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 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.

Flash-forward a few years. Drop in on any Amazon book page and scroll down to the reviews. You’ll still see snippets from trade publications, newspapers, magazines, and published authors. But if you keep scrolling, you’ll find yourself face-to-face with a true internet creation: the customer review.

Almost everything is reviewed online these days, from applesauce to zithers. So, it should come as no surprise that readers are more than willing to publicize what they think about the book they just finished reading. But what may surprise you is just how important these user reviews can be. Some of it is obvious. Clearly, a book with many reviews sends the subliminal message that this is a title to take seriously: after all, look how many people wanted to read it! But, of course, it’s more than that. Nobody wants to waste their time or money on a book that has gathered a slew of one- and two-star reviews. So, not only does an author feel the awful pressure to gather armloads of reviews, there’s also the awkward, scary reality that those reviews need to be good.

Internet reviews and ratings often supplant the “word of mouth” book buzz that readers once found via publication reviews and libraries. They give bookstores, editors, and potential readers an idea of how well a book is being received by the public, often influencing sales and promotion attempts. They make authors quake. (Would you believe me if I told you that every time someone leaves a one-star review, an author keels over? No?)

Most authors I know recognize the need for reviews but hate asking for them. We don’t even like to ask our relatives, so you can imagine how difficult it is to prod readers we’ve never met to visit Amazon or Goodreads and let everyone know what they thought of our work. Worse, there’s no polite (or ethical) way to say, “Um…we’d prefer that your review be positive.” Naturally, that’s what we’d like to see. But, if we’re being fair, we understand that we can’t encourage readers to share their thoughts and then try to tell them what those thoughts should be. We have to take our chances, just as the reader did when choosing our books in the first place.

So, even though I’m swallowing hard as I write this, I’d like to invite you to leave a review of NEWPORT after you’ve read it. Amazon, Goodreads, wherever you’re comfortable. Just … be kind. It takes an awful lot of clapping to revive a wilted author.

I’m not talking about the classical Greek muses. There were nine of them, plenty to go around. Daughters of Zeus and Mnemosyne, they were raised by the god Apollo and the nymph Eufime. They grew up to become the sources of inspiration for literature, science, and the arts. Over time, each muse was assigned her very own sphere of influence: Calliope inspired epic poetry; Clio, history; Euterpe, song and lyric poetry; Melpomene, tragedy; Polyhymnia, hymns and sacred poetry; Terpsichore, dance; Thalia, comedy and pastoral poetry; and Urania, astronomy.

These lovely ladies were considered more than mere inspiration. They were the personification of knowledge and the arts, invoked by authors as renowned as Homer, Virgil, Chaucer, and Shakespeare for help with the creative process.

The fact that I don’t believe in this personification of inspiration stems largely from self-interest. These nine young things who longed to dedicate their lives to the arts are not the muses I would get. I would get Diversus, the muse who jumps up in the middle of a particularly thorny section of a manuscript in order to make a batch of chocolate chip cookies. Or maybe I’d get Prolato who, bored by the dialogue she herself just handed her characters, suddenly notices that there is a basket of laundry that must be folded right this very minute. My personified muses would be into distraction and procrastination. And, why not? They’re goddesses. They have eternity to figure out how to foreshadow the brand new plot point that just occurred to me on page 200.

I, however, do not have that luxury of time. I need to step it up a little.

The muse I believe in is not personified at all. It’s a state of being, a point where the Greek chorus that lives in my head finally shuts up and lets me simply record the scene I see unfolding in my mind. Shielded from fear of failure, I can sense that what I’m writing is right–in need of editing, to be sure, but fundamentally laying the bones for a story that only I can tell. This muse supplies the light and space to create without self-imposed boundaries, and that’s exhilarating.

I’m hoping the muse will help with this blog. I have stories to share, including some fun Newport-related posts a little closer to NEWPORT’s July 7th publication date. I could really use a muse … but I need the heart-based one who piques my interest and opens me to possibilities, not the one who just whispered in my ear that there is chocolate in the freezer.