Anything besides death and destruction?

When I was a kid, the Conquistadors were heroes. Glamorous in their shiny armor adorned with bright feathers and ladies’ lacy tokens, they were handsome lads intent on furthering the kingdoms of God and of Spain. Then, I got a little older and realized that, hey, these guys were invaders! They weren’t heroes to the people they conquered!

Well, did the Conquistadors bring anything besides death and destruction? Why, yes they did! You can hardly blame the Europeans for all the diseases they brought, as devastating as they were to the native peoples. They didn’t know they were bringing diseases, so I don’t put that in the deviltry category. The religious coercion, one could argue, was sincerely meant, now and then, to save the heathens, as repugnant as that kind of hegemony is to us now. Other destructive influences are well known — conquer, usurp, use, exploit, and so on.

Now for the positives, and there are a few. When the conquistadors came to what is now the Santa Fe region in 1598 (about 60 years after Coronado), they brought wives and children and meant to stay. They also brought seeds for fruit trees the Puebloans had never seen. New kinds of seed corn. Sheep (wool! meat!), horses, cattle. All kinds of metal and the means to work it into tools like plows and hammers. Wood working skill to make wagons and wheels and furniture and barns. And a culture of difference. Any time two great cultures collide, there are sparks, difficulties, conflict. There are also new stimuli and new occasions to invent and adapt.

I’m sure any Puebloan of the time wished the Spanish would all just go away, and they suffered greatly at the harsh might of the conquerors. But it’s complicated, of course it is. Not every Spaniard who invaded the area had meanness in his heart, and no human ever had only one side to his character, good or bad.

My novel, Crimson Sky, is about that fateful year when the Spanish came to settle in what we call New Mexico. The book is now in re-issue with a gorgeous new cover, ready to draw you into the ancient world of the Puebloans.

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4 and 20 Blackbirds Baked in a Pie? Really? Really!

Remember this Mother Goose rhyme?

Sing a song of sixpence,
A pocket full of rye.
Four and twenty blackbirds,
Baked in a Pie

When the pie was opened
The birds began to sing;
Wasn’t that a dainty dish,
To set before the king.

I was always struck by the image of a big pie with live birds in it. What was that all about? Guess what — they really did make a big pie with live birds in it!

“Blackbirds could be bought by the dozen in Paris: four and twenty baked in a pie would have served about six, which was a rather standard size for a medieval pie. Live birds were served in pies. The pie was cooked with a filling of bran to prevent caving in; just before presenting the dish, the cook let the bran out through a hole in the bottom of the pie and slipped the birds in through the hole. Obviously, it would have been prudent to alert the carver before trying this trick. The sources neglect to mention how the birds were removed from the hall after the feast.” (From Darice’s book Savoring the Past, The French Kitchen and Table from 1300 to 1789, by Barbara Ketcham Wheaton, Scribner 1983.)

If I had any drawing talent at all, I would love to draw the king cutting into the pie and being amazed, startled, frightened at live blackbirds flying up into his face. Better than a whoopee cushion.

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Send More Women!

In researching herewilll4blog early Louisiana history, I discovered some racy stuff. Well, a little racy. Those bold Frenchmen who sought their fortune in a wild and unknown country found themselves daunted by one particular trial: no women.

It was hard to be an effective colonist when you were distracted and lonely. What was a man to do? At different times, the Church turned a blind eye to Frenchmen taking up with Native American women. (I always wondered what Native American men thought about that.) At other times, the Church cracked down on such disgraceful activity. Finally King Louis, fond of women himself, decided to solve the problem of his lonely Frenchmen. He sent them French women.

Today, many old Louisiana families proudly trace their lineage back to some of these women. They were chosen from convents and orphanages to insure they were women of good character, and when they arrived in Louisiana, they were carefully chaperoned until they had chosen a husband among the colonists and were married by a Catholic priest.

Because each bride-to-be was provided with a small chest, a casket, of basic needs, they were known as casket girls.

Now, the convents and orphanages were not the only source of French brides to be sent overseas. Prisons and asylums provided young women, as well, unfortunates who had been prostitutes, thieves, criminals. Perhaps these inmates welcomed the chance to become respectable wives, and perhaps some of them had to be dragged aboard a ship headed to a life in the New World, a wilderness where there were not even any croissants.

These latter, more interesting women are the subject of my newest novel, Here will I remain. I hope you’ll explore with me what Fate has in store for these women who have nothing left to lose.

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Why don’t we all write our own versions of War and Peace?

If you’re a writer, you’ve heard this before: why don’t you write xyz?

If you’re not a writer and you’ve said this to someone who is, then be advised, however kindly your query is received, it is a frustrating question..

Why? Because if I could write like Anne Tyler, for instance, I certainly would. I heard Stephen King say something like that years ago at the University of Maine when he gave an evening talk, beer can in hand. If he could write something else, he would, but what comes out of his head is what you get.

In a conversation with her friend, acclaimed writer Robb Forman Dew, Anne Tyler talked about “how and why a writer chooses his or her subject.” Dew asked her, “Can you tell me why, for instance, your first novel didn’t happen to be your version of War and Peace?”

Tyler answered: “It doesn’t seem to me that I am ever completely free to choose my subject. . . . I’m always saying, for instance, ‘My next book is going to be bigger. More eventful. It really will be War and Peace! But set in Baltimore.’ And then that book is done and I think, ‘Uh-oh, it’s the same book as the last one.’ I seem to be constitutionally committed to looking through a microscope rather than a telescope.”

I would love to write little jewels like Anne Tyler’s novels, love to have her insight and compassion with her characters. Or why don’t I write a book of staggering depth like Lauren Groff’s Fates and Furies. And why aren’t I funny on the page, like Julia Quinn in What Happens in London? And why can’t I flesh out a plot as complicated as one of David Baldacci’s thrillers?

The answer is, that’s not what I’ve got in me to give. My books generally are about women thrust into difficult situations and trying to keep a grip on their values in spite of difficulties. They’re about more than that, of course, but readers find that a writer they’ve become interested in really does have a particular voice and a particular take on the world that shows through in the novels. Cause that’s how that writer experiences the world and how he shares his take on it.

So. That’s why.

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Today there is a lot of talk about the Supreme Court considering whether to uphold Affirmative Action in the University of Texas case.

As a person who has thought about and written about racial injustice for years in my novels, I thought I’d share my thinking on this issue. Yes, slavery has been legally over for 150 years, but injustice and inequality persevere. For instance, in my home town, we are embroiled in a huge scandal. The school district has allowed terrible inequalities to persist – and knew it. Segregation has reasserted itself and the low-income, mostly minority families now send their kids to schools that are underfunded and understaffed so that many children don’t even feel safe, much less do they feel the classrooms are calm enough to learn.

Of course this is a complex issue. I could go on and on about our local school system and the ways it is failing children, but for the moment, I’ll simply declare: children coming out of those schools are not getting the education children get in the more affluent neighborhoods. And it is oh so wrong.

Thus. Affirmative Action is still needed. It has helped – no question the black middle-class is growing because young people were given a chance they would likely not have had without this government intervention. Since we are still failing to guarantee equal education to all our children, we are obligated to do what we can to mitigate the inequities at the college level. Maybe someday we will have “fixed” the injustices that come from poorer education in minority schools – until then, we owe those children who have been short-changed a shot at success – and Affirmative Action is important to that end.

A local columnist finishes all his essays with this: That’s all I’m saying. Ditto.

My new – and last – novel about slavery is coming out in a couple of weeks. Look for Livy on Amazon.

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Seeing Michelangelo’s David

Seeing Michelangelo’s David

Just got back from Italy. The highlight of my tour was seeing Michelangelo’s David in the Galleria dell ‘Accademia in Florence. We had an art-history professor as a guide, which increased my appreciation and my understanding. We should all have a Simone to take us around Florence. (This wordpress program doesn’t let me italicize these works of art, but consider it done.)

Depictions of David, as in David and Goliath, were common in the Renaissance, just as were pietas and madonnas with child. (I think every artist must have had to paint or sculpt those three subjects.) Most of those representations of David portray him in the moment of his triumph, after he’s slain Goliath with his sling shot and cut off his head. He’s often shown with one foot on Goliath’s severed head.

Part of Michelangelo’s genius was choosing to portray his David in the moment before the action. David is just a lad, maybe 15 or so, watching the giant Goliath galumphing toward him, big heavy footsteps, mean scowl on his huge face, carrying in his massive hand something lethal like a deadly club or mace. And there’s David, slim, not yet in his full muscular manhood, inexperienced, armed with a sling and a few stones.

Take a look at a close-up of David’s face. A little frown line between his eyes, he looks wary, he looks like he’s concentrating, maybe you can imagine a hint of fear in his eyes. But his stance is all confidence, his body relaxed and yet still you feel the tension of ready muscles. There is a stone in one hand and in the other is the bag of the sling. The strap of the sling crosses his back (I had never seen that strap sculpted in the marble before – it’s on his back). All he has to do is slip the stone in the bag and swing that strap – he waits, and waits, until the perfect moment and then he slings that stone, catches Goliath in the forehead, and down he goes. Then David grabs a sword and chops his head off. (A lot of non-Michelangelo depictions show the stone embedded in the severed head’s forehead.)

So much more dramatic than sculpting David and his slain foe after it’s all over. The David is so very beautiful, and all the more captivating for the professor’s telling us how unique Michelangelo’s “telling” of the David and Goliath story was. Hope you get to see it, too.

We also saw Michelangelo’s Pieta which is in the Basilica at the Vatican. I remember it as being rather golden from the way it was lit, but photographs of the statue show it in luminous white. The Mary is huge, big enough for her dead son to drape across her lap, but that’s okay. I’ve seen other pietas where Mary is much smaller in relation to Jesus, and that more realistic depiction of size didn’t add a thing to the whole. I choked up and struggled not to cry in public like an idiot – I do that when something, music or painting or sculpture or ballet – is extraordinarily beautiful.

Seeing those two sculptures was among the most memorable moments of my life. It makes me wonder what works of art have been meaningful to other people. I’d like to hear.

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Reading Gilead by Marilynne Robinson

I’m re-reading Gilead by Marilynne Robinson and love it just as much this time as the last. It is true that I mostly read mysteries and romances (and yes, my brain still seems to function) and the occasional history book, but I do delve into deeper waters now and then.

What I love about this book is how soothed I feel when I’m reading it. It is a balm. The premise is that an aging/dying Congregationalist minister is writing a long letter to his seven year old son to be read when the son is grown and the father long dead. He muses about this and that, a lot of it about spirituality and holiness, but it is not preachy nor God-heavy. It is, in fact, a lovely book.

I love that old man and wish I could sit with him of an afternoon. He is so very human — he has no notion of being a saintly man, but he is rather.

Here are some excerpts I have found especially meaningful:

. . . no one ever has that sort of courage who hasn’t needed it.

. . . people worth knowing have scars.

Calvin says, each of us is an actor on a stage and God is the audience.

When you encounter another person, when you have dealings with anyone, it is as if a question is being put to you – what is the Lord asking of me in this moment.

She supposed it [the soul] was what the Lord saw when His regard fell upon any of us. (This is from another of Robinson’s novels, Home.)

Robinson also has marvelous imagery:

The waters were full of plump little perch disturbingly avid for capture. (from Housekeeping)

To crave and to have are as like as a thing and its shadow. (Housekeeping)

I saw a bubble float past my window, fat and wobbly and ripening toward that dragonfly blue they turn just before they burst. So I looked down at the yard and there you were, you and your mother, blowing bubbles at the cat, such a barrage of them that the poor beast was beside herself at the glut of opportunity. (Gilead)

One of my friends does not like Gilead at all. It’s not to everyone’s taste, but if you have an appetite for philosophizing now and then, I recommend all of Robinson’s books.

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A while back I wrote about writer’s block and the nifty nuggets of wisdom I receive every day by email from Advice to Writers.

I liked this statement from Joyce Carol Oates:

Writer’s block is a temporary paralysis caused by the conviction, on an unconscious level, that what the writer is attempting is in some way fraudulent, or mistaken, or self-destructive.

Here’s how I see my own writer’s block (all gone now! Hooray!) from Oates’ perspective.

When I first started writing about 12 years ago, I knew nothing about genres, not even enough to think about them one way or the other. I wrote what I wanted to – and my first and second novels were quickly bought by Kensington Publishers. They publish romance.

Well, my books certainly have romance in them, but for me, the focus was on the historical part. What was it like to be alive in this time and place and facing this or that historical crisis? And then I was labeled a romance writer and felt like Un Uh. But that was what got me published. So I dithered and wrote and fretted and wrote – I didn’t want to be a romance writer. But that’s what sold. In Oates’ words, I felt I was trying to write the wrong thing for me and it wasn’t working.

Well, I’m over that. I’ve now read hundreds of romances, some awful and some great, as in any genre. Those romances I admire taught me that a good story is a good story, good writing is good writing. Forget about labels. And I’m writing smoothly again – if you’ve ever been stuck, you know how painful it is and how wonderful it is to get past it.  Now, I write what I want to write, historical novels with romance elements – that’s what my readers want from me and that’s what I am happy writing.


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The process for writing historical novels generally goes like this. You happen up on something that intrigues you. You do the research – lots of it, more than you can use. You ponder characters and plots. You dream about them. And then you start writing.

The temptation is to get in every fascinating detail you uncovered in your research. General Benjamin Butler had crossed eyes. Keep that? Didn’t really have anything to do with the plot of  Evermore (my novel about the Civil War, Part III of Plantation Series), but it was such a fun fact that I kept it. It only took a few words to describe and it added to this minor character’s portrait.

Another very interesting part of the Yankee occupation of New Orleans was General Butler’s “Woman Order.” The dear ladies of this conquered city felt immune from repercussions for their behavior – they were ladies, after all —  and they gave the Union soldiers a very hard time. Genteel ladies in their huge hooped skirts, gloves, bonnets, starch, lace, etc., women who felt faint if someone spoke of bodily parts in mixed company – these women felt free to spit on men in the blue uniform. They tossed chamber pots from the balcony onto their heads. They hissed invectives at them. They were a nuisance, and when they finally abused a colonel, Butler had had enough.

He issued General Order No. 28 which decreed that any women insulting or showing contempt for Union soldiers, officer or enlisted, would be treated as “women of the town” who were “plying their avocation.” This meant they would be treated as if they were soliciting prostitution. For instance, as in Wikipedia’s example, if a woman punched a soldier, he could punch her back. If she was obstreperous enough, he could take her to the stockade to cool off until her husband came for her.

This order naturally provoked outrage in the South, but the ripples reached all the way to Washington and across the Atlantic. Huge outcry denouncing Butler for his unchivalrous stance. Some accused him of tolerating rape of these women, though I don’t believe that is what he meant at all. He merely meant to stifle the abusive behavior.

I thought this was great stuff. I wrote it into Evermore, several scenes with secondary characters. I loved it. But. Cutting room floor. I decided the book was too long (this was immediately before the digital revolution in publishing caught on and we worried more about word count then). The agent and editor also said, too long.  And I had to admit the woman order was only peripherally connected to my main plot. So I took out my lovely pages about outraged Southern ladies and indignant Union soldiers.

It’s always a problem. I (we) feel like including every bit of what I learned in my research – it’s all so interesting —  and of course I can’t. I write fiction, not history books.

In this latest book that just came out, Elysium (Book IV), I read up on Reconstruction in the South. Egads, what a sad tangle. How many of the dirty tricks and other injustices could I include? Should I include the actions of the Freedmen’s Bureau in trying to balance the white planters’ demands and the ex-slaves’ needs and demands? The economics of establishing a market economy where there had been a slave economy was very complicated, and would my readers want to get into that? If I were reading a novel, not a history book, I’d rather not detour into that history lesson. I’d rather stay focused on my characters and if a Freedmen’s Bureau action directly affected my character, then okay I would mention it.

So – if you write historical fiction, you’re always going to know more than you put into the book. That doesn’t mean your research time was wasted – everything you know goes into deciding what your characters will do and feel.

The other side of that issue is that you don’t have to master the economics of changing a slave economy into a market economy. You need to know about it and to have a sense of specific difficulties, but being a fiction writer does not necessitate your being an expert in that era. You have to know a lot, you have to be accurate with the details you use, but you don’t have to become the professor specializing in Reconstruction to put your characters in that environment.

So writerly hint for the day: do the research, use a light hand in including all those bits and pieces you learned, be accurate, be sure the details you include advance the main story, and relax. Your readers want a story, not a history lesson.

And if it just kills you to leave out your bits as fascinating as Butler’s Woman Order, write it all in. Everything. Get it out of your system. This is why we write revisions. And rewrite the revisions.

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Caffeine makes depression worse – for me. It took years and years for me to establish this link. True, my study was only of me, a very small sample, but if caffeine affects me this way, likely it does others as well.

If you have chronic depression, try cutting out the caffeine. It affects me even though I am on an anti-depressant that works very well, unless I sabotage it with caffeine. It’s a subtle effect, and delayed, too, which makes it even harder to figure out what’s going on. Because I’m over-sensitive to caffeine, I drink milk, water, and decaf tea and that’s pretty much it. And I generally have only one cup of the decaf green tea in a day.

But caffeine is sooo good, right? Real tea tastes better. Real Coke tastes better. And if you’re eating out and want a cup of decaf tea, all they have on hand is the stuff made out of flowers.

But let’s say I have several cups of decaf tea in a day, or as I do once every blue moon, one cup of real tea. That day is fine, and I do love tea, so it’s maybe better than fine. The next morning, or maybe not till the second morning, I wake up and think, Why am I so morose? Then I remember I overindulged. I stay “down” most of that day, and then the effects wear off and I’m fine again. (Taking a walk seems to help.)

I hardly ever do this anymore. It isn’t really worth it.  But since I flubbed up again this week, I thought about other people being over-sensitive to caffeine and my motherly instincts kicked in:  If you’re troubled by depression like this, try cutting out the caffeine. (Keeping in mind that if you’re an imbiber, you’ll have to taper off gradually.)

Worth a try?


If you’re severely depressed, dropping the caffeine will probably not help. Please get some medical help if you’re persistently down – there are lots of anti-depressants out there, and if one doesn’t work another one probably will. I am very aware how reluctant you may be to take a drug affecting the mind – that’s who you are, in some senses – but think of it this way. If your pancreas was acting up and you had symptoms of diabetes, you would gladly take medication for that. The brain is an organ, too. ALSO it’s not so much true that taking an anti-depressant makes you into someone who is not-you. I find that it frees me from the not-myself so that I feel more like my real self when I am on medication.

Be well.


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