by Molly Owen | Sep 8, 2009 | Blog, Cynthia Owens
A long time ago – a very long time ago – I had to take a course in Canadian History. Like a lot of compulsory history courses, it mainly consisted of names, dates and battles. Not particularly interesting.
One of the groups we studied were “Les Filles du roi,” the king’s girls. I took a mild interest in these “girls for marrying” – enough to remember the relevant facts for the final exam – but it really didn’t mean much to me at the time.
I didn’t begin to enjoy history until my university days.
Then, about 15 years ago, my cousin did some genealogical research on my mother’s side of the family and discovered that, in the 17th Century, an ancestress of mine had been one of the filles du roi.
The term “filles du roi” was exclusively applied to the young women of marriageable age and capable of bearing children, who emigrated to New France – now the province of Quebec – between 1663-1673. They were so called because their transportation, settlement expenses, and dowry were assumed by Louis XIV’s royal treasury. They were destined to marry the habitants, or settlers, of New France.
The dowries of these girls were quite interesting when you consider all the hardships these girls were to face – setting up housekeeping in such a harsh new land. Here are some of the items that were given to a typical fille du roi:
1 velvet-lined chest; 1 taffeta kerchief; 1 ribbon for shoes; 100 needles; 1 comb; 1 white thread; 1 pair of stockings; 1 pair of gloves; 1 pair of scissors; 2 knives; about 1,000 pins; 1 bonnet; 4 laces; and 2 silver livres.
Upon arrival in New France, the girls were taken by nuns, either to Ville Marie (now Montreal) or to Quebec City, where they received training for marriage.
Since I live in the Montreal area, I wanted to find out as much as possible about these girls, particularly my ancestress. There’s a wonderful museum, the Maison St. Gabriel, where the girls who arrived in Montreal lived before their weddings. It’s now a museum, and I’ve been there many a time. Unfortunately, I’ve not yet been able to locate my ancestress, leading me to the conclusion that she probably arrived in Quebec City, rather than Montreal.
It’s a bit of personal historical research I plan to delve into as soon as possible.
by Molly Owen | Aug 8, 2009 | Blog, Cynthia Owens
Every writer has days when the words aren’t flowing, the scenes aren’t unfolding as they should, and you’re sitting staring at a blank computer screen. Those are the times when you just want to say “Forget it!” “I’m going to start something new,” and sometimes even “Why did I think I wanted to be a writer anyway?”
Well, on those days, I look to others for a little inspiration and encouragement. Here are some of my favorite quotations for when I just need a little inspiration:
“I’d rather be a could-be if I cannot be an are; because a could-be is a maybe who is reaching for a star. I’d rather be a has-been than a might-have-been by far; for a might-have-been has never been, but a has-been was once an are.”
~ Milton Berle
“One of the easiest things in the world is not to write… If it were easy, everyone would do it.”
~ William Goldman
“I am always interested in why young people become writers, and from talking with many I have concluded that most do not want to be writers working eight and ten hours a day and accomplishing little; they want to have been writers, garnering the rewards of having completed a best-seller. They aspire to the rewards of writing but not to the travail.”
~ James A. Michener
“We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence, then, is not an act, but a habit.”
~Aristotle
“Nothing in this world can take the place of persistence. Talent will not; nothing is more common than unsuccessful people with talent. Genius will not; unrewarded genius is almost a proverb. Education will not; the world is full of educated derelicts. Persistence and determination alone are omnipotent. The slogan ‘press on’ has solved and always will solve the problems of the human race.”
~Calvin Coolidge
“Far away in the sunshine are my highest inspirations. I may not reach them, but I can look up and see the beauty, believe in them and try to follow where they may lead.”
~Louisa May Alcott
The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched. They must be felt within the heart.
~Helen Keller
by Molly Owen | Jul 8, 2009 | Blog, Cynthia Owens
I’m in England today, in a small Devon village called Drewsteignton, so I’ve scheduled my blog to appear today. I hope it works, because I’m not near a computer and won’t be able to check. So I’m keeping my fingers crossed!
Okay it’s time for a quick pop quiz. What do you call a tool for cutting peat? What is St. Brigid’s Day, and when? And what’s the traditional color for an Irish bridal gown? (Hint: It’s not white.) And what’s the origin of the Irish Hunting Horse?
Not so long ago, I didn’t know the answers to any of these questions, but I needed this information – and lots more – in order to write my first novel, In Sunshine or in Shadow, which is set in post-Famine Ireland. It all came down to researching details, details, and more details.
But that was just fine with me. As a former journalist, I’m used to fact-checking. I love researching, digging to find elusive facts, peeling back the layers to find just the right reference for each character. But what I also discovered was one of the most important things in writing historical romance: not only finding the information, but weaving it into the story so it doesn’t detract from the plot.
For instance, in In Sunshine or in Shadow, my hero, Rory O’Brien, is haunted by the ghosts and secrets of his past. In one particular scene with my heroine, Siobhán Desmond, I originally had pain slash through him “like a knife”. It was a good line. But it’s one that’s been used dozens, if not hundreds of times. It wasn’t unique enough. So I thought about how I could change the wording to make it unique to Rory as a character.
I decided to use an Irish reference. Since I had no idea what a peat-cutting tool was called, I Googled it and came up with a site that explained not only the traditional method of collecting turf in Ireland, but a description and pictures of the tools that were used.
In another scene, Rory and Siobhán are alone together and he’s explaining the fine art of shooting craps. It’s a scene filled with sexual tension, but it’s also a good description of the game — at least, I think it is — and it also explains much of Rory’s youth on the streets of New York. Again, I had to weave in details, but again, they had to be accurate. Back to Google, and this time I supplemented my research with a trip to the casino.
The origin of the Irish Hunter was another spot that required detailed research. The Irish Hunter is stronger, faster, and easier to ride. There are several good books on horses, as well as several Internet sites, but thankfully, I have a horse expert in the family to whom I can pose all sorts of “horse questions.” Thus was born Rory’s dream of breeding the finest strain of Irish Hunters in Ireland.
Cutting the Turf Everything you want to know about cutting the turf.
Irish Culture and Customs All sorts of information from Irish weddings, superstitions, recipes, and more!
Planning a visit to the casino? Stop by the craps table.
The Irish Hunter
Answers to quiz:
1) slane
2) Feb. 1. It’s the beginning of the spring planting season.
3) Blue
4) The Irish Hunter is the result of crossing good weight-carrying mares, the Irish Draft and the Cleveland Bay, with Thoroughbred stallions.
by Molly Owen | Jun 8, 2009 | Blog, Cynthia Owens
In one of my current works in progress, the hero has a young daughter who adores paper dolls.
A paper doll is such a simple thing, when you think about it. A small, flat piece of paper, cut into the shape of a girl, a young lady or a gentleman, complete with an accompanying wardrobe of fashionable clothes. But oh, what joy to be able to change those clothes, to attend imaginary balls and soirées with them, go on carriage rides with them, and if you were lucky enough, witness their pretend marriage. 
The first paper dolls were manufactured in the early 1800’s in London, and quickly spread to America. In 1859, Godey’s Lady’s Book printed a paper doll in black and white, and a page of costumes for children to color.
But paper dolls were not necessarily human figures. Often they were animals, pets such as cats and dogs, and sometimes circus animals such as dancing bears, monkeys, and elephants. Occasionally, vehicles such as cars, trains, carriages and even airplanes were included in a paper doll collection.
In Deceptive Hearts, the first of a five-book series, paper dolls play a vital role. One of the secondary characters designs them, and I’m hoping to spin that artistic talent off into one of the other books in the series.
For more information on paper dolls, visit here.
by Molly Owen | May 8, 2009 | Blog, Cynthia Owens
Ireland has always held a special place in my heart. My first novel, In Sunshine or in Shadow, is set in Ireland. I’m married to a man who is half-Irish. And there’s a very special connection between Ireland and my hometown of Montreal, Canada.
During the Great Famine of 1845-1850, thousands of starving Irish refugees fled to Canada. Conditions on the “coffin ships” were brutal. Typhoid, dysentery, and other diseases ran rampant, and many died on the voyage that was supposed to take these people to a new and better life. Hundreds of children were orphaned, either on the ship, or later, at the quarantine station called Grosse Ile, not far from Quebec City.
As lost and bewildered as these children must have felt, they weren’t entirely alone. Quebec families, mostly French Catholic, were eager to take in these children of their own faith. Not only were they welcomed with open arms, but most kept their Irish surnames. So a little bit of Ireland survives in Montreal.
It’s still seen today in the “Irish Stone,” a momument which stands at the approach to Montreal’s Victoria Bridge. During the construction of the bridge, workmen discovered human remains of Irish immigrants to Canada. They decided to erect a large stone that bears this inscription:
To preserve from desecration the remains of 6000 immigrants who died of ship fever A.D. 1847-8, this stone is erected by the workmen of Messrs. Peto, Brassey and Betts employed in the construction of the Victoria Bridge A.D. 1859
by Molly Owen | Apr 8, 2009 | Blog, Cynthia Owens
It seems as if Ireland has always had a hold on my heart – even before I realized it myself.
Growing up, I spent my summer vacations in a tiny little Eastern Quebec village called Irishtown, where my father was born. I can’t count the number of times I heard him sing Danny Boy, or dance a jig. I was surrounded by Irish/Maritime culture.
When I was fifteen, I developed a crush on an Irish actor, and being a bit of a “research junkie,” I decided I must learn everything I could about Ireland. That was when I began to seriously study the country’s history, culture, myths and legends, music – and anything else I could get my hands on.
Three years later, when I attended a friend’s wedding, I met the man destined to be my husband, and wouldn’t you know his mother is Irish?
I couldn’t get away from Ireland if I wanted t
o! So is it any wonder that my first historical romance, In Sunshine or in Shadow, is set in Ireland?
Here’s a blurb:
Siobhán Desmond will do anything to keep the tattered remains of her family alive, even if it means working for the new landlord – a darkly handsome stranger with secrets in his eyes and pain in his smile. As she watches her village return to life and begin to thrive under Rory’s care, she comes to understand his true nature, and soon finds herself falling under his sensual spell. As danger ignites all around them, Rory and Siobhán fight to right the wrongs of the past – and protect their newfound love.
And here’s a short excerpt:
Rory’s words echoed in her brain, sending prickles of alarm through her. “Do you know who did this, Rory?” she asked quietly, fighting to keep the tremor from her voice.
He didn’t flinch from her probing gaze. “I think it was Frank and Joe Kerrigan.”
The Kerrigan brothers again!
Chilled to the very marrow of her bones, she rubbed her hands over her arms in a futile attempt to warm herself. It seemed her destiny was forever tied to the brothers who’d destroyed her life so many years ago. Would the past never leave her alone?
“Was it because of me?” she asked, her voice no more than an aching whisper.
He heard, though. Abruptly he turned to her and gathered her into his arms. He felt warm and solid and safe. “No, my love, it wasn’t you. It was because of me. I dismissed the Kerrigans on Tom’s advice. The night he and Nora married, Eileen O’Farrell lost her crop to a fire. Now Tom and Nora’s cottage goes up in flames. It’s no secret in the village how Charlotte died. Wouldn’t Frank and Joe Kerrigan think this a fine way to punish me?”
She heard the pain in his voice and gazed up into his face, raw with anguish. She reached tentative fingers to caress the lines around his mouth and eyes, smoothing away the soot and perspiration he’d accumulated while fighting the fire.
“It wasn’t your fault,” she whispered, her throat aching with tenderness. She knew this was another burden her wounded love would take upon his shoulders. “Rory, it wasn’t! Sure, Frank and Joe Kerrigan were causing trouble in Ballycashel long before you came. Why, look what happened with Michael and Sean!”
“It’s different this time,” he insisted, and she felt his body shudder against hers. “They’re cowards, Siobhán. They won’t go after me directly. Instead they will attack me through my people. Who will be next? Old Liam Brady as he’s coming home from Donahue’s pub? Paddy Devlin as he comes back from courting his girl in Clifden? You?”
A great sense of weariness swept over her. “They’ve already taken my husband and brother. What more can they do to me?”
“They can take you away from me.”
His quiet intensity sent a jolt of molten desire through her. What did those words mean? She’d never belonged to him–not really. Did he truly value her that much? Or was she just another one of his tenants?
“I cannot lose you, Siobhán. Not now, when I have only just found you. I’ve been a bloody damned fool, thinking if I sent you away, you’d be safe. You will never be safe with me–no one ever has been. But I cannot bear to let you go!”
“I don’t want you to!” she whispered vehemently. “I love you, Rory O’Brien, and love is worth any risk in the world.” Raising up on tiptoe, she pressed her lips to his in a kiss that bespoke forgiveness, healing and passion.
He broke the kiss and glanced down at her, something like wonder in his eyes. With great tenderness, he skimmed his fingers down her cheek, sending little shivers through her. But his eyes were filled with torment. “I do not know if I can do this, Siobhán.”
“Do what, my love?”
“This! Any of this!” He gestured to the small thatched cottages, the fields of potatoes and corn, then to Ballycashel House. “I don’t know if I can be lord of Ballycashel. I cannot keep the crops safe, I cannot keep the tenants safe. I just don’t know if I can do it all. I don’t know if I can be everything to everyone!”
Siobhán touched his face tenderly. “You don’t have to,” she told him softly. “You don’t have to be anything but what you are. You’re such a good man, Rory O’Brien, responsible and caring. You’ve brought Ballycashel back to life. Sure, you’re the best landlord this village has ever known, and we’re lucky to have you.”
“I’m the lucky one,” he countered, his hands moving in warm, gentle circles over her back. “For in coming back to Ballycashel, at long last I think I’ve finally come home.”
She pulled him close, so close she could feel the mingled beating of their hearts. “Then come,” she whispered against his cheek. “Come all the way home, my love.”
He watched her for a long, intense moment, and she could feel the awareness pulsing between them. Then, as if he’d found what he sought in her eyes, he released her, drew off the cloak that fluttered about him like a storm cloud, and tossed it to the ground. He knelt upon it, then turned to her and held out his hand.
“Come home with me, Siobhán.”
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http://cynthiaowensromancewriting.blogspot.com/
