weeks out, planning wardrobe, schedules, meetings, and like that.

About as close to that as I have gotten is to acknowledge that I need to go camping next weekend because I’ll need my swimming suit and my suitcase for the Florida trip.  Both are currently in the trailer at Meg’s place.

I haven’t heard anything from Ms. Lionetti on my manuscript critique yet.  I’m dying a little bit each day that it’s away.  Not really, but I am still very excited about it and waiting patiently.  (if for some reason this post crosses your line of sight, no pressure.  I’m waiting patiently - ok, squirming a bit.)

I attended the memorial services for Max Davidson, of Crosswinds fame (or obscurity depending on whether you follow southern rock in central Kansas) who passed away at 60 last week.

He will be missed.  Face to the wind man, and give my love to Ronnie when you get to the big blue school bus in the sky.
He’ll be waiting with that big teddy bear grin and a sparkle in his bright blue eyes.

Next blog update should be my own tribute to Hunks.  My hunks, the ones that peopled my youth.  They were some hotties.  Yowser!

Danny you should be worried because you’re calendar pose is due to be put up first.

I will remember June 2010 as a month of chapter endings (assuming I remember it at all).  It is the month during which I completed revisions and sent out my first fully formed manuscript for professional critique.  I won a critique in the Do The Write Thing for Nashville auction in May, and yesterday hit send on the email that contained my manuscript as an attachment.

This was the manuscript I began in January 2009 with many doubts in my mind as to whether I was even capable of plotting and completing a fully formed story.  The good news is that I am. The bad news is that the more I write and the more that I learn about writing, the more it seems I need to learn.  This is of course all good.

I’ve come a long way from 2007 and my first novel attempt started during NANOWRIMO.  That manuscript had some very funny moments but no plot to speak of.  I kept trying to create one, but it never really worked.  So when I blew up my characters, burned down the house they lived in and threw the seventy-hundreth version of it under the bed to live in a warren of dust bunnies, I did so with a bit of trepidation knowing that my next attempt had to be approached differently.  I plotted.  It was both scary and rewarding as I figured out what I wanted to write.  I built my plot on the inspiration of real life characters whose tragic lives made me wonder “what if?”

I finished the first draft in November, on my birthday (that’s the way I recall it anyway) which made it eleven months in gestation.  I began Holly Lisle’s, How to Revise Your Novel course when I had no idea how to revise the story and it became better for it.  Lastly I asked a trusted friend and critique group member for a read through.  Her insight allowed me to find the chinks between the stones in the foundation and fill them.  With her help I nailed the last strip of flashing around the chimney and sent my manuscript out the door.  I’ll never be able to thank Heather enough for her help with that.  She is so busy right now, you have no idea.

This is not the only chapter that has ended this month.  Two weeks ago Thursday my parents put their house on the market after an impromptu family dinner where Dad called a friend/real estate agent and by the end of the night a listing contract was ready to sign.  By Sunday we had an interested buyer.  A week later, in the midst of wedding preparations for their eldest granddaughter they somehow managed to sell the house they had lived in for 41 years and buy a condo just a few miles away.

This hasn’t been easy.  There have been more than one sentimental moment as we move my parents to their new home.  A million happy memories are attached to the old one’s walls.   Have my eyes teared up?  I admit to once, the other day as I contemplated my parent’s possible distress at leaving.  Again as I write this I struggle with the inclination to weep.  It is a very good thing that they are moving as they are unable to manage the house as they once did.  The stairs have become too difficult and the house too much for them to maintain.

I am so excited for them, my mother in particular because she’s finally getting what she’s asked for after many many years.  A smaller place on one level that she can manage a bit better than the 100 year old monster they spent the last 40 plus years in.  My father is resigned to the move, and I believe dealing with it the best way he knows how.

Lest you think this month has not been peppered liberally with slapstick please stand corrected.  There are two particular incidents that come to mind.  The first occurred prior to the impending real estate transactions.  I retrieved a pitcher from the china cabinet for dinner one Wednesday  and noticed an odd smell, sort of ammoniac (if that’s a word).  Like a cat peed in there.  My parent’s cat (ok, it was mine) died some twenty years before and is buried out back so I knew it wasn’t the cat’s fault.

Sometimes I don’t see what’s right in front of my face.  There were a variety of objects in there and I played “one of these is not like the other” until it finally registered.  There was a two poundish extremely bumpy and mottled pumpkin-like gourd or squash on the shelf.  I remembered it sitting on the table at Thanksgiving - seven months ago.  Mystery solved.  It had now added bluish grey fuzz to its complement of warts and knobs.

The most recent surprise came when we went through a steamer trunk circa 1865 or so.  It contained some old photos, a family bible and oddly, what we think is probably my grandfather Jones’ first hip replacement.  Fortunately Grampa took his second hip replacement hardware with him when he went.

So now with so many mysteries solved as we crowd the living and dining rooms with cardboard boxes, a few still remain.  We always expected to find half a loaf of Challah (a very large braided loaf of bread) that disappeared one Thanksgiving day. We may find that yet.

This is a peculiar post, but in the way dreams rarely do, it wanted to be written down.  None of it is based in reality. Jenny never lived in a lighthouse or even near the coast.  As far as I know she didn’t collect jewelry.  I barely knew her at all, being too young when she was active, and I only saw her a few times.  But my father and grandmother and various other relatives talked about her all my life, so she became a part of the fabric of my history. Though I never saw the stitches made, somehow there she is.

Last night I dreamt about my Great-aunt Jenny.  Jenny was a pistol.  She was the one who was once rescued by a airline pilot when her wheelchair got loose on one of the rolling walkways at the St. Louis Airport.  She was WHOOOO WHOOOOO-ing down the ramp and a pilot vaulted over the railing and stopped her wheelchair from careening out of control.  I don’t really remember much about her except that she was larger than life though tiny in stature and quite with it until she was ninety-five when she died peacefully in her sleep.

In my dream I had somehow gone to visit her in her home, a lighthouse on a beach thick with a golden sea of salt-grass. Somehow I had become the favored great niece and was quite surprised and pleased with my new status.  Jenny planned to bequeath the lighthouse to me.  I couldn’t believe my good luck and was so honored.  I was seriously contemplating the practical reality of living in a remote and windswept place so far away from my midwestern roots.  It might be lonely, but the peace of such a place, a home so warm and cozy, seemed like something from - quite aptly - a dream.  I walked out in the tall grass on the sandy dunes and felt the wind and the sun on my skin.  There’s a lightness to the sea air where the sky seems to come down to greet you.  You only get that during very odd weather in the midwest.  But there in my dream it lifted me.  Not literally, this was a serious dream after all.  No frivolous flying about for me.

Then the dream changed, the house was full of people who were there for the sorting and the dispensing of all Aunt Jenny’s worldly possessions.  There were trays of jewelry lying about sorted by stones.  Rubies here, emeralds there, sapphires over in the corner, all lovely and ancient.  Worn smooth with time and casual use.

The tray of emerald rings and pins caught my eye and oh, how I would have loved to paw my way through them all.  But it didn’t seem appropriate.  I would never insinuate myself in the middle of the jewelry distribution.  It wasn’t my right.  I would inherit the lighthouse because no one else craved the isolation.  So I silently mourned the pretty things and with a sigh made myself satisfied with the gifts I would receive.

An older woman, in her seventies perhaps, came up to me and introduced herself.  I did know her after all, though we had never met.    She told me in the way of dreams where words know no shape that she loved me and had a gift for me.  I couldn’t understand how this woman held me, a stranger, in such regard, though perhaps we had written to each other across time.

Then she gave me a box lined with satin.  When I looked inside I saw a dozen assorted emeralds, mounted in buttons, pins, and rings.  I was overwhelmed that this woman extended a gift from her heart to a stranger, because she saw that I wanted a piece of a past not my own.  For no good deed or valued purpose, but simply because I was.  It moved me to tears.

When I woke with my eyes still damp, what I remembered most was not the shining bits of gold and gems, but the peace of a windswept place and the sense of acceptance that wrapped around me.  Aunt Jenny still lives larger than life within our memories, and a stranger’s kindness is often the greatest gift of all.

It’s been over a month since I’ve had anything to say. Well, perhaps that’s not precisely true. I’ve had a few things to say, but nothing could drag me back to the blog.

It’s been a month of busy busy busy for me. I’m in the fifteenth week of Holly Lisle’s HTRYN which has been a terrific course btw. I’m editing on page 209, much of this version (2nd) is hand written which is a first for me. I expect to make it to week sixteen by the middle of May. (HTRYN weeks are like dog years - non-linear or something).

The MARA Retreat, which was awesome if trimmed up with pinking shears (to keep from fraying).

Yes, I got the camper out for the first camping trip of the season and am thinking hard about where to go next. No major surprises except that one of the propane tanks was empty.

Didn’t remember using it that much but I guess we did. It was cool in October now that I think about it.

My niece had her bridal shower, and Steve actually suggested he needed to go buy a suit for the wedding. I didn’t expect that.

I made videos and am learning to do crazy things with photographs and Gimp.

Have been focused on getting the next thing done (and sometimes do)  Next month?  Who knows.  I do have a bit of humor for you though.  I read something on twitter that took me to a blog that talked about why your erotica may not sell.  Curious to see what words of wisdom I might see there (though, I don’t write erotica - don’t get me wrong some of my best friends do…) it said in part

“I know a lot of strong, independent women who have trouble reconciling themselves to their liking for bodice rippers.”

So I wondered what would come up when I googled the term “bodice rippers” and found that while there were references to romance novels there was also this:

And then when I followed the link  (because by now I was Really curious)

it would be my guess, since most of these products are in what appear to be three to five gallon cans, that the bodice to be ripped could be quite large.  I’m just saying.

Mater tam antiquior ut linguam latine loquatur - Your mother is so old she speaks Latin

My latin is only as good as Google’s.

Sometime back around the year 2000 I picked up the banjo. I have since put it down again (save your applause for the end please) to devote my idle hours to writing. Bela Fleck is one of the banjo players (gross understatement he’s a hella banjo player and more) I admire most. He has such a playful way of interacting with his audience I just enjoy the hell out of his music.

So, I have the first two of his “Tales from the Acoustic Planet” CD’s. When I saw that there was a new volume out I didn’t pass GO, didn’t collect two hundred dollars, but drove my cursor right over to the iTunes store and bought me some banjo music.

Well, as sometimes happens when you don’t pay attention, I got something way different than what I set out to purchase. Turns out that Bela had taken a trip to Africa and examined the roots of the banjo (which are varied and largely vegetable based but goat parts do sometimes factor in).

I listened to this music that was rhythmic, lyrical and whose language was completely incomprehensible to me. Exactly what were the songs on that CD about? As usual I didn’t bother to stop and research, but began to consider how traditional songs and the printed word mirror each other.

I know that in bluegrass music, especially old time music where the banjo is frequently featured, it is not uncommon for any random song picked from the playlist to be a tune about a woman who came to a bad end. There’s pretty Polly - bad end, Jezebel - bad end, Rose Connelly - bad end, Lola Lee - bad end. Some poor lovely woman (sometimes barely more than a girl) is always being killed for love in those songs. Frequently they get left in some body of cold water afterward, which I really think is piling on. Sometimes the fella comes to a bad end but it’s usually painted more as a heroic adventure. (See Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody, The Night that the Lights Went Out in Georgia).

I wondered if the African songs on Bella’s vol. 3 reflect those same themes? Sorrow and love are the foundation emotions, the slabs upon which the most common structures are built. Our musical roots whether hill music from appalachia, celtic tales from the Emerald Isle or the stormy shores of Scotland, ballads of heroes, tragedies, wild epic adventures, or biblical tributes, each note plays a tentative vibrato on the common threads that run through all our lives. Sometimes our instruments are a little out of tune, sometimes a lot. So is it any wonder that themes of love and violence thrive in popular fiction? They always have in european culture but African? I just don’t know enough to say.

Guinevere - bad end, Juliette - bad end, Joan of Arc…see, not a recent phenomenon. Of course lately the girls have been getting theirs too. Janie got a gun after all…

Sometime around a child’s third birthday most kids learn to count to three and beyond. Before that one and two are it. By the end of grade school they can usually count to whatever number they are inspired to count to. By senior year in High School they’ve pretty much given up counting past two for most things because, really who wants to be the third wheel?

So when I saw a recent notice (thank you Cory Doctorow) that someone was floating a petition around the idea of using the prefix “hella” as a new indicator for this size number: 1,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000 (that would be 10^27 if you’re really wondering) I shook my head - too many comma’s.  If you’ve read this blog for very long you probably have an idea where I stand on THOSE.

I understand the math guys who feel compelled to communicate the relative size of something like distance between our sun and oh, say the third star to the left of Jupiter’s fifth moon on December 12, 2012 as seen through Hubble’s squishendy splurch telescope.

I even understand the OCD guys who have to have a name for everything like the uvula, and paraphiltrum  {blog author makes squishy doubtfilled twisty face where philtrum is definitely out of square expressing satirical disbelief}

But really, for the rest of us?  Not critically important to know.

It’s just another number we’ll never see on the family truckster’s odometer.  Because let’s face it - they haven’t made trucksters that would go over 100k since 1963.

On the other hand, it would be easy to make the top Hellion seller’s list and that would be quite good. Easy to get your word count in under the top limit of 65 hellion.

A hellion dollar contract for your novel would result in a commission of about $ 250000000000000000000000000.00 give or take a few pennies assuming a commission rate of 25% which I think would be quite reasonable if the Agent sold a book for that much.

Something like a quarter hella I think. Maybe 2500 yotta? or .25 Octillion maybe (if Octillion exists, the one before it is Septillion so I’m guessing here and no you don’t want to see the condition of my check register…it is sad.)  And I don’t even want to think about how much tax you’d have to pay on that.  I guess the good news there is you’d only have to pay social security tax on the first $90K or so.  But that one sale would wipe out the budget deficit so I guess it’s not such a bad thing really, then the guys in Washington would have to yammer about something else.

The point is that in the context of scale a number that big to most of us is just a jillion, a gazillion, a mmmph, or gobs. Frankly, it’s more than a handful which in the wise words of my now graying former teenage guy compadres is just ” a waste”.

Come to think of it, wouldn’t it be entertaining to watch the look on the teller’s face as she tried to figure out how to key in a number that exceeds the bank computer systems capacity?

Scientific notation to balance my checkbook? Definitely a hella long shot.

The last week has been a foggy mess here in the Midwest.  As if it weren’t bad enough that we had a foot or more of snow, the melt appears to be going straight into the air.  Traveling highways in thick fog is dicey at least, so it was pure stubbornness that a group of us to converged on Topeka, Kansas Saturday night to see the Euphoria String Band play at the Classic Bean coffee house.

Until we pulled back into the driveway we weren’t sure we would be going home.  The fog was so thick we couldn’t see further than about five yards ahead of us on the interstate.  That made for slow going.

Sometimes I feel that way when writing, like the clouds are low and thick and so much is unknown in front of me that I may never make it to my goal.  Fortunately there are lighthouses located across the landscape shining through the mist with help for the fogbound writer.

This week I received a link to one of the more subtle aspects of craft, verb tense. Romance University always offers excellent advice, instruction and examples and this week an excellent post with clear explanation and pointed examples.  The comments provided additional insight.  Overall a useful time spent on the internet.  Really, how often can you say that?

Here’s the link to the post.  http://romanceuniversity.org/2010/01/15/ask-an-editor-problem-with-tense/

Last July I went to the RWA Conference in Washington D.C.  As part of an on line chapter’s pre-conference events we went to the FBI Academy at Quantico for a special program.  I had no idea ahead of time that we would get to go out on the firing range.  I hadn’t been anywhere near a firearm since I was about 16 but that was another story entirely.

The first weapon I ever fired (besides my mouth oh, and that #2 pencil I jabbed Bobby and Robin with in grade school - sorry about that - impulse control is much better now, thanks)  a thompson sub-machine gun…

A tommygun is definitely a woman’s weapon  I did like the feel of it.  Very solid, heavy, two handles to grab hold of and the butt wedged firmly against your shoulder it felt very secure.  The other rifle that we fired was also a nice piece of equipment that was comfortable to fire, didn’t kick terribly hard, but it just wasn’t the same.  There’s just something about a girl’s first tommy gun…(sigh).

Here’s the view from behind me.  You can see how close the instructors stood behind us.  Brave souls I must say.

Then there was the one round I fired from the shotgun.  It was not my favorite and just felt unsafe and out of control as the business end of the weapon rapidly pivoted up toward the heavens after firing.  I had the opportunity to fire additional rounds with the shotgun but I found it scary and it made me say HOLY CRAP several times quite loud even with ear protection.  So I exercised a judgement call on that and skipped it.

Below you can see my fine shotgun wielding form being corrected prior to taking the shot.

It took awhile to get the photographs from the photographer, but it was well worth the wait.

Some days just can’t be beat and this one was right up there at the top of my list.

Inventory list for world domination, which I’ll get right on just as soon as I finish revisions and sell my first novel:

(WHAT? it could happen)

• tommy gun

• 1964 Oldsmobile Cutlass f-85 Vista Cruiser Station Wagon (after market A/C,  maroon with maroon interior preferred)

• GPS

• Google phone