November 5th, 2011
by Christy English
Every creator painfully experiences the chasm between his inner vision and its ultimate expression. The chasm is never completely bridged. We all have the conviction, perhaps illusory, that we have much more to say than appears on the paper. ~ Isaac Bashevis Singer
As a writer, I can definitely vouch for the second part of this quote. I do have a lot to say, and not all of it makes it to the page. In many ways, this is a blessing. The Delete Key and the waste basket are two of a writer’s best friends. Though a first draft requires that I turn my inner editor off, the second, third and fourth drafts live for and with that inner editor, making the book better, honing the novel along with my craft.
The first part of this quote is also true. We all cringe at the distance between what we mean to say, and what comes onto the page. There is always more beauty in us than we can express, depths that we can not always reach. But we sit down at the computer anyway, and reach for the best within us. The chasm as Mr. Singer says may never be completely bridged. But that chasm is where the good stuff is. The effort to reach across it, to make my work better than it was yesterday, is part of the reason I stay in the chair. I hope by the end of my life to have built a better bridge between the beauty of a project as I see it in my mind, and the beauty that makes it onto the page. It is a bridge worth building, even if it is never finished.
Find out more about author Christy English at her website: http://www.christyenglish.com/
October 7th, 2011
No matter what our political affiliation or lack thereof, most of us are irritated by the fact that our elected officials seem to spend more time, creative energy, and enthusiasm campaigning for the next term rather than delivering what was promised for the current term. When I watch them on TV I want to shout, “Just get to work!”
Why would we re-elect anyone to do a job they aren’t faithfully doing right now? Businessman Bob Johnson, in an interview with CBS news, urged today’s politicians to, “simply sacrifice your political job for the job that American people want you to do. That’s as simple as that. Be willing to be a one-term congressperson. Be willing to be a one-term president, be willing to be a one-term senator. Take that position. That the issues before the country are far greater than me returning to Washington and starting the same old treadmill over again.”
It struck me, then, that is often how we writers work. We, too, have “terms.” Most of us write from contract to contract, with no promise that there will be a job after we type “The End” at the conclusion of a manuscript, or at the submission of a short story, blog, or article. This can lead to understandable worry, over-thinking and planning the next move, strategizing to save or build a career. We can obsess over amazon rankings, fret that someone seems to be getting more gigs than we are, stay vexed over a friend who has heard from an agent while our inbox is mostly filled with sales pitches and spam. We might find ourselves envious if someone else has scored a regular periodical or blogging gig while we’re still hustling for important contacts or networks. We obesess about the changing nature of the market. Or foster anger at people who have “names.” Worst of all, worrying about what job comes next steals the joy we have in writing and drains creative energy that we could be pouring into the project right in front of us!
I can’t remember who offered this writing insight, but it’s brilliant: When you begin to hoard your best ideas, phrases, time, energy and excitement for the next work, you’re in trouble. They need to go into THIS book, this proposal, this idea, this article, this paragraph, this pitch, everything that’s on my screen (or should be!) today. When I’m worrying about my career, my mind is not free to explore the story I’m telling right now, which leeches it of its life. This nudges writers toward self-fulfilling the doom prophecy we’re concerned about in the first place. Instead, I must press on with today’s task and trust that the manna will fall tomorrow, and next year, too.
I want to tell politicians: Do the job you’ve already said you were going to do. Follow through and meet the promises that you’ve already made; I believed in you when you spoke them, I caught your vision. I know you have the right stuff. If you deliver on that promise, I’ll be eager to elect you for the next term, even if you’re not perfect. If not, I might have to move on. If you’re running for office for the first time, show us something fresh, something unusual, something that changes the game just a little.
I suspect our readers might be thinking the very same things.
September 19th, 2011
Rice Balls
Serves 10 (approximately 36 rice balls)
Rice balls like these, today known as “arancine” or little oranges, are still made in many parts of Italy. During the Renaissance and Elizabethan eras these savory balls would have been colored purple or yellow with dried edible flower petals or saffron. This dish can be easily recreated using food coloring to produce the different colored balls. Of course, they are delicious without the coloring!
1 pound Italian rice (such as vialone or origianario rice)
1/3 cup cream
1 large egg, beaten
1 cup grated caciocavallo cheese
2 tablespoons sugar
Yellow food coloring (optional)
Purple food coloring (optional)
3/4 cup vegetable oil
1/2 cup flour or dried bread crumbs
Cook the rice according to the package directions. Combine the cooked rice, cream, egg, cheese, and sugar in a large bowl. Cover and refrigerate until thoroughly chilled, or up to 2 days.
If desired, divide the rice into 3 equal portions. Using the food coloring, color 1 portion bright yellow, 1 portion purple, and leave the remaining portion white.
Form each of the portions of rice into 1 inch diameter balls.
Place the flour or bread crumbs on a flat plate. Heat 3 to 4 tablespoons of oil in a skillet over medium-high heat. Lightly roll 1 color of the rice balls in the flour or bread crumbs. Cook, turning occasionally, until completely browned on all sides. Remove the rice balls from the pan and drain on paper towels. Discard the oil in the pan, wipe it clean, and repeat the process with the remaining rice balls.
© Shakespeare’s Kitchen: Renaissance Recipes for the Contemporary Cook by Francine Segan.
September 5th, 2011
Tudor Women and Fashion Rules It’s hard to imagine being told what fabrics and colors you could wear, isn’t it? Sumptuary Laws in place during Tudor times regulated the wearing of rich fabrics to the upper classes, the number of meal courses to be served for specific guests, and the purchases of luxuries allowed for each social class. Henry VIII, in particular, was concerned about the rise of the wealthy merchant class with no connection to nobility, and so he revived and expanded the restrictions on clothing and other expenditures. For example, only members of the royalty were allowed to wear ermine, and only the nobility were allowed to wear clothing trimmed in fox or otter. Anne Boleyn was known for her stylish attire, she had it early and further developed it while in France. She brought French sophistication back to the English court and was known especially for her French hoods, and for adding each day a small, but different accessory to her wardrobe which was always fresh.
Tudor Women as Mothers Children were treasured in Tudor times as they are today. A woman would probably have had a child every one to two years. Many women died in childbirth due to poor medical hygiene, and the chance at least one of their children would die was significant. Consider that Catherine of Aragon is reported to have been pregnant at least six times, but had only one son who lived just a few days and one surviving daughter, Mary. Anne Boleyn was pregnant at least three times, perhaps four, but only Elizabeth survived. Kateryn Parr and Jane Seymour each bore one child and both women died of childbed fever. Even the most noble of women were not spared the grief of frequent miscarriages or stillborn children.
Giving birth for women of the noble class would have been a social event attended by the mother’s closest friends and a midwife arranged ahead of time. Doctors almost never attended births. Puerperal sepsis, or ‘childbed fever’, was common as handwashing was rarely practiced (by midwives or doctors.) A contemporary study for the UK’s National Institute for Health estimates the maternal death rate in the 16th century as 26 women per every 1,000 births. Compared to today’s figure in the UK of .11 per 1,000 women dying as a result of childbirth, you can see that childbirth was definitely a hazardous undertaking in Tudor times!
Tudor Women and Social Relationships Within the social structure of Tudor times, loyalty to family, especially family of origin, took precedence. For women of noble birth, that meant that advancing the social position of their families was their primary function. Oftentimes Anne Boleyn is seen as having been “pushed” toward marriage to Henry by a socially climbing family. The truth is, all families were social climbers and Thomas Boleyn was no different than other good men before and after in seeking to advance his house, often to disasterous consequence, but sometimes, to love. Betrothals and marriages, the ability to produce an heir and their connections as ladies-in-waiting to more highly-ranked nobles would have motivated the decisions made by and for noble women of this era.
The relationships they formed within noble circles would not only have been based upon similar personalities and interests, but also the other person’s ability to help them advance their family’s interests. It was common for young women in noble families to leave their families for extended periods to serve at court. One type of close relationship that was familiar to women of noble households was with long-time servants who served not only as employees but also as confidantes and go-betweens with others in the household. This is clearly seen in Meg Wyatt’s friendship with her longtime lady’s maid, Edithe.
Research Sources: Coventry.ac.uk; Elizabethan-era.org.uk; elizabethi.org; TudorsWiki; LocalHistories.org; NIH.gov
August 22nd, 2011
Sandra Byrd
with Kate Eaton
Have you ever wondered what it would be like to be a woman duing the Tudor era, which is when all three Ladies in Waiting books are set? Here are some interesting tidbits about the ways a woman’s life was both different and very much the same in the days of Henry VIII and his daughter, Elizabeth.
Tudor Women Had Careers Like many of us today, some women during Tudor times worked outside the home as well as raising a family. Career choices for lower class working women in 1500s England included street vendor, baker, milliner, tailor, brewery worker, textile worker, household servant or seamstress. They were not allowed to act on the stage or work as doctors, lawyers or politicians. Noble women and members of the gentry had more genteel choices, but those still required hard work! Many were tapped to serve as ladies-in-waiting (much like a personal assistant) for a woman of higher rank. More senior ladies-in-waiting might also serve in positions such as Mistress of the Wardrobe. Imagine keeping up with Anne Boleyn’s wardrobe needs, which is what Meg Wyatt, as her Mistress of the Robes, did! Within noble households, you would also also find women working as governesses.
Tudor Women Trained to Run Households Even though many of us have careers, the responsibility today for raising families and running households still falls mainly on women. It was the same during Tudor times, with young girls of all social classes being taught how to keep household accounts, manage or perform daily household tasks, grow and use medicinal plants, and represent their husbands well. Queens sometimes stepped in to rule while the king was away at war, which is what Katherine of Aragon and Kateryn Parr did while each was married to Henry VIII. Upper class women supervising large houses were expected to know the requirements of meal preparation, food storage, spinning of yarn and weaving, brewing of ale, and making necessities such as candles and soap. They would have been expected to keep their husband’s estates running smoothly in his absence. In the merchant class, men often employed their wives and daughters, who ran the business when necessary.
Tudor Women Were Obedient In most cases the young woman in the time of Henry VIII was raised to obey her parents, her Church and her husband. In the upper social strata, young women were married to whomever would most benefit her family or monarch. Some noble women during this time, however, were educated and wielded power by advising their husbands and forming favorable alliances. During Tudor Times, women promised to obey their husbands at marriage, but Kate Middleton, The Duchess of Cambridge, did not when she recently married Prince William!
Tudor Women and Marriage Women were expected to marry and have children, no matter what social class, during the days of Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn. Marriages were usually arranged for adolescent girls in the noble class, but most lower class women married in their teens and twenties. Sometimes early marriages were consummated years after the marriage if the girl was deemed too young, or sometimes, such as in the case of Margaret Beaufort, mother of Henry VII, who was married for the second time by age 12 and became mother to Henry at age 13, young girls were not so fortunate. Divorce was rarely possible. When the end of a marriage was desired, the common option was for the woman to enter a nunnery, at which time her marriage would be annulled. This was the option Henry VIII presented to Katherine of Aragon when it became clear that he would not get a male heir from her.
More to come in Part Two …
August 13th, 2011
Eavesdroppers at Hampton Court Palace
Henry VIII had a famously acquisitive nature – and it wasn’t limited to women. The man also had a passion for real estate. As king, he inherited many castles and palaces owned by the crown, but throughout his reign he added others by purchase, trade or payment of debt; through reclamation to the crown due to attainder; “recovering” property through the dissolution of assets formerly owned by the Roman Catholic church; and by “gift.” A primary advisor in the early years of Henry’s sovereignty was Cardinal Thomas Wolsey, a man with tastes as extravagant as the King’s and who also had the means to indulge them. When the King saw Hampton Court Palace, Cardinal Wolsey’s sumptuous, Thames-side property, he envied him of it. Knowing that he was on uncertain terms with the king, Wolsey offered Hampton Court Palace to him. Henry accepted the generous gift but did not reinstate Wolsey in his favor.
Once he owned the palace, Henry set about remodeling. One of the most beautiful reconstructions was to the Great Hall. The Great Hall was a large chamber where the king dined in public and where entertainments were often held. The hall, like everything else in Henry’s court, was to be well-appointed to represent his power and glory. Historian Neville Williams claimed that masons worked round the clock for five years to complete the rebuilding of the hall to Henry’s showy satisfaction. The room would have been overpowering to the senses, the tastes and smells of rich foods and spices, the feel of lush wood paneling and tightly woven tapestries, the music of players, the courtly flirtations. But high above the heads of the guests, tucked into the dark corners of the roof beams, lurked one of the Great Hall’s most interesting features of all.
Fine embellishments had been carved into the ceiling beams, among them an HA crest for Henry and Anne Boleyn which remains to this day, but especially intriguing are the Eavesdroppers. The word eavesdropper has been in circulation since at least the 900s, coming from the old English, yfesdrype. It meant then just what it means now – someone listening to conversations in secret, watching and hearing without the permission or knowledge of the speakers. The cherubic, courtier faces would have smiled down upon guests, reminding all that Henry was aware of everything at his court through courtiers and servants. Even while at play there was never a time for loose tongues among long ears, as those who spoke freely often did to perilous consequence. At the Tudor Court, it was better to see nothing, hear nothing, and say nothing till you were in private chambers where eavesdroppers, one hoped, did not lurk.
Eavesdropper photo copyright Helen Newall, http://tinyurl.com/hcpeavesdroppers
Entwined HA on HCP ceiling photo copyright Felicity Boardman
August 1st, 2011
Spring Lettuce with Chive Flowers
Serves 6
And I think this word ‘sallet’ was born to do me good:
Henry VI, Part II, 4, 10
This lemony vinaigrette puree of chives with their springtime purple flowers perfectly compliments delicate pre-summer baby lettuces and herbs.
The original recipe calls for the washed salad greens to be dried “in a strainer”. Many of the simple kitchen appliances we take for granted today, like salad spinners, had to be improvised in Shakespeare’s day. A whisk was made with thin willow twigs tied together and icing was brushed on with a rabbit’s foot or bird’s feather. A bale of hay hanging from the ceiling served as a knife holder while quills were used to close the ends of stuffed fish or meats, much as we use toothpicks today.
2 tablespoons freshly squeezed lemon juice
2 tablespoons wine vinegar
3/4 cup extra virgin olive oil
3 tablespoons chopped fresh chives
Salt and freshly milled black pepper
1 cucumber, peeled and very thinly sliced
1 lemon, peeled and thinly sliced
1 cup assorted herb leaves (such as parsley, hyssop, mint, sage, sorrel, or basil)
8 chive flowers
Purée the lemon juice, vinegar, oil, and chives until smooth. Season to taste with salt and pepper.
Toss the cucumbers, lemon slices, and herbs with the vinaigrette, place on a serving platter, and sprinkle with the chive flowers.
Original recipe: To make a sallet of all kinde of hearbes
Take your hearbes and picke them very fine into faire water, and pick your flowers by themselves, and wash them all cleane, and swing them in a Strainer, and when you put them into a dish, mingle them with cuwcumbers or lemmons, payred and sliced, and scrape sugar, and put in Vineger and oyle, and throw the flowers on the toppe of the sallet, of every sorte of the aforesaid thinges, garnish the dish about with the aforesaid things, and hard Egges, boyled, and laid about the dish and upon the sallet.
The Good Husewifes Jewell, 1610 edition of 1587
© Shakespeare’s Kitchen: Renaissance Recipes for the Contemporary Cook by Francine Segan.
July 18th, 2011
Sandra Byrd
With Kate Eaton
The Medway River flows from the North Sea into the County of Kent in the southeast of England. There on the banks of the River Medway, Allington Castle stands on land once held by the Celts, Romans and Saxons. As early as 1086 there is mention of a manor house at Allington (Elentun) held by Uluric, thought to be the fourth son of Earl Godwin.
Following the Norman Conquest, William the Conqueror’s half brother, Odo, Bishop of Bayeux, was awarded the estate, but it was soon transferred to William, Earl of Warren. During his tenure as landowner, a Norman castle was built, probably a stone bailey with a moat. When that castle was ordered destroyed by King Henry II in 1174, a manor house was rebuilt that included dovecotes that remain to this day.
Over the next two hundred years, the castle was improved by successive tenants. When Allington passed by marriage to Sir Henry Cobham in 1309, the impressive Solomon’s Tower was added. From then until 1492, Allington stayed by marriage and inheritance in the hands of Penchester descendants. In 1492, however, it was awarded with gratitude by King Henry Tudor to Sir Henry Wyatt, father of Meg Wyatt. Sir Henry had suffered imprisonment and torture in Scotland under Richard III.
As Privy Councillor and executor of Henry’s will, he not only helped manage the royal family’s affairs during Henry VIII’s childhood, he also became an extremely wealthy man. This wealth enabled him to refurbish and expand Allington Castle, adding tall Tudor windows, a large porch, modern fireplaces, an improved kitchen and a courtyard through which England’s oldest Long Gallery ran. One of the towers was also torn down and in its place a Tudor dwelling was built. A magnificent, paneled Royal Room was added to house important guests. The public rooms featured high, stone walls and the private lodgings of the family were beautifully furnished with wood-panelled walls and luxurious carpets, tapestries and furniture.
The Wyatt household included two sons, Thomas and Henry, and at least two daughters, Margaret and Anne/Mary. These residents of Allington Castle were deeply enmeshed in the story of Anne Boleyn and Henry VIII. The youngest sister, Meg in my books, was a favorite of Anne Boleyn’s and became one of her chief ladies-in-waiting. The two young women had grown up on neighboring estates in Kent and a strong friendship had developed. Meg traveled with Anne to Calais and later served as Mistress of the Queen’s Wardrobe andright up through her death. Her sister, Mary/Anne, is also thought to have served Anne as lady-in-waiting.
And, so, to modern times. Today, Allington Castle is owned by an American who is also Chancellor of University of Kent, Sir Robert Worcester and Lady Worcester. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to live as they do in a royal castle immersed in centuries of intrigue?
Research Sources: History of Allington Castle, Kent, Sir Robert Worcester, KBE DL
July 10th, 2011
Baby Cauliflower in Orange-Lemon Sauce
Serves 6
In the original recipe the chef specifies to cut off the cauliflower roots because usually the roots and leaves were cooked with the vegetable.
Taking a cue from the Elizabethans, on both not wasting and on cooking foods in broth, I now save left-over meat scraps and vegetables and tie them into a little sack made with cheesecloth closed with kitchen string. I add this sack to the cooking water for a sort of instant broth and flavor boost when I’m steaming vegetables or cooking pasta or rice.
6 heads baby cauliflower
2 cups chicken stock
Salt
2 tablespoons butter
Zest of 1 lemon
2 tablespoons freshly squeezed lemon juice
Zest of 1 orange
1/2 cup freshly squeezed orange juice
Clean the cauliflower, leaving on some of the green leaves. Bring the stock to a boil in a pot with a steamer insert. Steam the cauliflower for 15 minutes, or until tender, and drain.
Combine the butter, lemon juice, orange juice, lemon zest, and orange zest in a large saucepan and simmer for 3 minutes.
Place the cauliflower in a shallow serving bowl and pour the sauce over the cauliflower.
Original recipe: Buttered Colliflowers
Have a skillet of fair water, and when it boils put in the whole tops of the colliflowers, the root being cut away, put some salt to it; and being fine and tender boiled dish it whole in a dish, with carved sippets round about it, and serve it with beaten butter and water or juyce of orange and lemon.
The Accomplish’t Cook, 1685 edition of 1660 book
© Shakespeare’s Kitchen: Renaissance Recipes for the Contemporary Cook by Francine Segan.
June 22nd, 2011
“Lady” Sandra Byrd
with “Lady” Kate Eaton
Every little girl has imagined herself in fairy tales where the lady has a knight in shining armor that comes to rescue or fight for her. Many of us still love reading (and writing!) books about knights and ladies. But when you read of knights and ladies in historical novels, do you wonder what, exactly, those terms mean? Here’s a quick explanation of how those titles were in play in England during the Tudor years.
During the Middle Ages (500s through 1500s), knighthood was awarded to men who fought well for their monarch’s causes. These men were also those who had the means to support the necessities of the noble military class, including horses, armor and servants which could be rallied to the monarch’s military causes.
Another route to knighthood was to follow the Five Steps to Knighthood:
1) Have a connection to a noble family
2) Be trained in chivalry, loyal to your liege lord and practice mock battles as a young child
3) Serve as a Page from age seven to fourteen at the castle of another Lord, learning battle skills and serving your training Lord
4) Serve as Squire from the fourteenth year until knighted, learning the social graces required at Court, the art of chivalry and necessary battle skills; go to battle with training Lord as required
5) Knighthood could then be conferred on a young Squire after exemplary service in battle, or after years of faithful service.
By the time of Henry VIII, knighthood had come to mean an honor conferred to bind a man’s loyalty to the monarch. Once a man was knighted, he was referred to by the title ‘Sir’. Henry VIII, in particular, limited the ability to award knighthood to the British monarch, as opposed to the earlier practice of military leaders being able to knight a man on the battlefield for exemplary service. “Sir” is normally followed by a man’s first name. For example, Anne Boleyn’s father was referred to as “Sir Thomas,” not “Sir Boleyn.”
The use of the title Lady, on the other hand, is a bit more complicated. It has been used for centuries in Great Britain to denote nobility. The feminine equivalent to Lord, it can be used by women born into or marrying into noble rank. The woman is referred to as ‘Lady’ followed by her husband’s family name, for example, Lord Thomas and Lady Boleyn. The wife of a younger son in the same family would be known as ‘Lady’ followed by both her husband’s first and last name to avoid confusion with the higher ranking lady in her family. The term ‘Lady’ is also given to the wives of knights, even if those knights don’t hold a noble rank.
In literature or conversation, however, precise titles may take a backseat to ease of speaking, so that it will be obvious who is being addressed or who is speaking. We readers want things to be accurate but more importantly, we want to get lost in the story, not in the titles!
Research Sources: Heraldica.org; HeraldicSculptor.com; HMSRichmond.org; Middle-Ages.org.uk
