Time-Tripping with YA Author, Tammy Lowe

This week, I'm turning my blog over to long-time friend and terrific YA writer, Tamara Lowe. She'll take you through time based on her travels through Rome which informs her fascinating new book, The Sleeping Giant. 

So instead of stinking up the joint (as I usually do) with tales of woe about my posterior, I now hand you over to a class act, Tammy...

As a young girl, I dreamed of being a time-traveller. I wanted to wear long dresses and bonnets and have daring adventures like the heroines in my favorite books. 

When I grew up, it became clear that my passport is the closest thing to a time-machine I’ll probably ever own. The historians and Egyptologists I meet are the far-way friends in distant lands, leading me through their ancient worlds.

Marissa was a gorgeous Roman archeologist, with long brown hair and a thick Italian accent. She looked like the real-life female lead in any Dan Brown novel. You know…the incredibly intelligent woman who ends up tangled in Robert Langdon’s latest feat. We’d just left the Coliseum’s “backstage” area beneath the floor of the arena—where gladiators awaited battles, often to the death. 

 

After a short walk along the cobblestone streets, Marissa stopped outside of a rather boring-looking building. I had no idea its faded yellow walls hid what could almost be considered a time machine.

What’s the rush? I wondered as she raced through a 12^th century basilica and down a flight of stairs.

It was then I realized we were traveling back in time. 

Hidden beneath the medieval basilica was another church—this one built in the 4^th century. Painted frescoes decorated the dark, underground space. I noticed the craftsmanship of the brick walls were more primitive, even to my untrained eye, than those of the church built above it.

“Follow me,” Marissa insisted, leading the way even further back in time.

After descending another flight of stairs, we stopped in the 2^nd century AD.  Here, we stumbled upon a pagan temple dedicated to the god Mithra— its stone altar positioned in the middle of the room. My eyes widened, noticing that instead of being even more primitive, the ancient brick walls were skillfully built. I couldn’t help but wonder how much knowledge was truly lost during the Dark Ages.

In the distance, I heard water flowing. Curious, I asked where it was coming from.

   

With a grin, Marissa led me still further back in time...now to the 1^st century, where the main sewer of Ancient Rome still flows. 

In 64 AD, legend says that Emperor Nero played a fiddle while Rome burnt to the ground. Many of the destroyed buildings were filled in and used as foundations for the new construction. The one Marissa and I stood in is believed to have once been the Imperial Mint before it was destroyed by the Great Fire. A mansion and apartments were then built in that spot and later several churches, each one layered atop the last— like lasagna.

As I stared down at the dirt floor, I couldn’t help but imagine the sort of people who’d walked that very spot two thousand years ago; perhaps a young runaway slave being pursued by a ruthless slave trader or a wise old philosopher on his way to advise some long-forgotten senator.

Figure 1: Ancient Roman sewer grate at city sidewalk. 1st century AD.

If you travel south of Rome, toward the Bay of Naples, you’ll find an infamous town frozen in time: Pompeii.

In 79 AD, Mt. Vesuvius erupted with the force of over a thousand nuclear bombs. However, many people didn’t even try to flee the volcanic eruption because they didn’t understand what was happening. They thought the gods were angry. Within twenty-four hours, not a trace of Pompeii remained. The city—and its inhabitants—were buried beneath layers of volcanic ash and pumice.

Over the centuries it simply became a forgotten legend. 

But…in the 1700’s, men working on a new palace for the King of Naples rediscovered Pompeii hidden twenty feet below them.

The amazing part is that as the volcanic ash hardened over time, the bodies trapped within decomposed, leaving behind what was basically…a mold. When these molds were filled with plaster, the results were life-like statues of the people who died that day; their agonizing final moments preserved forever.

 Figure 2: Plaster casts of victims killed in Pompeii. 79 AD.

Despite being a Victorian and Regency loving-little-soul, it was intimidating Ancient Rome that somehow stole my heart. I knew I had to set my latest novel in this time period. I longed to play off the terrifying volcanic eruption of Mt. Vesuvius in the final scenes.

But…was I crazy enough to attempt to write a book set in Ancient Rome? The research alone would take forever.

Apparently, yes.

I am crazy enough.

After three more years of research, a second trip to both Rome and Pompeii, I’d completely fallen head-over-heels in love with that ancient world.

I hope you will too.

YA Historical Time Travel Adventure

Lured into time-traveling to Ancient Rome, weeks before a volcanic eruption will bury the city of Pompeii, a shy teenager finds herself falling for the adventurous runaway slave she is supposed to rescue.

MuseItUp http://bit.ly/2S8PHtW
Amazon https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07JD44YYS
B&N http://bit.ly/2CYSUba
iBooks https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/id1439019487
Kobo http://bit.ly/2POUmPR

*Print Copy Coming Soon*

About the Author:
An adventurer at heart, Tammy Lowe has explored ruins in Rome, Pompeii, and Istanbul (Constantinople) with historians and archaeologists.

She’s slept in the tower of a 15th century castle in Scotland, climbed down the cramped tunnels of Egyptian pyramids, scaled the Sydney Harbour Bridge, sailed on a tiny raft down the Yulong River in rural China, dined at a Bedouin camp in the Arabian Desert, and escaped from head-hunters in the South Pacific.

I suppose one could say her own childhood wish of time traveling adventures came true…in a roundabout way. 
www.tammylowe.com

The Artistry of Outhouses with Author Suzanne de Montigny

My pal, author Suzanne de Montigny, has delivered a novel in BWL Publishing Inc’s Canadian Historical Bride series, Fields of Gold Beneath Prairie Skies. It’s an extremely entertaining book, lovingly recreated, and well-written. Let’s chat Suzanne up, shan’t we? (Everyone pretend like you’re sophisticated, hoist a pinky finger, and lift a glass of tea).

SRW: Suzanne! Welcome again, my friend. Tell everyone what Fields of Gold… is about.

SDM: Well, here’s the blurb:

French-Canadian soldier, Napoleon, proposes to Lea during WWI, promising golden fields of wheat as far as the eye can see. After the armistice, he sends money for her passage, and she journeys far from her family and the conveniences of a modern country to join him on a homestead in Saskatchewan. There, she works hard to build their dream of a prospering farm, clearing fields alongside her husband through several pregnancies and even after suffering a terrible loss. When the stock market crashes in ’29, the prairies are stricken by a long and abysmal drought. Thrown into poverty, she struggles to survive in a world where work is scarce, death is abundant, and hope dwindles. Will she and her family survive the Great Depression?

And here’s the book trailer in case you’re too lazy to read the blurb.

Fields of Gold Beneath Prairie Skies trailer!

SRW: Am I right in assuming this is based on your family lore?

SDM: It is indeed. It’s a story that’s been calling my name for quite some time. My dad spent the last ten years of his life writing his memoirs, and much of this novel is taken from those memoirs, though I do get fanciful at times and throw in things that never happened.

SRW: “Napoleon” is the lead guy’s name. Seeing as how he doesn’t really give heroine, Lea, much leeway in his marriage proposal, and how his namesake brings to mind a famous dictator, is Napoleon a short man? Does he suffer from “Little Big Angry Man Syndrome?”

SDM: Hahaha! Actually, he was a tiny man, but the sweetest guy you could ever meet. In general, most French-Canadians are a little on the short side. And Napoleon was a very popular name in Quebec around the turn of the 20th century.

SRW: Napoleon’s hardly a character in the first half of the book, almost a non-existent “Charlie Brown Adult.” Was this intentional? I mean, it's Lea's tale, after all.

SDM: Well….believe it or not, he really was like that. It was hard to find anything wrong with him. He was just a nice, even-tempered guy, though he succumbs to pressure later on and gets a little grumpy. Why, he even raises his voice a few times.

SRW: Suzanne, I think you have a writerly masochistic bent. Not since Alice went down the rabbit hole has a heroine suffered so much. Your protagonist, Lea, loses a number of babies. Yet her determination carries her through the day. Was this much more commonplace back in the ‘30’s when the book took place?

SDM: She lost three babies within a couple of months after their birth. Two of them were identical twin girls. But yes, it was really normal to lose babies back in the day. Take Mozart, for example, his wife had 6 kids, and only 2 survived. And Bach had 20 kids with only 10 surviving into adulthood. And both my grandmothers had 10 kids, losing three each. I think losing a baby was a lot easier back in those days as it was rather commonplace.

SRW: And the agony continues! Poor Lea trawls on through locusts, dirt storms, poverty, and lots and lots of potatoes. LOTS of potatoes. Potato soup, potato casserole, potato bugs. Even dresses made from potato bags. And that scene of plucking feathers from a chicken is nightmare-inducing. Worse, Napoleon builds his wife an outhouse made out of iffy material. Explain, please. (I’d like a drawing, too, as I want the readers to relive the outhouse agony).

SDM: Ah, the potatoes. Yes. And regarding the bathroom, not to gross anyone out, but they used to go out to the barn to do their business. After all, if the animals could, why not them? But in the winter time when it was 40 degrees below, they had this bucket with a cover in the house. Apparently, it stunk to high heavens. So Nap decided to build an outhouse using clay and straw after several years of this torment. First he had to mix it up, and then he had to slowly build the walls, waiting for the mud to dry before he added another layer. When all was ready, he made the roof from barn lumber, filling the hole he left in the barn with the same mud mixture.

SRW: Clearly the drought affected everyone worldwide back in the ‘30’s. It’s amazing this family persevered. I can’t imagine trying to hold down the fort while tons of dust is blowing inside your house. Wait… Let’s go back to that outhouse. That was based on reality, right?

SDM: Yes, it was. And if you really must know, it toppled down pretty quickly. And yes, apparently the dust storms were awful. They’d cough for days afterward not to mention the prairie had turned into a grey moonscape.

SRW: Okay, cool, just wanted to clarify. Anyway… I love the very odd way Lea decides to handle her kids’ out-of-control behavior near the end of the book. Extremely contemporary in feminist psychology, yet disturbing. I have to say it’s a very fascinating final dramatic scene. Defend yourself (without spoilers, natch).

SDM: Hate to say it, but that’s how people disciplined their kids back then. Lots of fire and brimstone, the strap, and threats. They weren’t alone. And you’ll be glad to know that Pol grew up to be a really kind, compassionate doctor. As for that last dramatic scene, well I exaggerated just a little.. well, okay, a lot.

SRW: Lea was a true trailblazer, a fiery sort who just wouldn’t take no for an answer, a heroine to be admired for…

Hold on, hold on. Wait. Let’s back-up a sec…

So…that outhouse was sanitary?

SDM: Umm, nothing’s sanitary on a farm.

SRW: And people actually used it? And didn’t die?

SDM: They thought they were living in the lap of luxury every time they used it. They were really disappointed when it fell.

SRW: What’d they use for toilet paper?

SDM: Pages of the Eaton’s catalogue. (Kind of like the Sears catalogue.)

SRW: Sorry, sorry, I’m getting sidetracked. I know Africa and China were particularly plagued with locusts throughout history. So was Canada, as in your book. Is this a fear factor for Canada’s future?

SDM: It’s certainly possible. Whenever there’s a heat wave in May/June.

SRW: Uh-huh, mm-hmm, that’s fascinating… 

Suzanne, did the outhouse toilet seat form-fit to anyone's bottom in particular since it was made of pliable material?

SDM: I think maybe that part was made of barn wood.

SRW: Splinters! Did the seat reshape after usage from different family members?

SDM: I hope not.

SRW: The picture you paint in your book isn't pretty. In the '30's, women didn’t appear to have many choices in life. Was it war-bride or starve?

SDM: Well, put it this way: People were stuck on the farm where they could at least grow a garden, so being married to a farmer was a good thing.

SRW: Did wealthier women in '30's Canada have indoor plumbing? Sorry, sorry! I keep getting derailed. Let’s get back to…

No! Forget it! I want to know about the outhouse! Was there ventilation?

SDM: Of course, silly. All outhouses have a little moon in the door.

SRW: That's what that moon's for! Have you ever used an outhouse?

SDM: Of course!

SRW: Maybe I'll get to use one some day. Keeping hope alive. Sigh… 

I liked your book lots, Suzanne. A fascinating, well-written tale recommended to history fiction buffs. Tell us where readers can find it.

SDM: Click here to purchase Fields of Gold Beneath Prairie Skies!

SRW: Now tell folks where they can find outhouses.

SDM: There are plenty of them up here in Canada.

SRW: I hear you’re giving one of your earlier novels for free?

SDM: Yup. Here it is.
Shadow of the Unicorn: The Legacy  FREE!

SRW: Thanks, Suzanne, for dropping by. Anyone else have any interesting outhouse anecdotes?

The Wild West just got a little weirder with Jeff Chapman's The Black Blade!

SRW: Give a big ol’ Tornado Alley howdy-do to talented fantasy and horror writer Jeff Chapman. Today we’re yonderin’ back into the Wild West to discuss cowpoke Chapman’s chaps and new novel, The Black Blade. And it’s a hoot and a holler, folks. Traditionally a short story writer, Jeff has spread his wings and written some kind of novel that’ll have the folks at Gulch Holler cryin’ in their beers and spit-takin’ their sarsaparilla.

Welcome Jeff! Tell everyone about your new book, The Black Blade.

JC: Thanks for talking with me, Stuart. The Black Blade Is the first novel in The Huckster Tales series. Other works in the series include a short story and a novelette. In The Black Blade, Orville and Jimmy again find themselves over their heads in supernatural trouble. They have a habit of finding trouble. Marzby, an old man with evil intent and magical powers, imprisons Orville and a farmer’s wife and then sends Jimmy and the farmer on a quest to retrieve an enchanted knife from inside Skull Hill. But there’s an evil catch to this quest. The one who hands the blade over to Marzby selects which prisoner to release. One knife for one prisoner. It’s not long before the farmer aims his shotgun at Jimmy. But the trigger-happy farmer may be the least of Jimmy’s worries. The sun is on the move and there’s a host of strange creatures between Jimmy and the final showdown with Marzby.

SRW: Where’d the term “huckster” come from? What exactly does it mean? And where can readers find other tales of your huckster duo, Orville and Jimmy?

JC: A huckster is someone who travels around the country selling stuff. Usually the value of the “stuff” is questionable. Think snake-oil salesmen. Orville hasn’t sold snake-oil in any of the stories yet, but if he finds he can make money from it, he most likely will. Orville’s primary gig is operating as the turbaned soothsayer Orville the Oracular. Jimmy provides behind-the-curtain support and looks after Maggie, their horse. Jimmy also operates the moral compass which Orville ignores to their peril.

So far, there are three stories in The Huckster Tales series. “The Wand” is a short story you can have for free with a newsletter signup. “The Flaming Emerald” is a novelette available in the anthology Ghosts of Fire. And then there’s the novel, The Black Blade. I have more novels percolating, including an origin story explaining how Jimmy and Orville met and a sequel to The Black Blade.

SRW: I’ve been a fan of your colorful prose for some time, Jeff. No one can turn a purtier metaphor. But I always thought your writing sprang forth from the past, a "Weird Tales" vibe if not older. A writer out of time. I think you’ve hit your stride with the Huckster series set in the old West. The perfect synthesis of place and prose. Why did you choose the old West as your background?

JC: I didn’t intend to write a western when I wrote “The Wand.” I thought of it as fantasy, but the characters pulled me in the western direction. That’s where they wanted to be, so I went with it. The characters are always right.

SRW: We’ve gotta’ talk about research. Everything about the book, from the dialect, the dialogue, the setting, the props rings true. Jeff, did you base this off of years watching sage dramas on the TV? Or did you actually, you know, open a book and dig into true research (ew…what’s that?)? Come on, just between us, there’s nobody else around…spill.

JC: I grew up watching reruns of The Lone Ranger and The Cisco Kid. My parents loved westerns, so I saw a lot of them: the classic films and the B-grade ones. We watched Gunsmoke. We watched F-Troop. The films and TV shows give you a sense of the myths and feel of the genre. For the details of daily life, I researched online and read some books. For example, I learned that the ubiquitous cowboy hat was not the primary headgear in the Old West. Many men wore bowlers (like Bat Masterson) or straw hats. Orville wears a bowler while Jimmy makes do with a well-worn straw hat. I also discovered that saloon owners sold or gave away cheap snack foods. The saltier the better. In The Black Blade, Isobel brings food for her uncle to sell at his saloon and claims her uncle spices it with extra salt.

SRW: Jimmy’s grandmother--although I assume long dead--is almost a Greek Chorus character throughout the book, constantly spouting wise adages, maxims, proverbs, down home remedies, you name it.  Where in the world did you come up with all of Grandma’s sayings? Did you just wing it? Watch a lot of Oprah? Or is Grandma based on a relative of yours?

JC: I made them up as I wrote. Grandma provides comic relief and an entertaining way to get at Jimmy’s thoughts. She’s not based on anyone in particular. Whenever I needed something from Grandma, I tried to imagine what an opinionated, old farm woman would say. I suppose my rural Kansas upbringing is paying off here. I hope readers get a good laugh out of her sayings. I had fun writing them.

SRW: I was a little disappointed Orville dropped out relatively early in the book as he and Jimmy make a cute comical team, right up there with Martin and Lewis, Starsky and Hutch, and Trump and Pence. A lot of the humor derives from their prickly relationship and Orville’s less than scrupulous moral code. I’m curious, did you set out to instill humor in the Huckster series? Or did it organically rise from Orville and Jimmy’s characters?

JC: I didn’t set out to write humorous stories, but when you have two characters trying to move events in opposite directions, humor is often the result. The Huckster Tales are all written in the first person, from Jimmy’s perspective. His voice has much to do with the humorous tone.

SRW: There are enough fantastical critters and varmints running through The Black Blade to give Ray Harryhausen nightmares. List a few. Then ‘fess up to inspirations…

JC: The first strange critter is Marzby’s pindigo. Marzby claims he forced the spirit of a wendigo into a pig. The result is a ferocious half-pig half-human monstrosity. A wendigo is a cannibalistic horror from Native American folklore. Jimmy also comes across a shape-shifting opossum and a shape-shifting coyote. Coyotes are common in Native American folklore, especially as tricksters. I don’t think many people give opossum’s much thought. I added the opossum as something unexpected.

In the final chapters, we meet Marzby’s servants, a pair of oafish but incredibly strong men, at least they appear to be men. Their skeletons are a mixture of human and cattle bones. 

SRW: The tone of The Black Blade is a little schizophrenic, but I mean that in a good way! On the one hand, it’s a weird western. On the other hand, it’s a fantasy adventure. On yet another hand (where are all these hands coming from?), there’s humor, yet some violent and gruesome incidents. How would you categorize the book?

JC: What you say in your question. I had no idea how hard it would be to categorize the book until I finished it. I followed the story where it led. How about a weird western fantasy adventure salted with humor?

SRW: Jeff, I’ve been after you for a long time to write a full-length novel. You’ve written many fine novellas and short stories, but haven’t taken the big plunge. Until now. Why? And how was your experience as opposed to writing shorter fiction?

JC: I’ve started many novels but always bogged down in the middle of them. With The Blake Blade, I determined to keep moving forward and not stop. The strategy worked. Eventually I reached the end. Now that I’ve written one novel, I’m anxious to finish another one. I see now that a novel is like any other story, only longer, and to finish, you have to focus on scenes, knocking off one after another.

SRW: Truth time. I’ve given this a lot of thought, Jeff… Seems to me it’s more than coincidence. Okay, your name’s Jeff Chapman. You write about horse-riding cowboys in the weird west. Do you wear chaps? The readers want the truth. And photos.

JC: Good one. No, I’ve never worn chaps, though I remember there was a cologne called Chaps that I may have used when I was in high school. I don’t even wear cowboy boots.

SRW: What’s up next for Jeff? (And I hope the Hucksters?)

JC: I’m writing a couple fantasy stories for anthologies. The stories are linked by their protagonist, a cat inhabited by a human spirit. I like cats. After I finish those stories, I’m going to finish another novel, a fantasy story about a mermaid and a fisherman’s daughter. The cat from the stories figures in the novel, too. After the mermaid novel, I’m hoping to be ready for another Huckster novel.

SRW: Alright, time to rustle up the cattle and toss some steaks on the open-fire and zip up for the night, padnuhs. Jeff, why don’t you sing us out—Roy Rogers style—by tellin’ the good folk on the prairie where they might find yore pistol-packin’ work.

JC: To find store links for The Huckster Tales, go to http://www.jeffchapmanbooks.com/huckster-tales. For my other titles, go to http://www.jeffchapmanbooks.com/books. To join my mailing list, go to http://www.jeffchapmanbooks.com. A paperback version of The Black Blade is in the final stages of development (waiting for the proof copy to do the final review). I will be offering some Goodreads giveaways for signed copies. Add The Black Blade to your to-read list (https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/33898829-the-black-blade ) to receive a notice for the giveaways.

SRW: Read Jeff Chapman’s The Black Blade, folks. Highly recommended and more fun than a pistol-packin’ bandolero.

Go Team Adventure!

My wife and I love having adventures!

Okay, we kinda, sorta like having adventures. 

Fine, I dread having adventures, flat out loathe them. Sorta less dramatic. 

But you need to understand..."adventure" has become a sort of euphemism for us regarding mishaps. 

It all started back in the winter of 2005...(cue flashback music, muddying of the screen)...

We were both snowed in at home, couldn't get to work. The entire city was under siege by a giant two-foot tall marshmallow of wetness. Yet something about the day, the climate, the gloom and good-time feeling screamed out "Chili!" Problem was we didn't have all the fixings. 

"Hey, wouldn't it be fun to walk to the grocery store?" asked my wife.

I said, "Sure!"

You know how your parents used to moan about trudging through five feet of snow to school "back in the day?" That's what it was like. Only worse. 

The snow plows couldn't even make it out of the parking lot. We were knee-deep in snow. The wind whipped the fallen snow around, a blindingly white tornado. Shark teeth of icy death bit into my face. Tears of anguish froze on my frost-bitten cheeks. I hung onto my wife's belt-loop like a prison love-slave. Why? Because I'm a slave to love.

"Are we there yet?" I screamed, because I couldn't see, couldn't hear. Couldn't feel my legs.

"No! We still have six more blocks to go! We're gonna have chili! Just follow in my footsteps!"

What ordinarily takes 15 minutes to walk took an hour. Took me twice as long to thaw out.

Once home, I said, "That sucked!"

My wife laughed, said, "It was an adventure."

Huh. I decided right there my adventuring should be lived vicariously through Indiana Jones.

But it became a thing, the kinda thing only people who are attuned to one another understand.

We've had quite a few adventures since then. Once we were going to my wife's parents' house in Oklahoma, usually a four hour trip. 

But we got so wrapped up in chatting, my wife forgot to take an exit to the right highway. Neither one of us realized it until we were in some Godforsaken town way off the beaten path, hours away. Turned into a seven hour journey. Never go from Kansas to Oklahoma and take a shortcut through California. An "adventure."

As I said, I don't like our "adventures." Again, I'm sorta lying. Any "adventure" with my wife is always worth it. Only after the fact.

Are you looking for adventure? Look no further...Secret Society by Stuart R. West (sure, it's kinda sick & twisted adventure, but you'll stay dry and warm on your sofa reading it).