"Broken Talkers", the Maliseet, by Diane Scott Lewis

The second First Nation's people of New Brunswick, Canada, that I included in my novel, On a Stormy Primeval Shore, were the Maliseet:

 

This tribe is Algonquian speaking, called Wolastoqiyik or "People of the Beautiful River"; but the Mi'kmaq (showcased in a previous blog) named them "Maliseet" or broken talkers because their language sounded like a broken version of their own.

Maliseet making camp, c. 1864, Canadian Encyclopedia

Indigenous to the Saint John River Valley, Maine, and Quebec's St. Lawrence River, the Maliseet fished and hunted these areas for thousands of years. They considered the Mi'kmaq their allies. Eventually the Maliseet turned to farming as well. They lived in wigwams in walled villages. They made tools out of wood, stone, and ceramics. Canoes, weapons and eating utensils were also created. The Maliseet have a rich cultural history, similar to the Mi'kmaq, such as decorating clothing and baskets with painted porcupine quills.

The Maliseet bands were governed by one or more chiefs who sat on tribal councils with representatives from each family.

Drums played an important part in their ceremonies and united their communities.

When the European settlers arrived, first the French in the 1600s, then the British in the 1700s, the natives has their agricultural territory on the river confiscated, and they were pushed to the less fertile parts of the country. In the nineteenth century, they were sent to Reserves, but later filed land claims to recoup their losses; some were successful.

While the Europeans tried to convert the natives to Christianity, many clung to their original beliefs. "Smudging" -- the burning of sweetgrass to cleanse the spirit -- is one. Their Creator, Gici Niwaskw, is not assigned a gender. The Creator formed the entire world, but taming the landscape is performed by the cultural hero, Gluskabe.

Gabriel Acquin, Maliseet hunter, c. 1866: Canadian Encyclopedia

Today their distinctive language is fading out, but efforts are being made to preserve their language and culture.

 

Source: Canadian Encyclopedia

 

To purchase On a Stormy Primeval Shore or my other novels at Amazon or All Markets: Click HERE

For further information on me and my books, please visit my website: www.dianescottlewis.org

 Diane Scott Lewis grew up in California, traveled the world with the navy, edited for magazines and an on-line publisher. She lives with her husband in Pennsylvania.

 

Apple Peels and Snails to Snare a Husband by Diane Scott Lewis

My Canadian Brides novel turns on a betrothal gone wrong. To celebrate May, I leave Canada and travel to England, and the serious search for a mate in the eighteenth century.

Folklore abounds in the villages of England around the single girl’s search for a husband—as in the eighteenth century marriage was what most young women had to look forward to, or they’d be ridiculed and regulated to spinsters, farmed out as governesses, or forced to live on the charity of their family.

Most of these search-for-true-love customs revolved around the seasons.

At the ruined Abbey of Cerne Abbas in Dorsetshire, girls flocked around the wishing-well in all seasons. To obtain their heart’s desire, they’d pluck a leaf from a nearby laurel bush, make a cup of it, dip this in the well, then turn and face the church. The girl would then “wish” for presumably a man she already has in mind, but must keep this wish a secret or it wouldn’t come true.

Other customs included, in Somersetshire on May Day Eve or St. John’s Eve, a lass putting a snail on a pewter plate. As the snail slithered across the plate it would mark out the future husband’s initials.

On another ritual to this end, writer Daniel Defoe remarked by saying: “I hope that the next twenty-ninth of June, which is St. John the Baptist’s Day, I shall not see the pastures adjacent to the metropolis thronged as they were the last year with well-dressed young ladies crawling up and down upon their knees as if they were a parcel of weeders, when all the business is to hunt superstitiously after a coal under the root of a plantain to put under their heads that night that they may dream who should be their husbands.”

Throwing an apple peel over the left shoulder was also employed in the hopes the paring would fall into the shape of the future husband’s initials. When done on St. Simon and St. Jude’s Day, the girls would recite the following rhyme as they tossed the peel: St. Simon and St. Jude, on you I intrude, By this paring I hold to discover, without any delay please tell me this day, the first letter of him, my true lover.

 On St. John’s Eve, his flower, the St. John’s Wort, would be hung over doors and windows to keep off evil spirits, and the girls who weren’t off searching for snails in the pastures, would be preparing the dumb cake. Two girls made the cake, two baked it, and two broke it. A third person would put the cake pieces under the pillows of the other six. This entire ritual must be performed in dead silence-or it would fail. The girls would then go to bed to dream of their future husbands.

On the eve of St. Mary Magdalene’s Day, a spring of rosemary would be dipped into a mixture of wine, rum, gin, vinegar, and water. The girls, who must be under twenty-one, fastened the sprigs to their gowns, drink three sips of the concoction, then would go to sleep in silence and dream of future husbands.

At All Hallows Eve, a girl going out alone might meet her true lover. One tale has it that a young servant-maid who went out for this purpose encountered her master coming home from market instead of a single boy. She ran home to tell her mistress, who was already ill. The mistress implored the maid to be kind to her children, then this wife died. Later on, the master did marry his serving-maid.

Myths and customs were long a part of village life when it came to match-making.

In my novel, On a Stormy Primeval shore, which takes place in eighteenth-century Canada, Amelia is slated to wed one man (a match made by her father), but refuses him, and through no effort of her own, the perfect man comes along in the guise of Gilbert, an Acadian trader. A bear is involved...

A short blurb:

In 1784, Amelia sails to New Brunswick, a land overrun by Loyalists escaping the American Revolution, to marry a soldier whom she rejects. Acadian Gilbert fights to preserve his heritage and property—will they find love when events seek to destroy them?
 

To purchase On a Stormy Primeval Shore or my other novels at Amazon or All Markets: Click HERE

For further information on me and my books, please visit my website: www.dianescottlewis.org

 Diane Scott Lewis grew up in California, traveled the world with the navy, edited for magazines and an on-line publisher. She lives with her husband in Pennsylvania.

Source: English Country Life in the Eighteenth Century, by Rosamond Bayne-Powell, 1935.

Earthquake of ice in New Brunswick by Diane Scott Lewis

Spring, April, is a month to savor, especially after a long cold winter. In New Brunswick, Canada, the setting for my novel, On a Stormy Primeval Shore, the rivers, which have frozen solid, start to break up, the ice melting. The event is so powerful, people have described it like an earthquake.

All winter the rivers freeze solid and people travel by sled, sleighs and toboggans. With today's warming temperatures, sometimes the ice breaks up as early as March, causing floods, and roaring ice jams, which puts life and land in danger well before people are prepared. In the eighteenth century it was both a blessing (spring has arrived) and a curse (treacherous ice jams and floods). The settlers faced many challenges.

Excerpt from my novel when Amelia, a young Englishwoman, is about to meet her love's (Gilbert) Acadian mother. Here, she first experiences the breaking up of one of the rivers:

Amelia smoothed her hair with nervous fingers as Gilbert escorted her and Louise in a cart to a hamlet of houses and a gristmill. The Kennebecasis River was mostly frozen, a gleaming ribbon in the weak sunlight. The mill wheel was stilled in the ice. They approached a cedar-shingled, log home where smoke drifted from the chimney.

The ground started to quake, and a great cracking sound rent the air.

“Mercy, what is that?” Amelia asked, pulse skipping. She fidgeted to retain balance. Louise hunched close, staring at her feet as if they might fly out from under her.

“Only the ice breaking up in the mountains.” Gilbert chuckled, laying a warm hand on her shoulder. “It happens every spring, and is late this year.”

“Then I must get used to it.” Amelia laughed to disguise her amazement. He opened the door and she was anxious to leave the wind and any cracking ice, though cautious of what lay ahead.

Kennebecasis River Valley

 

To purchase On a Stormy Primeval Shore or my other novels at Amazon or All Markets: Click HERE

 For further information on me and my books, please visit my website: www.dianescottlewis.org

 Diane Scott Lewis grew up in California, traveled the world with the navy, edited for magazines and an on-line publisher. She lives with her husband in Pennsylvania.

 

The Mi'kmaq of New Brunswick

In my research for my novel set in New Brunswick, I came across the two main native tribes that lived there. I touched briefly on them in On a Stormy Primeval Shore, but they deserve a more in-depth introduction.

First, the Mi'kmaq people. Known as one of the original settlers of the Atlantic provinces, oral history (and archeological discoveries) suggest the Mi'kmaq have been in eastern Canada for over 10,000 years. The name is thought to mean "one of high ability." Other sources say it means "my friends." They refer to themselves as First Nations.

The men hunted and fished, and went to war to protect their families. Women tended the children, gathered herbs, and built the traditional wigwam. These homes are made of wood covered in birch bark. The people lived in villages, usually near water sources.
Men wore breechcloths (a skimpy garment that covered their privates) and leggings. The women wore tunics, long skirts and a peaked hat. They decorate their clothing with dyed porcupine quills, a skill they are famous for.

Traditional quill box

 
Chanting is another tradition, consisting of vocables (broken syllables) that express emotion rather than words with meaning. The Mi'kmaq language is part of the Wabanaki cluster of Eastern Algonquian languages.

Feathers are only worn in their hair during ceremonies. Bothe men and women wore their hair loose and long. White settlers complained, "I can't tell the men from the women."

The Mi'kmaq paddled in canoes, or traveled through the winter snow in sleds and snowshoes. The English word "toboggan" comes from the Mi'kmaq word for sled. Dogs were their pack animals in the years before colonists brought horses to Canada.

Traditional military coat, rear view. Courtesy Glenbow Museum/Museum of Victoria, Melbourne, Australia

When the French came in the 1600s many of the Mi'kmaq converted to Catholicism. But European diseases resulted in the death of half their population. Conflicts with the French ensued, though the natives worked together with the French in fur trade.

The British colonization of the eighteenth century brought about the slaughter of the French (Acadians) and breaking and remaking of treaties. The Mi'kmaq were pushed off their fertile land.
The English wanted to alter the indigenous peoples' way of life. Today the 'rights' of the Mi'kmaq are better protected, but their lifestyle is forever changed, their traditions usually limited to special  ceremonies.

View of a Mi'kmaq wigwam, a man, and a child, probably Dartmouth, Nova Scotia, photographed 1860. National Anthropological Archives, Smithsonian Institution, Photo NO. 47728.

To learn more about the Mi'kmaq please see the Canadian Encyclopedia link below. 

To find out more about the formation of New Brunswick in On a Stormy Primeval Shore, or to purchase my books at Amazon or All Markets: Click HERE

 For further information on me and my books, please visit my website: www.dianescottlewis.org

 Diane Scott Lewis grew up in California, traveled the world with the navy, edited for magazines and an on-line publisher. She lives with her husband in Pennsylvania.

 
Source: Canadian Encyclopedia

Opposites attract? Can an Englishwoman and Acadian Fall in Love?

February is considered the month of love due to Valentine's Day. The old saying is that opposites attract, but is it true?

In my Canadian Historical Brides novel On a Stormy Primeval Shore, I bring two people together from different cultures who meet in the strangest of ways. Amelia is an Englishwoman fresh off the boat in a wild country, the just formed province of New Brunswick in 1784. She's come there at the father's behest to marry one of his officers at Fort Howe.

However, she is repulsed by the rude man, who treats her like a pity-project, and refuses to marry him. Deciding to stay, she struggles to form her own life in herbal medicine in a burgeoning country.

Gilbert, a trader, is an Acadian, descendant from the original French settlers when that area was known as New France. The Acadians hate the English after these invaders swept in, murdered the French, and took possession of what would become Canada.

He had no intention of courting an English miss, but fate was against him. Will more be in store for these star-crossed people?

Read the excerpt:

 A growl startled her. Turning, Amelia gasped. Out of the trees lumbered a large, snarling black bear. The animal’s fluid grace belied the menace in his glare. Saliva dripped from the creature’s mouth when it bared sharp teeth. Fear shot through her like arrows.

Louise froze, eyes bulging. Amelia instinctively stepped back. Her foot found no purchase. She slipped, tumbling down the short embankment, rocks poking into her flesh. Her gloves were ripped off as she groped. She landed with a thunk in the marshy soil next to the stream. She struggled to rise amid her tangle of skirt and petticoats. Hips and knees aching, her hands smarted, scraped and embedded with pebbles, but she scrambled to her feet to scuttle up the hill with muddy fingers to help Louise.

She wanted to call out to the girl, but that might attract the bear. Nearing the crest, dirt dislodged above her, sifting down on her face and scalp. Amelia blinked up, her pulse hammering. She heard movement, footsteps.

A large man with a black beard, wearing buckskin clothing and a leather hat, stood at the top of the slope. He aimed a musket in the direction of the bear. The animal growled louder.

"Don’t move, either of you, mes jeune femmes," he commanded in a French accent.

 

 

Gilbert prepared to fire. “Sors d’ici!” The bear swiped again, knocking the musket from his hands. Claws scraped his right arm. He hissed at the scratching of his flesh, the pain radiating up to his shoulder. The animal snapped at him, teeth close.

Gilbert ducked, just missing a bite from those teeth, his face sprayed with saliva. He reached for the musket, his breath harsh.

The young woman (Amelia) crawled to her feet. She screamed like a lunatic, but it sounded more from anger than fear.

                                                                         * * *

 

The handsome Gilbert, a man about to be pushed off his land by greedy Loyalists, will be impressed by a woman who screams at bears. A most unsuitable courtship has begun.

 

To purchase my books at Amazon or All Markets: Click HERE

 

For more information on me and my books, please visit my website: www.dianescottlewis.org

 

Diane Scott Lewis grew up in California, traveled the world with the navy, edited for magazines and an on-line publisher. She lives with her husband in Pennsylvania.

San Francisco Christmas Spirit

Delve into the dawning of New Brunswick's history, the Loyalists fleeing the American Revolution, and a forbidden romance, in ON A STORMY PRIMEVAL SHORE. Buy Link Below.

But now on to Christmas memories. I grew up in the San Francisco Bay Area, in a small town called Pacheco. Almost every Christmas we traveled the 25 miles to the Big City where my father's sister, my Aunt Mary lived. Aunt Mary never had children, though she'd had about three husbands. She was a Registered Nurse, but also a free spirit who wore turbans and dangly earrings. Her laugh was uproarious. She was my Auntie Mame.

Aunt Mary as nurse

Christmas in San Francisco was magical to a child: the creeping fogs, the groan of the foghorn out in the bay, and Macy's department store with the huge decorated tree in the store's center.

Not Macy's but similar.

When older, my brother and I would leave the chattering adults and roam the city. We'd ride the clanging cable cars down to Fisherman's Wharf. A freedom most children couldn't enjoy today. I loved the old Victorian buildings, the bustle of the trollies, the fat sea lions grunting on the pier.

The city was decorated with ribbons and tinsel. Giant Christmas ornaments hung from the street lights. The store windows looked like Christmas scenes out of a storybook.

We'd wander through China Town, with the shops set up on the sidewalks.

By the time we returned to our aunt's apartment, a delicious dinner would be served. My beloved aunt and brother are long gone but I'll always have these wonderful memories from my childhood.

To purchase my books at Amazon or All Markets: Click HERE

 

For more information on me and my books, please visit my website: www.dianescottlewis.org

 

Diane Scott Lewis grew up in California, traveled the world with the navy, edited for magazines and an on-line publisher. She lives with her husband in Pennsylvania.

My Crazy Greek Wedding

The wonderful Canadian Historical Brides series are all about strong women who forged a life in the provinces of Canada at various time periods.

For more info on ON A STORMY PRIMEVAL SHORE, thwarted lovers Amelia and Gilbert, see link at bottom of page.

Here's the story of my wacky Greek wedding. In 1975 I was in the navy and stationed in Nea Makri, Greece (the base is closed now).

NAVCOMMSTA NEA MAKRI

My fiancée, the handsome sailor I'd met on base the year before-George Parkinson-and I planned our wedding, but nothing happened as we hoped.

First, George was married though separated. Everyone shook their finger at me for dating a married man. But he contacted a lawyer back in Pennsylvania, his home state.

George and I did the unthinkable, we moved in together. My doctor told me to go off my birth control pills because they suppressed my ovaries, and guess what, soon I had a bundle of love on the way—and still no divorce in sight. It took a year for the divorce to come through.

I was six months along by now, but skinny enough to not show too badly.

Then Turkey and Greece attacked the island of Cypress, both wanting possession. America refused to take sides in the conflict. Greek students rioted over the American military being on their soil. Each morning we had to check under our car’s wheel wells to make certain no bombs had been planted. The US Fleet was ordered to evacuate Athens. I worked in the Message Center, and frightening warnings of attacks on Americans buzzed over the teletypes.

Greece closed the ports and airports, and George was trapped in Italy. He'd gone to play softball with the base team before the 'war' started.

In a panic, I knew I had to hurry and marry before my time limit was up for boarding a plane for home. Back then you couldn't fly after your seventh month of pregnancy. I was discharging from the navy and they'd assigned me my departure date. The clock was ticking.

Finally, the ports opened up and George made it back to the base. We had three days to throw together a wedding.

I ran to the captain's office to ask him to give me away, met with the chaplain for the service, and told all our friends the date to attend. It was mayhem but worked out. We married on May 12th.

Two days later I boarded the plane for home.

We have two sons, and two beautiful granddaughters. No fancy wedding, but a long marriage.

Next year we'll celebrate out 45th year together. And they said it would never last!

To purchase my books at Amazon or All Markets: Click HERE

 

For more information on me and my books, please visit my website: www.dianescottlewis.org

 

Diane Scott Lewis grew up in California, traveled the world with the navy, edited for magazines and an on-line publisher. She lives with her husband in Pennsylvania.

 

 

New Brunswick, forming a New Province

The most surprising fact I learned when I first began to research my Brides province of New Brunswick was that in the year I chose, summer of 1784, there was no New Brunswick. The long, stretched out colony was part of Nova Scotia.

When thousands of Loyalists (people still loyal to King George III) fled the American War of Independence, they were promised land and funds in this colony to the north still owned by Britain. The capital was in Halifax, many miles from mainland Nova Scotia. The Loyalists landed in the village of Parr Town on the Bay of Fundy. A place with a few traders and soldiers, and Fort Howe dominating a limestone hill above, the Loyalists began building shops, townhouses, and coffee houses.

Governor Parr, the governor of Nova Scotia, was considered too incompetent to manage all this new activity. The Loyalists demanded their own capital and their own colony.

Soon Parr Town was renamed Saint John, and the portion of Nova Scotia to the west of the Isthmus of Chignecto was partitioned off and renamed New Brunswick, after one of King George's many titles.


Flag of New Brunswick

The capital would later be moved up-river to a safer place, far from the bay where American raiders could attack, and called Frederick Town, soon shortened to Fredericton.

I incorporated the formation of this new province into my story. My heroine Amelia arrives in Parr Town, to marry a soldier she's never met, shortly before the declaration of New Brunswick.

Canada 1791

Novel blurb:

In 1784, Englishwoman Amelia Latimer sails to the new colony of New Brunswick in faraway Canada. She’s to marry a man chosen by her soldier father. Amelia is repulsed by her betrothed, and refuses to marry him. She is attracted to a handsome Acadian trader, Gilbert, a man beneath her in status. Gilbert must fight the incursion of English Loyalists from the American war to hold onto his land and heritage. Will he and Amelia find peace when events seek to destroy their love and lives.

 

To purchase my books at Amazon or All Markets: Click HERE

 

For more information on me and my books, please visit my website: www.dianescottlewis.org

 

Diane Scott Lewis grew up in California, traveled the world with the navy, edited for magazines and an on-line publisher. She lives with her husband in Pennsylvania.

 

 

 

 

Vacation to Historic Saint John

Last year, in need of research for my Canadian Brides novel, my husband and I drove to New Brunswick. The French border guard lady fussed at my husband for following the car in front of us too closely when we entered from Maine. I laughed; we were already in trouble.

We headed east then south into the city of Saint John where most of my story is set. Situated on the Bay of Fundy, Saint John is a beautiful mix of modern and Victorian buildings. Unfortunately, the eighteenth century buildings were destroyed in a fire in 1877. Since my novel is set in 1784-85, that would have been a boon for my research.

View down Princess St. to Saint John's harbor



We visited the New Brunswick Museum and spoke to a woman who was interested in my upcoming novel. She gave me her card. When we returned home, we couldn't find it. Never did.

I did mail them the pamphlets I designed for On a Story Primeval Shore.

We went to visit one of the oldest remaining houses in the city, Loyalist House built in 1817. Their website said they were open. The door was locked. We tried again later, still locked. A lovely young waitress (more on this later) told us they'd been closed for refurbishing for a year. No one knew when they'd reopen. A sign on the door might have helped.

Loyalist House

I did get to meet Joan Hall Hovey, a suspense author in my publisher's stable of talented authors. After a tasty lunch, she graciously showed us her vintage town house with its beautiful Victorian grate. A very nice lady.

On the sunniest day, we drove up the hill to the site of Fort Howe, also important in my novel. The fort was built during the American Revolution to stop rebel marauders from harassing the communities in the area. Only a blockhouse remains of the fort.

Author at Fort Howe's site, on the hill overlooking Saint John's harbor

Afterwards, we sat at a restaurant on the waterfront, had a glass of wine, and talked with the waitress, a college girl, who told us about Loyalist House. A man danced in the lane in front of the restaurant. I wish we had a picture. He was quite the character. The waitress said he was harmless and did this all the time. We greeted him when we left.

I enjoyed my visit to Saint John, and Joan, and hope to return someday, especially to see the inside of Loyalist House.

All pictures above were taken by my husband, George Parkinson. (Gotta give the guy credit)

My Canadian Brides novel, On a Stormy Primeval Shore, called a "Fabulous Historical" by Night Owl Reviews, is available in E-book and paperback:  Amazon and All Markets

For more information on me and my books, please visit my website: www.dianescottlewis.org

 

Diane Scott Lewis grew up in California, traveled the world with the navy, edited for magazines and an on-line publisher. She lives with her husband in Pennsylvania.

Remembering the Military History of New Brunswick

Fort Howe, protection from the American War of Independence.

In researching my novel set in New Brunswick, Canada, in the eighteenth century, I needed a fort for my heroine’s father to be stationed. Several forts had been built around the Bay of Fundy coast. Unfortunately, none have survived. The French constructed forts during the seventeenth century when France occupied the area they’d named New France.

England took possession in 1763 after the Seven Years War (also called the French and Indian War) and built their own forts.

 I traveled to the port city of Saint John in New Brunswick in May 2017, and discovered a lone block house on a hill behind the town. Thus, I ferreted out the history.

 In 1777, Brigade-Major Gilfred Studholme was sent to Parr Town (future Saint John) to ensure the settlement’s security. Two years before the American colonies to the south had erupted in rebellion against Britain. American privateers were raiding the harbor and encampments up the St John River.

On the limestone knoll that overlooked the harbor, Studholme’s detachment along with local inhabitants built Fort Howe, named for General William Howe, commander of the North American British forces.

The fort was surrounded by a palisade of massive, pointed wooden logs. A blockhouse sat on the west side with a barracks and residences in the center. The Royal Fencible Americans, Studholme’s regiment, manned the blockhouse on the eastern side. The coastal end of the Appalachian Mountains formed a part of the fortifications. Fort Howe provided security, and doled out food during starvation conditions, for the area.

 Even the famous—or infamous—Benedict Arnold, traitor to some, hero to others, lived at the fort in the later 1780s. General Arnold had started out on the American side, but then, feeling underappreciated, and underpaid, he joined the British forces.

 A fire destroyed Fort Howe in 1819. Two hundred years later I stood on the isolated hill where a plaque commemorates the fort. A reconstructed Block House is the only evidence a great fort once existed here.

 I incorporate life at the fort in my novel, On a Stormy Primeval Shore:

 

In 1784, Englishwoman Amelia Latimer sails to the new colony of New Brunswick in faraway Canada. She’s to marry a man chosen by her soldier father. Amelia is repulsed by her betrothed, and refuses to marry him. She is attracted to a handsome Acadian trader, Gilbert, a man beneath her in status. Gilbert must fight the incursion of English Loyalists from the American war to hold onto his land and heritage. Will he and Amelia find peace when events seek to destroy their love and lives.

E-book and paperback are available at Amazon and All Markets

For more information on me and my books, please visit my website: www.dianescottlewis.org

 

Diane Scott Lewis grew up in California, traveled the world with the navy, edited for magazines and an on-line publisher. She lives with her husband in Pennsylvania.

 

I Shoulda Kept on Writin'

I began to pen stories at age five, or rather I drew the pictures and my mother wrote in the words I dictated to her.
I loved telling tales, writing of ancient Egypt and Rome (I'd just watched the moved Cleopatra). I also wrote with my best friend. Together we concocted a murder mystery ala Alfred Hitchcock (we'd just watched the movie Marnie).

We drew pictures to go with our stories and that was half the fun. My best drawing had nothing to do with my novels but was of my favorite cat, Lucretia. I might have been fifteen when I drew this.

When I started working in an office at eighteen, and was so efficient I had time left over, I wrote more stories and kept some. I read them not too long ago and one was very good.

But at nineteen I joined the navy and traveled all over, married, had children, and let my writing slide.

I should have honed my skills, taken classes, and kept on writing. I had a workshop with bestselling author Sherryl Woods years later, and she said in the 80s everyone was being published. I missed my chance, because I hadn't written through most of the 70s and throughout the 80s. I only picked it up again in the mid-nineties.

When we were stationed in San Diego in the late 70s, I should have taken creative writing classes, but somewhere along the way I'd lost the urge to write. An urge I once couldn't deny or ignore, it had burned inside me, compelling me to constantly spin tales.

I forced myself to write again in the late 90s, to see what I could come up with. My story meandered all over the place. I researched at the Library of Congress, got library loans, and stuffed all the fascinating details into my book. No internet for the average person existed yet.
I thought I knew everything there was about writing, but soon found out I knew very little. I had rejections galore.

My next move was to join critique groups and learn to edit my work. Busy with family and a job, years went by before I polished my first novel. A small press took it on, but their e-books were overpriced, and paperback prices outrageous. Finally, a good friend invited me to submit to my current publisher, BWL, and my first book, now titled Escape the Revolution, sold very well.

To sum it up, if you have a dream, pursue it!

My latest project is part of the Canadian Brides Series.

 

Blurb: In 1784, Englishwoman Amelia Latimer sails to New Brunswick to marry a man chosen by her father. Amelia is repulsed and refuses the marriage. She is attracted to a handsome Acadian, Gilbert, a man beneath her. Gilbert fights the incursion of Loyalists from the American war to hold onto his heritage. Will they find love when events seek to destroy them?

 

E-book and paperback are available at Amazon and All Markets

For more information on me and my books, please visit my website: www.dianescottlewis.org

 

Diane Scott Lewis grew up in California, traveled the world with the navy, edited for magazines and an on-line publisher. She lives with her husband in Pennsylvania.

California Springs

As a child in California, spring came early to the East Bay, thirty miles east of San Francisco. The fogs and rains of winter, where the temperature dipped down to nearly below fifty degrees (burr), had passed and the warmth of spring brought out the sun, birds, and insects.

Author, 1956?, Easter in California

School was soon over, and we ran through the fresh grass. The ice cream/snow cone truck would play its jingle and we'd ask for a dime to buy and fill our mouths with that sweet sugar. The neighborhood kids would gather to play Freeze Tag, or Hide and Seek.

Before we had a dryer, my mother hung out the laundry as soon as spring came, putting away the drying rack that sat before our heater in our home's narrow hallway. My most vivid memory is the dragonflies that landed on the clothes line, their orange and green wings sparkling like jewels when the sunlight hit them.

My mom would soon plant her garden and we've have fresh, tangy tomatoes and crunchy cucumbers. Her gardenia plant would bloom and we'd smell the flowers' heady, perfumed scent.

My towering father, who commuted into a city for his job at a radio station, would change his long-sleeved shirts for short sleeves, and barbeque on the patio he'd built.

After marriage, when I lived on tropical islands, Puerto Rico and Guam, every day was the same as far as weather (sweltering); unless the occasional hurricane or typhoon blew through.

Now I live in Western PA to be closer to my granddaughters. I took this picture on April 3rd, and there is snow on the ground. It's snowed twice more, and snow is predicted for next week.

 

When I think of spring, it's those California days of warmth, no humidity, the laughter of my friends and the jingle of the ice-cream truck. Playing cowboys with my brother (now deceased) and other kids on my street, climbing trees, catching crawdads in the creek, my parents young and healthy, the innocent times of children.

 

In New Brunswick, Canada, where my Brides book is set, spring comes even later. I read that when the ice in the rivers break up it's like an earthquake. For a California girl, I understand that experience.

 

 

 

Night Owl Reviews gave my historical novel a Reviewer Top Pick:
'Historical romance readers will fall in love with both Amelia and Gilbert. "On A Stormy Primeval Shore" was a fabulous tale of life and hardship in historical Canada.'

Blurb: In 1784, Englishwoman Amelia Latimer sails to New Brunswick to marry a man chosen by her father. Amelia is repulsed and refuses the marriage. She is attracted to a handsome Acadian, Gilbert, a man beneath her. Gilbert fights the incursion of Loyalists from the American war to hold onto his heritage. Will they find love when events seek to destroy them?

 

E-book and paperback are available at Amazon and All Markets

For more information on me and my books, please visit my website: www.dianescottlewis.org

 

Diane Scott Lewis grew up in California, traveled the world with the navy, edited for magazines and an on-line publisher. She lives with her husband in Pennsylvania.



An eclectic group of writing companions

The first time I tried to collaborate on a novel, a friend of mine and I decided to write a quick Harlequin-type historical romance to get our foot in the door of being a published author. I wrote the first and second scene and sent it to her. I said make any changes you like. Silence.
When I saw her at our next critique meeting, I asked what she thought, etc. She said, "I don't like heroine's who cry." (The girl was at her father's funeral.)

That was it. She didn't submit her view of the scene, or write a scene of her own-though I encouraged that. The collaboration crumbled to dust before it even started. I know she liked my writing, so that wasn't the issue. I just let it go. We're still friends.

Years passed. I found a publisher for my first novel. They overpriced their books. Then I was invited to join my current publisher, a wise move.

I have two fantastic critique groups that I run my chapters through on-line, so that's a bit like having partners.
Some will Beta read for me, too.

Last year I was asked to write a novel in the Canadian Historical Brides Series. Very exciting. Author Nancy M. Bell would be my collaborator. I hadn't cyber-met Nancy before, so I wasn't certain how this would pan out. Thankfully, Nancy was wonderful to work with. I couldn't have asked for a better partner.

Nancy M. Bell

I had researched the eighteenth century (mostly England) extensively. But now I needed to search Canadian 18th. c. history, to find an inciting incident. What better than the Loyalists who fled the American Revolution, but seen from the view of the French settlers in a land that was once New France, and an Englishwoman just arrived to marry a soldier, thrown into the mix.
Nancy found rare research documents, contacted the museum in Saint John, New Brunswick for info. And I ran each chapter through her for vetting. She was always there for support in the story. Not to mention, a very nice lady.

In conclusion, my dog, Fritzie, thinks he's my major partner, since he was a pup. Now he's fifteen. Don't tell him but he is more a lap warmer than a contributor to my writing; however, writers need comforting and he supplies that.

Recently released, my collaboration with Nancy- On a Stormy Primeval Shore

In 1784, Englishwoman Amelia sails to New Brunswick, a land overrun by Loyalists escaping the American Revolution, to marry a soldier whom she rejects. Acadian Gilbert fights to preserve his heritage and property—will they find love when events seek to destroy them?

Ebook and paperback is available at Amazon and All Markets

Visit my website: www.dianescottlewis.org


Diane Scott Lewis grew up in California, traveled the world with the navy, edited for magazines and an on-line publisher. She lives in Pennsylvania with her husband.

What I do for love, for my granddaughters

February is slated as the true-love month, due to Valentine's Day, where you give flowers and chocolates to your special partner. I posted last February about how I met my husband. But I want to talk of another kind of love, the love I have for my two lively granddaughters. The crazy things I do for love, to entertain them.



Now eight and five years old, my husband and I started babysitting the girls when Jocelyn was a baby and Jorja only four. Jorja was so smart (I know all grandparents say that) but this is true, that she challenged me on every level. Did you know that artificial flowers are "flowers pretending to be flowers"? We got a good laugh out of that one.

Jorja and me with make-up

We colored and painted, played hair dresser (where she looked at my post-menopause curly locks with disgust and proclaimed "you have crazy hair") and played games. She was a ball of energy I had to rush to keep up with. I learned all the cartoon programs: Paw Patrol; Bubble Guppies; Sponge-Bob Square-Pants--I know all the characters in Bikini Bottom.
Jocelyn grew older and wanted to join in the fun. At first, her sister objected but now they have a friendly sisterly competitive spirit (most of the time).

The girls enjoy doing make-up, and making me up. I've been a Cat Vampire, and other characters I have no idea what they were supposed to be. Both girls painted my face with lipstick, eye-shadow, and Jocelyn loves to slather nail polish on my hands and feet.

Jorja, me and Jocelyn Mother's Day

You love your children, but grandchildren are special, that second chance to cuddle a baby, play hide and seek, be painted like a clown, and sweetly send them home when you're tired!




Jocie in blue

 

 

For different sort of love, my novel On a Stormy Primeval Shore, explores the love that develops between a well-bred Englishwoman and a wild, frontier Acadian trader in remote New Brunswick, Canada.

 

 

In 1784, Amelia sails to New Brunswick, a land overrun by Loyalists escaping the American Revolution, to marry a soldier whom she rejects. Acadian Gilbert fights to preserve his heritage and property—will they find love when events seek to destroy them?

 

Purchase ebook or paperback in Amazon and All Markets.

 

 Or visit my website: dianescottlewis.org

 

 

 

Diane Scott Lewis grew up in California, traveled the world with the navy, edited for magazines and an on-line publisher. She lives in Pennsylvania with her husband.