Breaking the Meniscus

One thing leads to another.

Many years ago, I had a job helping write a man’s autobiography.  He was Hungarian and migrated to Australia in the late 1940s.  His story contained many eye-opening details (the late 1960s didn’t invent casual sex) but the details that intrigued me the most were those of the night-life of Budapest in the early 40s.  Despite the war raging around them, Budapest swung to a beat not unlike that described in Christopher Isherwood’s Berlin Stories.  In nightclubs called The Moulin Rouge and The Arizona, Chappy’s Big Band jived through the hits of Glenn Miller and Benny Goodman, the lyrics translated to Hungarian.  Each evening, the owner of The Arizona would appear in a finely-tuned evening gown, accompanied by two Afghan dogs.  The dance floor rotated.  The stars of the Hungarian film industry mixed with the A-list visibles.  Almost anything went... 

Chappy's Big Band

But amongst these stories was a paragraph or two about a family of converted Budapest Jews.  They owned an enormous manufacturing plant on Csepel Island on the Danube River.  When Hitler finally lost his patience with Regent Horthy and occupied Hungary in March 1944, this family were so wealthy they were able to bribe the Gestapo to fly them to neutral Portugal. 

Two things astounded me.  Firstly - that the Gestapo could be bribed.  I’d always seen them as an inhuman military machine, driven by ideology.  But they were all-too human.  Of course they could be bribed to do almost anything if “The Price is Right” – deal or no-deal?   

But secondly - that a family could have that type of wealth.  The price imposed by the Gestapo was indeed very high, including signing over the manufacturing plant.  In the latter part of the war, Germany had lost most of its manufacturing plants to allied bombs and was in dire need of functioning plants to manufacture the machinery for war. 

So I began a literature review.  I ratified the story but really didn’t find much, certainly not arriving at a personal drama for a novel.  The review of available material was definitely hampered by my lack of Hungarian but also the story seemed relatively unknown.  A librarian at the Sydney Jewish Museum eyed me with great suspicion. 

Based on a real story of a wealthy converted Jewish family

“You’re talking about the Kasztner train,’ she said, lips pinched. 

Rudolf Kasztner paid the Gestapo an inflated train fare for many Jews out of Budapest.  But I knew of that event too and this wasn’t that story.  She thawed slightly when I found some information but it was largely just reiterations of the bare facts. 

During my search I noticed there was very little in the way of novels available in English about Hungary’s role in WWII.  In recent times we’d had the French experience reconfigured with Sarah’s Key, the British with Atonement, even the German with The Book Thief and The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas.  Maybe The English Patient (shouldn’t that have been The Hungarian Patient?) touched on the Hungarian experience (remember Almásy spoke all languages but assumed no identity) but largely there wasn’t much.  

But, I had no story, just an event, so I shelved it.  But while I played with other projects, this story did play on my mind. 

Budapest during the later part of WWII

For another project I pondered the limits of survival.  How far would I go to survive?  Beyond a few armed holdups at work, I’ve never really been threatened.  What could I be made to do to survive? 

And I thought about being young, only seventeen again, with all that raging uncertainty but living that out in a hostile, uncertain time.  And I thought about a first affair, played out against a backdrop of secrecy, an impossibly private affair that could never be spoken or celebrated.  And I thought about the damage and wounds inflicted by love.  All these stories tumbled back at me again and again like washing in the rinse cycle.  

One afternoon I saw a photo of a statue on the Danube.  It was a collection of shoes.  The owners had simply stepped from them, left them behind on the retaining wall as they were shot into the Danube.  The statue is at once playful and horrific.  The faithful shoes remain waiting for their owner’s return. 

Heart rending sight along the Danube

I wrote a scene of a young man of seventeen spotting a beautiful woman in a forest near Lake Balaton, the Hungarian Rivera, in 1943.  He sought to capture on moving film the ephemeral nature of the incident, her beauty, the play of light, her hesitation, caught between two worlds, her decision to run in one direction. 

And I was away.  The meniscus was broken.  And the lovers began their tryst... 

The Skin of Water had begun. 

Greg Johnston

A Michelin Guide to a Story Idea

I am absolutely thrilled that over the last few months my cross genre story (mystery, history, romance and ghosts!) , GATHER THE BONES,  has received a number of award nominations:  Australian Romance Readers Association, CRW Award of Excellence, GDRW Booksellers Best Award and the 2012 Rone Award.  It may not be the eventual winner but for a story that does not sit in any one genre, it is a pleasing recognition that cross genre stories can interest readers.

Writers are often asked where they get their idea for a story.  Inspiration can strike in the most unexpected ways and sometimes there is no one trigger point for a story.

An acclaimed cross genre story

The inspiration for GATHER THE BONES, which is set in 1923, came from a number of different sources but it is, perhaps, a little brown book--“Ypres and the Battle for Ypres 1914-1918, An illustrated history and guide” published by Michelin--  published in 1920 that I found at the back of my parents bookshelves that sowed the seeds of my hero, Paul Morrow’s, war.

 It seems extraordinary that less than two years after the end of the war there was already a tourist industry around the battlefields, but the clue comes from a little insert on the town of Ypres which describes it as the “Centre for English, French and American Pilgrims”. In this little leaflet are advertisements for “Touring Cars” (wreaths by arrangement “placed on graves and photographed”), Hotels bearing the names “The Splendid” and “Hotel Britannique”. A good cup of tea in three minutes can be obtained from the Patisserie and Tea Rooms of Mme Ve Vandaele on the Grand Place.

The spark of inspiration

We are informed that during the Great War, Ypres was bombarded continuously for four years and 250,000 British fell defending the city. “Today Ypres is being quickly reconstructed,out of 5,000 Houses destroyed, 3,000 will have been rebuild by the end of 1923; thanks to the tenacity of the Population and financial help from the Belgium Government”

“A number of quite up to date Hotels, providing every comfort:  Central Heating, Electricity, Baths etc are already in full swing. ..The country around is agricultural, with villages and farms being rebuilt once more...Every convenience and comfort for Pilgrims and Tourists is to be had in Ypres...”

Ypres: a theatre of great suffering during WWII

So in our imaginary world we have hired our touring car (with a British Driver), fortified ourself with a three minute cup of tea and off we go. The most extraordinary thing about this little book are the illustrations:  Before and After shots of little towns, chateau, woods and churches. Our touring car is pictured driving down a road lined by the broken stumps of trees.

My husband and I visited modern Ypres in 2005. Even ninety years after the last gun was silenced, the bodies of the missing were being discovered and a reinternment was occurring while we were there.  I tried to imagine what it was like for the families of those young men who had no graveside to mourn and slowly the idea for Gather the Bones took shape.

Ypres still draws many pilgrims

In that non descript little book I had the images of the battlefields, the trenches, the concrete machine gun posts but more importantly I had the pilgrimage.  Evelyn Morrow, Charlie’s mother, has to see where her son died, to really believe he is dead.  It was the Evelyns who bought the 1920 Michelin Guide, booked the Hotel Splendid, bought their wreath and in their hired touring car, laid their ghosts to rest.

Alison Stuart

To find out more about Alison and her books, visit her website, www.alisonstuart.com and to read an excerpt from GATHER THE BONES, click HERE.

Blame It On Google (or What Was I Thinking??)

My life of being a sole charge physiotherapist and EMT in a remote rural community was pretty normal. The usual assortment of injuries (bruises, broken bones, sprains, etc.  - my patients’, not mine!) filled my days until a very unusual item came up in a Google search for a medical condition: women pirates.

What the heck? I didn’t even know that there were such things. Curious, I clicked on it and began to read. Well, it turns out that not only were there such characters, but there were many of them, and the lives and adventures of most of them were very well documented. In particular, I read about Anne Bonny and Mary Read, who, stranger than fiction, both disguised themselves as men, and quite by accident, ended up sailing on the very same pirate ship in the 1700’s through the West Indies. I read on, learning that these two ladies were described as being more determined and fearless than most of their male crew members, as they fought and pillaged their way up and down the Caribbean coastlines. Now this was good stuff - treasures, sea battles, brutal medical procedures, hurricanes, and swordfights!

I was hooked.

Dianne Greenlay, a physio turned novelist

Being that these two female pirates were already well documented by writers who were much better writers than I, I didn’t dare try to retell their stories, but I thought that I could write my own story filled with characters from that era and lifestyle, and just let my imagination go wild. And, oh yeah, maybe throw in a few historical facts now and then, just to add realism. Boy, was I misguided!

It took only one sarcastic comment from an acquaintance to set me straight: “You are a prairie girl. You don’t sail. You don’t fight. You’re not even a history buff. What on earth makes you think that you could, or even should write about that stuff?”

Pirates everywhere!

Sometime during the pity party that I immediately had for myself, my hurt feelings morphed that comment into a challenge. I began to research. Several months later, I had ordered in so much reference material, that I was on a first name basis with every librarian in our library, and had tables ( yes, tables!) full of binders, notebooks, scraps of paper with details that I felt I needed to know. I also visited several marine museums, and did short sails, even attempting once to haul the main sail up on a tall ship, but failing miserably; I talked with sailors, strolled through historical sites, hoisted real cannonballs, and made my own grog out of dark rum. (After all, I wanted to involve all my senses, right?) And I began to write.

I became immersed in life in the 1700’s. In my mind as I wrote, I saw my characters, felt the tilt of the ship’s planks beneath my feet (ahem, ... there may have been a little of that grog involved there), and at one point, while writing a sea battle full of cannon and musket fire,  I thought I could actually smell the smoke. Turns out it was just my neighbor’s barbeque.

'Quintspinner' book launch

Nevertheless, a few months down the literary road, QUINTSPINNER – A PIRATE’S QUEST was published. The story ended up having both a strong female and male protagonist (I am mother to two daughters and four sons and I had to keep peace in the family.) I held a book launch party complete with a pirate theme, sea shanties, author reading and book signing, sea food platters, and a surprise enactment of one of the book’s scenes by a local drama group, all looking and acting very pirate-ey. The launch party lasted several hours and attracted over 150 people.

Then, much to my surprise and delight, my novel went on to win multiple awards, including Best Historical, Best Commercial Novel, Best Beach Read, Best YA, and Book of the Year awards. At one point, I was in contact with Tyler R. Tychylaar, Ph.D, historian, and noted historical author, and we discussed writing in the historical genre. He stated that it was generally agreed that the historical genre is the hardest one to write in because of the amount of time and effort that the research requires, above and beyond producing all of the ingredients that make up a great novel.

Dianne & family holidaying on a pirate ship

I hadn’t given a shred of thought to this when I started out. I wrote only for the sheer joy of storytelling, and the fun of weaving historical fact into a tale of adventure. But when Quintspinner neared  the end of an acceptable length, there was still oh-so-much more story to tell, not to mention the rest of the yet-unused, often juicy, historical details that my research had unearthed, just sitting on those tables, whispering to me. And those whispers most decidedly told me that it was going to be an historical series that I was writing.

“What??” That was the logical side of my brain chiming in. “What are you thinking? More historical? The hardest genre to write in, remember?”

And then I heard my heart and imagination reply simultaneously. “No worries,” the two of them soothed as I was swayed.  “Remember how much fun it was? Why not help yourself to a mug o’ the grog and let the storytelling begin!”

Fearsome pirates storm a book launch!

Now a year later, DEADLY MISFORTUNE, Book Two in the Quintspinner series has been published and it too, has won an award in Best Historical division. And fearlessly sailing forward, just like Anne Bonny and Mary Read, I am already writing Book Three and still enjoying every detail along the journey.

Dianne Greenlay

Quintspinner - an award winning pirate yarn

'City of Jade' by LJ LaBarthe

"City of Jade" is L. J. LaBarthe's first full-length historical novel. It is set on the Silk Road in 1131A.D., covering the journey between Constantinople and Chang'an and beyond. It was a great labour of love for her; L. J. LaBarthe has said that researching and writing this book has been nothing but a joy. As she is an avid historian, this has long been a period of interest and fascination for her, especially the Byzantine Empire in the 11^th—13^th centuries.

  The story follows the lives of a Byzantine soldier named Gallienus, and the man he has fallen in love with, Misahuen, a refugee from Gyeongju in Korea. They meet in Constantinople where Gallienus, now a city gate guard, is inspecting wagons of merchants arriving at the city and encounters Misahuen among the guards of a merchant train from the far east.

  As they grow closer, they realize that between the laws of the Byzantine Empire and Gallienus's own lowly status as a gate guard, the best thing for their budding relationship would be to leave, and so they do, taking work as guards for a merchant named Stephanos.

  As Stephanos, his family and his trading caravan travel to Chang'an in China, Gallienus and Misahuen encounter all manner of situations, from brigands to the merely curious to turbulent weather to culture clashes to injuries and more.

Gallienus and  Misahuen encounter many adventures

   "City of Gold" is published by Dreamspinner Press, and readers can purchase the ebook here: http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/product_info.php?products_id=3911 and the paperback here: http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/product_info.php?products_id=3912. 

  If readers are interested in L. J. LaBarthe's other books (and there's a section for the extensive bibliography of resources that she consulted while researching "City of Jade" too), her website is here: 

http://www.ljlabarthe.com/ .

  Below is an excerpt from "City of Jade." This is from Part Six, at the Alay Mountains, which are found in modern day Kyrgyzstan and Tajikistan.

*~*~*

The Irkeshtam Pass was busy.

Gallienus was surprised, although he knew he shouldn’t be. There were bound to be other merchants and traders on the road, and here, at the pass that would lead them safely—he hoped—through to Kashgar, there were two other large caravans waiting to begin the crossing.

Stephanos squinted at the caravans with a suspicious expression on his face. As Gallienus watched, enthralled, the merchant’s expression cleared and a smile curved his lips. Stephanos slid down from his camel and marched toward the two caravans. Two other men came toward him, wearing the same sort of smiles—cautious yet friendly.

“This is interesting,” Gallienus said to Misahuen.

“Indeed.” Misahuen was watching with just as much fascination. “I imagine that Stephanos is going to suggest all three caravans cross the pass together.”

“Strength in numbers?” Gallienus answered his own question. “Perhaps, or better pickings for bandits.”

“Perhaps,” Misahuen agreed. “Although there are other dangers. Avalanches, landslides.”

Gallienus grunted. “That will always be a danger no matter what pass we take over the mountains. We cannot war with nature.”

“Some would like to.”

“It would be futile.” Gallienus fell silent as he watched Stephanos and the other merchants.

A boy, perhaps fourteen years old, rushed over to the merchants, carrying a small amphora and three goblets. He poured for them, sloshing some of the contents onto the ground, and the merchant he worked for barked a sharp command at him.

“Persian,” Gallienus identified the merchant. “Most likely from Tehran.”

“The other looks to be from Samarkand,” Misahuen said.

As they watched, the merchants drank from the goblets and then shook hands, laughing and talking. There was much gesticulating and more laughter, and then Stephanos drained his goblet and turned and walked back to the caravan.

“We are all going to cross together,” he said, confirming Gallienus and Misahuen’s suspicions. “Stay close and do not mingle too much. There may be thieves about. Gallienus and Misahuen, I want you to guard my wife.”

Gallienus and Misahuen exchanged a surprised look.

“Of course,” Gallienus said, “but would your sons not be better guards?”

“No.” Stephanos glared at him. “I want her protected by warriors, not boys.” He looked at his sons. “Watch and learn from Gallienus and Misahuen,” he said. The three nodded, mute in the face of their father’s resolute attitude.

Gallienus rode Adrastos up to stand beside Lady Tahirah’s mount, noting Misahuen on her other side. Stephanos climbed back into the saddle of his camel, bellowed orders to his guards, and then they began to move.

The road had been climbing steadily upward since they left Osh several days ago, but now, here at the pass that would take them across the Alay Mountains and into China, it became extraordinarily steep. There were times members of all three caravans had to dismount and lead their animals single file, along narrow, winding switchback paths that led upward, ever upward. The mountain rose to one side, and the drop on the other was a long, long way down.

It was cold, too, not as cold as Gallienus had been expecting, but cold enough. The mountains bred their own weather, and he found himself getting short of breath much quicker as they climbed higher and it got colder. He took a small measure of satisfaction from seeing that everyone was reacting as he was.

His leg ached almost constantly now, but Gallienus ignored it. The combinations of teas, ointments, potions, and Misahuen’s tender ministrations had reduced the ache in the lowlands, but here, where there was no such thing as an easy path, in the thin atmosphere of the heights, there was always pain. Breathing was hard, and, Misahuen explained as they took a rest period, that was because they were higher than they were used to.

“How long will it take to cross?” Gallienus asked during a rest stop on the third day.

Ahmad shrugged. “Difficult to say. It depends on the weather. The journey from Osh to Kashgar will take nearly three weeks, I would wager.”

“And winter is ever on our tail,” Gallienus said.

“Yes”— Ahmad frowned—“but it is late this year. The road is still dry. There should be snow. I am not taking this for granted, friend Gallienus. Enjoy this respite from winter while we have it. We have yet to reach the Taklimakan and that will, I fear, be a harder crossing than this.”

Gallienus took scant comfort from his friend’s words. He ate the heel of bread and drank the small cup of wine that was their allowance when they stopped to rest and heaved a great sigh as the caravans moved out, picking their way slowly over what felt like the rooftop of the world.

The view, however, made up for the pain and difficulty of the journey. They rounded one of the tight corners of the switchback road, and Gallienus gasped, pausing as he stared at the vista that met his eyes.

Mountains stood as far as he could see, colored blue and white. The snow gleamed in the sunlight and the clouds were thin, allowing him to see the very peaks of those mountains. They seemed to reach forever, like a giant dragon’s spine that covered the world.

“The Tien Shan Mountains,” Misahuen said from behind him.

“They are magnificent,” Gallienus said.

An avidly researched novel set in Medieval Byzantium

Past Perfect by Karen Zelas (Novel Review)

  The life journeys of two women weave the fabric of this part-historical, part-present-day New Zealand novel.

The weft is the Frenchwoman Brigitte Dujardin, who arrived in Akaroa in 1840. The warp is her descendant – contemporary Sue Spencer, who is tracking her genealogy.

Zelas judiciously employs the parallel storyline technique to good effect. She achieves complementary roles for each, and harmoniously merges the historical echoes into the 21^st century.

The two women’s lifestyles are drawn as a study of contrasts, yet they are bonded by more than a bloodline. Both confront relationship difficulties, mortality and racial, specifically anti-Maori, prejudice.

Dujardin flouts the social and moral conventions of her time, and takes a bold, almost confrontational stand on several issues. Spencer discovers kinship and finds her spine in the face of family opposition. While Dujardin’s chosen path was the stonier, Spencer’s track is strewn with more insidious obstacles.

Their experiences resonate against a background of historical and contemporary Akaroa, and the plot moves to France and back to New Zealand. This exploration of how two women mature and find inner independence is sensitive and trenchant.

Threads of hypocrisy and racism provide lively trigger points. In particular, Zelas takes a healthy swipe at the double standards and posturing of a white, academic, middle-class Kiwi male. Her aim is unerring.

She has produced a novel that sits comfortably in its New Zealand skin. The storyline maintains a steady pace while ranging over some thought-provoking aspects of our heritage and current social climate. Key characters are fleshed out into realistic personalities, and there is an acute eye and ear for nuance.

With poetry and short stories already in her literary portfolio, Zelas’ foray into the novel genre ha[s] achieved depth.

– Bronwyn Dorreen, in the Waikato Times

Republished by Interactive Publications, Brisbane, 2012. Available as ebook and print-on-demand at http://ipoz.biz/Titles/PastP.htm . Within New Zealand, available as paperback at www.KarenZelas.com (first edition: Wily Publications, Christchurch, 2010).

Call for Readers #1

One of the objectives of the HNSS is to assist novelists to identify readers who can provide useful feedback about their WIP (work in progress). If you are passionate about historical fiction, you may wish to reach out to the following talented writers:

Bronwen Jones

Hi all. Would anyone be willing to read my manuscript Home to the Lake, a historical novel set in New Zealand (NZ), to give an opinion on my story and publishing possibilities, and to help me write a more compelling synopsis? A publisher in NZ (branch of big int'l publisher) was complimentary but has rejected, saying a second opinion would be beneficial at this stage rather than an edit.

The traditional NZ publishing industry is tiny, bleeding, and publishing very little. So I am seeking wider help.

My purpose in seeking assistance here is to ensure my story is in good shape before trying a publisher or agent abroad, or self-publishing on Amazon. Also, I am hoping that someone may be able to suggest a few agents/publishers to approach, given the nature of my story.

This is a very big request. But if anyone could assist, I would be thrilled and forever grateful. I could find a tiny budget - and definitely a spare room if you visit New Zealand.

Also, perhaps I could offer some assistance in return, editing or "community service" hours donated to HNS. My email is bronwenj@xtra.co.nz.

Rächal Monigatti

Hello all.

I'm looking for someone willing to give my novel a look over and some critique/editing/proofreading help.

My novel is set in 1904 in the (fictional) Principality of Dalnerechensk in the Russian Ural Mountains; at the time when Europe was drawing itself into the jealous alliances that would lead to World War One. Into this rather backwards principality comes Laura Asanton, an early "Dollar Princess", who marries the Prince Regent Aleksei Vakhtangov. 

But she is snubbed by his elitist, aging court and finds herself more and more in the company of Olaf the stablegroom, who opens her eyes to the beauty of the mountains, and the dire economic crisis Dalnerechensk faces.

Revolution is coming, and so is a Russian Army, to take back the territory it lost four hundred years ago. But there are tragic secrets in the Royal Line of the Vakhtangovs, secrets that will tear the principality apart, if the Socialists and the Russians don't do it first!

Please send an email to hnssydney@gmail.com if you would be willing to help out.

Congratulations to the Long List Contenders ~ General Fiction!

http://inspys.com/?p=1202&cpage=1#comment-4905