What's next: The Son in Shadow

Now that Ava & Claire are fully launched into the world, I've gone back to my first love, the Tudor era.

I thought there were going to be five full novels in the series, with a collection of short stories to finish it out, but it turns out that there will be four and the collection. The fifth book just isn't taking shape properly, and everything I've been working on with book four tells me that it's the proper end of the series. 

When the book is that definite, I don't argue.

The illustration here is AI. There is a completed cover, but it's not yet for public consumption. Here's the blurb.

The Son in Shadow: A Tale of Spies, Love, and Rebellion in the Elizabethan Court 

Will Hawkins has spent his life under the thumb of powerful men, but no more. He's finally carved out a comfortable existence for himself, working in Elizabeth's court for the esteemed Cecil and Walsingham. His future appears secure and full of potential, especially with his burgeoning love for the delightful Kit Rowan, his niece's governess. 

But Kit unknowingly harbors a dangerous secret, and when she comes under the watchful and unforgiving eye of Walsingham, Will's carefully constructed world begins to crumble. He's forced to make an agonizing choice: his future or the woman he loves. 

Desperate to save Kit from the spymaster's clutches, Will finds himself partnering with the last person he ever expected - his domineering father. Together, they embark on a perilous journey, navigating a web of deceit and political intrigue. Can they find a way to free Kit from Walsingham's grasp, or will their efforts be in vain, costing them not only their hearts, but their very lives?

Drama, drama, right? A blurb has to suck readers in, and I'm hoping this will do just that. Now I need to keep writing so that the inside lives up to what's written on the cover.

And it's done!

So am I, by the way, but I'll recover.

One of the most difficult things about publishing - not writing, but publishing - is having to learn to do things in Word that I never had to learn in 30 years of working as a legal secretary.

I probably should have learned how to use styles and to turn page numbering off and on at will, several times in a document, but I didn't. And now I regret that.

The hardest part about getting the omnibus files ready for upload was actually reformatting the song lyrics and letters so that they would appear properly in the ebook format. Not that they weren't properly formatted before, but I wanted them to look better and I finally found a tutorial that gave me what I wanted. 

So, of course, at 3:00 a.m. last Thursday, I got out of bed and came downstairs and reformatted all those block quotes, because the idea of them being wrong would not allow me to sleep.

All this to say, the omnibus is done. The Tudor Court - The Complete First Trilogy (plus a bonus Tom and Bess short story) is now available for a brief pre-order, delivered straight to your device on Friday, July 15. For the seriously discounted price of $7.99.

485 years ago today

 Anne Boleyn took a boat ride to the Tower of London. The day before, she and King Henry had been at a tournament. He left early - because he'd gotten his "conclusive proof" that she'd been unfaithful.

It's very unlikely that she was, and certainly not with the frequency and variety of men of whom she as accused, one of them being her own brother.

In Henry's mind, Anne had been the cause of his break with his first wife, his break with Rome (because the pope wouldn't let him divorce his first wife), and a lot of upset with everyone around him. And all she had given him was a daughter.

The combination of miscarrying a son and being less fun to have around (any wonder?) was, for Henry, the last straw.

As I've said many times, the more you know about Henry Tudor, the less you like him.

Here's a snippet about this period from A Wider World.

***

     One day Anne Boleyn was Henry’s cherished queen, and the next she was imprisoned, charged with crimes that would make a man blush. There was a feeling in the air that anything could happen.

     I accompanied Cromwell on one of his frequent visits to Greenwich to meet with the king. We went by river, and I looked down as we passed under the arches of London Bridge. Despite the profusion of shops scattered across—and built up—along its length, the heads of the executed were still visible, and if they were not, I would know they were there by the circling kites.

     We shot the rapids under the bridge with ease, the size of the barge and the time of day making it less risky. I’d seen smaller boats try the same maneuver during a high tide and capsize, and I frequently walked across to avoid an unnecessary trip on that section of the river.

     It was more difficult to ignore the heads when I walked.

     Cromwell was silent for most of the trip, riffling through the papers he carried in a thick folio. An attack of conscience? It could not be that; he had drawn up the warrants himself. Did the idea of her downfall start with him, or with the king?

     He’d once been her champion, but the king was his master, not Anne Boleyn, and the king was convinced that only a new wife would give him a son. Cromwell had to help or be sucked into the maelstrom while someone else did the king’s bidding.

     As we entered the palace, he turned to me. “I’ll meet with the king privately, Lewis. Find occupation as you will: I know you have acquaintance here. Meet me in the outer audience chamber at four of the clock.”

     Did he know I had acquaintance at Greenwich because of my history, or was there something ominous in his knowledge? Cromwell had spies everywhere, but I never thought to question whether he kept an eye on his loyal clerks.

     Because of that, I kept to myself until after dinner, when I met Bess in the hall. We made our way to the suite reserved for the king’s vicar general, principal secretary, and current favorite, all of whom were Thomas Cromwell. I felt a sliver of pride that she would see the oak paneled room where I worked, with its windows overlooking the verdant lawns.

     She noticed none of it, turning immediately to ask, “How is the queen?”

     “I wouldn’t know.”

     “How could they accuse her of such things?” Her brown eyes were bright with anger. “Unfaithful, with her own brother? It’s madness.”

     I gave her a warning glance. “The king is not mad.”

     “He hunted her like a deer,” Bess said, “and now he has his quarry, he is disillusioned and all out of love. That is no better reason to put her away than he had for Queen Katherine.” Her feelings were evident on her face. “I love the king, but he should try to accept life, as the rest of us are made to.”

     Such words could land her in a cell next to Smeaton. “There is nothing you can do,” I said, “except remain quiet and follow my suggestions. I’ll explain further when Tom gets here.”

     “He is off somewhere.” She peered out the window, then settled quietly before me. “Tell me now.”

    “You are too close to the queen.” It had come to me, while eating the king’s dinner, that more people were at risk than just those currently imprisoned. “I am afraid for you.”

     Bess made the same impatient face I’d seen her make for nearly twenty years. “Don’t be silly.”

     I sat down behind a desk, hoping it would lend me some authority. She took direction only from the master of minstrels, who was also her husband. “The queen is in the Tower,” I said. “Very few people return from that place.”

     “But she isn’t guilty.” Bess popped from her seat and paced the floor. “None of them are. Mark is a stupid boy, but not stupid enough to involve himself with the queen, even if she would be unfaithful to King Henry. Which she would not.”

     I gestured for her to lower her voice. “I know you have sympathy for both of them, but you must be discreet. There are more important things to think of right now.” I looked pointedly at her belly, straining behind her front-laced bodice. “Young Harry and this one here, they don’t care what becomes of the queen. They just want their parents.”

     “And they have them.” She softened at the mention of her boy, and the unborn little one.

     “You should go away, at least for a while.”

     Bess laughed in my face. “This is our home.”

     I sighed. “Maybe it was, but the court has changed since you arrived, even since you were wed. The king will have his way, and if it kills the queen, Smeaton, and any other number of innocents, he will not care.”

     She sat down hard, as if her knees had given way. “He wants Jane Seymour now, doesn’t he?”

     “He wants a son,” I said bluntly. “If Queen Katherine had given him a living son—even one—she would still be queen, and we would still be tied to Rome. People forget the king’s father took this throne. King Henry may look secure, but without an heir, anything could happen.”

     “But he has an heir.”

     I pressed my fingers to my temples. “No, he has daughters. No woman will rule England.”

     There was a knock, and Tom entered without waiting. “I’m sorry I wasn’t at dinner,” he said without preamble. “I tried to see Mark.”

     “How is he?” Bess reached out and he sat on the edge of my desk, one hand on her shoulder. She relaxed at his touch. If I could get him to see sense, she would follow.

     “I wasn’t admitted.” His face showed concern. “The guards said he’s been racked. I imagine he told them whatever they wanted to hear, to make it stop.”

     Mark Smeaton was a stupid boy, as Bess said, and perhaps bragged too often about being in the queen’s favor, but he was no more her lover than was her brother George. “I’ve been telling Bess—you need to get away before either of you are pulled into this.”

     “We are not in so deep as that, Rob.”

     “You are master of minstrels, Tom.” I raised my brows. “Which means you supervised him and should have known his whereabouts. It might even be assumed that you were sympathetic.” I looked at his wife. “It’s well known how close Bess is to the queen. She may have looked the other way when Mark came to her.”

     Bess gasped, and Tom said, “You think they would go so far?”

     “I think an outcome has been decided and all that’s left is to build the case.”

The saddest story in Tudor England

 

I'm currently working on my third book, titled Lady, In Waiting, which is set during the early years of the reign of Elizabeth I. One of the side characters - someone I hadn't planned to write about but whose life and story couldn't be avoided - is Lady Katherine Grey.

Younger sister of Lady Jane Grey, the unsuccessful Nine Days Queen, Katherine's life was slightly longer, but just as unhappy. Because of her proximity to the throne (she and Mary Queen of Scots were Elizabeth's two natural heirs, unless she married), she was watched and not permitted to marry.

But she did. And she got pregnant. And she didn't get caught until her eighth month, at which point she was put in the Tower - separately from her husband - to think about what she'd done. She gave birth to a son, which must have made Elizabeth furious.

Remaining in the Tower, she managed, by way of a sympathetic jailer, to have conjugal visits with her husband, and eventually gave birth to a second son! That did it. Elizabeth separated the already separated couple, sending the husband and older son in one direction, and Katherine and her baby in another.

Katherine died in 1568, at the age of 27. She's not the most sympathetic character, despite her unhappy circumstances, and because of the prominence of her story, she couldn't be ignored and is now an important side character in my story.

Pictures: the real Katherine, and a photo I snagged from the internets which is my inspiration for her.

How I write a book

I thought I'd give an overview of how I write a book. Like any creative pursuit, there's no right way or wrong way. There's the way that works for you. Or me.

This is mine.

How it starts

I get an idea. It could be completely random, or inspired by something I've read. With Songbird, I read in a bio of Henry VIII that he once bought a child for the royal choir, and off I went. With my current project, A Wider World, it features a secondary character from Songbird, who, after that book was submitted to the publisher, decided to speak up and say he hadn't gotten a fair shake, and he wanted to explain himself. I listened.

Below is how I went about writing A Wider World. The numbers in parentheses are the word count when the draft was completed.

First Draft (134,000 words)

Some writers can write and edit at the same time, or write something, come back the next day to edit, and then keep on. My problem is that I enjoy the editing process, so I get lost if I do this. My first drafts, while not garbage, are pretty rough. For the most part, I don't write in linear fashion. I try to write the beginning, at least the first few chapters, to establish my characters and what's happening. (The events may change later, but I need to get them down).

From there, I try to write in order, but if I'm stuck and can see another scene clearly, I'll write that and then try to link the scenes together later. By the time I've written the first third of the book, I know the ending. If I'm feeling really clear, I'll write the ending, and give myself something to work toward.

The first draft of A Wider World took me about 8 months, and part of the reason it went that quickly is I was working with a world already developed in the first book. I needed to research specific things, but I don't always research as I write. There'll be a sentence like "Hawkins and I sat down to a meal of [whatever people of that level of society would serve unexpected guests]" and I'll keep going.

Second Draft (128,000 words)

This is the fun part, where I fix the structure of the book - plot, chronology, cross-checking history, fleshing out characters who are a bit transparent, doing research to fill the holes I've left. Second draft is heavy lifting and rearranging, but by the end, it gives me something that has the shape of the idea I had when I started out. This draft took me about 1.5 months.

Third Draft (120,000 words)

Cutting, shaping, and molding. This is the round where the book loses some serious weight, where I read it to see how many times I've mentioned the same thing (the problem with writing out of order is including necessary information whenever it seems necessary - but it's not necessary every time. I just won't know that until later). I also remove excess dialog tags, filter words (knew, realized, felt, etc.) and other bits that, while clever, only make me happy and do nothing to advance the story.

Another thing I've noticed with early drafts is that I hit the end of a scene or a chapter, and then I tend to dribble on for another paragraph or two, summing up. Those paragraphs are never necessary, and I can remove a lot of excess just looking for those. This draft took about another month.

Fourth Draft (hoping for 118,000 words)

This is where I am now, and this is where I read the book aloud, to see how it flows, to listen for repetitive words or words that need to be swapped for ones that sound better. This is a faster round than any of the others, because it's really just the final polishing before it gets submitted to my publisher for their editors to give it a once-over. I'm hoping to have this finished by early June, but my reading aloud may be slowed by the fact that lawn care on my block seems to be near-constant and I can't always hear myself think, much less read.

With Songbird, the publisher's suggestions were mostly about removing Britishisms and comments on my abiding love for the em-dash, but we'll see this time, because Songbird had been worked on for so long that if it was my child, it would be accruing student debt. A Wider World has been a much faster process, because I've learned that I can do it.

So that's it. That's how I write a book. At least until next time, when I'll probably turn the procedure completely upside-down.

Robin

Young Surrey / Robin at Court

So my second Tudor novel, tentatively titled A Wider World, involves a character from Songbird named Robin Lewis.

Robin is first encountered at the age of 12. He is a socially awkward, obnoxious but talented chorister. He and Bess, my main character, don't hit it off, and it takes some time for them to reconcile as friends. They become close later, but Robin does a few things which appear to only be in his self-interest and are harmful to others.

I thought that was the end of Robin. It was not. After Songbird was submitted, and I started working on my Great Depression book, Robin spoke up and said he needed to explain himself. He didn't think he was getting a fair shake in my telling of Bess's story.

I decided to listen. He was right. He's got quite a tale to tell, which spans from his childhood as a foundling through the royal court, to Oxford, travels to the continent, a return to the court as an undersecretary to Cardinal Wolsey, and then, in the period of time succeeding Songbird, he works with Thomas Cromwell on the dissolution of the monasteries.

Older (wiser?) Robin

The monasteries were an important part of English life in the 16th century, and had been for hundreds on hundreds of years. I knew about the dissolution going in, because I've read a lot of Tudor history, but I only thought of it in terms of the monks, priests, and nuns who were displaced from their religious houses. I hadn't thought of it in terms of ordinary English people.

It turns out they were at least as affected as the religious themselves. From what I've learned, no village in England was more than an hour's walk from some religious house. The monasteries employed people as farm laborers and servants. Many people's homes were on monastery lands. Boys were educated in monastery schools. People ate food grown on monastery farms, sold at lower prices at the village market. Fisherman supplied all of the meatless days at the monasteries - and there were many. Since there were no hospitals, and few doctors, any healing that could be done was accomplished at the monastery's infirmary.

Robin as secretary to Cromwell

All this vanished in four years. I think people would have been content with Henry's change from Catholicism to Church of England, if the only change had been the removal of the Pope. People were Catholic, but their religion was much more personal, and the Pope was in Rome. The local monastery was in their village.

And suddenly, it was all gone. No jobs, no homes, no education, no medical care, and a sudden influx of poor people - who were formerly the ones who might have cared for them. It gave me a whole new perspective on the dissolution, and it is just one more nail in the coffin of Henry VIII's reputation.

Honestly, the more you know about that man the more loathsome he is.

The illustrations for this post are of Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey, poet and the last man executed by Henry VIII. He was apparently quite a peacock, having had this many portraits done of himself. He also reminds me, in coloring and attitude, of Robin, and the Holbein portrait and the colorful portrait with the green background, are my inspirations for him.

See what I mean? Peacock. Definitely peacock.

Weekend Roundup

An letter from Anne Boleyn to her king.
16th century handwriting transcribed
by the folks at Hever Castle.

I post a lot of interesting historical goodies over on my writer Facebook page, but for those of you not on the festering dumpster-fire that can be Facebook, I thought I would share the more interesting links over here, on a semi-regular basis (as in whenever there are enough of them to make it worth our mutual while).

To the left, a transcription of a letter from Anne Boleyn to Henry VIII. It wouldn't pass as a love letter these days - then again, neither would a letter - but that was apparently enough to keep the king hot and bothered.

When I was a kid, I was fascinated by metal detectors. This treasure hunter found a ring which may well have belonged to one (or two) of Henry's queens.

And for readers of Songbird, you'll have noted that the sweating sickness was mentioned several times. It was a strange and often deadly disease in Tudor times. There were only five documented outbreaks, but they were memorable. History.com has a good article about it here.

Coin of the realm

I want you to show you two of my prized possessions. I got these years ago, and they've been hidden away in a box in my dresser ever since, because while they are amazing and cool and I love them, they're all so ancient, fragile, and totally impractical.

The larger coin is from the reign of Elizabeth I, and the smaller one in the badly-fitting coin holder / necklace thing, is from Henry VIII.

I can't believe I own something this old. I like thinking that my characters could have handled these coins. One of these days, when I have the spare cash, I would like to pay a jeweler to make a proper necklace from them, with the kind of holder that allows the coin to float, so it doesn't touch your skin.