Today, I'm featuring a fellow writer and gardener from the United Kingdom.
Multi-published author, Sherry
Gloag is a transplanted Scot now living in the beautiful coastal countryside of
Norfolk, England. She considers the surrounding rural area as extension
of her own garden, to which she escapes when she needs "thinking
time" and solitude to work out the plots for her next novel. While
out walking she enjoys talking to her characters, as long as there are no other
walkers close by.
Apart from writing, Sherry enjoys
gardening, walking, reading and cheerfully admits her books tend to take over
most of the shelf and floor space in her workroom-cum-office. She also
finds crystal craft work therapeutic. picture from Freeimages.co.uk
How did you set your mind on writing Vidal's Honor?
Writing
Vidal’s Honor showered challenges like confetti and there was times when those
challenges seemed to be on a winning streak.
I’d
never been asked to write a themed story within a set parameter and to a deadline
before. Knowing others would be writing to the same specifics only upped the
ante. And it didn’t matter that the time
limit was months away, it sat there like a wise old owl looking down with a
look of pity most times, and occasionally with an attitude of encouragement.
That must have stretched you.
Experiencing
several false starts between February and July meant I was cutting it fine with
a Mid September deadline. As if that wasn’t enough, I also had a second cut-off
date looming sometime in August. So
there I was with a story that refused to ‘gel’ and two publishers’ deadlines
about to crash, head on. Only an idiot would allow that to happen.
Panic
was looming large as, once again I cast about for a plot.
Gasp,
a dedicated ‘pantser’ looking for a plot! And to this day I’m not sure how or
why it came about, but it sure presented a whole new bunch of challenges.
How did you settle on a plot?
For
many, the idea that research is something to fear may seem alien. One of my
biggest challenges yet was now staring me down, and I began to wonder where had
my sanity gone to, or my brain, for that matter? And yet, these characters, Honor Lady
Beaumont and Charles, the Marquis of Vidal, were determined to have their story
told. They even bribed me with the title
of the book. Vidal’s Honor.
Ha. Ha. Well, now you knew the direction of the story.
Another
big problem was how to get my characters out of Spain and back in London in
time for the Duke of Kringle’s Christmas Eve ball in London? I began to despair that Charles and Honor
would cooperate on this one, and it took some hefty bargaining on all sides before
they co-operated and showed me how to achieve one of the biggest required
ingredients of this writing challenge.
I can see you had a tussle with their personalities. What fun! Or was it?
Although
I came close to ditching Vidal’s Honor on several occasions, my characters –
and more importantly – the faith the person who asked me to write a Christmas
Regency story had in me to come good on my commitment kept me going.
Writing
Vidal’s Honor, shot me so far out of my comfort zone, the feeling of
‘abandonment’ when it was completed, was totally unexpected. I’d not only
fallen in love with my main characters, I fell in love with Le Duc and let him
escape because I couldn’t bring myself to bump him off!
Right. We've heard about your tussles. Now, let's get to the book.
Faced with accusations of treason,
Honor, Lady Beaumont, wonders which she will lose first, her head or her heart.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When
plunged into a world of spies, agents and espionage during the Peninsula wars,
Honor, Lady Beaumont, flees for her life when the French capture her husband at
Salamanca, and relies on his batman to arrange her safe passage back to
England.
Viscount
Charles Vidal is ordered by Robert Dumas, the First Lord of the Admiralty, to
travel to Spain and escort the only woman he’s ever loved, Lord Devlin
Beaumont’s widow back home before the French discover her whereabouts.
Their
journey is fraught by danger, least of all knowing whether they are surrounded
by friends or foe. Will they survive long enough to explore the possibility of
a future together or will whispers of treason be enough to see Honor dispatched
to Tyburn first?
Excerpt:
While Vidal joked with his cousin, the
viscount scanned the room. The smell of fine wine, whiskey and cigar smoke
blended into a rich aroma that was as much a part of Whites as the card games,
the background chatter, and outbreaks of lewd laughter from the younger members
of the club.
One member in particular interested Vidal tonight, and he watched Robert
Dundas, second Viscount Melville, and First Lord of the Admiralty, take leave
of his friends and head in his direction.
He wondered why the man spent the best part
of the night watching his every move, and paused in the act of fobbing his
snuff box while he waited for the viscount to join him.
“Take a walk with me?” Although couched as a
question, Vidal noted the quiet steel of command in the other man’s voice.
Dundas laid a hand on his arm; a companionable gesture for anyone interested
enough to observe the two men leaving the club together. “I believe I live not
far beyond your own house. I’d appreciate your company, and this is not the
place for such a discussion. ”
With an indolent twist of the wrist Vidal
returned the modish lacquered box, unopened, to his pocket and nodded
agreement. A man’s club was no setting for private conversation, and it was
plain the man wanted to talk about something away from flapping ears.
Together
they strolled across the room stopping to take leave of several mutual friends.
My husband Brian told me this story about a long gone Christmas when he
was picked to play Joseph in the nativity at school. He must have been about
ten years old. The teacher asked the group of about twelve hopeful players if
anyone owned a doll to substitute for baby Jesus.
Everyone talked amongst themselves until they were silenced with a call
for prayer after which she dismissed the school children.
About six months later, Brian went to the gym on an errand for his
teacher. He looked up when the caretaker entered the room, carrying supplies.
