words

Revolutionary War Tunes

Songs from the 1776 Trenches

KarenAChase_Yankeedoodle_Sprit_of_'76.2
One of several versions of a scene by Archibald MacNeal Willard in the late nineteenth century, the painting came to be known as The Spirit of ’76.

 

Although many historians focus on the tune of Yankee Doodle, often referring to the image here as such, some Revolutionary War songs are far more free-spirited. Sung by soldiers, they were sometimes influenced by the men’s varied heritages. Case in point, the song, “Maggie Lauder.” It was known to be sung in the American trenches, but it originated in Scotland.

Francis Sempill of Beltrees, who lived from around 1616 to 1685, wrote the ditty, and then it had the added benefit of having an easy and completely memorable tune put with it. (Careful, as it will get stuck in your craw when you watch the below version by The Corries.)

The song also has the benefit of having one heck of a funny word in the first verse. Blatherskite. Though back when spelling wasn’t standardized, they spelled it bladderskate

Wha wadna be in love
Wi bonnie Maggie Lauder?
A piper met her gaun to Fife,
And spier’d what was’t they ca’d her:
Richt scornfully she answered him,
Begone, you hallanshakerl
Jog on your gate, you bladderskate!
My name is Maggie Lauder.

To call someone a blatherskite, is basically to say they are full of B.S. I truly love how Maggie shares her moniker with this bloke, the piper, while also putting him in his place by calling him names. Incidentally, if anyone has a definition—or a more modern spelling—of hallanshakerl, please let me know.

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Reader Insights: When you’re writing historical fiction, if you put too many period-appropriate words or phrases into dialogue, it can be clunky for readers. So, I use them sparingly. While I’m reserving blatherskite for my next novel, you’ll find I happily used the curse, blistering blackguards. You can read it within an excerpt with Captain Blythe on the Frontier from my novel, here.

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A Case for Fiction

This blog post first appeared in November of 2016, just after the presidential election. No matter your feelings for how that election or the recent mid-terms turned out, you might be needing a reboot. A way to cope. Or a means to find compassion—for those coming in and those left out.

In a Publisher’s Weekly article on Monday, Jonathan Kurtz, publisher of Prometheus Books, said they were selling their fiction list to Start Publishing, to return to being a primarily nonfiction press. He cited that in our current world, “intelligent nonfiction is again of urgent value.” I agree 100% with raising the discourse, and do hope that future nonfiction books will aim to lift, rather than to debase, the consciousness of our country.

However, I absolutely do not believe that nonfiction alone can raise us up. So, I once again give you… a case for why….

We need more fiction!

Especially thoughtful, deep, well-researched and so-worth-pondering fiction. We need it more than ever for three reasons:

To_Kill_a_Mockingbird_(1962)_trailer_2
Gregory Peck (left) & James Anderson in To Kill a Mockingbird––the number one book in the Great American Read.(Image: A Public Domain clip from the trailer by Universal Studios.)

 

Escape. Sometimes the world seems topsy-turvy. Either we’re getting what we want, and no one else seems happy, or what we’ve lost makes us rethink everything we thought was true. Fiction can give us a break––a means to flee to another time in history, or to a utopian or more dystopian future. Inside of that “other” place we’re able to find something else.

Empathy. No matter when or where fiction is set, all great fiction is focused on the characters. Some we will love. Some, not so much. And yet all of them, if well-drawn, illustrate how humanity is complex. People are flawed. And yet, by seeing intimately into someone else’s life, even the worst antagonist might elicit compassion from us. Sometimes pity. Either way, the result is something greater.

Enlightenment. It sounds incongruent, but the goal of great fiction writers is to write the truth. The truth, however dark, beautiful, crushing, sad, joyful, odd, funny, or head-spinning. Do we weave in opinions? Of course, but how can we obtain enlightenment without them? It is only in the absence of listening to and attempting to understand a dissenting opinion that we recede into darkness.

So please, regardless of where you are these days, take a deep breath. Go to your favorite bookstore or library. Read fiction. Write fiction. And by all means, share fiction. Through a thoughtful exchange of words, perhaps we can all heal together.

How to Select Your Next Fiction Read

Pick a book, any book, from this list of 100 books compiled by PBS for the Great American Read. And by all means, pick up number one, To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee from your favorite librarian.



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When A Story Starts

once_upon_a_time_lccn98518274A dear friend of mine was struggling to choose when to begin her novel. Not when to begin writing, but when, in the timeline of her protagonist’s struggle, her story should begin.

One method we discussed was outlined in Syd Field’s book, Screenplay, The Foundations of Screen Writing. If the chronological timeline of a story are points along a line, numbered 1 through 10, we can begin with a glimpse of number 9 (the denouement), and then return to number 1 and write the rest in order. In All Is Lost we first see Robert Redford drifting in despair without his sailboat, then we are taken back and shown everything preceding it. The result? We know what’s coming before the protagonist does, but neither of us knows if by number 10 he will sink or swim, so we stick around to find out.

In a book I recently picked up, Wired For Story, the author Lisa Cron discusses the importance of starting your novel or script for the greatest neurological impact. Humans (readers) are hard-wired to hear/need stories. When tales begin, we want to be drawn in to know whose story it is, what’s happening, and what’s a stake. In Albert Camus’, The Stranger, this is accomplished with just three words. “Mother died today.” The child will be somehow affected by a death. I want to read on.

And that, my fellow writers, is the goal that ultimately my friend and I agreed upon. We strive to begin our books so it increases our readers’ curiosity to such a pitch they must keep reading.

There are countless articles that share countless ways on when and how to begin, (this one from Writer’s Digest illustrates 10 Ways to Begin). When or where have you decided to begin?

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Writing and Reading Rhythm

 

Emerald Lake, Canada.

As both a writer and reader, I’ve come to appreciate the rhythm behind prose. Understanding why it’s important, and what it does for readers emotionally, is easier when I liken it to a well-composed piece of music. I love this piece, Haunted by Waters, by Mark Isham, written for the movie A River Runs Through It.

While it mimics the feeling of fly fishing, Isham says he was also struck by the poetry of the script’s words. Consequently this song is a reminder of how sentence structure, length, and syntax evoke feeling. Hit play on the link to the song (above) and then read along noting the timing of it…

Sometimes, like up to the :30 point, sentences are best short. Minimal. Simple. Withholding. Anticipatory. Repetitive. But too simple too long? That’s boring. Dulling.

So, like Isham’s next refrains (:30–:52), sentences also need to be a bit more complex, adding in commas, breaths. A few highs, and some lows, propel us along. Repeating this pacing, as he does after :53, adds extra emphasis for a lead-up to something more impactful.

Consequently at 1:17, when the strings come in, his sentences flow with even more complexity, adding in emotionally charged refrains, long or languishing melodies, and then swirling higher right up to 1:40. Then he adds a crescendo of repetition again, and that second-by-second, word-by-word feeling builds even more until he meanders back down to… a pause.

A paragraph break.

Then he brings in staccato at 2:00–a brief repeating–and that begins another little meandering through several seconds, or sentences, that allows us to return to a comfortable refrain we’ve heard before. The rest of his song, takes us through a variety of pacing and structures, again and again, until we have a gorgeous closing that feels not only right, but leaves us, in the end, with the feeling of wanting more.

If you’ve not been reading or writing with such rhythms, I urge you to listen to classical soundtracks like this one. Composers build soundtracks to increase emotional impact, and as E.M. Forster once said, “In music fiction is likely to find it nearest parallel.”

For more on this topic, I also suggest David Jauss’ book On Writing Fiction, and especially Part III on flow.

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Research & Writer’s Block

Writers block means going back to the books. (Public Domain Image: Ivan Kramskoy. Reading woman.)
Writers block means going back to the books. (Public Domain Image: Ivan Kramskoy. Reading woman.)

Writers often dread the idea of becoming stuck, and Writer’s Digest (WD) has a great post this week about 5 Tips for Overcoming Writer’s Block.

I’ll admit that I’m not a big believer in writer’s block as this staring-at-a-blank-page, drink-in-hand, woe-to-the-tortured-Hemingway-like-writer syndrome. Much like the WD article author, Molly Cochran, I think the reasons for why writers might stall are pretty straightforward. And Molly’s tips are a great help for overcoming those problems.

But I will add to her list a sixth reason, and it’s primarily for all the historical novelists out there. Lack of preparation or research.

I write what I call “Factual Fiction,” whereby my plot, story and characters are not loosely set in history but intrinsically tied to real events, people and places. So if I am having difficulty with my plot, or what my characters are doing or saying, it’s because I simply don’t know enough about the event, person or place with which they must interact.

To overcome those moments when words come to a screeching halt, I read (or sometimes reread) about an event. I take out pictures of the locations I’m featuring, or I read second-hand accounts or bios about the person they’re speaking to. Once, I had to request a historian’s dissertation from a California university to overcome a lack of information.

Usually within an hour, or in that one case a couple weeks, I’m humming along with ideas again. No more writer’s block. Then my only problem becomes whether or not I’ve blocked off enough time to write.

Character Development and Pets

Last weekend, the New York Times Book Review section had an article about what authors do Between Books by Ann Packer.  In it she said sometimes she has trouble moving on with new books because of characters. Not that she wants to hang out with them longer, but because she is “giving up the ease I developed with writing them.”

As I work to finish my first big novel, I understand. My characters are like my old cat was in the last years of her life. We ebb and flow around one another. I know why and when a particular voice is used. We’ve settled into our daily routine. We have an understanding. It’s easy.

New characters are like puppies and kittens. When they’re “on” it can be chaos. They don’t always go where it makes sense. They don’t speak or participate properly in the environment I’ve created for them. There’s a bit of cursing, and certainly training. On their part and mine.

Given this notion, my goal is to enjoy these last few moments with my old characters. My protagonist who was a young, eager pup–he’s now a great travel companion who comes with me to the office every day. My antagonist, who started out simpering like Snidely Whiplash, has grown into a lovable mutt (who has gotten mean as he got older, sadly).

And I’ll enjoy the ease of their company before I find myself laying down papers for my new pets ahead.

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KarenAChase_Bandit

And this week we say goodbye to a great character. Bandit. The little dog who lived (and worked) next door to me in Paris. He had a long, happy life with Dorothée, eating well at the crab shack and summering at the beach. He was featured in several entries, along with this picture, in my book Bonjour 40. Bandit, may there be unlimited bread wherever you are now. You certainly begged for enough of it in this life.

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A Soldier’s Wife Sentiments Translated

Sometimes when I’m exploring 1776 essays or letters for research for my book, I get lost in a quagmire of how things used to be written. So I have to translate them into today’s causal language. This helps me understand the issues of the past so I can make sense of the them for my reader.

Case in point, an essay written by Esther de Berdt Reed called Sentiments. Esther wrote this essay in order to push women who were staying at home during the American Revolution to contribute to the Cause. Her husband was fighting with George Washington. In the end, her essay helped form the Ladies Association of Philadelphia, and they raised over $300,000 to produce linen and shirts for the Continental Army.

For all those wives whose husbands are away fighting in foreign lands, here’s a hero for you.

Below Esther’s picture is her published essay, with my translation in italics (even though by adding it it blows my 250 words for the blog):

Esther_de_Berdt_Reed_by_Charles_Peale

SENTIMENTS (An Op-Ed)

ON the commencement of actual war, the Women of America manifested a firm resolution to contribute as much as could depend on them, to the deliverance of their country. (When this whole thing started, the women of this continent said they’d support forming a new country, too.)

Animated by the purest patriotism, they are sensible of sorrow at this day, in not offering more than barren wishes for the success of so glorious a Revolution. and this sentiment is universal from the north to the south of the Thirteen United States. (Women say they’re patriots, by sadly they’re only offering empty prayers hoping we’ll win the war–and this is true regardless of which colony we live in.)

Our ambition is kindled by the same of those heroines of antiquity, who have rendered their sex illustrious, and have proved to the universe, that, if the weakness of our Constitution, if opinion and manners did not forbid us to march to glory by the same paths as the Men, we should at least equal, and sometimes surpass them in our love for the public good. (Women have within us a history of great women who proved that just because we’re physically smaller, or perceived to be weaker, and not allowed to go to war, doesn’t mean we can’t be better than the men at being patriotic.)

I glory in all that which my sex has done great and commendable. (I think chicks have proven to achieve some amazing acts.)

I call to mind with enthusiasm and with admiration, all those acts of courage, of constancy and patriotism, which history has transmitted to us: (Let me give you some awesome examples of kick-assery that history hands down to us.)

The people favoured by Heaven, preserved from destruction by the virtues, the zeal and the resolution of Deborah, of Judith, of Esther! (The biblical stories of Deborah, Judith and Esther were kept and retold because those ladies had grit and determination.)

The fortitude of the mother of the Massachabees, in giving up her sons to die before her eyes: Rome saved from the fury of a victorious enemy by the efforts of Volumnia, and other Roman Ladies: So many famous sieges where the Women have been seen forgeting the weakness of their sex, building new walls, digging trenches with their feeble hands, furnishing arms to their defenders, they themselves darting the missile weapons on the enemy, resigning the ornaments of their apparel, and their fortune, to fill the public treasury, and to hasten the deliverance of their country; burying themselves under its ruins, throwing themselves into the flames rather than submit to the disgrace of humiliation before a proud enemy. (History has shown us that we are capable of this, all the way back to the early Romans. Those women forgot they were chicks, built walls, dug holes, provided weapons, picked up arms, quit dressing all fancy and spending money so the country could use it. They’d rather their bodies be under the rubble of Rome than be wusses in front of their enemies.)

Born for liberty, disdaining to bear the irons of a tyrannic Government, we associate ourselves to the grandeur of those Sovereigns,cherished and revered, who have held with so much splendour the scepter of the greatest States, The Batildas, the Elizabeths, the Maries, the Catharines, who have extended the empire of liberty, and contented to reign by sweetness and justice, have broken the chains of slavery, forged by tryants in the times of ignorance and barbarity. (Even examples of the past queens of England show us that we can build empires of freedom, while being nice and fair, and not giving into the idea we are subordinates–no longer bound by stupid or antiquated ideas thrust on us.)

The Spanish Women, do they not make, at this moment, the most patriotic sacrifices, to encrease the means of victory in the hands of their Sovereign. He is a friend to the French Nation. They are our allies. We call to mind, doubly interested, that it was a French Maid who kindled up amongst her fellow-citizens, the flame of patriotism buried under long misfortunes: It was the Maid of Orleans who drove from the kingdom of France the ancestors of those same British, whose odious yoke we have just shaken off; and whom it is necessary that we drive from this Continent. (If the French and Spanish women are/have been supporting freedom against tyranny and past ties to England, we can. We have to support our allies here because we’re fighting the British like they did, so let’s stick together. Heck if the virgin Joan of Arc can fight the British, we can. We’ve already declared separation from the British who are choking us, so now we have to kick them out.)

But I must limit myself to the recollection of this small number of achievements. (I could give hundreds of examples of women kicking ass in support of liberty, but that’s not really the point here.)

Who knows if persons disposed to censure, and sometimes too severely with regard to us, may not disapprove our appearing acquainted even with the actions of which our sex boasts? We are at least certain, that he cannot be a good citizen who will not applaud our efforts for the relief of the armies which defend our lives, our possessions, our liberty? (There’s always going to be someone–often a man–who will try keep women down. So let’s just agree those guys are really jerks who typically twist anything that’s good or helpful about our society, our goods or freedom.)

The situation of our soldiery has been represented to me; the evils inseparable from war, and the firm and generous spirit which has enabled them to support these. (I’ve heard it’s really bad at the front for our guys, and so as bad as that is, we have to be equally good in our support.)

But it has been said, that they may apprehend, that, in the course of a long war, the view of their distresses may be lost, and their services be forgottten. Forgotten! (But you know how it is. People’s ability to care has limits, and the longer the war drags on, the less people will continue to care or even think about the men at the front.)

never; I can answer in the name of all my sex. Brave Americans, your disinterestedness, your courage, and your constancy will always be dear to America, as long as she shall preserve her virtue. (No damn way. I say it for all of us chicks. Be brave. Not wishy-washy. Strong. Consistent in the way you care for America, for as long as she is worthy.)

We know that at a distance from the theatre of war, if we enjoy any tranquility, it is the fruit of your watchings, your labours, your dangers. (We’re not fighting. But if we’re enjoying ourselves at home, it’s because we–the women–are taking care of ourselves, but also because the men are out there working to fight for, and protect us.)

If I live happy in the midst of my family; if my husband cultivates his field, and reaps his harvest in peace; if, surrounded with my children, I myself nourish the youngest, and press it to my bosom, without being affraid of feeing myself separated from it, by a ferocious enemy; if the house in which we dwell; if our barns, our orchards are safe at the present time from the hands of those incendiaries, it is to you that we owe it. (If I’m happy it’s because I get to stay home–warm, peaceful, with family–and not fight. My guy has to go spend his days at war, in the hopes of having peace later. The reason I can stay home with my kids, and not be scared as shit of the enemy, is because my man is fighting them somewhere other than in my backyard. We owe them for that.)

And shall we hesitate to evidence to you our gratitude? (So to thank him, should we do nothing? Not act?)

Shall we hesitate to wear a cloathing more simple; hair dressed less elegant, while at the price of this small privation, we shall deserve your benedictions. (What if we kept wearing our old or more simple clothing, or quit going to the salon to get our hair done–saving even that little bit might make them grateful to us).

Who, amongst us, will not renounce with the highest pleasure, those vain ornaments, when-she shall consider that the valiant defenders of America will be able to draw some advantage from the money which she may have laid out in these; (If you think about it, wouldn’t saying no to selfishly having a bunch of shiny things show better that we get it. That we understand that men are dying in order to begin a country here? Is there an way those dollars could be better spent or saved in support of them?)

that they will be better defended from the rigours of the seasons, that after their painful toils, they will receive some extraordinary and unexpected relief; (Maybe for our guys, knowing that we’ve chosen to make do with less, and act more, will actually help them feel better while they’re away. Then they’ll know that when they come home, our shit has been handled so they can have a bit of a break.)

that these presents will perhaps be valued by them at a greater price, when they will have it in their power to say: This is the offering of the Ladies. (Our actions will be valued more than the material crap we accumulate. Then men will truly know what women are capable of doing on their own.)

The time is arrived to display the same sentiments which animated us at the beginning of the Revolution, (We have to walk the talk now. We have to act now like we we said we would in the Declaration of Independence that started this whole Revolution.)

when we renounced the use of teas, however agreeable to our taste, rather than receive them from our persecutors; when we made it appear to them that we placed former necessaries in the rank of superfluities, when our liberty was interested; (We must put down the tea cup, even though we like tea, ‘coz the British gave it to us back when we showed them our wants weren’t as important as our needs or freedom)

when our republican and laborious hands spun the flax, prepared the linen intended for the use of our soldiers; (We need to go back to making our own fabric and shirts for our own army using our own hands.)
when exiles and fugitives we supported with courage all the evils which are the concomitants of war. (We need to go back to being those rebels–even our ancestors were likely kicked out of Britain in the first place–who had the guts to fight against bad people, even though that means fighting a terrible war.)

Let us not lose a moment; (Do it now!)

let us be engaged to offer the homage of our gratitude at the altar of military valour, (Get in there! Show some respect. Be thankful. Be a warrior.)

and you, our brave deliverers, (And for you, our guys fighting for our freedom…)

while mercenary slaves combat to cause you to share with them, the irons with which they are loaded, (while a blindly devoted army is coming at you, making you fight against them so you don’t get shot by one of their bullets)

receive with a free hand our offering, the purest which can be presented to your virtue, (know that we’ve got your backs, and you can reach out to us, for we’re going to give you the respect and support you’ve earned.)

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Advice From the 40s: 2015

KarenAChase_43

It’s my birthday once again. Wee! Last year my birthday post “Advice from the 40s” garnered some laughs and some sympathy (which I equally enjoyed). So I’m here to add to that list of little things I’ve learned now that the double-digit 44 hath arrived.

No one uses the word “hath” anymore. Or “ergo” or “thingamajig.”

My adorable hygienist was right. It won’t hurt so much or take so long if I use 10 inches of floss 3 times a week.

The wrinkles on my forehead are staying there longer after my expression changes. They weren’t doing that in June but most people look older in winter, right?

Deciding to have the comic strip “Mutts” delivered daily to my email was a good decision.

I’m baffled by refrigerators over-stuffed with food. I always wonder if the owners even know what’s in the back half.

I keep eggs on the counter, not in the fridge. They peel easier when boiled. Side thought: I’m still uncertain if eggs are the perfect protein or if they cause high cholesterol.

We all use the word “perfect” far too much. If I hand you the correct change at checkout, it’s not “perfect,” it’s just 23 cents. If I order the ravioli you have on special, the best response is not “perfect,” it is, “I’ll bring that out along with a free tiramisu.” Very little in life is perfect, and it’s often to much to live up to or with. (Except for the tiramisu.)

The word “should” should also be eliminated from my vocabulary. It’s bringing me down.

I always thought the ELO song, “Don’t Bring Me Down,” had my brother’s name in it. Don’t bring me down, Bruce. The word is “groos.” Or “groose.” Those don’t make sense either.

I was wrong last year in my list when I said it would sound like bologna by the time I turned 44. Not true. It’s still wise to keep my mouth shut in those three instances.

Next year is numero 45. Should I begin planning another birthday trip now? Yes.

 

 

Show, Don’t Tell: Downton Abbey Mistake

Highclere Castle, the home used for the set of Downton Abbey. –Wikimedia Commons photo by Bas Sijpkes.
Highclere Castle, the home used for the set of Downton Abbey. –Wikimedia Commons photo by Bas Sijpkes.

Last Sunday, Downton Abbey writers failed to achieve show, don’t tell. (Spoiler alert.)

In fiction, great writing uses this device. A simple example is instead of,  “She was angry,” we should write, “Her fists clenched.”

We feel the emotion as each character acts and reacts in ways true to their nature. This applies to writing and even to Downton Abbey.

This week, Edith–the meek sister–got terrible news. She’d been waiting for a year to hear something, anything, about her lost lover. And so had we. But when the news came to Downton, viewers were denied the scene. Instead, her father later told his wife and us what happened.

We did not see Edith wither when it was confirmed he died. Worse, we did not see her sit forward, her face brightening, when she is told she inherits his publishing business. Edith was given what many women were denied for years, and what the family assumed she never had. Power.

Consequently, the writers denied Edith’s power to persuade us, too. So when we next see Edith using her newfound strength, it feels unbelievable. False. Had we seen it, we would have been right there with her.

For further examples of show, don’t tell, check out this great description at Grammar Girl’s Down and Dirty Tips.

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Sponsored Writing

Image courtesy of WikiMedia Commons. Another contributor to my writing...
Image courtesy of WikiMedia Commons. Another contributor to my writing…

I recently read this article about Ann Bauer’s writing life being sponsored by her husband. It proves my point that while writing is a solitary job, being an author is not.

True, my Ted helps to pay the bills–just as I worked to support him as he started a new practice a few years ago. But the money for groceries or electricity doesn’t fuel me nearly as much as his arms do. He’s not alone either.

If it were not for Leslie and Susie and others feeding me paying copy jobs, I could not have paid the editor who fixed what I could not see. If it were not for those clients who changed schedules so I could attend writing conferences, I would not now be presenting at them. My parents, historians, and my friends gave time as first readers. The baker on the corner occasionally gives me free coffee… An author thankfully introduced me to her (and now my) agent…

To my count, roughly 250 people have contributed in some way over these last six years. Financially, physically, intellectually and/or emotionally.

The better lesson from Ann Bauer’s article is to be gracious. Have some humility. Appreciate your talent, but appreciate those around you who give you time to exercise it.

Then honor them by putting your head down to write. Write well. And finish the book. I’m off to do just that.…

 

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