Dad singing his heart out in the 1930s.

Dad was still performing when he met my mother in the Catskills. Only the responsibility of marriage and family could make him take a hiatus from acting in exchange for more predictable employment. Still, my childhood memories are filled with him accompanying himself (and me) on the piano while singing standards from both the 20th-century-popular-music songbook and Broadway.

This explains why I’m a bit of a Broadway geek. It also explains why I loved Kristina Riggle’s newest book, Vivian in Red (Polis Books).

Vivian tells the story of octogenarian Milo Short, a Broadway producer and famous lyricist who, on his way to the office one day, encounters a woman he hasn’t seen in over sixty years. As if that weren’t impossible enough, Vivian is as young and beautiful as she was when he last saw her in the 1930s. The sight shocks Milo into a stroke, leaving him unable to communicate the flurry of thoughts that now race through his still-active mind. Vivian, you see, has arrived on a mission, and Milo suspects he knows what it is. It will take his granddaughter, Eleanor, to dig through his theatrical past to uncover the truth that can potentially set him free.

Of course, the theater part of this novel is a lot of fun. Ms. Riggle brings not only the research skills of the journalist she is, but a love of the stage fueled by her own past experiences in community theater productions. The reader follows Milo’s career from song-plugger on Tin Pan Alley through Broadway lyricist to successful producer. We are flies on the wall for the mounting of a 1930s musical (Ms. Riggle’s lyrics for Milo’s songs fit perfectly into the era), and once we sweat through the production/rehearsal process, we’re invited to opening night. We even get to mingle with celebrities like Cole Porter, Jimmy McHugh, and Dorothy Fields. But you don’t need an interest in theater or history to enjoy Vivian in Red. This is Ms. Riggle’s sixth novel, and she brings to it the same understanding of human frailty and strength that infuses all her work.  If you’ve ever had a dream or a relationship, you’ll recognize Vivian‘s  heart. You might even find yourself in the mix as well.

Milo’s rise from a poor Jewish family to Broadway success echoes the trajectory of a long list of great early-20th-century lyricists and composers (Irving Berlin, George and Ira Gershwin, and Yip Harburg to name but a few). My father’s story resonates against this; with so many Jews succeeding in show business, why wouldn’t theatrical success seem within the reach of both a young Jewish boy from Brooklyn and his immigrant mother? It was their version of the American Dream, and my father never quite left it behind.

Dad was back onstage before I left my teens, performing in Annapolis, Washington, and Baltimore. He did print ads and commercials, appeared in movies and on TV. He performed his last role between rounds of chemo; as far as he was concerned, missing a show was not an option.

Even now, over a decade past my father’s last performance, people still tell me how much they enjoyed watching him onstage. I remember the stories he told with the comic timing of a master. Sure, maybe we’d heard some of those stories before, but who cared? With Dad, there was always the chance for something more entertaining than mere conversation.

Milo Short reminds me of him, and I am grateful for the visit.

Victoria who?

Back in 1872, when Victoria Woodhull became the first woman to run for President of the United States, nobody would have asked that question. Considered a visionary by some, a “she-devil” by others, Victoria had acquired quite a reputation by the time she was nominated by the Equal Rights Party. She’d been born poor in rural Ohio, the daughter of a con artist and a fanatic spiritualist, and she lived exactly the sort of peripatetic life those beginnings imply. Social activist, stockbroker, newspaper editor, suffragette, spiritualist (many would add prostitute, con artist, and fraud), Victoria got around.

Victoria Woodhull

It would take more than one blog post to do justice to Victoria and her vivid existence. Her relevance to me, however, is more easily defined: my novel, Newport, was inspired by an incident in her life that took place during her spiritualist phase.

Victoria and her younger sister Tennessee had spent much of their childhoods traveling in the Claflin family medicine show, promoted by their father as fortune-tellers and psychic healers. Victoria grew into adulthood claiming an ability to communicate with the dead. This communication grew particularly lucrative in 1866 when, at the insistence of her “spirit guide (the Greek statesman Demosthenes),” Victoria relocated to New York City to join her sister, who was already there. It was in New York that Victoria and Tennessee caught the biggest fish of their spiritualist careers: Cornelius Vanderbilt, one of the richest men in the country.

Cornelius Vanderbilt

The sisters met Commodore Vanderbilt at just the right time. Still mourning the loss of his wife, Vanderbilt was between spiritualists. His old one had made so much money getting rid of the two spirits the old man feared were haunting him that she could retire to Vermont, leaving the path free and clear for a new medium. Victoria and Tennie began hosting seances to ease Vanderbilt’s pains, both psychic and physical. Victoria channeled not only messages from Vanderbilt’s other-world mother and children, but stock tips from the great beyond. (Never mind that “the great beyond” was probably her friend Josie Mansfield, who was the mistress of one of Vanderbilt’s business rivals.) The tips worked so well that when Vanderbilt was asked about his stock market success, he replied, “Do as I do, consult the spirits.”

In the long run, the arrangement proved fortuitous for all parties involved. The sisters got the financial backing they needed to open the first female-run brokerage on Wall Street; Cornelius’s broken heart (and many other ailments) were soothed not only by Victoria’s seances, but by Tennie, with whom he had an affair.

Reading about this a few years ago made me think. At what point do people who grieve become so desperate that they’ll believe anything? What besides greed motivates the medium? Or …what if the medium is legit, and the messages delivered from “beyond” are real? Once the questions began flowing, characters, setting, and plot fell into place, and Newport was up and running.

Of course, Newport has many other plot points. But those who have read the book will recognize how this chapter from Victoria’s life impacted the story.

Who’s to say what will trigger inspiration for a book? Almost any tidbit or event will do, and once ignited, the writing process takes on a life of its own. Sometimes, the flow of ideas can feel like a gift from another realm. So, maybe I should add “muse” to Victoria Woodhull’s long list of professions.

Rumor had it that after Cornelius Vanderbilt’s death, his heirs paid Victoria and Tennessee to go away. If so, the money came at a good time. Recently divorced and exhausted, Victoria left for England, where she became a lecturer and magazine publisher. She married again and lived fairly respectably until her death in 1927 at the age of 88.

Victoria Woodhull was inducted into the National Women’s Hall of Fame in 2001. You can read a little more about her here.

Woodhull for President

I have a manuscript box like that. Stashed in a dark part of the basement, it’s filled with stories that, through no fault of their own, just … well … stink. Yeah, I wrote them. At one time, I even thought they were good.

Thank goodness we all get a chance to evolve.

Looking back, my writing has always been character-driven, especially if you consider a character sufficiently developed when he/she can be summed up in a word or two, as in “the sassy one”; “the troubled one”; “the one who surprises even herself.” (My earlier work is more accessible if you like stereotypes.)

You could always tell exactly how my characters were feeling, because the adverbs attached to the dialogue tags told you so. Readers were subjected to a lot of stuff like “she said questioningly,” and “he said evocatively.” If it still wasn’t obvious enough, there were many different ways to “say” things. Characters purred, chirped, and grunted. It was a regular zoo in each chapter. And, to make sure there was no doubt whatsoever, sometimes the dialogue tags were double-barreled, a fun reading experience for everyone: “she whimpered miserably,” “he snarled angrily,” “she commented pertly.” Dialogue tags, meant to be unobtrusive, were prominent enough to become their very own characters.

Plots were linear. Sure, there were stories to tell, but they lacked depth. Sometimes there was no hook, no compelling reason for anyone to want to turn the page to discover what happened next. Basically, I was writing for myself. Self-indulgent? You bet. Awful? Right again. And, yet, those stories still have a special place in my heart. Those characters and I were friends.

There are some manuscripts a writer puts away knowing that they’ll be back. The plot, although in need of editing, is compelling enough to revisit. The characters have something to say. When the time is right, that manuscript will be revisited and edited into something sharp and readable.

The manuscripts in the box downstairs are not those stories. There’s a reason they live deep in the basement, out of sight.

If I remember my Rudolph correctly, the inhabitants of the Island of Misfit Toys are eventually picked up by Santa and delivered to children who will appreciate them. While nothing quite as heartwarming happens on the Island of Misfit Manuscripts, those early drafts do serve a purpose. Every once in a while, almost by mistake, I wrote a description or phrase back then that was actually good. There was effective use of imagery. There was a character who does not inspire cringing and/or eye-rolls. Like old cars that have outlasted their use, these old manuscripts can be mined for “parts” to use in newer stories.

Sometimes, when I’m feeling frustrated with my current manuscript, I re-read one of my oldies-but-baddies. It never fails to make me feel better.

But, wait. What’s that other piece of music I hear swelling in the background? (And, believe me, this song always swells.) It’s “Time to Say Goodbye,” that 1996 European hit sung as a duet by Sarah Brightman and Andrea Bocelli. It’s sappy as anything … and totally appropriate because, yeah, as I watch Newport go public, I realize that it’s time to say goodbye to these characters I’ve lived with for so long. I’m going to miss them.

Most authors know much more about their characters than they share in their writing. I usually know everything about mine, from their childhood fears to how they take their coffee (if they take it at all). Because I “see” and “hear” them as I write, I am aware of their facial expressions, gestures, and the timbre of their voices. Best of all, it never feels like I create these people, but rather that they reveal themselves to me as we continue along our mutual path. This means that I’m always learning fresh information about them, and our relationship never feels stale.

It’s very hard to let go.

For a while after I begin a new novel, I feel unfaithful to the old gang as I turn toward a new one. The new characters aren’t instantly thrilled with me, either. We have a stiff relationship at first. It takes time for us to trust one another. But I know that soon we’ll become familiar enough with each other that they’ll start spilling their secrets, and I’ll be off on another adventure. After all, Newport‘s characters were once strangers to me, too.

In addition to missing these characters, I worry about how the world will treat them. I wrote Newport because I wanted to share their stories. Some readers will like the book, some not so much. No author can please every reader. But it can be a roller-coaster ride, and I hope my characters don’t get too beaten up out on their own. Like any parent watching a child achieve independence, I want others to treat my “babies” kindly.

So, I hope you’ll allow Newport to temporarily transport you into another world. I hope you’ll leave a review on Amazon or Goodreads. And, as always, I’d love to hear your thoughts. (My contact info can be found here on this website.) But, mostly, I hope that I’ve done justice to my characters, and that you’ll be able to see beneath their surfaces and flaws to understand why they act the way they do and who they really are. I want you to get to know them the way I did because, ultimately, Newport is their story. I’m honored that they allowed me to tell it.

Goodbye, Newport friends.

And hello to my new confidantes.

This was my introduction to the word “anachronism.”

An anachronism is a custom, event, or object stuck in a period in which it does not belong. When readers find anachronisms in their historical fiction, it makes them doubt everything else the author tells them. It’s like being offered a chocolate chip cookie fresh out of the oven and discovering that those “chips” are really raisins. The cookie is suddenly less palatable, and you’re never going to trust the baker again.

Most authors do their very best to research as accurately as possible. Nailing down historical fact is relatively easy. For example, it’s obvious that characters in 1912 can’t hear news of the Titanic sinking via radio; a diabetic character in 1920 can’t reach for insulin; characters in 1957 can’t refer to 50 states in the U.S.A.

Conveying the “feel” of a time period is a little more difficult. Even if a character is meant to be a free-spirited “one-of-a-kind” (which she technically can be only after 1961), there’s only so far an author can go before it challenges the bonds of credibility. Language counts, too. It broke my heart when writing NEWPORT to part with the expletive “horsefeathers.” It was perfect for the character and the scene. Unfortunately, NEWPORT takes place in 1921, and “horsefeathers” did not enter the vernacular until 1928.

I research constantly when writing historical fiction. I try hard to nail the facts and textures of the era. But no matter how many times I check my facts, there is always the chance that something incorrect will slip into the story. I’m already wincing about it.

It is in this spirit that I offer the words of Maud Howe Elliott.

Maud Howe Elliott (Nov. 9, 1854-March 19th, 1948) was the daughter of Julia Ward Howe and Samuel Gridley Howe. She won a Pulitzer for co-authoring The Life of Julia Ward Howe (1916). A prominent resident of Newport, R.I., Elliott was a founder of the Progressive party and a patron of the arts. She wrote many books during the course of her long life, including This Was My Newport, an autobiography published in 1944. This “apology” appeared in the Foreward to the Second Edition of that book, and is dated August 1945:

My attention has been called to certain errors in the first edition of this book. I am sorry to have made any misstatements, but I wish to point out that it is commonly believed that no book has ever printed without some errors.

It is human to err, and I can only say in reply to my critic that I tried to tell the truth, and if I have failed it has been with malice toward none and charity to all.

I do find it amusing that Elliott doesn’t go back to correct anything after this disclaimer, making it clear that she’s convinced her memory and facts are in far better shape than those of her singular “critic.”

Me? I would go back and correct. At once. But in the meantime, I’m thinking I should print Mrs. Elliott’s words up on cards to distribute should the worst occur.

Please know that I have tried my very best to make NEWPORT as accurate as possible, and that I am now fully aware that American prairie kids in the mid-19th century would not be lobbing paper airplanes.

Whew. I feel so much better now.

Maud Howe Elliott c. 1928

I’ve been thinking about my love affair with historical fiction. It goes way back to my childhood, when burying myself in the pages of a book meant a trip to other times and places.

Books were better than movies for me. A book provided the set, characters, and plot but allowed my imagination to fill in some details. My very favorite books inspired me to write my own version of fan fiction before fan fiction was cool. Some authors might have been surprised to learn that a character they’d never created had hijacked their plot and now starred in a whole new version of the storyline.

My preferred historical “vacations” changed as I got older. My favorite era in middle school was colonial America, which made sense since I grew up in 18th century Annapolis. But then I started sliding backward. I slipped through the Jacobite risings in the Scottish Highlands, down past Charles II and the English Restoration, and straight into Tudor England.

By the time I hit college, I was a history major with an emphasis in medieval studies. But after I’d written a few novels, I changed course again and found myself drawn to the late 19th century, an era that had never enticed me before. From there it’s been a continued upward drift. Newport takes place in 1921; the novel I’m currently working on is set in the early 1930s.

It’s even more fun to write historical fiction than it was to read it. Once again, I get to immerse myself in a time period different from the one I inhabit on a daily basis. I get the opportunity to research random events and inconsequential details to my heart’s content. And this time my characters aren’t photo-bombing somebody else’s story. The setting and plot details are my own.

I worry that despite all of my best efforts to accurately re-create the texture of an era, some pesky anachronisms might creep in. But even with that pressure, I believe that authors of contemporary fiction have a much tougher time telling their stories than I do. Why? Because technical advances have made it difficult to build tension in any story set in modern day.

I offer the following examples:

Your protagonist, an amateur sleuth with a nose for solving crime, has a hunch the popular new guy in town isn’t on the up-and-up. But how to prove it? (Well, what do you think Google is for?)

The gorgeous woman who just introduced herself to the protagonist stirs faint memories; he knows he knows her, and he knows she knows he knows her. But, how? (Check Facebook first. If that fails, back to Google.)

The protagonist has information that could change the course of humanity. He must find a way to share this information immediately! (All right, then. Let’s just try a few cell phone numbers, because just about everybody is accessible all of the time these days.)

So, it’s pretty clear I lack the imagination to write a contemporary novel at the moment. We’re all better off if I stick with historical fiction.

And that’s just fine with me.

When I began thinking about the novel that would become NEWPORT, location images floated across my mind. They looked like Annapolis. There was a picturesque historic district dotted with homes and buildings that traced their foundations through four centuries. There was a beautiful waterfront. There was also a naval presence, even though that would not play a big part in my story. (Annapolis is the home of the U.S. Naval Academy, so the city streets are filled with midshipmen dressed in white uniforms during the warmer months, blue in the colder.)

Anyone who grew up in Annapolis can tell you that it’s the atmosphere of the place that gets under your skin: the beauty of the water views, the realization that you are walking streets once walked by generations and generations before you, the timeless feel in which anything could happen. It’s the perfect setting for a story…

…except that my characters had other ideas.

I had just begun to write my new manuscript (set in 1910) when the dreamy protagonist(female) bowed out, introducing another character in her stead. And what a character! Adrian de la Noye came with very definite ideas about what he wanted to say, and most of them bore very little resemblance to what I’d already started to write. I figured out quickly that 1910 was out: the book would take place in 1921. It was also clear that Adrian’s story was far more tangled than the placid one I’d originally had in mind. I was a little slower to catch on that Annapolis would not be the stage. Apparently I was frustratingly slow, because after a week or so of trying to squeeze Adrian’s story into my chosen setting, I woke up one morning with the word “Newport” etched on my mind.

I had never been to Newport, but I’ll grab any excuse to travel somewhere. And so, one rainy week in March, my daughters and I took off on an adventure to Newport, Rhode Island. And here’s what I found:  a picturesque historic district dotted with colonial-era buildings, a beautiful waterfront, and the home of the U.S. Naval War College. In addition I got glittering gilded-age mansions, an oceanfront view. and a city with a long history of being a playground for the wealthy. It turned out my initial imagery for my new story had been correct. I just didn’t have enough information in my personal databank to know that my subconscious was showing me Newport, not Annapolis.

Adrian was satisfied. Set loose in the location of his choice, his story began to unreel.

My own Newport adventure continues to be a wonderful, surprising trip. With Annapolis in my blood, Newport has always felt familiar, and it’s a joy learning more about this fascinating place that has lent its  texture to my novel.

I  am not a travel writer, nor do I plan to discuss Newport’s history at length. (For those aspects you’ll need to go here or here.) I like the quirky undercurrents of places, the people and stories that might  not make every guide or history book. Those are the Newport stories I hope to share here on occasion.

I still hope there’s an Annapolis story in my future. But for now, I’m happy to spend time with my hometown’s kissing cousin, Newport, Rhode Island.

I do, however, have a confession to make: as excited as I am about my novel’s audio release, I’ve never actually listened to an audiobook.

I know. What rock have I been living under? Because now that my own book will be available in audio formats, it seems that everybody I talk to not only listens to audiobooks, but adores them. One friend tells me that listening to audiobooks together is a cherished part of family vacation road trips. Another says that stories and earbuds enhance his long walks. The AAA guy I didn’t know before I went in for a Triptik swears by them. (Yes, there is a story behind why I now know this about the AAA guy, but we’ll save that for another time.)

The audiobook business is booming. Last year, over 35,000 titles were released in audio formats, compared to around 12,000 in 2011. By the end of 2014, the global audiobook business was worth more than two billion dollars. Not bad for an industry that began back in the 1930s, when the Library of Congress created a “talking books” program to provide reading material for veterans blinded in World War I.

My informal poll of people who listen to audiobooks revealed that the narrator of the book is hugely important. Some listeners have disliked entire books because the narrator’s voice does not seem to “fit” the story. The AAA guy (really, he needs his own post) actually buys audiobooks based on who is narrating them and is such a fan of one narrator that he’ll buy any novel the guy narrates, regardless of whether there is any interest in the story itself. So, clearly, choosing the right narrator for NEWPORT mattered. (No pressure there. None at all.) Fortunately, my publisher did most of the hard work, presenting me with three competent narrators from which to choose. There was no way I could mess this up.

What an interesting experience, listening to each recording and trying to decide how NEWPORT should sound! When I write, I do sense my characters’ distinct voices and vocal inflections, but I’ve never had to translate what I hear in my head into actual tone. Which narrator had the timbre that would best express the mood of the story? Did any of the three possibilities have particular vocal nuances that might help listeners differentiate between speakers in conversation? Did one voice help weave the texture of the book’s historical settings better than the others? In the end, I used sheer intuition to make my decision: NEWPORT will be narrated by Audie-Award-winning actress Johanna Parker. (You can learn more about her here.)

Not everybody agrees that listening to books instead of reading them is a good thing. A recent study at the University of Waterloo in Ontario indicated that the freedom to multitask while listening to an audiobook may prevent the mind from absorbing  words it hears as effectively as those it reads. Maybe. But we are all so busy these days that reading time is often at a premium. For many, this isn’t an “either/or” choice. Listening is often the only way that a book might ever get “read.”

I can’t help but be a fan of any method that allows me to share my novel with readers. I’m also looking forward to listening to the story myself, experiencing NEWPORT in a whole new way.

And then I want to talk it over with the AAA guy.

1. love, love, love it;
2. can’t imagine how anyone on earth could love, love, love it;
3. think the author needs serious help.

You want to review this book online because

1. everyone should read it – it’s THAT good;
2. nobody should read it – no person’s karma can be THAT bad;
3. the author needs serious help.

My last blog post talked about how influential customer reviews can be. But if I had a chance to review the reviews, I’d say that some are better than others, and that it has little to do with whether or not the reviewer liked the book.

Here’s my subjective list of a few approaches to avoid when writing an online book review:

“This book was boring.” Details would help. Why didn’t this book suit you? Sometimes the type of book one reader finds dull is exactly the sort another reader enjoys.

“I liked the story, but I gave the book one star because it is morally offensive.” Different issues offend different readers. In this case, it’s helpful to be honest about your own sensibilities right up front: “The fact that the characters swore made me uncomfortable because I don’t believe in taking the Lord’s name in vain.” In a world where a low rating can hurt sales, try not to give a competent novel an overall poor review on the sole basis that parts of it did not jibe with your personal beliefs.

“I liked this book right up until (MAJOR PLOT POINT REVEAL THAT MAKES IT TOTALLY UNNECESSARY TO READ THE BOOK).” Please. I’m crying, here. Please, please don’t give away plot twists that authors took hours and hours to create, plot twists we hoped would raise the story to the next level, plot twists that …please don’t.

“The characters in this book were written by someone with an emotional IQ of three.” Try to remember that a real person wrote this book. Please don’t be mean. Okay, maybe the author DOES have an emotional IQ of three, but can you think of a more constructive way to get your point across, something less personal and more related to the book itself?

“This book was just a beach read, not up to my usual literary standards at all.” Please try to remember that the review is about the book, not how erudite the reader is.

So, what’s a reviewer to do? Glad you asked.

In my opinion, the best – and most credible – book reviews allow readers to draw their own conclusions about whether or not a particular title is for them. The reviewer does this by focusing on the book itself: did the plot keep you turning pages? Were the characters interesting? If something didn’t work for you in the story, why didn’t it? Would this novel appeal to a certain kind of reader? Would you recommend this book to a friend? Why or why not?

It’s interesting to note that positive reviews come with their own pitfalls. There are readers who doubt the validity of every five-star review, suspecting that they’ve been written by relatives of the author, friends, or paid services (oh, yes they do). I have friends who distrust all positive reviews these days. They prefer to choose their books based on bad reviews, figuring that at least those reviews will be honest. And, as mentioned earlier, one person’s poison can be another’s feast.

So, however you feel about that book you plan to review, remember that the power is yours … wield it wisely.

And keep reading.