walking the Mean Streets of Medieval York
Long ago I left my first US publisher to take advantage of the opportunity to work with an award-winning editor. She turned out to be far less hands-on than I’d hoped, and she died after publishing just the first book in the project I’d begun with her, the Margaret Kerr novels (though we did work on two Owen Archers together). But in fact she left me with a terrific lesson. She pointed to a scene I’d written and said, “Here. This scene is an example of your best writing. It hums with life and hooks me.” It was the prologue to A Spy for the Redeemer. It was almost the last thing I wrote in that book, an exercise to “see” that character, the mason Ranulf de Hutton, before the event at the center of the book, and I liked it so much I left it in the first draft I’d sent to her, certain she’d remove it.
With that simple statement she clarified for me how to tell when I’m in good form. Thanks, Sara Ann.
I call this embodying a scene. Being present, being here in the scene as the point of view character. When I teach this in a workshop, I begin with an exercise–choose one of your characters at a calm moment in the story, have her pause in the doorway as she’s about to enter a room, and in this calm mindset, describe what she experiences through her senses as she scans the room. Then have her do the same thing as she’s about to confront someone in that same room later in the story. The contrast between the two should be revelatory. If not, you’re not really there.
I woke up dreading work this morning because yesterday I’d had a frustrating afternoon with a scene I finally jettisoned. Then I reminded myself that I’d set my intention to begin today with a scene in which Thomas Holland is sailing home anticipating with both joy and dread his reunion with Joan of Kent, his betrothed. This scene will be a contrast with a later scene when he discovers just how definitively Joan’s mother and King Edward have rejected the betrothal. Suddenly the energy I was feeling shifted from dread to delicious anticipation. Even though I know from long experience that neither of these scenes may make the final cut, they will help me embody Thomas, really get to the heart of him at this point in his life. This is what keeps me engaged in the writing life.
I had the pleasure of reading an advanced copy of Susan Higginbotham’s novel The Queen of Last Hopes this past autumn, and thought I’d share the note I wrote to her editor:
From the moment King Henry appears in The Queen of Last Hopes I was
captivated. With elegantly simple brush strokes Susan Higginbotham reveals
the disarming innocence and sweetness of Henry, and the tender affection
between him and his young bride, Margaret of Anjou. And then at once we
are swept along with them into the maelstrom of political intrigue that
destroys them. Step by inexorable step we endure with them the betrayals,
the humiliations, the horrific deaths of their supporters, all visited
upon them by those who saw them as a fool and his sorceress, intent on
destroying the glory of England-the king’s powerful cousins who took
advantage of his descent into madness. In the end, Margaret of Anjou’s
fury is ours. Higginbotham’s portrayal of Henry and his fiercely loyal
queen never sinks into melodrama. This is a passionate, intelligent novel.
Highly recommended.
I would add that as a Yorkist, I was a hard sell on Margaret. The book is out now–enjoy!
And incidentally, Susan and I will be on a panel at the Historical Novel Society conference in San Diego (17-19 June), together with Chris Gortner and Anne Easter Smith–our topic, Whose Side Are You On?: Turning the Antagonists of History into Sympathetic Protagonists. Hope to see you there!
Toward the beginning of her recent biography of Cleopatra*, Stacy Schiff comments on how little specific information about Cleopatra is extant. What did she look like? “Only her coin portraits–issued in her lifetime, and which she likely approved–can be accepted as authentic.” Most of the Roman accounts of her were written long after her time. “No papyri from Alexandria survive.” The historians conflated her stories with those of others. “To restore Cleopatra is as much to salvage the few facts as to peel away the encrusted myth and the hoary propaganda.”
I empathize. The situation’s little better for the women about whom I’m writing–Alice Perrers, Joan of Kent. I’ve more information about Joan than I did about Alice, but I’ve also a great deal of conflicting mythology, some positive, some negative. In fact, that last quote from Stacy is spot on for Joan.
Just coming up for air and appreciating Schiff’s lovely prose….
*Cleopatra: A Life, Stacy Schiff (Little Brown 2010)
Toward the beginning of her recent biography of Cleopatra*, Stacy Schiff comments on how little specific information about Cleopatra is extant. What did she look like? “Only her coin portraits–issued in her lifetime, and which she likely approved–can be accepted as authentic.” Most of the Roman accounts of her were written long after her time. “No papyri from Alexandria survive.” The historians conflated her stories with those of others. “To restore Cleopatra is as much to salvage the few facts as to peel away the encrusted myth and the hoary propaganda.”
I empathize. The situation’s little better for the women about whom I’m writing–Alice Perrers, Joan of Kent. I’ve more information about Joan than I did about Alice, but I’ve also a great deal of conflicting mythology, some positive, some negative. In fact, that last quote from Stacy is spot on for Joan.
Just coming up for air and appreciating Schiff’s lovely prose….
*Cleopatra: A Life, Stacy Schiff (Little Brown 2010)
I’m ensconced in my office with Joan of Kent, dreaming about her marriages. Actually, because she doesn’t get to tell this all in first person, it’s quite crowded in here–Joan, Thomas Holland, Queen Philippa, King Edward (III), Edward of Woodstock, Joan’s mum Lady Margaret, and William Montague to name just the major players. It gets loud when the men put on their fighting gear. And the festive headdresses on both sexes get caught on the shades, the clock, the calendar….
Some people say that writing is a solitary profession. They’re not writers.
But to the winter solstice–what about that lunar eclipse?! I saw that 1648 was the last time winter solstice and lunar eclipse coincided like this–just after Charles I was captured. Takes you back, doesn’t it?
Wishing you all a winter of wonder.