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What Gothic Literature Taught Me About Sleepless Nights

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  Good evening my friends. Isn’t May a lovely time of the year? Those bright evenings slowly blend with beautiful salmon coloured silk skies, suddenly deepening into an eerie navy but not quite as unsettling as an October night. Yet, some evenings it’s still chill enough to light the fire in the library because somehow you know, you just know, that sleep will be elusive and when you get that feeling, it’s nice to have something warm to wrap around your shoulders and to curl your toes at. Now, where are my manners? Let me get you a glass of something and get comfy, Lady Cora Cat has decided to join us tonight. She likes the fire, and the chat. The Hour When the World Stops Explaining Itself In that in between time, after I have finished writing a book, and before the polishing begins, I love to sit down with a good book, or sometimes, a good movie.  My reading time usually begins in the hour when the world stops explaining itself.  The library, unlike the Scriptorium, wher...

Accents, Leather, and Other Bad Decisions (In Theory)

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  Good evening my friends, and a very happy May weekend to you. I say weekend but it is actually Monday and here in the Militiverse it is a public holiday. So, let’s sit out on the agora and continue my confession from last week. Accents: The Original Emotional Clickbait Who doesn’t love an accent? I watched a movie over the weekend with Christophe Lambert, completely in French. The story was interesting, plot, historical drama, but let’s face, I was there for the dialogue. I go weak at the knees for a French accent. There is something about the way the syllables just roll of the tongue. Certain words sound irresistible when spoken with a French accent. What do you think? Let’s not even go there with the Spanish accent. I have limits. Very few, but some. Blond Hair: Why My Brain Thinks This Is a Personality Trait During my late-night ‘research’ on Pinterest, it appeared that my brain made the executive decision that blond hair is a personality. Tall. Blond. Impeccab...

Insomnia, Imagination, and the Rise of the Motorbike Hottie

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  Good evening my lovely friends. Come in, take the weight off your feet. I have just opened a lovely bottle of Provencal Rose , perfectly chilled. Lady Cora cat may or may not join us later. My research trip to Prague has been very productive, I have enjoyed some of the best jazz and yes, the green fairy was, shall we say mischievous. Now tell me something, do you sleep deeply? Uninterrupted dreams, the required eight hours? You do? Please, tell me your secret. Get comfy my lovelies, I have a confession to make, and please don’t hold it against me. It Started Respectably, I Swear When I started writing as a professional writer, I always knew the importance of research, especially for historical fiction. Dates, events, and characters would have to be accurately portrayed. I would read voraciously on the subject I was writing about. Twenty plus years ago, the internet was a resource that arrived and possibly saved a lot of time, and possibly my sanity. I still have referenc...

Control Is the Real Seduction

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  Happy Monday my lovelies. Did you have a fantastic weekend? Good, good. I had a very enjoyable one here in the Militiverse. Can I take your coat and offer you something to drink, tea, coffee, or something a little more… veinous? Tonight, let’s talk about how control is the real seduction in books. Get comfy and let’s begin.   Measured Moves It was my last night in the city. The trip had been to scout out places where he would go, bars he frequented. Drinks he enjoyed. All the little details that go into making the scenes authentic. That first night, he came to my room. He oozed a confidence that I knew he was going to be different, difficult, everything about him was measured and completely on his terms. Even now, he decides that he has something to add. I had left my main notebook in my hotel room. In my bag, I had a smaller one, bought about an hour and a half earlier in a convenience store near a metro station. I removed the notebook, glanced at the cover...

Writing Men Who Are Not Safe to Love

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  Good evening, everyone, I hope that you’ve had a wonderful weekend. I have been polishing the manuscript and as I was rewriting it, I thought of the character and why he is not safe to love. Last week we discussed ‘ The Moment He Became Dangerous (And I Let Him)’ So let me pour you something chilled and refreshing and let’s discuss why we love men who are not safe to love. Built, Not Born I decided that as I was on a research trip in one of the most beautiful and romantic cities, it was time that I left the confines of the beautiful old gothic hotel. I’d been writing, taking notes, reliving the night that I arrived. In a beautiful café, I sat down at a table, glanced around at the others who were seated having their afternoon coffee. The server came over and I ordered a glass of white wine. I put my notebook on the table. It was a little breezy and the page opened to where I had been reading earlier. Skill: Exceptional swordsman. Can spot lies without trying. Charm. ...

The Moment He Became Dangerous (And I Let Him)

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  Good evening my lovely friends, can you believe it’s April? I’ve been busy researching, rewriting, and editing. I love researching especially when it involves travelling to locations that will feature in future books. More about that later. As I said before, rewriting and editing is the polishing phase of the book, the part where the characters have spoken, told their side of the story and then you, their biographer, reads it and tightens the outcome. But, let me tell you a little secret, the characters sometimes reveal a little of themselves, a part that they never wanted to, they kept hidden, and that my friends, is the moment it gets dangerous. Pull up a chair, get comfy and I’ll tell you. The Quiet Shift Imagine a hotel room, lights are low, there’s a beautiful antique four poster bed. Soft décor, all very pleasing to the eye. The sash window is half open and somewhere outside down a cobbled street, a lone saxophone fills the air with its slow, sad sound. There’s a...