How I Wrote at Sixteen

An Involuntary King started out as "The Story", with the same basic characters and conflicts, along with quite a bit more. That we briefly called it "Faithful Forever" should receive a spit take if you read the various affairs the king and queen had. Here is a "scene", what we called individual stories, written in 1968 -- the dates of the stories always corresponded to the real date the story was written. Needless to say, there were a few changes prior to publication of the novel... ahem...

September 768

Life was gayer than usual. Although Josephine and Lawrence were always happy and content together, just not much occurred in Lawrencium. Christenlande's (the old name for Críslicland) capital tended to be a bit on the dull side. Both the King and Queen felt it. There was an occasional feast, and a lot of scandals, but otherwise all they did was sit in court trying to look pleasant.

But now! Lawrence had set for mid-September a tournament, and had invited the Lord of Brittany and his knights. The Frenchman had quickly accepted, and soon enough arrived, with much of his household. Lawrence now spent much time bragging about "formidable English steel, only outshone by the valor of English knights," et cetera, and the Queen was frequently with the Breton ladies, discussing fashions, the news from France, and particularly the new king, Charles, who was said to very handsome, brace, and courteous.

Lawrence had a habit of calling his wife by different names, depending upon his present mood. When he was either very stern or emotional, it was Josephine, when affectionate, Jo, when in polite company, My Lady, or My Dearest Queen. When he was excited, it was Josie, sentimental, Sunshine, and when he was being melodramatic, it was Josephina.. Well now he was calling her "Josie" and beaming from ear to ear.

In the kitchens, beef, mutton, hams and venison were roasting. One couldn't begin to count the loaves of bread and barrels of wine. And not only was the feast to be great, but the garb of the guests and hosts was quite dazzling. There was silk, fur, brocade, cloth of gold, jewelry and tons of other things. For once Lawrence swerved from his traditional garments and donned a fine silver-embroidered green silk tunic, over a white silk shirt. His shoes were fine leather, with engraved straps. He wore and emerald medallion, many rings, and his gold crown. He wore no hose, not caring for them, but his shoe straps bound his leg to the knee. Josephine was ravishing in a clinging gray dress of gossamer-like cloth, low cut at the breast, embroidered with silver and set with topaz. She wore a pearl necklace and her gray silk coif had pearls sewed on it with silver thread. She, of course, wore her topaz rings. Though the Frenchman were elegant in their rare attire, there were no two as handsome as the King and Queen.

The first day of the tournament had been quite pleasant, and the guests and hosts set into their feast joyously. It was only a tourney, so naturally the lances had been blunted and the swords covered with dull covers. The only injuries had been a few broken fingers, and a rib or two. Shannon had attempted a bout, and had been promptly been unhorsed and badly shaken. When the day was over, those among the remaining English contenders were Lawrence, Percy, and Christophe. The last had roughly accepted kind plea to join his side, although it hardly mattered. No real challenges hand been made yet, except an angry quarrel between two young knights, which was discouraged, and assuaged quickly.

Now on the evening of the second day, the King and Queen sat at the head of the great hall, conversing happily with the lord of Brittany and his pretty young wife. Josephine looked out over the crowded hall and smiled and the enjoyment everyone seemed to feel. Her eyes sought out Shannon. Now, Tramtrist had become the most favored of the minstrels, but she saw Shannon where she knew he would be, amongst a group of children, who were laughing and singing with him, although many of the Breton children spoke no English.

In the midst of the merriment, a young Frenchman strode up form the back of the hall. He knelt quickly to the King, and then kissed the hem of Queen's skirts. Tilting his face to her, she know had full view of his face, and she gasped. She threw a frightened, helpless look at Shannon. He shook his head and pointed to the man, but the Queen grimly nodded.

The knight stood. He threw his gauntlet at the King's feet, and looked down coolly. Lawrence laughed, but the look angered hi, and he asked sharply what the grievance of the man was. The knight said only, " I am Elerde, Knight of Brittany."

A shiver went through the room. Just recently it had been made publicly known that Sir Elerde intended to have the thing he'd desired so long - the Queen. He'd just challenged her lord to a combat to the death.

Lawrence's face became flushed and his eyes were sharp with fury. He picked up the gauntlet and with all his strength, crushed it. Elerde tried to hide his uneasiness at this, and said calmly, "Tomorrow, then?" and threw an amorous glance at the Queen. She shuddered and clung to the King as they both watched Elerde leave the hall.

That evening, the King paced the floor of the royal chambers. The Queen sat on the bed, weeping. Shannon acme and tired to calm the King, who merely said coldly, "Save thy breath for comforting thy Queen. I cannot be calmed." Shannon had tried both, but finally left, having failed.

The next day, the Queen requested that the Irishman and his wife sit with her in her pavilion. She was nearly distraught with anxiety and lack of sleep. She pressed Shannon's hand close in hers, while on the other side, he held Heather close.

A few minor battles were fought, and finally Lawrence and Elerde advanced onto the tourney field and lowered their lances to her. Then they went to opposite sides of the field and began the tilting. It was eight tilts before Lawrence took a slight wound on his shoulder, and dismounted to continue with sword. For a long time the fought, both taking some bad blows, until the battle turned obviously to Lawrence's favor. Soon he had Sir Elerde at his mercy. Shannon felt himself clutched from both sides, as Lawrence raised his sword, but threw it aside. Unlacing his helmet, he swore loudly and threw it aside also. Then he rose, and hotly walked off to his squires. But suddenly, Elerde was also, and grabbing the sword, threw himself at Lawrence. Guards carried him away to the dungeons, quickly, but Lawrence was left on his face in the dirt, unconscious, the back of his head crimson with blood.

Josephine fainted away, and as she and Lawrence were carried to their respective chambers, Shannon tried to comfort Heather who was weeping her heart out.

When Josephine aroused, she was hysterical, but she was soon called down. She was led up the privy stairway to the King's chambers. Her face went white when she saw him, in their bed. He was heavily bandaged, his taut face pallid and his breathing irregular. The leech said the King was very near to death, having been struck very strongly with the hilt of his own sword, not the blade as she had feared. She knew Elerde's action was purely despair, but she had to hate the men who had done this to her love.

As it went, Sean's mother was found to have special knowledge of medicines. It was thanks to her that four hours later, the King ceased to die, and slept almost peacefully. Jo dismissed all in the room, and curling up beside Lawrence, wept herself to sleep.

Image above: Elerde and Lawrence, drawn when I was sixteen also.

More like this if you can stand it at http://www.nanhawthorne.com/aik/ .

Fan Fiction Is the Sincerest Form of Flattery

Coming to my Great Realization this past week I thought about how to achieve my goal of getting my An Involuntary King characters out into the world with lives of their own. The original idea, way back in 1964, was for my friend Laura and me to keep writing the stories, and my idea was to get others involved. I was partially successful. Linda Laaksonen supplied a wife for Shannon O'Neill and some other characters from a Scottish village called Connery. Suellen, who was almost my step-sister, initially created Sir Michael, who in my hands became the tragic lover of Samir al Tamid, a Saracen adn first partner of MacDhui. So the concept was there to share the characters and the stories with other creative people. And recently a woman on my Let's Read Historical Novels group told me she wished she had been there when I was trying to rope people into my storytelling. The stage looked to be being set.

Other authors have said they are reluctant to hand characters over to other people to make decisions.. but in my case, even the writing of the novel I consulted the famous Laura about actions of Josephine and Elerde. I figure, too, that someone else is unlikely to make as much of a mess as I myself did... having Lawrence have a mistress, or Laura did, having Josephine fall in love with a certain Sir Robert de Riffet. (The king banishes himself for a year for poisoning the guy.) We each wrote a couple melodramatic death scenes as well. That never changed the dcirtual reality of the characters for me before. Why would it now?

To take this a step further, the collaborative writing group Ghostletters offered an opportunity for siome uniwue crossover. Shannon spent some time on Encelatus, a moon of Saturn, with a young friend written by another person. She borrowed my character Ishaq to have him wandering the streets of the lunar colony. Shannon and Rory gave a concert for a group of vampires living in France. And Shannon again had a lost weekend with an immortal Scotswoman named Jireen. This all happened while I was writing the novel.

So it turns out Jack Graham, the wonderful fellow who worked with me on the battle scenes in my novel, has a hankering to reform Elerde, the "tragi-nasty" would-be lover of the queen in my book, and is putting together a story about him where he reaches the brink of despair and is saved and finds love.

I said to Jack, "If you did that, it would be a fulfillment of a dream fro me.. for my characters to so engage someone s/he decides to write about them. I set out to find the best way to make this possible, gaining myself some praise from one of the moderators of the site fanfiction.net, who commented that it was refreshing to meet an author who encouraged people to write about her characters. There is a category there now for An Involuntary King, though it will not actually appear publicly until a story is uploaded.

Not hubris.. or even conceit.. there are a few people who really want to do this. Finally!

Now I am just waiting for the slash fiction to start.. who will it be? Lawrence and Rory? ;)

The End of My Writing Career.. and the Beginning of my Career As a Temple Priestess

I came to an important conclusion yesterday. I don't really want a writing career as I formerly understood the concept. I thought that because I was able to pull together such a good novel from my mission to gibe the characters from Laura's and my old stories that this meant I was a Writer. I know I can write.. I have known that for years. But what I thought was implicit in my success is that not only can I write other stories and characters but that I should. Now I am not sure that really is what I should do.

My original purpose in writing An Involuntary King was to take the characters that existed mostly only in my own head and make them real to others. I found my old friend who had developed them with me and discovered she had not even thought of them for years. Clearly they were not the life force of their own they were and are to me. My husband knew all about them now, thanks to typing all the the old stories for me, and I got a taste from his reaction to the characters, dear sweet man that he is, of what they could offer other reeaders. I started writing about them, adding a more mature insight into their lives and motivations. Then I realized anew how important they h ad been and always were to me. So I gave them an existence beyond myself. I won't last forever. They can.

Thanks to what I learned yesterday and what I realize today has lurked under the surface of my attempts to write other books is that being a novelist was n3ever the prime mover. The characters and writing about them was. So why do anything else? Why relinquish the role I cherish most, that of being the temple priestess to their lives?

Non-writers may find this all odd. They are fictional! These people never existed! Writers will get it though.. get that there is no lack of reality to these vivid characters, these old friends of mine. It's time for the chanting, the libation in the temple. Sacrifice? It doesn't feel like one.

So Random Acts goes on the shelf to wait for its own time.. since it is almost all written, why toss it? Those who have read it liked it. And Adam and Jacques will be translated almost in the spiritual sense to mix with my archetypes of the strong but thoughtful general, the loving but self-absorbed beauty, the intense and driven mercenary, the too good for his own good bard and the innocent wastrel. Their clones may take ovber the story for a while, in a later time and a real setting, but the originals will never let me shelve them. I have already started telling their story here on this blog. The paranormal mysteries in late 10th century Wessex exist and will be my ne project.. starting today

What sweet contentment I feel, back in my proper role again. And how grateful I am to Jim, who last night heard my plans and smiled and affirmed he had know it all along.

Now I just have to break the news to my characters. I think they will be pleased... and a little smug.

My Novel Gets a Tarot Reading

Recently I had a tarot reading from Alexandra Chauron of Earthshod about whom I heard on NPE's Morning Edition. (Listen to interview.)

I asked about the best way I can foster the success of my novel. My regular readers here know that An Involuntary King is much more than a book to me. It is a quest to show my appreciation for and love for -- and share -- characters I developed and who were my constant friends in my tuurbulent teen years. I wrote the novel to give Lawrence, Josephine, Shannon, Rory, and yes, even Elerde lives not dependent on mine. I wanted to know how to make this a reality.

Alexandra told me right up front that she was surprised at all the Major Arcana cards that came up in the reading. I didn't tell her this happens to me all the time. I have always gotten lots of these. She said what this meant to her is that the book is itself a strong separate entity that will drive what happens to it, and that I should trust that energy. The way she put it is that the book is steering itself. The entire experience of writing the book was like that, as if collectively my characters and the stories about them were born more than merely crafted. And the birth metaphor extends to how emotional and at times painful the whole process was for me.

The first card, the "question",was The Fool, not at all a negative but instead new ventures, trust, innocence of a sort. Purity, or as my old Asatry friend said, clarity of intent, a concept by which Thyre Karing set great store.

Not surprising then that the card that came up for my past was the 8 of Cups inverted. Birthing the novel helped me grow and break through to another level. One result of writing the book was that I came to understand that writing was what either I just want or indeed was meant to do, that nothing should stand int the way. That in itself was a glorious but painful realization, since it was possible that other parts of my life might have to be sacrificed. The fact is that my very strong marriage teetered for a while, emerging stronger than before. Further, I now know myself to be a good, even excellent writer of fiction, something I had not expected in spite of my past love for it.

The Magician card points to timing and strength. I wrote this book when it should have been written. I was ready, the stories and characters were ready, the reading world is ready. I must trust this, trust my gut that this is true. This also has to do with the trickiness of communication, being sure that what I was saying by writing this n ovel is understood and for me not to be surprised if it iis not always accepted for what it is. That sounds like the old debate about historical fiction and historical accuracy. Some have looked at my book and not understood that it isn't typical historical fiction. It is more about these characters' reality to me than any particular time or setting. Abnd this has not always "taken" with some readers.

Accepting this, I must nevertheless consider the Temperance card, coming in the position of my immediate future. Impatience will do me and the book no good. I must be genrle, accepting, and work on continuing m y own growth as related to this wonderful new path to my life. My destiny card, The Hierophant, amplifies this. It says, "Things take time. Organize yourself, deal with bnarriers one by one. Know my priorities." I know that since my book came out in Septmeber I have been like a rubber ball, bouncing here and there trying to ddecide what to do next.

The Empress inverted represents me right now. Strength again, but having to take a leadership role and be an authority, something that I am not so compfortbable with. It is associated with other cards, Alexandra told me, which point to creative abundance, making choices that will not squander it, looking to people well-disposed to my purpose to help me get the word out. I need to pay attention to what writing the book reflected from me and be true to that. What this all means to me is that I could go off half-cocked writing this, that and everything, but unless it comes from that same place in me that my novel came from it won't work. Once I knwo that everything will break loose, start rolling and picking up speed on its own.

I should look to a fair-haired man to help me, and this is clearly the love of my life, my husband Jim, who first fostered this project long before it had even occvured to me to do it. He typed up my old stories so I could read them, then suggested I use the characters on Ghostletters. When it became apparent I was writing a novel, he did everything he could to encourage me and still does. I have not always been properly grateful. I know that I owe my very soul to to his love and nuruting.

Since I had one minute left, Alexandra invited me to ask a further question. I asked her if this inevitability of the project meant I should stick with the original mission and not be misdirected. She was very postive about this being the case. I have been thinking about my "writing career" and working on other projects unconnected to my old stories.. and I see now that my original mission, to serve my old and faithful companions, is where I need toconcentrate.

So, in sum, by its very existence my novel was a force of its own, it wrote me, I didn't write it. So long as I am clear on the power of this realization and not try to make it something it is not, such as a "writing career", it will move along with its own momentum. If I trust it and let it tell me what is needed and not get in the way, Lawrence and our mutual companions will achieve everything they desire.. and I want too.

I think I behan to trust my instincts and my novel's prompting when I decided to contact Alexandra. Whether she told my "fortune" or helped me get back in touch with what I already knew is irrelevant. This was what I needed.

---

Note: Interesting, I already have some of the tarot card images to illustrate this post because they were what Brandy Purdy called for in her book trailer for The Confession of Piers Gaveston.

After the Reunion Continued

[Continued from An Involuntary King: The Tale Continues.]

Shannon woke with a start. He moaned, pulled himself to a sitting position on the alehouse floor, and put his head in his hands. The little light in the room was nevertheless blinding to his hung-over eyes.

“Now are ye not a sorry sight, me lad,” came a voice from the doorway that led to the brew room.

Shannon whipped his head about, causing a wave of nausea to surge up from his belly. “Rory!” he choked out. He struggled to his feet and made a straight line to the bucket kept in the corner for the purpose. While he retched he heard soft laughter from behind him.

“Glad, so I am, to see how ye welcome me home.” A cloth appeared at Shannon’s shoulder, and he took it and wiped his mouth. He turned round eyes on the very tall man who reached to help him stand.

“Ruarín!” Shannon stared up into his friend’s face. He remembered the day before and Rory’s return with the queen and her children on the boat. He remembered the ruin of Rory’s face and reached to touch his cheek where it was misshapen .

“Let’s get ye a wee bit of ale to restore ye.” Rory took his elbow, and Shannon let him lead him to a bench by the firepit.

Leofwen came in from the brew room with a clay bowl and a pitcher. She clucked her tongue and shook her head at Shannon. “God’s blood, man, what a way to welcome your long lost friend back to the world of the living.”

Shannon smiled weakly. “That’s what he said.” He gratefully took the bowl and drank. “None for ye, then ?” he said to Rory, who sat down next to him.

“Nay, ‘tis not to me taste any longer,” Rory said in his gentle voice.

Leofwen took her leave,, giving the two Ulstermen some time alone. Shannon was gazing at Rory, a look of wonder on his face. “I recall ye telling a tale to the alehouse about being hanged for spying. That is not what happened, is it?”

Rory sighed. “Nay, it was not. Methinks ye know the purpose O’Donnell had in taking me.”

“I know he wanted you, like a man wants a woman. That was no mystery. We knew that of him of old. With Master Ishaq.” He nodded slowly, looking at Rory’s averted face. “He pressed his desires, then, I see. And either those desires were cruel or ye rejected him.”

Rory smiled wryly and cast down his eyes. “I did more than reject them. I hurt the man.”

Shannon paused, then gave a sharp laugh. “Good on ye, me lad.”

“But that be why I was beaten, so it is. “ He looked up sideways into Shannon’s considering stare. “And why I was to be hanged.”

Shannon refilled his bowl. “Then how.. how did ye escape? The soldiers in Hucknall, they were sure you were after being hanged.”

Rory sat up straight and shook his head. “I can’t tell you, for I do not know meself. At one point I thought I had been hanged. I saw a man hanging from a tree and thought it was me. Then I found meself being nursed in a monastery near Grantham. I can only guess.” Seeing the other man’s expectant look, he went on. “There was a Scotsman, O’Donnell’s lieutenant, who must have arranged for someone else to hang in me place.”

“Why? Why should O’Donnell’s lieutenant help you?”

With a shrug of his thin shoulders, Rory replied, “I don’t know. But it is all I can think of.” He turned curious eyes on Shannon. “Does anyone know what happened to them. To O’Donnell and to MacDhui?”

Shannon shook his head, his mop of red curls dancing on his scalp as he did. “I know the king said O’Donnell was killed in the battle for Ratherwood, but he said nothing of the other.” He added, “Now wait, there was another. The man who killed the queen’s cousin after he killed O’Donnell.”

“MacDhui would do that, avenge his… commander, that is. Which cousin?”

“The youngest, Ioruert.”

Rory winced. “Ochon, Ochon,” he moaned. He looked towards the outer door of the alehouse. “Then me lady had sad news at her homecoming as well as glad.”

Shannon reached for the pitcher again. He noted Rory’s look of disapproval but made as if he had not. “What happened to the mercenary, Lord Elerde?”

With a sigh, Rory answered, “Methinks the lady sent him packing. He was on his way north with his men when I saw him. She was at the Holy Isle, alone but for her children.”

Shannon gave him a considering look. “Ah, about time, that is.” He seemed to think something over. “Ruari,” he ventured, using the Gaelic form of his friend’s name. “Ye should be thinking of leaving as well. “ He saw Rory’s sharp look of panic. “She has but one love, and ye know it. Time ye were leaving her to it.”

Rory glared at him, then glanced away.


Up in the fortress on the bluff, the king could not take his eyes off his wife and their children. They all sat in the queen’s own chamber where the children slept the night before. The nursery was too painful a reminder of their captivity under the usurper,. As it was, they did not want their parents to leave them to go to the king’s chamber. All six, children and parents had crowded into the bed to sleep the first night together. Lawrence and his beloved were content. There was time for their more intimate reunion later.

“My love, do you know what happened to Rory? Why he is alive?” Lawrence asked her.

She glanced up at him distractedly. “Nay, just that he escaped. I do not think he wants to remember.”

Peter, who sat on the floor playing with his cat, Ducky, with a piece of string, looked up. “Where is Rory, Mama?”

Josephine smiled warmly at her eldest son. “He will come see you today, I am sure of it. He just wanted to see Shannon first.”

Peter nodded slowly, going back to playing with the cat. “Ow!” he cried. “He scratched me!”

Lawrence stood and gently picked up the cat. “Time for play to be over. Let your mother see that scratch.” He took the cat to the door and put it outseide.

Josephine was already examining the hand, declaring the wound minor and healing it with a motherly kiss. “It did not even break the skin. You will be all right. Why don’t you take your sisters and brother to the Hall for something to eat?”

She saw her husband’s face cloud as he reluctantly let the children go. Once the door was closed, however, he turned back to her and put his arms around her. He put his face in her hair near her ear and took in a long, deep breath. “Oh Josie, I thought I might never hold you like this again.”

She settled gratefully into him. “I never believed what they told me, that you were dead. I knew that if you had died, I would have felt it.”

He pulled his face back. She saw the pain in his eyes. “I thought I saw you killed. On the ramparts. They tossed a woman over them in your clothing to make me believe it was you.”

Josephine reached to his cheek and stroked it with the flat of her palm. “Oh my dear, my dear, how horrible.” She reached up to pull his head down to hers and put her lips on his lips. She tasted the tang of tears in his mouth. His kiss grew more insistent.

“Josie, Josie, I need you,” he whispered roughly into her ear.

“Aye, my darling, I need you as well.”

Lawrence tore himself away only long enough to throw the latch on the door. By the time he was back, she was stretched on the bed waiting for him.


“Sweeting…” he hesitated later, as she lay with her cheek on his chest, still reeling from the intensity of their conjugation. “Where is the Breton?”

He felt her go stiff. Then she said in a light voice. “Gone. I sent him away.”

She felt his nod against the top of her head. “Good,” was all he said. But unbeknownst to her he had a look of grateful relief on his face. He tightened his arms around her.

To be continued.

See more stories at An Involuntary King, Welcome to Críslicland.

Not Always Merry-hearted

I use the screen name merryheart or merryhearted on a lot of web sites. It is for a specific reason. It describes me. When I was writing for a careers web site I came to the conclusion that the two best qualifications one can bring to an interview are confidence and cheerfulness. This is particularly true, I think, for people with disabilities, for whom the careers site was intended. And whether modern science has to be thanked for it or not, both are pretty typical traits of mine.. particularly cheerfulness.

Today I am dragging my emotional ass, however. I have a good reason. My darling kitty cat, Mr. Hata, has to have major surgery on his.. well.. his thing. I love that cat to distraction. I just can't stand to think he is in pain or even discomfort.

I have reason to feel good today, in spite of that, as I have another gratifying review, this one on Writer's Daily Grind. The author is Anne Gilbert, a woman who knows her Anglo Saxon England, so it is particularly satisfying to read her praise of my research. She also picked up on the origin story.. my friend's and my development of these characters as kids... which not everyone seems to quite get.

And I have gotten both useful and complimentary reads on my alter ego, Nicol Harrity's manuscript, Random Acts. Tomorrow I plan to query about a call for submissions for novellas involving gay people in the military and a story I would like to write for them.

Spent a little time on Facebook this morning and found some old friends.. what a wonder that is!

I may have to stop doing book trailers.. I wake up in the night and can't go to sleep because it is so fun to script the things.. I just lie therre worrying about where I will find pictures I can use. The next one for my novel will be "One woman.. Three men.. All three want to protect her.. One wants to keep her.. and One will do anything he can to get her." Now if I could just draw...

Tomorrow evening is the March Let's Read Historical Novels meeting. Y'all come! We read Celia Hayes' Adelsverein The Gathering for this one, and it is such a good book that the already fun online get-together should be even more fun. I am already reading April's book, Michael Curtis Ford's The Ten Thousand.

Come to think of it, the narrator on that book is so dout and everybody just got killed in the book so maybe that's another reason to be down.

Sigh.

Book Trailer for Brandy Purdy's "The Confession of Piers Gaveston"