by Molly Owen | Sep 8, 2010 | Blog, Cynthia Owens
There are so many myths and legends springing from the misty, romantic island of Ireland I can’t even count them. Some of my favorites include Finn MacCool and the Fianna, Oisin and the Land of the Ever Young, and the Children of Lir.
But my absolute favorite Irish story is the legend of the Claddagh Ring, Ireland’s unique symbol of friendship, loyalty and love.
The Claddagh ring dates back centuries to the small Galway fishing village of Claddagh. The word “Claddagh” comes from the Irish term An Cladach, meaning a flat, stony shore.
Richard Joyce, a native of the village, was captured by Algerians and sold as a slave to a Moorish goldsmith. When William III of England demanded the release of all British subjects, Joyce, too, was released. The Moorish goldsmith offered Joyce a major portion of his wealth and his daughter in marriage, if Joyce would stay on in Algiers. Joyce refused the tempting offer and returned to the village of Claddagh. It was there he turned his skills to the creation of an emblem of love, friendship and loyalty: two hands (friendship) cradling a heart (love) topped by a crown (loyalty).
Wear the ring on the right hand, the crown turned inwards, and let the world know your heart is free. On the right hand, the crown turned outwards, and it’s clear love is being considered. But when it’s worn on the left hand, the crown turned outward, two loves have become inseparable.
In my novel, In Sunshine or in Shadow, Rory O’Brien presents Siobhán Desmond with a Claddagh ring at their wedding:
When it came time for the ring, Rory’s voice echoed in her head, deep and loving. “Siobhán take this ring as a sign of my love and fidelity, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.”
It was then that she looked down at her finger, where Michael’s simple had rested until just that morning. In its place, Rory was sliding on a delicate scrap of silver. A design of two hands joined together to support a single heart, topped by a crown, symbolizing friendship, love and loyalty.
“Let love and friendship reign,” Siobhán murmured, touching the ring reverently as she quoted its motto.
I cherish my own Claddagh ring, given me by my husband as a birthday gift several years ago, as much as Siobhán.
by Molly Owen | Jul 8, 2010 | Blog, Cynthia Owens
Stage Fright. It has been called an actor’s worst nightmare. But actors are not the only people who experience stage fright. And with the upcoming release of my second novel, Coming Home, it’s something I have to start thinking about – again. I spoke with the director of my local library, and she wants me to do a book signing/reading when Coming Home is released.
I’ve done it before, when In Sunshine or in Shadow, my first novel, came out. I thought nothing of it at first. Get up and read in front of an audience? Sure, I’d love to, I replied. And at that moment, an inner trembling seized my entire body. What have I gotten myself into?
And now I’m feeling those butterflies all over again.
I’m sure other authors have felt the same way in similar situations. Many writers shy away from the limelight. But I was luckier than most, because I was able to consult an expert. A friend of mine, who is also an actor, had been advising me about writing an actor hero, so it seemed natural to ask him about stage fright and what to do about it.
Here’s what he told me:
There is no magical formula for dealing with stage fright. Anyone can suffer from it, from the actor stepping onstage for the first time, to the greatest actors. And if you forget a line, you try to improvise.
As far as my reading was concerned, my friend suggested I practice reading in front of family, people I know and trust. That was the key: imagining I was reading to one person I love and trust. He also advised me to take deep breaths, and to take my time.
Everyone has their own way of dealing with stage fright. I made sure I brought my lucky (stuffed) leprechaun, Seamus O’Reagan, to my signing that day, just for an extra confidence booster. But the tips worked. My reading went off without a hitch.
I also sold every book.
Here’s hoping my next signing will be as successful!
by Molly Owen | Feb 8, 2010 | Blog, Cynthia Owens
“They” say that everything happens for a reason. “They” say that there are no coincidences in life. I don’t know if I really believe that, but certainly I’ve begun to believe in destiny over the past year or so.
Some time ago, I began an e-mail friendship with an Irish actor whom I’d written to on a previous occasion. Over the course of our e-mails, I asked him many questions pertaining to the theatre and acting, since the hero of my current work-in-progress is also an actor. He was unfailingly generous in sharing his theatrical insights and experiences with me.
Eventually I sent him a copy of my first novel, In Sunshine or in Shadow, and I asked him if he thought the cover was as evocative of Ireland as I’d hoped. In reply, he informed me that my cover looked like Dunguaire Castle in Kinvara, Galway. The castle holds medieval banquets during the summer season, and has a show, a literary history of Ireland, that is performed after the meal.
Well, naturally, as soon as I heard that, I had to find out more. So I Googled Dunguaire Castle, and much to my amazement, Dunguaire Castle looked identical to Ballycashel House, as depicted on the cover of In Sunshine or in Shadow.
Here’s what I found out about Dunguaire Castle: Built in 1520 by the O’Hynes clan on the shores of Galway Bay, the castle is believed to have been the royal palace of Guaire Aidhne, the legendary King of Connacht and progenitor of the clan.
This is the backstory I created for Ballycashel House (yes, I do write backstory for my settings): a medieval castle in Galway, by the sea. The name Ballycashel means “town of the castle,” and Ballycashel House sits on the ruins of the castle of the ancient chieftain, Sean Donnelly. It’s said the ghost of the chieftain appears to forewarn of a death in the family.
Fate? Destiny? Coincidence? I don’t know for sure, But I was able to visit Dunguaire last July, and I’m convinced that Dunguaire and Ballycashel are one and the same.
Here’s a lovely bit of a verse taken from the entertainment at Dunguaire Castle, written by Carolyn Swift:
For Guaire, King of Connacht, was famed throughout the land
For unrivalled hospitality and a generous giving hand;
And since the seventh century his right arm legend told,
Was longer than his left from giving gold.
He had a royal palace on a river isle near Gort,
But on this very ground there stood Rath Durlois, his fort,
Which often-we are told-was called “the fort of lasting fame,”
And “white-sheeted fort of soft stones”’ was another of its names.
Alas King Guaire feared the saintly bishop of Kilmore,
Though he renounced the crown that should be rightfully his by law,
And determined to settle it without a shade of doubt,
Guaire had the Bishop murdered-but was all too soon found out.
So then, in guilty sorrow at the wrong which he had done,
He traveled to the monks of whom his victim had been one,
And there-in Clonmacnoise,-he died ,within the monastery,
Respected once again by all-the year; six, sixty three.
by Molly Owen | Jan 8, 2010 | Blog, Cynthia Owens
There’s a scene in Coming Home, my upcoming historical romance release from Highland Press, in which my hero is staring at a photograph of his former girlfriend. It’s something that seems so simple today, but this story takes place in 1867. What kind of photograph would he have had?
So I took a deep breath, and dove into my research.
One of the most important inventions of the nineteenth century was the development of photography. At the same time that men began to march off to war and wanted to leave their wives, mothers and sweethearts a memento, one photographic process replaced another and became cheaper, easier to produce, safer, and more durable.
Three photographic processes were especially popular at the same time: Daguerreotypes, ambrotypes and tintypes. These were one of a kind images which were almost always reversed left to right.
The Daguerreotype:
Period of Use: 1839 – ca. 1860
The earliest practical photographic process was the daguerreotype. Particularly suited for portraiture, the images created were so lifelike that some referred to the process as a “mirror with a memory.”
A daguerreotype was made by exposing an image on a sensitized silver-plated sheet of copper. As a result, the surface of a daguerreotype was extremely reflective. No negative was used in the daguerreotype process. The image is almost always reversed left to right. A photographer might have used a mirror inside the camera to correct this.
The Ambrotype:
Period of Use: 1851 – 1880s
The ambrotype was also known as the “glass Daguerrotype.” It was a variation of the wet plate process, and was less costly than the daguerreotype. An ambrotype was made by slightly underexposing a glass wet plate in the camera. The finished plate produced a negative image that appeared positive when backed with velvet, paper, metal or varnish, making it the 19th century equivalent of the “instant photograph.”
Because of the fragility of the material, both the ambrotype and daguerreotype were usually enclosed in a glass case.
The Tintype:
Period of use: 1858 – 1910s.
Also called Ferrotype or Malainotype, tintypes were another variation of the wet plate process. Photographers painted an emulsion onto a varnished iron plate, which was then exposed in the camera. The low cost and durability of tintypes, coupled with the growing number of traveling photographers, enhanced the tintype’s popularity
Tintypes came in a variety of sizes, were cheaper and sturdier than earlier processes, and could be mailed. Because of this, the tintype was extremely popular during the Civil War.
by Molly Owen | Nov 9, 2009 | Blog, Cynthia Owens
In a romance novel, it’s the hero and heroine – and their love story – that are the main focus. And that’s how it should be. We all love to close that book with a contented sigh at that “happily ever after.”
But along the way to the ending are many stumbling blocks for our couples. And one of the best devices to help them along the way to happiness is the secondary character.
I love secondary characters. They can come in many forms – a hero’s best friend, a heroine’s father or sister. For that matter, a secondary character needn’t even be human. Animal friends, ghosts, or fairies can sometimes be just as real in the world of romantic fiction.
Two of my favorite secondary characters appear in my first novel, In Sunshine or in Shadow, as well as my upcoming Highland Press release, Coming Home.
Margaret Kilpatrick is known to everyone in the small Irish village of Ballycashel as Grannie Meg, She’s my heroine’s grandmother, shrewd, full of wisdom, understanding, and the rock Siobhan Desmond depended on when her life was nearly destroyed by the Famine. She was also the first to perceive hero Rory O’Brien’s true character.
Tom Flynn was even more fun to write. He was Siobhan’s best friend from girlhood, a man she looks on as a big brother. He stood by her during the worst time of her life.
Tom has also been like a second father to Siobhan’s daughter Ashleen, heroine of Coming Home, and that “second father” role does complicate Ashleen’s budding romance with Irish-American war hero, Cavan Callaghan. There were a few times when Tom’s Irish stubbornness – and the famous Flynn temper! – tried to take over the story. But I managed to rein him in. And he did help bring about a very satisfying conclusion to Ashleen and Cavan’s romance.
Do you enjoy seeing secondary characters take part in the romance of the hero and heroine? Who are some of your favorite – and least favorite – secondary characters?
by Molly Owen | Oct 8, 2009 | Blog, Cynthia Owens
Those words from the song “Galway Bay” evoke a yearning to be by that lovely, salt-sprayed seaside. Having visited Galway this past summer, I can fully understand why.
The west of Ireland is filled with charm, and nowhere more than Galway, where each year, on a Sunday in mid-August near the feast of the Assumption of Our Lady, a crowd gathers at the Claddagh pier for the ancient ceremonial blessing of Galway Bay and its fishermen.
This is the start of the herring season, and it’s traditional for the fisherfold to ask the Lords blessing for a plentiful harvest, and ask His help in bringing them safely home after each voyage.
The ceremony itself is a simple one. Early in the morning, a fleet of boats gather in the Bay – currachs and the traditional
Galway hookers – and at the pealing of a church bell, they form a circle around a boat carrying altar boys, a choir from the Galway Church, and a Dominican priest.
A passage from the Gospel of St. John is read:
‘And he said unto them, cast your nets on the right side of the ship, and ye shall find. And they cast threfore, and now they were not able to draw it for the multitude of fishes. And Simon went up, and drew the net to land full fo great fishes, a hundred and fifty and three, and for all there were so many, yet was not the net broken.’
Following this, the Benedictite calls on all creation to give glord to God. Another gospel, this time from St. Luke, recalls the weariness and frustration of St. Peter:
‘Master, we have toiled all the night, and have taken nothing; nevertheless at thy word I will let down the net. And when they had this done, they inclosed a great multitude of fishes: and their net brake. And they beckoned unto their partners, which were in the other ship, that they should come and help them. And they came, and filled both the ships.’
Another blessing asks God’s mercy on the fisherfolk:
‘We ask, O Lord, your mercy on us. Even as you multiplied five loaves and two fish to satisfy the hunger of five thousand, so now multiply for the use of the men the fish that are generated in these waters that we, experiencing your benevolence, may give thanks and praise in your Holy Name.’
At the end of the blessing, the white-robed priest calls on Mary, Star of the Sea:
‘Mary, Star of the Sea, intercede for your children, and when they are tossed about among the storms and tempests of life, look to the star, and call upon Mary.’
The Magnificat is sung, and the sea is sprayed with holy water. The last action of this charming ceremony is a Sign of the Cross over the fishing fields, an appeal to God to bless them and the men who fish in them, as well as their boats, tackle, and their labors.
The blessing over, the boats will make a short circuit of the bay before heading homeward. While on the outward journey, hymns and the singing of the Rosary can be heard, on the way home group songs sound a lighter note, always including the singing of “Galway Bay.”
Today, trawlers have replaced the black, brown-sailed hookers in the bay, but the traditional Galway fishing boats still play an important part of the pageantry of the blessing of the Bay.
