I’m very busy right now: the move back to Canada, a final draft of The Next Novel due soon, my Ink e-publishing on the verge of a launch … so my notes here will be sporadic and scattered over the next little while. 

Not that I don’t have a great deal to share!

I was struck this morning by an essay written by writer-friend Stephanie Cowell, “The Mystical World of Historical Fiction.” A quote:

To sustain the journey of writing a historical novel requires passionate interest, research, many rewrites, great skill, and the patience of a saint. Lives often do not come with plots; we have to create a plot to take the reader down the path of the story. We have to say, “Come with us. We will show you something wonderful.”

Other articles of interest:

“What Makes a Critic Tick? Connected Authors and the Determinants of Book Reviews.”

An interview with Stephen King: “I never think of stories as made things; I think of them as found things. As if you pull them out of the ground, and you just pick them up.”

The image above is from BibliOdyssey:  Wendel Dietterlin’s 1598 work on baroque engravings -’Architectura von Ausstheilung, Symmetria und Proportion der Fünff Seulen’. It evokes, for me, the revision process: one walks through a “finished” manuscript into a wreckage. One must have faith! 

As readers of this blog know, I’m preparing to e-book publish all my novels for the UK and beyond. What I hadn’t factored into my schedule projections was the need to proofread and re-proofread the files, nor my natural impulse to revise a novel long after it had been published. 

And so — due to a comment from one of my ever-so-excellent volunteer proofreaders, Wally Rabbani — I have just made a cut to Tales of Passion, Tales of Woe that … yes … just a little, took my breath away! (There’s a scary thrill to cutting.) 

I cut the Prologue. Out!  (You can read it here.)

It’s written from the point-of-view of a ghost, Marie Antoinette. Josephine did believe that Marie Antoinette’s ghost haunted the Palace, and I wanted this ghost to have a role in the novel, but … no, that was too tricky (but for one scene, with hints). Hence, the ghost’s prologue at the beginning.

I’ve been fond of this prologue, but, as Wally pointed out, the reader just doesn’t need it. And he’s right. I think it’s a stronger novel without it, and that’s what counts. 

In researching pregnancy in the 17th century, I came upon a treasure-trove of information on 17th century daily life in Holland compiled by art historian Kees Kaldenbach.

The facts of daily life are deducted in part from the detailed inventories of the Vermeer household and paintings. 

I intend to go into more detail later, but one page had a historical tidbit I found fascinating.

If a baby does not suck strongly, a mother’s milk can begin dry up. That’s as true today as it was 1000 years ago.

We remedy this problem today with the use of breast pumps. In the 17th century, however (at least in Holland), one could hire certain elderly ladies to suck. It’s not known if the milk was then given mouth-to-mouth to the baby or put into a pewter feeding bottle. 

For my recent blog posts on this theme:

Where are all the pregnant women?

Before “Babies ‘n Bellies,” what did pregnant women wear?

One of them was C.M. Mayo’s workshop. Catherine is not only a fantastic writer and teacher, but my go-to Tech Expert. 

I had the CD, and I was able to load it into iTunes, but where to go from there? Catherine immediately emailed back simple instructions: drag file to desktop, load into podomatic.com. Presto! Here is it: 

It’s long, and I doubt that any of you will in fact wish to listen to it, but I’m showing it off as a technical accomplishment! 

If you want to see how a pro does it: sign up for Catherine’se-book, Podcasting for Writers. I know this e-book is going to set off creative fireworks in my soul! 

A few days ago I posted a blog on “Where are all the Pregnant Women?”—noticing that in period paintings very few pregnant women were to be seen, in spite of the fact that woman were often pregnant in those centuries.

Now I’m following up on what they wore: 

From the Wikipedia entry on the history of maternity clothes:

“Dresses did not follow a wearer’s body shape until the Middle Ages. When western European dresses began to have seams, affluent pregnant women opened the seams to allow for growth. The Baroque Adrienne was a waistless pregnancy gown with many folds. Aprons were also worn to close the opening left by jackets.”

in French fashion, pregnant women would sometimes wore a “robe battante” or “robe volante“, sometimes called a “flying gown.” All of these were full, wide garments that would cover up any sign of pregnancy. Pregnant women were encouraged to wear loose fitting clothes.

Here is an image of maternity dress from colonial Williamsburg:

Madame de Montespan, the Sun King’s lover, was so often pregnant that she devised a new costume, sometimes credited with being the first maternity gown.

Ironically called “The innocent,” it is described as an ample, beltless gown closed with ribbons tied on each side. (Rather like a smock, I imagine.) As soon as she put it on, people assumed she was pregnant, so it didn’t succeed in disguising her condition, although it no doubt was more comfortable (and she was all about comfort). 

It is, unfortunately, rather difficult to find an image of “the Innocent” much less descriptions of the lovely Marquise in this gown, so it is left to our imaginations. If anyone has more specific information on this, please let me know!

{Image: from the National Library of Serbia Manuscripts, Cetvorojevandelje 17th century, BibliOdyssey.}

Recently I put out an unusual request on my Facebook Fan Page, asking for volunteers with iPads to proofread the e-book editions of the Trilogy which will be published soon.

I got an amazing response from my awesome Peeps: 7 volunteered for the first, 7 for the second, and 3 are now working on the third. A number of those who are now still proofing the second are willing to read/proof the third, as well. 

But now I have a forth — Mistress of the Sun — ready to be proofread. Do any of you have an iPad? And, if so, are you willing to take this on? I’d email you the file with instructions. Basically, if you see an error, you highlight it. 

I should explain that the reason an iPad is important is that the file is in ePub format and it’s possible, in iBook, to highlight the typos and email them to me. I’m told that an ePub file can be read on other readers, as well (Sony, for example), but I’m not sure how easy it is to email in the errors. 

If you have an iPad and you’re willing, send me an email: sgulland at sandragulland dot com. 

A friend recommended the historical movie Mozart’s Sister, which I also recently enjoyed.

It is based on the real-life Maria Anna Walburga Ignatia Mozart, nicknamed “Nannerl.” She’s a worthy subject: not only was she a talented singer and harpsichord player, but there’s evidence that she was a composer, as well. It’s a tragic story: in her necessary submission to her father and society, she must give up her talents and passions. 

I thought the daily life details very well done in this movie — with the exception of lipstick and nailpolish! I wasn’t quite convinced that the actors and actresses were the ones playing their instruments, but I was happy to go along with the fantasy. The character of the Dauphin was memorable, as were all the members of the Mozart family. 

It is one of those delicious French movies with long, poetic monologues: I do love these! 

In short: I recommend it. 

{Cover of my e-book edition of Mistress of the Sun.}

In preparing to e-book publish my existing novels in the UK and beyond, I’ve had to have them retyped and proofed. (Thank you so much, my FaceBook Fan Page readers!)

I, too, have had to carefully reread all of them, which has been quite an experience for me.

As well as timely.

In preparing to write a Young Adult novel about Josephine’s daughter Hortense, it has helped a great deal to re-read the Trilogy.

In writing This Bright Darkness (working title of The Next Novel) — a novel set in the Court of the Sun King — it’s been vital for me to reread Mistress of the Sun. 

Firstly, I’ve recognized important changes I will need to make to This Bright Darkenss.

But secondly, I have had the opportunity to revise Mistress of the Sun. (The process never stops!)

At the Banff Book Discussion Weekend this last summer, a reader questioned the use of the word “shenanigan” in Mistress of the Sun.

Quite rightly! The first use of that word wasn’t until 1855.

I considered changing “No shenanigans—” to “No nonsense—”, but that didn’t quite convey the meaning I wanted. (Clorine is warning Petite not to have sex with old Gautier.) 

Exploring possibilities in the on-line Oxford English Dictionary is one of the tasks I love best, so after some searching, I settled on another word. It’s quite old, quite rare and mysterious, but I think it gives more of a sense of Clorine’s meaning:

Clorine wagged a finger. “No chuffing—”

“Don’t worry!” Petite said, cutting her off before she said more.

Do you love it? It’s a word that goes back to 1200, and it means cheating, deceit, or falsehood. Plus, if you ask me, it sounds just a little bit rude. 

Update: I admit I’m chuffed over how many have expressed interest in the word chuffing. (Thanks to Anita Davison for pointing out the modern English use of the word.)

Now, another change. Although “nickname” is a very old word, it feels modern to me — and, I suspect, to readers. Thus, I’m changing it to the dignified “sobriquet.”

And now: Audible has just put aside a pot-full of money to reward authors — yes, authors. (Yay!)

For every audible edition sold, the author will be rewarded $1. (This is above and beyond royalties, etc.) Needless-to-say, this is sweet. 

For those of you who have audible editions of your books on Audible.com, you can easily sign up at Audible.com Author Services. They have also, interestingly enough, put together excellent guides on how to promote you audible books. 

I’ve finally had a chance to watch La Princess de Montpensier, a 2010 movie based on the 1662 novel by Madame de Lafayette, set in war-ravaged 1562 France. I first heard of it after it made a big spash at Cannes years ago. 

From the NY Times review (which wasn’t gushing):

There are times when the lights are low and the bodices have been gently loosened that “The Princess of Montpensier,” a rousing amalgam of ambition, moods and genre conceits, looks like one of those old-fashioned diversions in which swords clang as bosoms heave with sweet passion.

I loved this movie, in large part because I love a well-made historical flick — and one set in France in particular. Also, it’s interesting to explore the stories that captivated 17th century France, the era I’m writing about.

It’s a story of tragic passion, rather well suited to a youthful society.

Youthful, I’m not. I kept thinking: she wouldn’t be carrying on this way if she had children. I kept thinking: lady, get real! 

But a beautiful movie it is. I found the soundtrack particularly enchanting: the sound of a fire burning, iron locks clanging, skirts swishing, horse hooves pounding. I liked that they sometimes showed people sharing sleeping quarters (they could have done this to a greater extent) and displayed a certain informality about nudity, which I suspect is historically likely. I liked how dank and dark the castles were and that the women did not look like they were wearing make-up. 

Basically, I long to be taken back in time, and I would have liked this movie to have been a somewhat more accurate illusion. Horses galloping for hours arrive in a sweat, please. (It would be such an easy detail to recreate.) A lady would never have travelled alone. Indeed, our princess is rather too often alone — convenient, I know, for a love story, but unlikely in fact.

Also, no wigs?

Also, a woman hard galloping side-saddle for hours and hours? A functional side-saddle is said to have been introduced into France at that time, but it wasn’t used universally and it wouldn’t have been used for strenuous riding. 

I also question the film-world historical “standard’ of revealing necklines. It’s not entirely inaccurate, I know:  

But in truth, when not at a ball or posing for a portrait, ladies would have more likely covered themselves with a partlet: “A low neckline could be filled in with a partlet. … Apart from being fashionable, the partlet was essentially used as a undergarment to keep warm in the winter, and prevent sunburn in the summer.” [Wikipedia]

{Queen Elizabeth I, 1572, with a partlet covering her shoulders.}

The heaving bosom makes for nice eye-candy — as do breath-taking riding scenes — but for me, what I’d love to see is historical accuracy. This movie was close enough for me to long for more. 

Will I watch this movie again? Likely. Do I recommend it? Yes. 

If you’ve seen it, tell me what you think. What historical movies have you watched that enchanted you, took you back?