I love Woman's Weekly!

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Any women's magazine short story writer will know this name. The Woman's Weekly submissions address must be one of the longest to fit onto an envelope ever. Even so, after you've dropped that story into the postbox you put it out of your mind, so it was a slight shock to me last week to actually visit it and discover that the Blue Fin building really does exist!

It's fabulous. Tall, sky-piercing. All glass and angles and huge reception space and roof terrace. So it was really lovely to discover that the fiction editor's desk is about the same size as mine and only fractionally tidier. And the knitting editor's desk is surrounded by wool and part-finished garments. And there is a test-kitchen where they make the food featured in the magazine and which smelled heavenly.

And best of all, the art editor had MY ARTWORK on her screen!

So thank you, Woman's Weekly for my nice day.

And if everyone could go out and buy this month's WW Fiction Special with my story in, I'll be even happier.

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Poetry of place

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Having been discussing poems recently, I thought I'd post one of mine. (If it looks familiar, I put it on the Transita Authors blog ages ago)


I write poems for myself, to capture a moment or a mood or a person or a place. I find when I look at them again sometimes years later, they bring to mind exactly what I wanted to remember - a very handy brain-transportation device for a writer!

As I blogged last about Lady Mary Stewart and the way she brings her settings so vividly to life, I'm presenting you with a 'place' poem. This was written while sailing on the Norfolk Broads one time. Many people go there on holiday to enjoy the water and the scenery, but the landscape is so ancient and brooding that I always get the feeling we mortals are merely tolerated as we scull across it.



No Postcard by Jan Jones

Pretty? You couldn’t call this pretty
This land defies the roundness of the Earth
Grey-green under grey sky
Archaic in its horizontal heaviness
When man falters, stumbles to nothing
The land remains.

Incomers live on the surface. Try too hard. Never see
That line of mud around the ankles. Never notice
Those eyes the remote grey of the sky. Just
A micrometer of pulled petroleum.

Driftwood tree, taut amongst summer reeds
Grey water with a purpose of its own
Inexorable. Unremitting.
This land is no postcard.
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Gone Visiting with Mary Stewart

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Today I am visiting the rather fine Normblog with a post about what the supremely wonderful Lady Mary Stewart means to me.

I am a firm believer in the power of books on the developing mind. I read hungrily, greedily, but never to satiation point in my early teens. Three of the authors I discovered then who shot straight into my soul and set up house were Jane Austen, Georgette Heyer - and Mary Stewart. This is just possibly why I currently write light-hearted Regency romances with a dash of adventure and a sprinkling of humour.

Do read the article and then come back and tell me your early influences.
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The Kydd Inheritance

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It occurred to me that I have had my lovely cover for The Kydd Inheritance for some time and haven't shared it with you all.

Created by the fabulous David Young who was responsible fro bringing Fair Deception and Fortunate Wager to life.

The book is a prequel to my Newmarket Regencies, being the story of Nell (Kit Kydd's sister) and the frankly gorgeous Hugo.

Sadly, you'll have to wait until the New Year to get your hands on it.

I might post a teaser or two in the meantime...

Dragons!

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So the 50th Anniversary RNA Conference at Greenwich has been and gone. It was wonderful and exhilarating and exhausting and ... and its absence has left a whacking great hole in my life.





I ought to be filling that hole with writing, and indeed, I have sent off a couple of shorts, but you can't keep an addicted conference organiser down, so last week I went to the site of next year's RNA Conference in Caerleon.



And found dragons. All over Newport. Provided by a most enlightened council for schools, clubs and professional artists to decorate. I couldn't get pics of the ones in the shop windows, but here are a few to delight you.





Enjoy!
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Graduation Day!

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It doesn't seem two minutes since we were packing the car to take Lizzie to Warwick for the first time, but - unbelievably - today was graduation day!

Well done, lovely one. So proud of you.


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Hot - and a WOOHOO!

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I like the heat. True, it is nicer dry than muggy, but even hot and damp is better than cold and wet.

My poor cats, however, have been suffering a bit. Here they are in the perfect place to catch a draught.

It's also the perfect place to cause maximum awkwardness as we manoeuvre around them...

And in other news ... my brilliant daughter got a 2.1 in her Physics Finals from Warwick!!!!!
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Crashes and bangs

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Quick blog post today to remind myself to do it more regularly.

Lovely presentation yesterday at the Theatre Royal, Bury St Edmunds on the famous Mr McCready's four-day visit to the theatre back in 1826. There were tiny scenes throughout capturing the goings on at the theatre (he was rather forthright on the subject of provincial acting, but didn't object to trousering the profits from the plays), and also a talk on special effects, Georgian style.

This is a reproduction wind machine - a beautiful thing made of wood and canvas. When I turned the handle it sounded rather like a sick banshee, but in the hands of a professional it produced everything from a gentle zephyr to a full-blown storm. There was also a thunder sheet. Interestingly, the term "stealing my thunder" came from an actor whose own tempestuous play folded, was replaced by Macbeth complete with storm scene, and the actor complained very loudly that the Scottish play had - quite literally - stolen his thunder.

And this is a star-trap for those beloved sudden appearances. Or occasionally not - they were famed for often being real star traps, with the actor being pinioned firmly around their middle!

Roses and Chocolate Ginger

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The 4th of June 2010 would have been my mother's 80th birthday. Five years ago she wasn't very well, so instead of us all going out, daughter and I took her up a proper birthday tea with scones, thin crustless sandwiches and chocolate birthday cake with candles (but not 75 of them!). It was a faff, but I'm so glad we made the effort because she really enjoyed it and it was the last one she had.

Since then, the 4th June has always been a bit of an odd day, but this year especially so, perhaps because it is so sunny and plain nice outside, which it isn't always at this time of year. Mind you, with the best will in the world, no one would ever have described my mother as anything but a glass-half-empty person, so it would probably have been too hot for her and she'd have had me scurrying around watering all the plants.

Still, she loved flowers and she dearly loved treats, so I bought these in Waitrose for her this morning. I would have got her favourite freesias, but her voice in my head (anyone else get that?) pointed out that the roses were 25% extra free and the orangey-yellow would look much nicer in my kitchen than pale purple. That was the other thing about Mum, she was incapable of resisting a bargain and she would always buy something for me or her grandchildren rather than herself.

In the spirit of which, I also bought her favourite chocolate gingers to nibble (2 bags for £4; I think she'd have approved) while I read the latest Medical Romance - her favourite reading matter - by my good friend Kate Hardy. (It's Neurosurgeon... and Mum and she'd definitely have loved it.)

So, Happy 80th Birthday. I hope it's just the right temperature for you up there.

Rosemary Coulson 4.6.1930-30.9.2005

An entire day later...

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And following on from the previous post, this is what 160 collated conference packs look like.


And an awfully long time after that, they've all been individually personalised as to when-people-have-booked-for ... and are in their envelopes.

Oh, I do still need to put the stamps on. Tomorrow, I think.
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RNA Conference Pack 2010

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Where have I been for the last couple of weeks? Writing a masterpiece?

Erm... yes, in a way...

Ta-dah! The component parts of the first 160 Romantic Novelists' Association Conference Packs 2010!

And from another angle, just to get the height of those piles.

I suppose I'd better collate them and put them in the envelopes now.
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Diet Bread

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"What's that?" I hear you all say, ears pricking up in anticipation. "Bread that you can actually eat on a diet instead of crossing the room to avoid?"

No, sadly. This is Georgian 'Diet Bread'. In those days, there wasn't the phrase 'to go on a diet' like there is today. It had a much wider meaning than simply to lose weight. This recipe incorporates fennel and sage in the dough to aid digestion and, er, movement. In other words, it was a bread that helped with your general diet.

The diet-bread rolls shown were made by Pat as the refreshments for last week's lecture. She has many historical recipe books and likes to treat us to something authentic each week. This time she spread half the rolls with butter (above) and the other half with potted cheese (below), giving a completely different taste. The potted cheese was made by mixing grated cheese, butter, mace, cinnamon and a dash of sherry, then pressing the mixture into a pot before spreading. A sort of upmarket Ploughman's to go with the subject of the talk - "The Inns, Taverns and Alehouses of Georgian Suffolk"!
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Simple Supper

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After wrestling with Summer Party timings and Conference timetables (they put up a heck of a fight, you know) all evening I fancied something simple and quick and nice to eat before doing some of my own work.

This is my staple Roast Pepper Medley, which I serve straight from the pot:

Mixed peppers, de-seeded and sliced (Why do recipes always say that? Does anyone ever not de-seed them first?)
Onions, sliced
Garlic, peeled and chunked
Cherry tomatoes, halved
Chestnut mushrooms, quartered
Splash of oil
Extra good shake of oregano

Mix all in an open casserole, put into hot oven of Aga for 40 minutes, stirring from time to time.
Then lift out and add chopped, cooked chicken. (Vegetarians: it's still good on its own)
Leave medley to rest in its own juices (and also because the peppers burn the roof of your mouth if you eat them straight out of the oven)
And that's it, no salt, no pepper, nothing.

If you have to share with someone else (are you there, daughter?), you also need to add pasta twirls. But it was just me tonight. Yum.

What are other people's favourites when it's late and they're hungry?
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Good Luck, Lizzie!

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Good luck to my lovely Lizzie who begins her Physics Finals with THREE (count 'em!) exams this Friday.

[*ranty Mum* How ridiculous is that? Three years of working towards a degree and they slam you with THREE exams on the same day???]
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At the Sign of the Pestle and Mortar

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I do love the local history talks at the Bury St Edmunds record office. Today's was about apothecaries, of which I knew not a lot until this morning.

In the 17th and 18th centuries, apothecaries occupied the middle ground in the medical hierarchy, below the physician who would diagnose and prescribe, but well above the surgeon. The thought was that anyone could chop a leg off, but it took someone really clever to stop the pain.

A late Stuart/ early Georgian apothecary would make up all the pills and draughts himself from his extensive stock of herbs, spices and opiates. His most valuable book would have been his Herbal (Pat had got out John Gerard's exquisite 1633 and 1636 Herbals for us to read and lust after), followed by his own recipe book for medicines and potions. Frequently these were a 'work-in-progress' with notes as to their efficaciousness. They would also be passed down from master to journeyman or father to son. Apprenticeship lasted seven years, after which you were free to start up on your own.

This print shows a standard apothecary shop interior with a giant pestle and mortar on the left, an alembic (or still) on the right, jars on the shelves and lovely graduated drawers for ingredients and ointments. The pestle&mortar was so useful it was the standard advertising device. The photo at the top shows where an original apothecary's shop stood in BStE - pestle&mortar still there above the door.

Apothecaries didn't only supply medicines, they were also much in demand as a source of food flavourings. Inventories show vast quantities of items such as caraway seeds that would make their potions palatable as well as having a medicinal effect. They also used plenty of sugar (various kinds) and, er, senna. One really weird ingredient was gold-leaf: to coat the pills of the better-off patients. (I can just see that catching on with the NHS)

Blood letting was a favourite remedy, and all apothecaries had a leech jar. One eminent BStE citizen apparently used to fish out a leech and clap it to his forehead whenever he had a headache!

All in all, good apothecaries with a fine client list had high social standing and were able to amass a reasonable degree of wealth. Both the apothecaries, Thomas Macro senior and junior, were members of the Corporation of Bury St Edmunds - a very prestigious position indeed.

One last photo: Pat always makes us authentic Georgian snacks to go with our tea. These are "jumballs" flavoured with cumin and caraway. Delicious. They are also quite, er, firm, so we were given permission to dunk!
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