I attended high school/college during the late 60s-early 70s, when research depended solely on the quality of the library to which one had access. I passed many hours of my young life in San Diego, at its public and private (university) libraries. My instructors doggedly refused to allow any short cuts such as Cliff Notes, rather they insisted upon authentically documented research. I would look-up articles in a vast tome, fill out a chit of paper and hand it to an aged librarian, who disappeared into the bowels of the library. Then I waited, hoping one of those references would provide that special bit of color for my project. If not, well back to the drawing board, as they say.
My how times have changed! While writing my second novel, set in 1811, I wanted to use an actual playhouse of the era. With the click of a mouse and carefully worded queries (and that’s the crux, wording your question to achieve results) via Google, I discovered the Federal Street Theatre, located in downtown Boston of that time. Further clicks revealed local boarding houses, where it was likely such travelers/tradesmen would be housed. I then retrieved a readable map of historic Boston and was able to pinpoint one of these quaint ‘hotels’ a few blocks from the theatre. Wow, all of that in a matter of minutes (well, maybe nearer to an hour).
During this process I stumbled across a bonus, and the creative writer loves options. Odd as it seems, the Eastern United States was visited by a seismic event in 1811 and 1812 called The New Madrid Earthquake. Centered in Missouri, it was felt as far away as Boston. Although I manipulated the timing a bit (is that called creative license?) this offered the perfect distraction needed to evacuate the theatrical troop safely from the US before the War of 1812 erupted. It also added wonderful color to a romantic tryst between my two major characters! Did the earth move?
I have been an avid reader of historical romances from my early days in high school, having cut my teeth on one of the greats of the genre, Anya Seton. I attribute a great deal of knowledge, a love of English history and perhaps an inspiration to be a writer, from the remarkable detail of her books. I also doff my hat to a more recent inspiration: Patrick O’Brian. My father built sailboats and passed on his passion to me. Although when I began these novels, my knowledge was rudimentarily, by the time I finished the twenty-first book my education included a minutiae of maritime knowledge, including rigging, sails and masts, foods eaten and prepared aboard, weapons: from cannonades to muskets, and the differences between a sloop, a frigate and a xebec, just to name a few. This was entirely unplanned research, but what a fantastic journey!
My upcoming novel Magician’s Spell takes place aboard a 36-gun privateer during the early 1800s. Upon reading further books in the nautical genre by various well-known authors, I began to wonder what would happen if a woman were thrown into this masculine dominated world? Granted, at times gunner’s wives were aboard to look after younger midshipmen, and oft times a captain might travel with his wife, my intention, however, was to introduce a feminine interest who would not be relegated to being a mere passenger. Thus came about Johanna Cornehl, the independent daughter of a Lord Admiral of the Royal Navy. To introduce more explosives into the mix, her father was instrumental in court-martialing the captain of Magician, the ship on which she travels. The relationship arising between Lady Cornehl and Captain “Hal” Monroe provides the primary romantic theme, which develops amid plenty of adventure, including battles at sea, a frolic in the theatre, an imprudent affair, misguided obsessions, and a nasty bastard whose disappointed greed leads to kidnapping and ransom. This villain provides the impetus for a secondary plot exploit involving an American slave who escaped his abuse only to be rediscovered, much to her chagrin, during his quest for vengeance against Hal and Johanna.
There is a lot of juicy intrigue and action to keep readers interested. If you like historical novels with lots of action, I hope this brief peek will encourage you to download Magician’s Spell when it becomes available from Red Rose Publishing.
29 March 2009
Musings About Research, by Debra Denson
04 June 2008
Chateau Despair
Chateau Despair is a big WWII saga.
Clothilde is growing up in France in a crumblign chateau with her half mad granmother. Christine lives in England in a beautiful house with her family.
Clothilde gets caught in Paris when the Germans invade. She has several lovers and is involved with the Resistance. Christine has to contend with unrequited love and clothing coupons.
A secret binds these two but neither of them knows anything of it. What will happen when they meet and the mystery is solved?
Chateau Despair received a five star review from Anastasia
A Kind of Loving was given three cups from Coffee Time and a glowing review from Red Roses For Authors!
12 May 2008
Chateau Despair
"You should send the child to the Nuns," Father Caillebotte said. "It is not fitting for her to be here in this place – and you are not well enough to care for her." His eyes swept round the room. It was cold despite the small fire flickering in the grate. Finding no answer to his problem, his gaze returned to the old woman, who sat hugging her shawl about her shoulders, her expression defensive and wary.
"The child is mine," she told him. "I brought her here to save her from the kind of life you would condemn her to with those sour-faced hags, who have never known what it is to live. Go away and leave us alone. We do not need you."
Caillebotte’s expression was one of patient resignation. He had made the same plea each time he came to the house for the past seven years, and it was always refused. He was wasting his time. It was only duty that made him continue to call at the house, which was crumbling into a ruin from neglect and had an air of despair about it.
"Perhaps not, but I shall continue to call even though you say you do not need me, Madame. If you have no thought for your own soul, the child must still be brought up in the way of the Lord – and she must be educated. It is time for her to begin her lessons. If you will not send her to school, I shall come myself to teach her to read and write."
Caillebotte was a good man. He would do his duty as he saw it. His conscience would not allow him to abandon either the child or the woman, even though he sometimes wondered if his visits meant anything at all to either of them.
The old woman gave him a sour look. "Please yourself. I should have taught her when she was ready. She likes to look at my treasures, and already she knows some of her letters. I do not neglect her as much as you imagine, Caillebotte. I tell her my stories. She likes stories…"
The priest was silent. He knew that the old woman had her good days and her bad days; he also knew that if he had done what was right, he would have taken the child into care long ago. This decaying chateau with its damp rooms and its dark secrets was not a suitable place for a child to grow – and yet the girl seemed to thrive on it.
She was a pretty child with large grey, wondering eyes. Her hair was long and dark; it flew wildly about her face as she ran bare foot about the house and the estate. He knew that she hid from him as much as she could, and suspected that she was somewhere around even now, listening to their conversation.
Clothilde listened from behind the painted screen, where she had hidden herself so that she could hear what they were saying. She was fiercely glad that Grandmere had refused yet again to send her to the Nuns. She did not want to go away from her grandmother, though she would not have minded escaping from certain other people in this house. But that would have meant leaving Grandmere, and she would never, never do that! If the priest took her to the Sisters of Mercy she would run away and come home to Grandmere.
Father Caillebotte was mistaken if he thought that she went nowhere and saw no one but her grandmere and the servants. Clothilde visited the village often. She knew the cottage where the priest lived behind the church, with its back garden where he grew herbs and vegetables, also fruit and a few flowers. Once she had stolen an apple from his tree, and his housekeeper came out shaking her fist. Clothilde ran away laughing; she was certain that the woman would never catch her.
The village itself was old; the houses built of some kind of stone that looked golden in the sunshine. Outside the small, dark inn, with its shuttered windows, old men sat drinking wine and dreaming in the sun while stray cats roamed where they would. Once Clothilde took one of the cats home with her, but it scratched her hand and ran away
The street was cobbled and there were potholes where the rain lay in the winter, the houses close to the road without gardens at the front. Some of them had bright window boxes, from which pink and red flowers trailed. In the back gardens the women, who always seemed to wear black, kept hens and some of them owned a pig, others grew herbs but not many of them grew flowers. Clothilde loved flowers, but there were none at the chateau, and no one to tend them. The servants were interested only in growing the vegetables they needed for the kitchen.
Clothilde waited until the priest left, then crept out from her hiding place and went to Grandmere. Climbing on to her lap, she sat before the fire, staring into the flames as they flickered and burned lower in the grate for want of kindling.
Grandmere stroked her head in an absent-minded manner. Clothilde knew that her grandmother’s thoughts were far away. She was always like this after the priest came, as if his visit made her want to shut out her surroundings.
"Are you dreaming about when you were young, Grandmere?" she asked, but received no reply. "Will you tell me a story?"
Sometimes her grandmother did not speak to her for hours, at others she would bring out her treasures and tell her stories. Clothilde liked those times best, but Grandmere was the centre of her world. Even when she was far away, lost in her world of dreams, she loved her.
From the moment she could walk and do things, Clothilde cared for Grandmere, understanding that the old woman needed her. She got down from her lap now and went to put more wood on the fire. Grandmere needed warmth because she was so often in pain from her poor crippled hands that ached with the rheumatics.
She went back and kissed the soft cheek, then slipped from the room. She would come back later when it was time for their supper. Grandmere would be ready to talk to her then, but for the moment Clothilde was free to escape into the woods. There she could run and hide, escape for a while from the harsh reality of her life at the house.
She was not sure that she liked the idea of lessons with the priest, but perhaps he would teach her to understand what was in the books in the library. There were a great many of them, some with pictures, which Clothilde liked to look at, others with strange letters that meant nothing to her.
"Where are you, little pig?"
Hearing the voice she hated most in the world, Clothilde made a dash for the door and freedom. She had stolen two buns fresh from the cooling tray earlier that morning and Blanche would beat her if she found her. However, the servant was fat and lazy, and she would not search far. Once Clothilde was in the woods she would be safe.
As she reached the door a bulky figure came darting out of the kitchen and grabbed her, shaking her until her teeth rattled.
"I have the little pig for you," Betrand called to his wife. "Here is the thief who stole your cakes."
"I didn’t steal them," Clothilde protested. "They are Grandmere’s cakes. You work for her. It’s your job to cook the food…"
She gave a scream as Betrand shook her, her head snapping back and forth. Blanche was coming towards her, stick in hand. She was going to be beaten again. Blanche was a vicious bully and beat her whenever she had an excuse. The last time she’d been black and blue all over for more than a week; she cried herself to sleep every night. She did not dare to complain to Grandmere, for it might upset her and make her ill. The servants treated her shamefully, but Clothilde was learning to fight back.
She turned her head and bit Betrand's hand. He gave a cry of pain and let her go, dropping her with such force that she felt the pain shoot through her wrist. Yet in a second she was on her feet, scuttling away and out of the door before he could recapture her.
She could hear them arguing about whose fault it was that she’d escaped, as she ran for her life, through the gardens towards the woods and safety.
*
It was evening now; the fire was burning merrily. Clothilde was feeling satisfactorily full, and she knew Grandmere felt the same. She was always at her best at this time, when she had eaten. She looked at Clothilde, smiled and held out her hand to her.
"Fetch my box to me, child, and I"ll show you my treasures."
Clothilde scrambled off her chair and went to the big bureau in the corner of the room where the box was kept. She carried it carefully back to her grandmother. The box was fashioned of several different kinds of woods in an intricate design, and like many of the things in this room had once been valuable. She watched as the battered old box was opened and its contents removed one by one, to be displayed as if they were precious jewels.
"This was my fan at my first ball," Grandmere told her, opening it to show her the pastoral scene painted on chicken skin. "It is made of ivory, and the handle is silver, but unfortunately it is broken…" She laid it down with a sigh.
"Who did you dance with that night, Grandmere?"
"That was the night I met Pierre…he was my first lover…" Grandmere sighed. "It was such fun in Paris in those times, Clothilde. Oh, the fine jewels we wore and the clothes; the clothes were so beautiful then, so elegant. Everything is ugly now; the age of charm has gone."
"Tell me about Pierre. Was he very handsome?"
"The most handsome man I had ever met – and he rode so well. He was always teasing me, bringing me flowers…"She sighed again. "I remember that we danced five times that night! It was so scandalous. Three times was all that was thought right and proper, and I was scolded by my father."
"But why? I do not see why you shouldn’t dance with the man you loved."
"Because I knew I could never marry him, child." Grandmere’s face was sad. "Love fades in time but my father believed money went on forever. He did not know Sanclere!"
"What do you mean, Grandmere?"
"It does not matter, but always remember that nothing lasts, not even money. In the firelight her face was soft with dreams and almost beautiful again, so that Clothilde thought how lovely she must have been as a young woman. "It was so wrong of me to let him make love to me. My father would have killed us both if he had discovered us…but he never did…"
"What happened to Pierre?" Clothilde asked, though she knew all Grandmere’s stories, for she had heard them so many times. "Did you love him very much?"
"I loved him as much as I was capable of loving. It wasn’t enough. He had no fortune and Sanclere was rich. My father wanted me to marry him…"
"Did it break Pierre’s heart when you told him you were to marry someone else?"
"He said it did – but he recovered soon enough and married a rich widow." Madame Sanclere’s face clouded. "Never trust a man, Clothilde. They are all faithless. Sanclere was never faithful to me – even on our wedding trip he took one of the maids to his bed…"
"What did he do to her?" Clothilde asked.
"I forgot what I was saying," Madame Sanclere shook her head. "Take no notice, Clothilde. I am old and sad, and I say foolish things. Come kiss me and then go to bed, child. You will not be fit to start your lessons in the morning."
"Must I have lessons with the priest?"
"Yes, I think you must," Grandmere said. "Otherwise he might send you to the Nuns – and I do not want you to leave me yet, Clothilde."
"I shall never leave you. Never!"
Clothilde threw her arms about her. She could not bear it when Grandmere spoke of her leaving. The old woman smiled, touched her head gently.
"Hush, child, no nonsense. One day you will go. But I hope that day will not come too soon." She pushed Clothilde from her. "Leave me to my memories now."
Clothilde knew that she would sit before the fire, taking out all the faded treasures from her box and dreaming over them until the fire went out and she turned cold. Perhaps then she would remember to go to bed herself.
Clothilde left her reluctantly, wishing that she could do more to help Grandmere.
As she reached the top of the stairs, a bulky figure darted out at her, grabbing her arm. "Got you at last, little pig! I"ll teach you to steal from me!" Blanche cried spitefully.
Clothilde pinched her arm hard, then kicked her on the shin with all her strength. Blanche squealed with pain and let go of her, and in an instant Clothilde was away, darting inside her room and locking her door.
She leaned against it, closing her eyes as she fought for breath. Another narrow escape, but tomorrow battle would commence once more. Blanche would have her revenge one way or another. Clothilde knew that sooner or later she would be caught and beaten ...
07 May 2008
Chateau Despair
05 May 2008
The Attic Ball scheduled for May 8 release
My Mainstream Historical Paranormal Romance short will be available soon. The Attic Ball is scheduled for release on May 8 at Red Rose Publishing. I can’t wait. If you want a quick and easy romance read, check it out.
BLURB: A Walden woman heads to the attic to revive an ancient ritual, which has been handed down from generation to generation. With the aid of an old trunk, containing some ancient props consisting of a lovely antebellum ball gown and a Confederate uniform, she summons the main participants, her long deceased great great grandparents.
I’ll come by next week with an excerpt.
*doing the happy dance*
Taylor Kincaid
Step into the world of Taylor Kincaid
Where destiny is just a dream away.
www.redrosepublishing.com
www.freewebs.com/kisskinauthornews
http://www.authorsden.com/taylorkincaid
14 March 2008
Want a little magic in your lie?
Toss of A Coin By Aline de Chevigny
Mainstream/Historical / Time Travel/Holiday/Romance
ISBN: 978-1-60435-101-9
Cover Artist: Merris Hawk
Editor: Terri Morris
Word Count: 12,468
Release: March 6th, 2008
Available now from Red Rose Publications
A grandmother’s last request, a mysterious old coin, and a heartfelt wish.
Armed with a mysterious package, Angelica travels to Scotland to fulfill the requirements of her grandmother’s will. The package contains an ancient coin and a letter telling her to make one wish. Angelica’s wish for true love sends her back in time and into the arms of a man who could make all of her dreams come true – if she’ll let him.
Excerpt :
The heat of anger in her eyes, and the edge of sarcasm in her tone put his teeth on edge. The fact that he knew his cousin was interested and he didn’t know if she returned his cousin’s interest bothered him. If he wasn’t careful, he’d lose her before he’d won her.
“Your Grace, if you point me in the direction of my room, I’m sure the seamstress will be waiting for me. As you noted, I need proper—or was that decent, clothing to cover myself with.”
Angelica’s formal tone and lack of expression while addressing him hit harder than he’d anticipated. The gleam that appeared in Ewan’s eyes at the discord brewing between himself and Angelica stopped him from uttering the apology he found ready on his lips to soothe the tension between them. “This way, Lady Angelica.” Duncan replied shortly, his irritation surging when she ignored his arm and stopped to offer Ewan her hand. “A pleasure to meet you, Lord MacHenry. I hope we have the chance to talk later.”
Ewan took her hand between both of his own. “The pleasure, Lady Richmond, was all mine. You have but to name the time and I will make myself available to you. But please call me Ewan. It is only proper if we are to get to know each other better, as I hope we will. Much, much better.”
“Very well, Ewan then you must call me…”
“Lady Angelica.” Duncan prompted, scowling towards his cousin. “And you must call him Lord Ewan, Angel.”
Angelica sighed, and turned to glare at Duncan. The annoyance showing on her face at being interrupted made him wonder if he’d already lost her.
“Lady Angelica, it is then.” He told her with a wink bringing her hand up to his lips.
“Now if you’ll excuse me, Lord Ewan. Your Grace, can you please show me to my room. I believe we need to discuss the details of my stay here, not to mention some rules!”
“Yes, we do.” Duncan agreed, following Angelica out the door past Ewan. “As do we, dear cousin.” Once Angelica was out of sight, he turned towards Ewan, fury plainly visible on his face. His fists balled at his sides to prevent himself from striking out at the younger man.
05 March 2008
It's out, it's out, it's out...weeeeeeeeeeeeeee
Toss of a Coin
Mainstream Holiday Historical / Time Travel
ISBN: 978-1-60435-101-9
Word Count: 12,468
Price: $1.99
BUY
Blurb: A grandmother’s last request, a mysterious old coin, and a heartfelt wish.
Armed with a mysterious package, Angelica travels to Scotland to fulfill the requirements of her grandmother’s will. The package contains an ancient coin and a letter telling her to make one wish.
Angelica’s wish for true love sends her back in time and into the arms of a man who could make all of her dreams come true – if she’ll let him.
Excerpt:
Duncan woke, the sun shining in his eyes. The fact that the sun touched his face meant his servants had disobeyed a standing order of not entering his bedchamber without consent. They knew better, he’d made it perfectly clear in the past to never disturb him until he called for them.
His mood lightened when he realized his Angel was wrapped around his body, cuddling as close as she could, while the blankets covering her were all but stripped away from her body. Lord, she looked beautiful laying there, the sunlight glinting off her copper colored tresses. He knew it had never before been done; but he was never letting this woman go. Once he learned of her past, he was going to find a way to make her his Duchess.
Moving away just an inch, he smiled when she cuddled closer; closing the gap he’d created between them. Her hand, which rested over his heart slid lower when she moved, causing him to harden instantly. The temptation to take her again washed over him, he needed to find out who she was and where she came from.
Soft caresses along her skin evoked a lusty, low moan in Angelica. A soft, cool breeze against her skin had her cuddling closer to the warmth she felt right beside her, eliciting a groan of desire in return. Her body stilled its movements as her eyes snapped open. “Who’s there?”
“Ah my Angel, glad to see you’re finally awake. I’ve been attempting to entice you to open your beautiful emerald eyes for an hour now. You’ve been quite stubborn and may I add I’ve enjoyed every moment of it.”
“You mean this isn’t a dream?” She asked, stunned.
“You are most definitely my dream come true, Angel.”
“I… I have to go.” She cried, pulling the blanket up to her breasts trying to cover herself as she slowly scooted away from him as far as she could on the bed. “What have I done?”
“Go? Go where? I forbid it. You promised me answers this morning, my Angel, and I intend to collect them.” The determined scowl on his face propelled her out of bed with the sheet wrapped tightly around her.
“Answers? What kind of answers? I don’t know anything. I don’t even know how I got here.” Angelica felt panic rising uncontrollably within her. A full-blown panic attack just waiting to be set free. Where were her clothes?
16 January 2008
Check out some of my awesome Tales
Available and Coming Soon from Red Rose Publications
The Perfect Hero – Contemporary Romance
Blurb: Experiencing the worst case of writer’s block she’d ever faced, Cassandra Daniels feared she’d never finish her novel by her deadline. In walked Nicolas Henry and her hopes rose. Will he be the answer to her Hero problems? Or the end of her career and hope that true love actually exists?
Buy: The Perfect Hero
Bare Bones – Halloween Paranormal Romance
Blurb: On the run from the Lycan who turned him during the full moon on All Hallows Eve, Christian Clarke isn't happy when he finds Joanna wandering through the woods searching for him. His inner wolf refuses to leave her side, yet his inner man wishes to keep her at arm’s length for fear that he won't be able to control his inner demons. Hearing her whispered profession of love, he reveals himself. Can he keep her safe from the pack that hunts him? Will Joanna love the beast he's become?
Buy: Bare Bones
Nature’s Whim – Paranormal Contemporary
Blurb: Ares had one goal, to become the most powerful of the old Gods, and with Mother Nature missing the time to act was now. But Mother Nature was back. She’d been reincarnated into the body of a young woman with a quick wit and sharp tongue who didn’t have a clue. Now Ares had to make the most difficult decision of his immortal life. Does he help Desdemona Carpenter get both her powers and the elements under control or does he smite what could be true love and aim for the power he so desperately desires?
Toss of a Coin – Time Travel Historical
Blurb: A grandmother’s last request, a mysterious old coin, and a heartfelt wish.
Armed with a mysterious package, Angelica travels to Scotland to fulfill the requirements of her grandmother’s will. The package contains an ancient coin and a letter telling her to make one wish. Angelica’s wish for true love sends her back in time and into the arms of a man who could make all of her dreams come true – if she’ll let him. 
Psychotic: A SKIU Serial – Romantic Thriller
Blurb: Doctor Amy Allens isn't looking for love; she's looking for a killer. As a Psychoanalyst she can see into the dark minds that prey on humanity - but Detective Ry Stevens is a complete mystery.
Will their growing attraction make them a stronger team or will the sexual sparks be a distraction that costs them their lives?
