Showing posts with label The Coffee Pot Book Club Book Historical Fiction Must Read. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The Coffee Pot Book Club Book Historical Fiction Must Read. Show all posts

Friday, 23 April 2021

Join me in conversation with #HistoricalFiction author, Matthew Willis #AuthorInterview #WorldWar2 @SharpeBooks




Publication Date: 15th March 2021
Publisher: Sharpe Books
Page Length: 128 Pages
Genre: Historical Fiction

August 1942.

Malta stands on the brink, and Navy fighter pilot Edmund Clydesdale stands with it. One last convoy must brave the gauntlet of bombers, U-boats and warships to bring precious supplies to the island fortress. If it fails, Malta falls – and with it, the entire Mediterranean.

Edmund is a reluctant hero, a Royal Navy Sea Hurricane pilot who would rather be anywhere else. But now, it’s personal. The fate of Liena, the Maltese woman he has fallen in love with, is bound to that of the island.

Once again, a handful of outdated fighters must confront the might of the Italian and German air forces as they strive to blow the British convoy out of the water.

Edmund must face his own demons as well as his foes in the air. An old lie and a scorned ex-lover are catching up with him. If Edmund wants to fight for Liena, he must confront his past, as well as his opponents in the sky.

Operation Pedestal - the last ditch effort to keep Malta from falling.

Mary Anne: Congratulations on the release of your new book, Indomitable. What was it about this era of history that inspired you to write about it?

Matthew Willis: Thank you. I’ve been interested in the 1940s war in the air since I laid eyes on my Dad’s Airfix model Spitfire as a child, and having had the opportunity to study it in depth over the years has only increased that interest. When talking about the Mediterranean theatre in the middle of the Second World War, that interested me for a number of reasons. First, it was the real turning point where the Allies started to turn things around after a long string of defeats and setbacks. Then, it tended to be a lower priority for the newest equipment, so there’s a sense of the people out there making do with older and somewhat worn out aircraft and weapons – the underdog is always an interesting perspective.



Mary Anne: Edmund Clydesdale, the protagonist of your story, is a Navy fighter pilot. Why did you choose to write your story from a fighter pilot’s perspective?

Matthew Willis: If you always wanted to be a fighter pilot and couldn’t, the next best thing is to write about one, right? It’s a dynamic, energetic kind of combat that stimulates the senses, so it’s a fun thing to write about, not to mention that every moment can be a life-and-death struggle. In this case, writing about the Operation ‘Pedestal’ convoy in 1942, the fighter pilots were in the thick of the action, defending the ships down below from constant attack, so it made sense to take this as a point of view. On the other hand, having interviewed plenty of pilots and other aircrew from the Second World War over the years, it has always struck me that they were ordinary people who were called upon, very young, to do extraordinary things. There’s a tendency these days to regard those people as exceptional, almost superhuman, and while of course in some respects they were exceptional, they had the same doubts, fears, foibles and flaws as the rest of us, they just had to go through them in the midst of this life and death struggle. It’s something of that ordinariness-in-extremis that I wanted to portray.


Mary Anne: When researching this era, and in particularly this conflict, did you come upon any unexpected surprises? 

Matthew Willis: This is a tricky one to answer because my research into this particular operation goes back years, so there weren’t any really big surprises. And for obvious reasons, there hasn’t been much access to archives over the last year, so those little gems that you can get from a neglected file were a bit harder to come by. One thing that did feed into the book was a memo about attitudes to French airliners, which ‘buzzed’ the fleet a couple of times – the Allies were not at war with France but France was unquestionably hostile, so there was a tension over what to do when they might be sending information to countries that the Allies were at war with. Considering how high the stakes were, it was a real problem.


Mary Anne: What do you think is the most challenging aspect of writing Historical Fiction?

Matthew Willis: Staying faithful to the history while pleasing the audience and creating compelling drama. Those three things can be complementary but they can be contradictory. The audience for historical fiction, particularly Second World War fiction, is extremely knowledgeable and they expect you to get the details right. At the same time they want a rattling good story – well, doesn’t everyone? So while your instincts as an author might be to do something in a particular way for the sake of the story and the characters, I find it really hard to go against what we know happened. But in part, that’s why I love historical fiction – reading and writing – as it allows you to get into the heads of people who experienced these epochal events in a way that recorded history, even personal accounts, can’t. In Indomitable, I had a few difficult choices to make, because there were some incidents that I really wanted to cover, but I couldn’t do that from the perspective of Edmund unless I changed things around a little bit. I’ve tried to do that in a way that’s respectful, and I’ve made sure I tell readers where I’ve diverted slightly from the known facts.


Mary Anne: What advice do you have for aspiring Historical Fiction authors?

Matthew Willis: Let the history guide you. Try not to come up with a story and then make the history fit it. I always start with research of something I’m interested in and come at it with an open mind. More often than not, the research itself will suggest characters, drama, conflict, tension and a narrative arc, all the things that make compelling fiction. Don’t be scared of research, that’s where you find the stories, and there’s so much primary source material online these days that you don’t have to spend half your life in archives (not that anyone can at the moment). Above all, have fun with it. The past is a different country, as LP Hartley wrote, and we can go there just for the price of the research. 



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Matthew Willis is a writer of historical fiction and non-fiction, and an editor of both fiction and non-fiction titles.

He is the author of the 'Fortress of Malta' series of WW2 air combat novellas, charting one fighter pilot's journey through the vital convoys in Summer 1942. He co-wrote the Oath and Crown series of historical novels with J.A. Ironside, centring on the rivalry between Harold Godwinson and William of Normandy in the years leading to the Norman invasion of England. His short story 'Energy', about the 1970s racing drivers Roger Williamson and David Purley, was shortlisted for the Bridport Prize in 2015.

Matthew's first non-fiction book, a history of a WW2 naval dive bomber, was published in 2007 by MMP Books. He followed this with titles on a number of lesser known aircraft, culminating in a major new history of the P-51 Mustang's early career, 'Mustang: the Untold Story' from Key books in 2021. He wrote the first biography of test pilot Duncan Menzies, 'Flying to the Edge', which was published by Amberley Books in 2017.

Matthew studied Literature and History of Science at the University of Kent, focussing on Joseph Conrad for his MA, and sailed for the University in national competitions. He subsequently worked as a journalist for Autosport and F1 Racing magazines, and has written for Aeroplane, Flypast and The Aviation Historian as well as maintaining the blog Naval Air History (http://navalairhistory.com)

He currently lives in Southampton with his University lecturer wife Rosalind, and their silken windhound Nikolai.

Matthew's fiction writing blog can be found at http://airandseastories.com/ and his extensive website about naval aviation, http://navalairhistory.com





Friday, 2 April 2021

Join me in conversation with USA Today bestselling and award-winning historical fiction author, Ellie Midwood #WorldWar2 #HistoricalFiction

 




Publication Date: March 9, 2021
Publisher: Bookouture
Page Length: 359 Pages
Genre: Historical Fiction

“We must die standing up for something.” 
“And what are we standing up for?”
“The most important thing there is. Freedom.”

Millions of people walked through Auschwitz’s gates, but she was the first woman who escaped. This powerful novel tells the inspiring true story of Mala Zimetbaum, whose heroism will never be forgotten, and whose fate altered the course of history…

Nobody leaves Auschwitz alive.

Mala, inmate 19880, understood that the moment she stepped off the cattle train into the depths of hell. As an interpreter for the SS, she uses her position to save as many lives as she can, smuggling scraps of bread to those desperate with hunger.

Edward, inmate 531, is a camp veteran and a political prisoner. Though he looks like everyone else, with a shaved head and striped uniform, he’s a fighter in the underground Resistance. And he has an escape plan.

They are locked up for no other sin than simply existing. But when they meet, the dark shadow of Auschwitz is lit by a glimmer of hope. Edward makes Mala believe in the impossible. That despite being surrounded by electric wire, machine guns topping endless watchtowers and searchlights roaming the ground, they will leave this death camp.

A promise is made––they will escape together or they will die together. What follows is one of the greatest love stories in history…

Fans of The Tattooist of Auschwitz, The Choice, and The Orphan Train will love this breathtakingly beautiful tale, of courage in the face of tragedy and bravery in the face of fear. Based on a true story, The Girl Who Escaped Auschwitz shows that, in darkness, love can be your light…


Mary Anne: A huge congratulations on your new release, The Girl Who Escaped from Auschwitz. Your novel is a true story based upon the life of Mala Zimetbuam. What was it about Mala’s story that compelled you to write your novel? 

Ellie Midwood: Thank you so much for having me! I first read about Mala in one of the Auschwitz survivors’ memoirs, then I saw her name mentioned in another one, then in a historical study, and the more I came across her name, the more intrigued I became. Who was Mala and why she has emblazoned herself in the memories of so many people? It was only when I began truly studying her story that I realized what a brave, selfless person she was and why she made herself stand out among the regular camp population. Unlike the inmates whose sole purpose was to survive (no one can blame them, of course, in all good conscience), Mala did everything in her power to help her fellow prisoners. Using her position as a camp runner (a person who delivered messages from different offices to work details etc), Mala smuggled food, clothes, medicine – generally anything that would help an inmate survive – risking her own life every time she did so. But it was her escape and defiance of the Nazis that truly made her a hero to the entire camp population. I don’t want to give away any spoilers not to ruin the experience for the people who haven’t read the book yet, so I’ll just say this: I was in utter and complete shock when I read about her act of courage. I actually couldn’t believe that such bravery was possible in such gruesome conditions. It was then that I knew that I just had to tell Mala’s story. I can only hope I did her and Edek justice.

Mary Anne: Having read almost all of your books, I think I am in a position to say that you are an extraordinary storyteller. What drew you to this era in history and why, instead of fictional creations, did you decide to tell the stories of people who lived through the horrors of places such as Auschwitz?

Ellie Midwood: Awww, thank you so much! Initially, my grandfather’s war stories drew me to this particular era. Fortunately for me, he didn’t mind re-telling me his wartime experiences countless times when I asked for them instead of regular bedtime stories. I think even as a child I liked hearing true life stories from a real life hero (he was and always will be my biggest hero) rather than indulging in fictional tales. As I grew older, my fascination with everything war-related only deepened and I guess that’s what resulted in my becoming a historical fiction writer who mostly writes stories based on true events. There’s certainly nothing wrong with fictional WW2 novels (I wrote several fictional novels myself), but with so many true stories of courage and resilience still being untold, I feel like it’s my duty to bring them to the readers’ attention and thus pay my homage to all of those brave men and women who gave their lives – or survived against all odds – in the name of freedom and peace. And particularly it’s the case with my Auschwitz novels. It was truly one of the worst genocides in human history and it is my profound conviction that we must study this ugly part of history and read these stories so that we don’t forget the horrors and make sure that they shall never happen again. 

Mary Anne: What do you think is the most challenging aspect of writing Historical Fiction during this era?

Ellie Midwood: Historical accuracy, I would say. As a historical novelist it is my duty before my readers to ensure that I’m offering them as historically correct stories as possible and that’s the reason why I always research my stories to the minutest of details. Naturally, I use creative license to re-imagine a dialogue that was taking place or my hero/heroine’s mood or reaction to a certain event, but if there are witnesses’ accounts available, I’ll stick to them as closely as possible. Not just for accuracy’s sake, but to honor those brave men and women who lived through those events that are truly hellish enough to be embellished in any way. Also, one of the most challenging aspects is to connect history with present-day events and show readers that if we, the humanity, forget what happened in the past, we may easily fall into the same pattern and repeat the events that should never be repeated. And of course, respect for the real-life protagonists – that has to be the most challenging aspects of all. I personally feel that we, historical writers, must treat their true stories as gently and respectfully as possible and present them in the light that they would like to be presented. This is where one’s ego must step away. Novels based on true stories I always write to honor their memory, not for myself. I can only hope they would have liked my modest efforts. 

Mary Anne: What advice do you have for aspiring Historical Fiction authors?

Ellie Midwood: Research, research, and more research. If you write a historical novel just using history as a background, it will instantly show in your writing and will render the entire story superficial and unbelievable. Read memoirs of people who lived through the events you’re planning to write about – there’s nothing better than to hear about history from someone who lived through it. Read novels written in that time period and mark down colloquial expressions and general slang the population was using back then to create even more authenticity. Research your setting and architecture, the structure of the society, books people read and music they listened to – generally, immerse yourself into your characters’ world (era) and only then begin to guide them through the storyline. And don’t just write for entertainment’s sake. Inspire and move to action with your stories. Then your books shall become truly timeless. And good luck!


Żywiec Mountains, Poland. July 6, 1944

The road before them, framed by towering mountains and emerald valleys, stretched long and empty in the early-morning sunlight. Under the dome of a pale blue sky, the air was fresh with the promise of freedom in it. Her blue overalls dusty and wrinkled after yet another night spent in a forest, Mala chewed contentedly on the blade of sweet grass, unbothered in the slightest by the rumbling of her stomach. Next to her, Edek was whistling a joyful tune, his arm draped around her shoulders, his SS tunic unbuttoned and smelling faintly of moss and smoke. 


“Hungry, Mally?” His whistling stopped abruptly at the particularly loud noise her belly had produced. 
Brave and in love, she tossed her head, gazing at his unshaven, tanned face with infinite affection. 


“We can go off the road and try to find some more mushrooms,” he suggested, searching her face. 
Long before they had escaped Auschwitz, he’d promised to take care of her, to guard her life with his own, to do his utmost to make her forget the horrors of the death camp, but instead, he made her troop along the endless ribbons of half-trodden roads and survive on mushrooms and berries and sleep under the open sky, with only his embrace protecting against the elements. 


Little did he know, that was all Mala needed: his arms around her and the air that didn’t carry the stench of crematoriums with it. Hunger was the least of her concerns—Auschwitz had trained her well for surviving on a crust of bread. 


“No, I don’t want to stop just yet,” Mala said. “Let’s keep going. The sooner we reach the village, the better. We’ll buy some food, together with civilian clothes for you.” She gave her lover a mischievous once-over. “Else, the partisans will shoot you on sight if you appear before them in such an attire.”
Feeling the molten dental gold rolling under his fingers in his pocket—a ghastly present from the Sonderkommando, the inmates manning the furnaces, to aid their escape—Edek nodded and hastened his step, as though spurred forward by their inaudible, powerful voices: get yourselves to safety, tell the partisans your story, lead them, along with the victorious Red Army, toward this blasted place and avenge all the innocent souls we’ve been forced to burn by those SS beasts. 


The SS beasts, whose uniform he was presently wearing. 


Passing his hand over the stiff gray-green wool, Edek thought of the moment he’d finally tear the hateful thing off of himself and burn it until nothing was left of it but ash.


Mala stopped to re-tie her boot. Just a few steps ahead of her, Edek gazed at the mountains longingly.
Lost in his thoughts, he didn’t catch the deathly undertone to Mala’s voice when she called his name. 

“Edek.” 


It came from behind, a doomed half-a-gasp cracking with horror. 


He turned, smiling—What it is, my love?—and felt his smile faltering, slipping at the sight of her ashen face, her eyes staring ahead. It seemed that all the pain in the world was reflected in their golden irises that had suddenly lost all of their shine. 


Standing perfectly still, Edek slowly followed her gaze and felt himself sinking into a black abyss at the sight of two uniformed figures walking purposely and deliberately toward them. 


They must have appeared from behind the bend of the road, heavens only knew why. The Germans hardly ever patrolled this area; Edek and Mala had been assured of this much by the Soviet prisoner of war inmates who had conducted several successful escapes themselves and the sympathetic Polish civilians who worked in the camp and were only too glad to stick it to the Nazis by helping another couple of inmates escape. 


A dreadful, sickening shiver rising the heckles on his neck, Edek looked with infinite longing at the forest looming to their right, then shifted his gaze back to the approaching German border patrol. The muzzles of their submachine guns shone brightly in the golden rays of July sun. He stared at the weapons with bitter disappointment, angry tears already pricking his eyes. He’d seen far too many comrades mowed down by those guns to nurse a hope that the woods were within reach, that the border patrol men would somehow miss from such close distance, that at least Mala would escape the hail of the German bullets…


As though reading his mind, she picked up his hand and pressed it tightly, shaking her head with a small smile. 


He had always been a dreamer. She had always been the voice of reality and, now, that reality stared into his soul with those black muzzles and there was suddenly no escape from it. 


“Forgive me, please, Mala… I love you.”


They were the very last words he uttered before the Germans leveled with them, saluted crisply and politely demanded, “Your papers, please, Herr Unterscharführer.”





Ellie Midwood is a USA Today bestselling and award-winning historical fiction author. She owes her interest in the history of the Second World War to her grandfather, Junior Sergeant in the 2nd Guards Tank Army of the First Belorussian Front, who began telling her about his experiences on the frontline when she was a young girl. Growing up, her interest in history only deepened and transformed from reading about the war to writing about it. After obtaining her BA in Linguistics, Ellie decided to make writing her full-time career and began working on her first full-length historical novel, "The Girl from Berlin." Ellie is continuously enriching her library with new research material and feeds her passion for WWII and Holocaust history by collecting rare memorabilia and documents. 

In her free time, Ellie is a health-obsessed yoga enthusiast, neat freak, adventurer, Nazi Germany history expert, polyglot, philosopher, a proud Jew, and a doggie mama. Ellie lives in New York with her fiancé and their Chihuahua named Shark Bait.
Connect with Ellie:








Tuesday, 30 March 2021

Have a sneak-peek between Toni Mount's fabulous book - The Colour of Evil #HistoricalFiction #Excerpt #BlogTour @tonihistorian @EKeysian @BritonandDane @coloursofunison

 



March 29th – April 2nd 2021

Publication Date: 25 March 2021
Publisher: Madeglobal.com
Page Length: 334 Pages
Genre: Historical Fiction / Mystery

‘The Colour of Evil’

Every Londoner has money worries, and talented artist and some-time sleuth, Seb Foxley, is no exception.

When fellow craftsmen with debts to pay are found dead in the most horrid circumstances, fears escalate. Only Seb can solve the puzzles that baffle the authorities.

Seb’s wayward elder brother, Jude, returns unannounced from Italy with a child-bride upon his arm. Shock turns to dismay when life becomes more complicated and troubles multiply.

From counterfeit coins to deadly darkness in London's worst corners. From mysterious thefts to attacks of murderous intent, Seb finds himself embroiled at every turn. With a royal commission to fulfil and heartache to resolve, can our hero win through against the odds?

Share Seb Foxley’s latest adventures in the filthy streets of medieval London, join in the Midsummer festivities and meet his fellow citizens, both the respectable and the villainous.

We are stopping over on three fabulous blogs today:


Tour Schedule





Have a sneak peak between the covers of Heather Wardell's fabulous book — Fiery Girls #HistoricalFiction #MustRead #Excerpt @HeatherWardell

 



Publication Date: March 25, 2021
Publisher: Heather Wardell
Page Length: 324
Genre: Historical Fiction

Two young immigrant women. One historic strike. And the fire that changed America.

In 1909, shy sixteen-year-old Rosie Lehrer is sent to New York City to earn money for her family’s emigration from Russia. She will, but she also longs to make her mark on the world before her parents arrive and marry her to a suitable Jewish man. Could she somehow become one of the passionate and articulate “fiery girls” of her garment workers’ union?

Maria Cirrito, spoiled and confident at sixteen, lands at Ellis Island a few weeks later. She’s supposed to spend four years earning American wages then return home to Italy with her new-found wealth to make her family’s lives better. But the boy she loves has promised, with only a little coaxing, to follow her to America and marry her. So she plans to stay forever. With him.

Rosie and Maria meet and become friends during the “Uprising of the 20,000” garment workers’ strike, and they’re working together at the Triangle Waist Company on March 25, 1911 when a discarded cigarette sets the factory ablaze. 146 people die that day, and even those who survive will be changed forever.

Carefully researched and full of historic detail, “Fiery Girls” is a novel of hope: for a better life, for turning tragedy into progress, and for becoming who you’re meant to be.




Chapter One

Rosie

August 22, 1909

"Rosie Lehrer!"

Fear holds me still for a moment, then I realize that if I take too long, I might lose my chance. If I even have a chance.

My legs shaking so much I feel almost as though I'm still on the ship, I manage to walk forward to the girl, a little older than me, who called my name.

"I'm Cecilia Greenstone, Rosie, and this man here is your inspector," she says in Yiddish, gesturing to the stern-faced man in a black suit who sits, perched on a high stool, with one hand resting atop a messy stack of papers on a small desk before him. "I will be your interpreter. Unless you speak English?"

"Not well enough— I mean, I did try to learn, but—" I bite my lip. "Yiddish, please." Not that it'll matter what language we use, once she learns the truth about me.

She nods. "Yiddish is fine. Please do speak as loudly as you can."

I already was.

"Have you any relatives here already?"

"No," I admit, trying to hide the trembling of my hands in the folds of my skirt. "No, I do not."

Should I keep my eyes on Cecilia? It would ordinarily be polite, since she's the one speaking. But I know that the questions she asks aren't hers, they're the inspector's. He's the one who matters. But he terrifies me.

Cecilia moves a little closer, cupping her hand around her ear. "Will your husband—no, you're only sixteen. Your father, then? Will he arrive soon? Or perhaps a brother?"

I shake my head, misery sweeping over me.

She moves closer still and lays her hand on my shoulder. "Rosie, it's all right. Answer the questions and I'll be able to help you."

"You won't," I say, fighting back a sob. "I'm not allowed."

"Not... what do you mean?"

"I am alone," I admit. "I came here alone. My parents didn't know... we thought I could... but... on the ship..." I stop, unable to find words to describe the horror I felt when, on the very day my ship departed, I learned that a girl alone would not be permitted into America.

Cecilia squeezes my shoulder. "It is all right, Rosie. No, you can't leave Ellis Island alone, but you won't have to. If you do well, if you answer my questions carefully, I have people who can help you."

I want to believe this. I need to. But I've only just met her.

"Trust me," she says, looking into my eyes and nodding as if she can see what I'm thinking. "Trust me, Rosie. I promise you. I work with the National Council of Jewish Women, and we can find you a room and a job and—"

The inspector barks a few words, which I can't quite hear, and Cecilia turns back and answers him. He pulls his mouth to one side as if he doesn't like what she said, but he gives a sharp nod.
"We must go through the questions quickly, Rosie. Do your best."

My father would call me foolish, but I find myself trusting her. "All right."

"And be loud!"

I've been raised to be a quiet girl, a good girl. But here, I must be different. With so many potential immigrants in this huge high-ceilinged hall, each with an interpreter helping an inspector decide whether they should be allowed to enter America, everyone's almost shouting to be heard over everyone else, and I need to make myself do the same. I need to take a deep breath and shout my answers, though the air stinks of the fear of people who haven't bathed for weeks.

But how, when I'm so scared I can hardly speak at all?

Cecilia nods encouragingly and gives me a small smile, barely a twitch of her lips, and I try to calm myself by looking only at her gentle face below her thick brown hair swept up beneath a pretty gray hat.

I think she cares about me. 

I think the inspector does not. 

Men in uniform never care about Jews, it seems to me, unless they're deciding how to get rid of us, and his cold eyes and set jaw frighten me.

"Rosie, tell me, why have you come here?"

I take such a deep breath that my corset creaks then push out my words as loudly as I can. "I am here to earn the money to bring my family to America. My parents, my brother, my two young sisters."

She raises her eyebrows and I know she's thinking the same thing I am: it will take me years to earn passage for five people.

She doesn't say it, though. Instead, she asks a few more questions, about my background and what I know about America, then gives me a smile that reminds me of how my mother can tell me I have managed to impress her without speaking a word. 

As my heart begins to fill with hope, she turns and says something to the inspector. 

Though I can't hear her, he obviously can, because he answers her then waves his hand toward the staircases behind him as if shooing away a fly.

"You passed," Cecilia says to me, still in Yiddish. "Welcome to America, Rosie."

To my shame, my eyes fill with tears and I barely manage to hold back a sob.

I have spent nearly two weeks worrying in every waking moment. Though I tried to be optimistic, I couldn't. I was certain that once we reached New York I'd be put right back on the stinking horrible ship and forced to return to Belostok, to Russia. To the Pale of Settlement, where we Jews are forced to live. I've had nightmares every night about it.

But Cecilia told me I would be allowed in, and she was right.






Heather is a natural 1200-wpm speed reader and the author of twenty-two novels. She came to writing after careers as a software developer and elementary school computer teacher and can’t imagine ever leaving it. In her spare time, she reads, swims, walks, lifts weights, crochets, changes her hair colour, and plays drums and clarinet.

Connect with Heather:










Monday, 29 March 2021

Welcome to Day #1 of the blog tour for The Colour of Evil by Toni Mount #HistoricalFiction #Mystery #BlogTour @tonihistorian @loup_dargent @CraftygasheadZo @CaigJamie

 



March 29th – April 2nd 2021

Publication Date: 25 March 2021
Publisher: Madeglobal.com
Page Length: 334 Pages
Genre: Historical Fiction / Mystery

‘The Colour of Evil’

Every Londoner has money worries, and talented artist and some-time sleuth, Seb Foxley, is no exception.

When fellow craftsmen with debts to pay are found dead in the most horrid circumstances, fears escalate. Only Seb can solve the puzzles that baffle the authorities.

Seb’s wayward elder brother, Jude, returns unannounced from Italy with a child-bride upon his arm. Shock turns to dismay when life becomes more complicated and troubles multiply.

From counterfeit coins to deadly darkness in London's worst corners. From mysterious thefts to attacks of murderous intent, Seb finds himself embroiled at every turn. With a royal commission to fulfil and heartache to resolve, can our hero win through against the odds?

Share Seb Foxley’s latest adventures in the filthy streets of medieval London, join in the Midsummer festivities and meet his fellow citizens, both the respectable and the villainous.


We are so excited to be taking The Colour of Evil on tour. We are stopping over on three fabulous blogs today, where you can have a sneak-peak between the covers.

LoupDargent.info

Zoe’s Art, Craft & Life

The Whispering Bookworm


Tour Schedule





Thursday, 25 March 2021

Have a sneak-peek between the covers of Jen Yates fabulous book — Rules of Rebellion #RegencyRomance #HistoricalRomance @JenYates_

 



Publication Date: 12th April 2021
Publisher: Gyneva Books
Page Length: 321 Pages
Genre: Regency Romance


Lady Raquelle Adderley wished she’d been born a man.

Her cousin and partner in all rebellious activities has just set off on the adventure of a lifetime, riding to Moscow with her new husband.

Envious, bored and restless, what could be a better antidote than going to Paris disguised as a man to help Major Beaumont rescue a lady in trouble.

Major Alex (aka Griz) Beaumont believes ‘men should be men and women should be ladies’ and is not shy about stating his opinions.

What could possibly go wrong?




Then he turned the full force of his disapproval on Quelle.

‘Lady Raquelle. Forgive me if I seem underwhelmed by your collective feminine beauty but this is not how I am used to being greeted by well-born ladies of the ton. Though Jack has recently reminded me this is ‘Lady Lucy country’ so I do realize I should not be surprised.’

‘And clearly you’re not impressed, Major. So there is no need for us to detain you,’ Quelle responded heatedly.

The insufferable prig!

So this was the Major Beaumont Carly had told them about who had been so disapproving of Lucy even though her intervention in the skirmish at Maime had helped destroy the last link in Napoleon’s chain of supply. It had also saved Captain Arlington’s life and quite probably the earl’s. The Captain could not sing Lucy’s praises highly enough.

Her whole body stiffened with outrage on Lucy’s behalf.

To her surprise Jackson placed his hand on her arm. For all that they’d fought regularly for several weeks now, he’d never physically touched her. She was no demure, timid miss and if she felt the need to speak her mind she did, with a forthrightness and fire that her mother had despaired of curbing in her.

But the shock of Jackson’s touch stalled any further invective and she contented herself with glaring uncompromisingly at Major Beaumont.

Who, apparently lacking any gentlemanly attributes, glared right back.

‘Hold on, Griz. You won’t get any cooperation from the lady in that way. And you do want her cooperation, do you not?’

‘Lady,’ the Major scoffed. ‘I never saw anything less lady-like in my life.’

Quelle’s bristling hackles were immediately soothed by Jackson’s earthy chuckle.

‘Fetching nevertheless, you’d have to admit, Griz?’

To Quelle’s astonishment, the Major’s harshly sculpted cheeks were suddenly highlighted by a dull, burning red.

‘Ladies should be ladies and leave manly pursuits to men,’ he growled.

The sudden roiling heat in her belly meant this would not end well.

‘Then you’d not have the perfect solution to your problem. And you have to admit you came looking for Lady Lucy because she’s a lady who knows how to handle a sword and a pistol. She’s not here—but Lady Raquelle is. In fact she’s more suited to the job than Lady Lucy. Not so—um—’

Arlington, waving his hands vaguely in the direction of Quelle’s chest, for once seemed lost for words.

Not so the Major.

‘—feminine—where it counts? You’d get no argument from me on that score.’

‘That’s torn it,’ Arlington muttered as Quelle wrenched her arm free of his calming grip.

‘You sir,’ she ground out, thrusting her buttoned sword point into the Major’s broad chest, ‘are an unmitigated boor.’

‘Agreed,’ he came back at her with disconcerting honesty. ‘I make no apologies for my belief that men should be men and women should be ladies and I have little patience for anyone who thinks differently. It is, after all, the natural order. However, I do have need of such a personage to assist with a delicate mission and Jack insists that in the absence of Lady Lucy, you are the woman I need. In fact, as you hear him say, you are much more suited to the role since you don’t have her rather more obvious womanly attributes.’

Fury seared the breath from her lungs.

Quelle turned a disbelieving glare on the Captain.

She’d heard enough from the arrogant Major and was working up a furious utterance to the effect that he had even less idea of what constituted a ‘gentleman’ than she a ‘lady’, but he simply ignored her swelling ire and continued.

‘So—care to take up my challenge? I understand you’ve been lamenting not having a right-handed partner to train with while Lady Lucy is away. Will you fight me?’

With pleasure.

‘Buttons off?’ she demanded, stepping back a little and feeling decidedly bloodthirsty. The big, handsome boor would look very well spitted on her steel.

‘I think not.’

The infuriating man regarded her with a flash in the dark, grey eyes that might have been the hint of a smile, though Quelle had the distinct impression that smiling was something Major Beaumont was not accustomed to doing.

She stepped back and allowed her sword point to rest on the floor and watched with slowly building appreciation as the Major doffed his uniform tunic and tossed it to the dais.

In full uniform he had a presence any woman would appreciate. But as he turned back to her, the closely fitting shirt and buckskin trousers showcasing the long, hard, blatantly masculine lines of his body, Quelle had to prise her tongue from the roof of her mouth.

The Comtesse would have enjoyed this one—which was a very sneaky way of admitting that she herself was similarly impressed.





Jen Yates is a great granny so has a few life years behind her. Thirty-three of those years were spent teaching at primary schools and a further six running her own antiques business. Auctions and garage sales became an addiction.

Regardless, there always had to be time for writing.

Now able to write full time and read whenever she wants, she considers she has the perfect life, and spends much of it skiving off with her characters, usually pen in hand and imbibing coffee at one of her favourite cafes. 


Born and raised in New Zealand and now living with her husband in the small rural village of Piopio in the King Country area of the North Island, she nevertheless feels a strong connection to England, as her forebears came from Devon and Cornwall.


Jen has written contemporary romance, erotica and past life travel, but her passion is romance set in Regency era England. Her heroines rarely conform to expectations, would definitely have been considered ‘Originals’, and since it takes an exceptional hero to tempt a strong and independent woman, you can expect sexy situations and impassioned confrontations.

Jen writes what she loves to read, a compelling, emotionally driven story that always delivers a deeply satisfying HEA.

Jen Yates also writes as one of ‘The Three Quills’, with Leigh D’Ansey and Caroline Bagshaw. Together they put out an anthology of three short Regency stories twice a year.

You can find out more about Jen over on her website • Twitter Instagram.








Have a sneak-peek between the covers of A. L. Sowards' fabulous book — Of Sword and Shadow #Medieval #HistoricalFiction @ALSowards

 




Publication Date: February 8, 2021
Publisher: Covenant Communications
Page Length: 276 Pages
Genre: Christian Historical Fiction


Greece, 1379

She is known by many names, none of them her own. In truth, she is an unnamed slave, nothing more than a weapon in the hands of her owner in his attempts to provoke political mayhem. When she encounters a handsome young man while on an assignment, she thinks little of him—until he attempts to take what she has stolen. But in her line of work, failure is not an option.

Gillen is intrigued by the mysterious woman who thwarts his mission. But when his path crosses hers again, his intrigue turns to gratitude as the thief he comes to call Eudocia saves his life. The two form a bond of friendship and join forces to wrest control from a group of ruthless rulers. But as their camaraderie blossoms into something more, Gillen and Eudocia must fight for love even as they wage war for a better future.



Thebes, Greece, Spring 1379

I don’t remember the name my mother gave me. Nor can I recall each of the hundreds of names I’ve used since. But the morning I was to steal five sheets of paper from Don Paco de Folgueres, I would be Anna, if anyone asked.

Anna was a safe sort of name, giving few clues about a person’s birth or loyalties. Anna could be Greek, like most of the population. Or Anna could be a descendant of the Franks, who created the Duchy of Athens after they sacked Constantinople while on religious crusade. Anna could also be a Catalan, whose ancestors had worked for, then turned on the last Frankish Duke, Walter de Brienne. They’d defeated him in battle and ruled Thebes and the Duchy of Athens ever since.

Thomas and everyone else I knew called me Girl or Little Mouse. Names weren’t as important as abilities for people in our line of work, where failure could mean starvation, a flogging, mutilation, or exile but where a commissioned burglary might offer a chance to break from the gutters completely.

The Greek scribe who worked for Don Paco de Folgueres had a desk in a small stone room bordering the property’s central courtyard. Light from the room’s sole window illuminated the wooden writing surface and a second table with four books, a supply of paper, parchment, and papyrus, reed pens, and ink. I found the documents I wanted among his scattered papers and slipped them between my dalmatica and tunica. I didn’t always wear both layers—clothes were expensive—but Thomas had taught me to dress the part most likely to lead to success, so I was respectable today. At least on the outside.

The scribe was absent, and that made my task easy. But a complication in the form of a tall, brawny man appeared the moment I left the room. He was clean-shaven, and the hair reaching to the collar of his pourpoint was a few shades lighter than my raven locks. He had a straight nose and long ears, one of which was pierced with a gold earring. He gave me a friendly smile.

“Have you seen the scribe?” His words were Catalan but pronounced differently than what I was used to hearing from the class who ruled Thebes. I pretended not to understand. Perhaps if he thought I was Greek, he wouldn’t press me. I gave a small gesture of incomprehension with my shoulders.

He repeated his question, in Greek. That meant I would have to reply.
“No. He seems to be out at the moment.”
The man surveyed the scribe’s room, and I surveyed him, noting his pleasant face and hazel eyes. He looked closer to twenty than to thirty years of age. The fitted hosa western men wore were meant to show off their masculine legs, and his legs were certainly worthy of admiration. My favorite Anna, daughter of the Emperor Alexios Komnenos, would have noticed him, much as she had noticed and commented on the pleasant forms of the Frankish crusaders who had passed through Constantinople on their way to take Jerusalem during the First
Crusade. She’d also dismissed the handsome knights as ignorant barbarians, and I thought it best to follow her example.

Now that I had the documents I’d come for, I was eager to get away from the tall man with the earring and from Don Paco’s home. “I hope you find him soon.” And I did. If the scribe was busy with the earring man, he was less likely to notice his missing documents.

“Thank you.” The man gave me a nod and entered the scribe’s room.

I left, forcing myself to walk at a normal pace across the sunny, paved courtyard, past the fountain and the marble statue that dated back to times before the Frankish invasion.

The scribe stood near the gates, speaking with someone I took to be a Moor. A line ran across the Moor’s face, from his left temple to his lips, a pale-pink scar against skin of rich brown. His inquisitive eyes glanced at me as I passed.

A polite person would have gone back to the scribe’s office to tell the man who was seeking him where he could be found. But I was polite only when politeness suited my task.

“You there, what’s your business?” One of Don Paco’s men stepped in front of me. He was clothed in mail armor and carried an arming sword and a crossbow.

I’d spoken in Greek when I’d met the man with the earring, and my clothing was more Greek than western, so I kept my identity as Anna the Greek, for the moment. “I was visiting one of the weavers, a friend. We grew up on the same street, you see. She wanted my opinion on whether the cloth she is making has a strong enough warp thread or if she should order something with more twists.” I continued in rapid Greek, uncertain if he understood my language while I compared the thickness of the supposed warp thread to the thinness of the made-up weft thread. As I spoke, I gave silent gratitude to Zoe, the silk maker who had always welcomed me into her workshop. I could talk about silk long enough to bore all but the most dedicated of weavers. The Catalan man-at-arms waved me on quickly. It seemed the silk trade was not his passion.

I relaxed as I walked along the streets of the Cadmea, Thebes’s fortified citadel. Don Paco’s property faded from view, then disappeared completely when I turned left after the bakery that sold the best durum wheat bread in the city. It also sold a more affordable loaf of summer wheat, barley, rye, and millet, and I was more familiar with the latter. I turned right after a wine merchant’s shop that specialized in muscat and malmsey. Then I ducked into a narrow side street.

I took off my hair veil, and I didn’t want to put it on again. The early spring sun shone pleasantly, and I was neither respectable nor Christian, but bareheaded women stood out, and I didn’t want that. I turned the veil over so my head was covered in blue instead of yellow and walked farther into the alley.

A tall man stepped out in front of me, blocking my path. The same man who had been looking for the scribe, but this time, there was no smile on his face. 










A. L. Sowards is the author of multiple historical fiction novels, with settings spanning the globe from the fourteenth to twentieth centuries. Her stories have become Whitney Finalists and won a Whitney Award, reached the number one spot across multiple Amazon categories, received praise from the Historical Novel Society, and been loved by readers from a variety of backgrounds. She has called both Washington State and Utah home, and is now in the process of adding Alaska to the list. She enjoys hiking and swimming, usually manages to keep up with the laundry, and loves it when someone else cooks dinner. She lives with her husband, three children, and an ever-growing library.

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