Showing posts with label historical research. Show all posts
Showing posts with label historical research. Show all posts

Tuesday, September 10, 2019

The Devil's in the Details


Hi, I’m Eleri Grace, a new blogger at Romancing the Genres, and I’m excited to share more about me and my novels with all of you. I write WWII historical romance featuring trailblazing Red Cross Girl heroines and flyboy heroes. My novels reflect my passion for the 1940s era, and my hope is that readers will come away with an appreciation for the many couples swept up in war-time courtships forged in a time of larger-than-life uncertainties. 
 
We’ve commemorated many “75th” anniversaries for key milestones in World War II in the last year, and recently marked the 80th anniversary of the start to the conflict in Europe. The war years lived by the Greatest Generation seem paradoxically a bygone era and not so long ago. Many elements of our current lives were in existence and use in the 1940s. But as a historical author writing in that time period, I take special care to confirm the specifics. I know I’m not the only historical author to find that being a stickler for historical accuracy can be a slippery slope. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve lost hours to a research rabbit hole that ultimately didn’t perhaps merit that level of sleuthing. The trick is knowing when to stop, when you’ve hit a brick wall and need to “write around” the issue, when you’ve learned all you can via Google, or when you’ve lost sight of the bigger picture.

Some details are fun and relatively straightforward. I have always enjoyed perusing baby name books, so naming my characters is particularly rewarding.  I regularly consult the online Social Security Administration database of “Popular Names by Decade.”  My heroes and heroines were born in the 1917-1922 time period, so I browsed both the 1910s and 1920s lists and created a master list of possible character names. Now, some of the popular names in those decades don’t appeal much to modern readers. So I made a list of era-appropriate given names with modern currency. In my first Clubmobile Girls novel, Courage to be Counted, my heroine is Vivian Elaine Lambert, and the hero is John “Jack” Peter Nielsen. Both Vivian and Jack have seen a resurgence of popularity in the last few decades.

One only needs to read a few memoirs to pick up on the era’s propensity to bestow quirky nicknames. So while I’m reading memoirs and historical non-fiction for research purposes, I add to my ongoing list of unusual nicknames. While I probably won’t use those names for my hero or heroine, I do populate my cast of secondary characters with names like Ace, Tink, Duck, and Bizzy.

Some details are easy to verify. If you are writing a Christmas scene, your characters might sing songs that remind them of home, and a large number of familiar Christmas songs still enjoyed today date to the 1940s and 1950s. Most of us immediately associate Bing Crosby’s classic “White Christmas” with the WWII years, but it only takes a few seconds to confirm that it was originally performed and released in 1942. Whew, your 1943 Christmas scene can easily incorporate this well-known Christmas song. But you can’t include “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” which was first recorded in 1949.

Many common items were rationed during the war years. Internet sleuthing usually yields a quick answer to what sorts of food items were rationed in different countries, but you have to be careful here too. Even if a food wasn’t rationed, its typical packaging might have been.

WWII authors should always keep the blackout regulations in mind. Consider this scene from Courage to be Counted:

A trace of musty odor hung about the stuffy room. Vivian crossed the room and pulled on the sash to raise the window. A waft of cool, damp air left a light mist on her face. She closed her eyes in contentment.

She should move back and let the blackout drapes fall closed, but the delicate spray of mizzle continued to beckon, refreshing and relaxing.

Other regulations, such as the restriction on bath water limits, provide another opportunity to immerse one’s readers more directly in the realities of life during that time: “Did she have time to run a bath? It would only be a few inches of tepid water, but a big improvement over her toiletry for the last several days.”

Reading deeply in memoirs and narrative non-fiction can illuminate customs, patterns of behavior that weren’t dictated by regulations but were prevalent at the time. I wanted my hero’s scenes to reflect the challenges he faced in the air but also the realities of his life on a bomber base in southeastern England.

Bowie opened the door, and Jack followed him out into the night. A crisp bite of wind stung his chapped face and whooshed through his heavy clothing, chilling him deep in his bones. Darkness, dense and inky, enveloped them like a shroud. Occasional pinpricks of light marked a hut door opening and closing. They stumbled across the mucky footpaths by instinct, the huff of their breaths and the crunch of their boots on the frost-coated ground the only sounds.

No one talked. Not on their way to the mess. Not in the chow line. Not even as they ate powdered eggs and fried Spam washed down with black coffee. Apparently, they had been up too many times this week to merit the fresh eggs and bacon that would normally be served on the morning of a maximum effort mission.

These are but a few examples of the ways a historical author can weave tiny details into the story, giving it depth and color. At the same time, it’s important to use those sorts of details with a deft touch. Translating every line of dialogue into the slang of the era would be overkill. Avoiding the information dump is equally important. For all the research I do – and I do way more than I probably ought to – I only include a fraction of what I know. You have to know when to stop researching and when you’re laying it on too thick in your writing. The devil is in the details. 



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Learn more about me and my writing on my website, and you can also find me on Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, and Instagram

Saturday, February 2, 2019

AN ILL-ADVISED VICTORIAN (BLOGGING) EXPERIMENT by Sarah Raplee

Hi, I'm Sarah Raplee, author of Victorian, Steampunk and Paranormal Romance. 

I decided to do something different in this Guest Post to illustrate the importance of research when writing Victorian Era romance stories. This is an excerpt from the second draft of my Victorian American romantic short story,  "An Ill-advised Experiment". 

In a comment, can you name five words that you don't believe fit the Victorian period in America? Did you find any other historical inaccuracies? 

I will verify or disprove your opinions and explain how I did so in the comments.  ~Sarah

Excerpt from "An Ill-advised Experiment"

Dr. Franklin Stein peered over the wire rims of his spectacles and squinted at the dial on his latest invention, a Physio-Energetic Transposer. The numerals and needles on the dial on the front of were a blur, as if they were swimming in melted lard. His chest felt as though it was an over-inflated balloon on the brink of bursting. Thankful he was alone in his private home laboratory, he slammed a fist on his workbench and let loose an unbridled string of oaths.
Damned his singular focus on this research! He could not work, and it was his own blasted fault. Why had he neglected to order new lenses for his spectacles when he'd first noticed a change in his vision a week before the wedding? How could he explain a delay to  the President?
Ulysses S. Grant would not be pleased with the man his Cabinet members had nicknamed PET Scientist in Chief as a jab at Franklin's unorthodox research. Franklin hated to disappoint the one man who had staunchly supported his wide-ranging efforts over the past three years.
A soft rap on the hall door made his stomach clench. He’d believed his bride of two months, Prudence, to be outside in the garden when he had vented his frustration. He hoped she hadn’t heard his outburst. If only his unique intelligence allowed him to navigate the intricacies of human relationships with a modicum of grace, but he was the metaphorical bull in the China shop of Society.
Heaving a sigh, he crossed the laboratory in two long strides and flung open the door. Prue’s serene smile eased the tension in his shoulders. She seemed unaware of his recent fit of temper. She wrapped her arms around his neck, rose onto her tiptoes and kissed him with lips as soft as butterfly wings.
As always, she took his breath away.
When she pulled back and gazed up at him through her dark lashes, laughter danced in her lovely violet eyes. “May I be of help, husband?”
She pressed her lips together instead of smiling, which confused him. Sometimes he felt completely at a loss with her, as if they spoke two different non-verbal languages.
Several tendrils of dark brown hair had escaped her chignon to curl alongside the white column of her neck. Franklin found himself distracted from his worries, imagining what it would feel like to lift the locks away and caressed her velvet skin with his fingertips. Then he would sweep her off her feet and carry her upstairs—
Prue tipped up her chin and raised her brows. “What in the world are you thinking, sir?”
He grinned. “Scandalous thoughts, m’dear, scandalous thoughts.”
Color rose in her cheeks. She folded her arms across her breasts and gazed at him askance. “I only wanted to help, not to distract you.”
He pulled her close, inhaling the calming scent of her flowery perfume. Lord, what did I do to deserve such a woman? She was not a typical female, frail of sensibilities and faint of heart. She helped him when his faults were a hindrance. Otherwise, she overlooked them. No longer a girl like the silly chits who’d hoped to wed him, she had come to his bed with an eagerness and generosity that had astounded him. One taste of her and he was lost forever.
“Well?” Prue said.
Franklin sighed. “I cannot read the transposer dial. I should have ordered new lenses for my spectacles before the wedding.”
She smiled. “Then I can be of help. I’ll read the instruments for you so your work will not be affected. You can order lenses this afternoon.”
He opened his mouth to protest the need to run the errand today, but Prue’s smile melted his thoughts the way sunbeams melt butter. Besides, his bride was not afraid to reveal her iron backbone when his well-being was at stake. There was no point in arguing about the spectacles.
She looped her arm through his and they walked toward the PET. Prue stopped unexpectedly and cast a puzzled glance up at him. “What happened to your weather balloon project? President Grant expects the results in three days.”
Franklin smiled. He enjoyed having someone intelligent with whom to discuss his work. “Not to worry, my dear. The President already has my report.”
Her expression cleared. “I must visit the laboratory more frequently. What is your latest project, then?”
She bent down to peer at the dial and switches on the PET’s central unit. Bundles of insulated electrical cables protruded from either side of the box for several feet before ending in shiny silver helmets.
“I call my new invention a Physio-Energetic Transposer, or PET. The basic idea came to me while I studied at Yale, but my experiments failed repeatedly. I needed a chemical compound with the proper biological and energetic properties for test subject preparation in order to be successful. Unfortunately, I failed to find one at that time.”
Prue straightened, her eyes shining. “But you’ve discovered one  now?” 
He nodded. “The recent measles outbreak in Baltimore induced me to investigate Native herbal medicine. While searching for something to strengthen a person’s resistance to measles, I stumbled onto an herb known as datura. Priests and priestesses of the Indian tribes who live at the confluence of the Missouri and Mississippi Rivers use datura to allow their spirits to roam free of their bodies. I believe datura weakens what I call the physio-energetic bond. This may be what I need to transpose minds.”
His excitement dimmed in the face of her shocked expression. He replayed their brief conversation in his head, but could recall nothing to explain her apparently negative reaction. His shoulders slumped. “What is it?”
Prue composed her features into a smile and laid her palms against his chest. She peered up at him with a question in her eyes. “I’m sorry; I thought you said you were going to transpose minds.”
In response to his wife laying her hands on his chest Franklin slid his arms around her supple waist. This was a ritual they had developed to ease them through impending disagreements. Prue once told him it was lucky she had tossed her corsets and joined the dress reform movement, else they might never have discovered close physical contact had calming benefits that helped him when he was confused.
Her reaction undoubtedly confused him. He tried not to frown. “You heard me correctly. To quote the president, ‘the ability to transpose minds between bodies may serve the country well.’”
Prue blinked. She studied him for a moment and then shook her head. “Politicians, even presidents, are ambitious men, which sometimes makes them shortsighted.”
Franklin blinked. His lungs compressed. It had never occurred to him that the President of the United States of America had faults like any other man. The implications were mind-boggling.
Prue cupped his jaw in her small, warm hand. “Don’t look so horrified, Franklin. Only God is perfect.” She dropped her hand and her gaze to his chest. “You must remain calm, husband. Breathe slowly and deeply.”
He did as she instructed. His chest gradually expanded to its normal dimensions.
“Better?” She grinned up at him.
He hadn’t a clue as to what was coming next, but her wide smile was reassuring. Perhaps she had thought of a way to help him understand her concerns about the project. He relaxed and smiled back. “Much.”

Please comment on any historical inaccuracies you spotted. Check back for my responses. ~Sarah Raplee

Saturday, August 11, 2018

Canadian Bestselling Author Sharon Page

I'm Sharon Page, author of over 20 Regency historical romances and now two 20th century historical women's fiction novels—An American Duchess and The Worthington Wife, both published by Harlequin HQN.


Research Trip to England
I’ve had many fun experiences as an author, but taking a research trip through England was one of the most enjoyable. My plan was three-pronged: to see Regency settings in London, the streets where Jack the Ripper prowled (for a future book idea), and the moors of Dartmoor.

My research on Dartmoor would lead to my first major self-published book, Escape with a Rogue. (The gorgeous cover is by Croco Designs.)


 Here's one of my first views of the moors:



Here's the blurb for Escape with a Rogue:

Can a gently bred young lady prove that a notorious gaming hell owner who escaped from prison is innocent of murder? Wrongfully convicted, Jack Travers has spent two years in jail, first on a dismal prison hulk, then in isolated Dartmoor Prison. Can Lady Madeline Ashby heal his wounded heart and troubled soul?

In the story, Lady Madeline is determined to prove Jack’s innocence and she helps him escape Dartmoor Prison. At that time, local farmers brought in their goods for market days, a fact that allows Madeline a chance to sneak in.



Above is the entry gate to the prison. I stayed in a lovely inn that was the former prison governor’s house. I was able to walk in my character’s shoes—even following a track across the moors that I use for their escape route. All went well until I found a fork in the trail. Desperate, I even asked the sheep for directions and they weren’t impressed. In the end, I made a choice—fortunately it was the right one.



The moors are still remarkably desolate. There are many dangerous bogs.



Back in London, I toured Mayfair and even went up to the front steps of White’s Gentlemen’s Club on St. James’s Street, a setting I have used in many Regency England-set romances. A friend and I took our pictures there (though the doorman came out and told us it was for members only).



It was a dream trip. I took hundreds of photographs to have for reference (including the ones here). And the research came in handy for my latest book, The Worthington Wife, set in the 1920s in England.



Thanks so much for having me here.

Sharon


About the Author
Sharon Page is a New York Times and USA Today Bestseller of historical romance. She has also penned two romantic women’s fiction titles, An American Duchess and The Worthington Wife. A mother of two, she lives in Canada.

See all of Sharon's novels on her website www.SharonPage.com

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