Diane's Pick for Monday's Memorable Mention

For me a good book means you grow sad when the story is ending, and are dying for it to keep you in its fictive dream. That recent experience happened to me when I read The Lady's Slipper, by Deborah Swift. The characters are so vivid, and the story pulls you into life in a 17th century English village where a woman is obsessed with a rare flower. Her stealing it from her Quaker neighbor will unleash all sorts of ramifications, death, torture, and even love, for her and others in a town reawakening from the austure rule of the Puritans. I hated to put this book down, and can see why Ms. Swift won in the New Writing category of a recent major publishing contest. I strive to write as well as she does.

Diane Scott Lewis, author of The False Light and the newly released Elysium
  

Thankful? Diane Scott Lewis is...

With an intense, type A personality, I sometimes find I haven’t stopped to “smell the roses” (or gardenias in my case) much. I stormed through my teens, twenties, thirties…and so on, careening toward something I hadn’t yet figured out. Finally, I decided to embark on the passion of my youth, writing novels. That will be so easy, won’t it? I’m vastly talented and creative. More on that later.

The other day, after tied to my computer screen, I had to let the dog out for his duty, and I sat on my front steps. The weather was gorgeous, no humidity, and I glanced down on my gardenia bush, which has never bloomed (too cold in Virginia, I guess) and recalled the luscious blooms my mother grew in California. That fabulous gardenia smell I remembered from my childhood. With Halloween only days away, more of my childhood filtered in to my cyber-fried brain. Our small town came alive—or dead—every Halloween. We children roamed the streets, entered haunted houses, and visited houses where fake hanged men were tossed from ropes off roofs so we could scream. My mother hand-made our costumes, and prepared popcorn balls and caramel apples that no one was afraid to eat, because we all knew each other and felt safe. We gathered tons of candy we weren’t leery about munching on. One street over, two women who were teachers, wore excellent witch costumes and stirred a huge cauldron that they placed in their lighted garage every year. Inside the black pot swirled orange Kool-aid, with orange slices floating on top. On Halloween night we children, after stuffing our mouths with sticky candy, knew we could come here and partake of a refreshing drink. I hope I thanked those women, because I always appreciated their efforts. Who these days would bother, because of all the warnings about tainted treats? Plus, some parent would sue if their little darling got cavities or fat thighs—all that sugar!

So I’m thankful for my wonderful, fairly safe childhood, all the kind people I met, my mother’s gardenias and that delicious orange Kool-aid.

I’m also thankful for Ginger, my hostess, who introduced me to her publisher. 

And my debut historical novel (after years of struggling) THE FALSE LIGHT—winner of the CTRR Award. 

Blurb: Forced from France on the eve of the French Revolution, Countess Bettina Jonquiere must deliver an important package to further the royalist cause. In England, she discovers the package is full of blank papers, and she’s penniless. Stranded in a Cornish village, Bettina toils in a tavern and falls in love with a man who may have murdered his wife. Tracked by ruthless revolutionaries, she must uncover the truth about her father’s murder—and her lover’s guilt—while her life is threatened.

ebook available at: http://www.eternalpress.biz

paperback: http://www.amazon.com

Or visit my website: http://www.dianescottlewis.com

Not From Muse It Up Pub...yet!

I'm making a "pay it forward" gesture to a good friend and great author. Diane Scott Lewis isn't yet with Muse It Up Publishing, but she has more than enough talent to be here. Since I have a few vacant dates for Musing Through September, I decided to devote one to "pimping" Diane's release, The False Light. I've read it and loved it...and for someone who thought they'd hate the genre, I was pleasantly surprised. So, enjoy a little taste. 

 

Blurb:

Forced from France by her devious guardian on the eve of the French Revolution, Countess Bettina Jonquiere must deliver an important package to further the royalist cause.  In England, she discovers the package holds nothing more than blank pages. The address is false and she's penniless.  Stranded in a Cornish village, Bettina toils in a bawdy tavern and falls in love with a man who lives under the shadow of his missing wife.  

Excerpt:

“Trethewy isn’t going to be much help, I’m afraid. He never is, unless it benefits him. But he’s the only law in the area.” Everett assisted her into the curricle, his grip on her arm almost painful.

“I must agree.” The Justice bringing up Stephen upset her. But Everett had little reason to kill him and he’d been away, in London…hadn’t he? She rubbed a hand over her brow as if she could wipe away that thought.

The curricle and horses lurched up the steep grade to the main road. An edgy silence lingered between them. Bettina’s aggravation and confusion over the events boiled over. “I must find my horse. I planned to give him to—” 

"You have to be careful from now on.  You simply can't go off unescorted.  And never approach that man alone."  Everett snapped the reins and his team tossed their heads. "Trethewy should be reprimanded to do his duty."

"I am leaving here as soon as I can arrange it, so I will not be a burden to anyone."  She struggled to keep her voice firm and shifted on the hard bench.  "I wish that I had never come to Cornwall."

Everett glared at her.  "Don't start sounding like Miriam." 

"Stop this carriage at once!"  Bettina slid from the seat, forcing him to rein in the horses.  She jumped down and ran towards the cliffs, not wanting him to see her angry tears.

Everett leapt from the curricle and chased after her. He caught her arm and swung her around to face him. “I didn’t mean that, I'm sorry. You don’t understand everything.”

“I do not understand anything!” She thrashed to free herself, but he wrapped his arms around her and pressed her to his chest. She refused to look at him. “I wanted you to love me.”

Here's a review snippet from Historical Novel Reviews that I blogjacked.  :)

Diane Scott Lewis’s debut novel is wonderfully researched and the reader is taken right into the drawing rooms, kitchens and taverns of the dark days of late eighteenth century England. Her recipe for lemon puffs is mouth-watering, and I was quite disappointed when they ended up in a well.

The author’s talent for making everyday conversations interesting draws the reader in, as do Bettina’s longing for her homeland, lost to her through no fault of her own.

This is a historical romance, but so much more in that Ms Scott Lewis delves into her character’s souls and makes them jump out of the page. The story finishes on something of a question, so readers will be delighted to learn that the sequel, ‘Without Refuge’ is well on its way. I for one cannot wait to read that book too and find out what life has in store for Bettina and her family.

Find out more about the author on her website.

Welcome, Diane Scott Lewis

Severe Self-Editing

Several years ago I wrote and researched a novel set on the remote North Atlantic island of St. Helena during Napoleon’s exile in 1815. Most of the people who accompanied him wrote diaries and memoires…so many details and history. The island itself was a character due to the odd flora and fauna and geographical setting. I stuffed the novel, Elysium, with these nuggets until it grew to over 150,000 words. The first agent that actually read the book said I had too many characters and needed to develop the two main characters more. So I ripped out several characters, fictional and historical, (which left huge plot holes I had to repair) to make room for Napoleon’s POV along with delving deeper into my heroine’s.

With all that introspection, the novel again ballooned to over 150,000 words. The agent rejected me anyway, not on size but theme. Later, I received a publishing contract from an up and coming small press which wasn’t afraid of large or “outside the box” books. The joy! Then they filed for bankruptcy before I even began edits.

I set the book aside for over a year, but the story kept calling to me. I read Elysium again a few weeks ago and said, “What crap! This needs additional severe self-editing.” First I went through and cut extra words: “just” and “very” are good ones. You also don’t need “she/he wondered; she/he knew; she/he saw” in their POV’s. I slashed the “telling” and added more “emotion”. I studied each scene, do I really need this scene, is the info important, or can I move that one line of info elsewhere? “But I loved that scene!” Oh well, no room. In many scenes the characters blathered on too long, repeating themselves…snip snip!

Get to the point faster! Do I really need to name all the unusual plants on the island, even though they’re fascinating to me? More cuts. Do I really need to keep saying “really”?

The experience has forced me to look at my writing in a different light: cut extra words, scenes that go nowhere, remove superfluous characters. Can two, even three, characters be combined into one? Make every word and all the dialog count and move the plot along.

I’m amazed that I’ve shaved the work down to 137,000 words, still large but manageable. Now I lament that I might have cut too much and removed the historical points I wanted to include. I might sneak back and…add a few back in.

My friend, and an extremely talented writer, Anita Davison, designed this cover for my as yet unpublished book.

For more info on my recently published historical novel, The False Light, adventure and romance in the eighteenth century, and my other books, please visit my website.

Welcome, Diane Scott Lewis

Ginger, I’m so thrilled you invited me to post on your blog. I’ve been writing since a small child and have worked as an editor for The Wild Rose Press. I recently received a contract for my debut historical novel, The False Light. I anticipate starting edits any day now as the book will release in April from Eternal Press.

I’ve researched the eighteenth century for several years, even poring over old texts in the Library of Congress, to get my history correct.

Here’s the gist of my story:

“Fleeing the French Revolution, Bettina Jonquiere struggles to survive in a remote Cornish village, discover the secret behind her father's death, while attracted to a man who may have murdered his wife.” The novel is full of adventure, intrigue and romance.

Below is an UNEDITED excerpt.

Lisbette de Jonquiere crushed the small bundle to her chest and hurried across the main square of Boulogne’s Haute Ville. She glanced back at the townhouse. A place where she’d resented being sequestered this last week, yet it was preferable to the night’s shadows. Blinking drizzle from her eyelashes, she glared at the elderly man walking beside her. His lantern pushed a small pool of light before them. “If I must sail, why can’t I travel as a passenger on a packet boat?”
“There is…no time to obtain a passport.” Armand rasped this out, ending in a cough. He moved closer and hooked his arm with hers as if they led a nocturnal dance. “When you arrive in Dover catch the first coach to Bath.”
They passed the cathedral and the pink-bricked Town Hall. Around a corner, Lisbette started when a figure emerged from an alley and blocked their path. Armand halted, twitching his shoulders before the huge man who trudged into their lantern’s glow. Lisbette cringed at his filthy clothes. His face looked as if someone had tried to carve their initials into his cheeks. A stench rolled off him, like the slime washed up from beneath the sea.
“So, this is the one?” The giant tugged a frayed hat low on his forehead. Water dripping off the roof behind him smacked the cobbles and stirred the mist around his bulky frame.
“Certainement. This is she, and please be gentle.” Armand glanced at her, his eyes droopy above gaunt cheeks, sadder than she’d ever seen them. “Is it quiet down there, at the harbor?”
“Quiet enough for what we need. Only one from customs. I’ll be there.” The man turned around and in a splat of footfalls the gloom swallowed him up once more.
Lisbette shivered and bunched together the edges of her cloak, already damp from the increasing rain. “Who is that dirty man, Armand? I still don’t understand why you insist on sending me off at this hour and with no decent companion.”
“I’ve explained that it’s too late to engage anyone. But I promised your mother I’d keep you from harm.” He averted his eyes when he mentioned her mother, then coughed into his hand. “Let’s keep walking, my dear.”
“Maman will not approve of this. We should go back to the house. You’re ill. I feel the heat in your arm.” Lisbette wondered if his fever had confused him. The shock of being dragged from bed, her interrupted sleep, scrambled for reason in her head. But the cold air sharpened her fears like a needle. “Ma foi, why is my leaving so urgent?”

I hope you will visit my website to find out more about me and my novels in progress:
dianescottlewis.com



Note from Ginger: I'm honored that Diane shared an Advanced Reading Copy of The False Light with me, and I'll be reviewing this exciting novel soon on my new Examiner.com site: E-Book Reviews.