The Danger of Holding onto the Past

I'm tired of listening to people who are mired in the past--as if everything about bygone times was idyllic and halcyon.  Nothing remains the same, and life is made for moving onward.  Years ago, scores of Americans who deemed themselves upwardly mobile abandoned their roots to live in cheap suburban tract houses.  They consequently condemned their children to fantasy lives of privacy fences and manufactured domesticity.  Many of them were quick to condemn those who wanted anything other than what they deemed a conventional, domestic life.  They lived their lives as they wanted, and that was fine for them if they wanted such a life.  However, no one should by judged or condemned for rejecting the white picket fence or suburban living.

We all should have lives that work for us, and sometimes that means abandoning the socially conservative ideas of the past.  Not all of us are comfortable living the lives of others or adopting their often judgmental values. Don't misunderstand.  I enjoy nostalgia. It often reminds me of the good times in my childhood.  I love old pictures as well, and I belong to Facebook groups like "Ain't Dere No More," but I'm not--and should not be--bound to some outmoded concept of what others think is "the good life." To one generation, that may have been a white picket fence in the burbs.  For another, that might mean living a Bohemian life Uptown, in the French Quarter, or in an artist's flat in Paris or New York.  No narrow-minded individual should have the right to judge other adults for their lifestyle choices or think that they even have the right to an opinion.  Of course, some misguided and narrow people think they have such a right.

I am first and foremost the bootlegger's daughter.  I do what I must to survive.  My father forged his own destiny, and I recently finished a manuscript based--somewhat loosely--on his life.  As a kid, my father delivered ice for the still existent Pelican Ice Company.  When the Depression claimed the life of his first wife, he bootlegged so that the family could survive.  The Depression killed his wife, so he wouldn't play by any governmental rules.  He later booked and trained racehorses.  In that way, he is very much like Jude Mooney, my protagonist.  My father didn't regret the past, but he didn't idealize it, either.  When people said to him, "I remember when an apple was a nickel," my dad would clip back, "Who the hell had the nickel?"  Both of my parents forged their own destinies.  My mother, my father's fourth wife, married him even though the neighbors told her he was a "racketeer."  My mother didn't care.  She knew what she wanted.  I'm not saying her life was always easy, but she told me she didn't regret anything.  She'd really liked "the old bugger."  Daddy was seventeen years older than she.  Like my parents, I respect the past, but I don't make a shrine to it.  Some people think doing so is the only way to honor the dead and feel that moving on is almost sinful.

As a writer, I've forged my own way as well.  My female characters often defy the conventional roles and stereotypes.  Nuala in LOVE AT WAR and Grainne in PIRATE WOMAN throw aside the roles ascribed to them by society, www.redrosepublishing.com.  Nuala becomes a covert operative during WWII to gain vengeance on those who killed her husband.  Grainne defies the traditional role of an Irish chieftain's daughter, running her husband's sea interests.  Of all my heroines, Harley in THE DOCTOR AND THE WAR WIDOW was in some ways the most tragic to write.  She is mired in grief for a past that is dead.  Only when she lets go of that past can she breathe again.

The Illusion of Safety

I'm writing this after Hurricane Isaac roared into coastal Mississippi and Louisiana, destroying lives and property.  Many these days feel frustrated or fragile.  Some judgmental people in other parts of the country wonder how we can live where hurricanes strike.  We wonder how they can live around tornadoes, earthquakes, and crippling snow.

 For all of us in this world, safety is an illusion we foster to keep ourselves sane.  Of course, there are things people can do to minimize hazard.  In areas prone to hurricane damage, people can evacuate to higher ground. They can raise their homes.  In places prone to tornadoes, people should drill to find safe havens in the event of such a natural occurrence.  All of these things are sensible precautions, but they are only that--precautions.  For most of us in this world, we live with the belief that our lives will
drone on in a mundane fashion until we die in our beds.  We rise in the morning, pack the kids off to school, head to work, and then head home in the midst of rush-hour traffic.  Most of us also are not willing to face a stark reality: Our concept of safety is a manufactured idea.  No matter what steps we can take to minimize danger, it is part of our daily lives.  Some people live in the grip of war, fearing for their safety every day, and the reality is that any of us could find ourselves in the midst of war.  All someone has to do is bomb us or fly planes into an iconic building, and we, too, are at war.  Other people live in the grip of grinding poverty and crime.  Our self-created concept of safety is as transient as the proverbial moth consumed by flame.  We live in a world that is the antithesis of safety.  Mad people walk into movie theaters, shooting innocents who have gathered to watch a film.  Others walk into houses of worship, intent upon murder.  Still other cold morons abuse their own children, placing those kids on a path to self-destruction. Other idiots pit dogs against each other in cruel fights.  (I'd love to see them in the path of a hurricane with no shelter!)

My dad died when I was quite young.  We had to leave the home I'd known since I was a child.  Early on, I learned that things change and that things can be taken away from us.  In my books, my characters also face this reality.  In LOVE AT WAR, www.redrosepublishing.com,  Nuala puts herself in harm's way to avenge the death of her husband.  So determined is she to avenge his death that she willingly places herself in the arms of the enemy.  For her, facing death is second to obtaining her revenge.  In PIRATE WOMAN, www.redrosepublishing.com, Grainne O'Malley faces other pirates and stares down the gun barrels of her British oppressors in order to defend her family and clan.  In THE DOCTOR AND THE WAR WIDOW, www.redrosepublishing.com, Harley Michel faces a less tangible danger--danger to her heart.  As a grieving widow, she must decide if she'll risk loving again.  She places her soul and sanity at risk when she enters an internet dating site and meets a man who holds both promise and danger.

All of my protagonists faced risks, but they chose to take those risks and live life to the fullest, and that's my point in this post.  We never know when danger will find us, but we have to live life fully. As Tennyson said in the persona of Ulysses, "I will drink life to the lees."

Tragedy in Colorado

This morning, Americans awoke to news that has echoed around the world.  An armed gunman marched into a Colorado movie theatre during a midnight showing of "The Dark Night Rises" and fired into the spectators, killing at least twelve people and injuring at least fifty more.  The news is horrific, and everyone--from politicians to the media to ordinary citizens--is expressing shock.  When I checked Facebook this morning, friends from as far away as Australia and Europe were sending prayers to those affected.

When such a tragedy occurs, it is natural for us to theorize about why such things happen.  We want to find a reason for an act that is so senseless, but no reasonable answer can be found in so terrible an act.  We want an answer because this senseless violence makes us fearful for our own safety.  How many of those people in that theatre imagined they would die while attending a movie?  The very thought reminds us of the fragility of our own lives.

When we ask why, we have to acknowledge that violence surrounds us in the world.  War engulf large parts of the globe.  Violence in our streets has taken the lives of many innocents, and as a society, we have become less tolerant, more violent, and angrier as each year passes.  We care less about others' feelings and well-being, worrying only about our own needs, feelings, and opinions.  Drivers scream at other motorists. Politicians  snipe and cast blame but don't work together.  Common citizens insult each other on the Internet--on social media such as Facebook, Twitter, and blogs.  Very few debates take place with respect.  We're all too busy attacking each other's morals or opinions to listen to anyone's point.  We don't think we can or should respect anyone who isn't our carbon copy.  Our collective mantra is, "I'm right, and you don't matter.  You are only something to be crushed or shot down."

Remember a few years ago when rabid Walmart customers trampled a guard at Christmastime in their quest to be first in the store?  Their goal: collect some lame gifts and beat the other shoppers to it.  Why are we so shocked about Colorado?  It's typical of what we as human beings are becoming.  Our collective mantra: "I'm pissed, I don't like you, and I don't care if you're hurt!"

Change and the Times Picayune

Barring a miracle, New Orleans will lose its daily print edition of the New Orleans Times Picayune by fall.  The decision by the new management has resulted in angry comments and no shortage of heartache.  A number of respected journalists have lost jobs, and we will be the only major metropolitan area without a daily print edition of the paper.

The new head of the organization has assured us that the paper will appear in print on Wednesdays, Fridays, and Sundays--in a more "robust" form.  NOLA.com, its digital counterpart, will become more "user friendly."  Today, the paper launched a full-length story about how digital media had spread the word about Katrina when the city was drowning and that the reality of the digital age made this change necessary.  I fully realize that the world has changed.  I, for one, publish books in an e-format.  Today, many of us find a great deal of our information online.  We google and tweet.  We receive "mail" via our computers and pay our bills online. I am usually one to embrace change, and I fully understand that a business (which a newspaper is) has to bring in revenue.  However, change should not disenfranchise those in a modern society.  Many elderly people are not computer-savvy.  Many poor people, marginalized already, will be even more so.  Of course, most people with wealth don't care about them, anyway.  Not all people have ready access to a computer.  I also am not saying that those who prefer the digital version shouldn't have that avenue provided.  This is an age of choice--or should be-- but many people will only see the stirring headlines and compelling pictures if the paper remains in print.  When I wrote Love At War, (www.redrosepublishing.com), I researched old newspaper clippings about the outbreak of World War II.  Today, as I work on a Depression/Prohibition era manuscript, I definitely will look at old clippings of the TP from that time.  However, I know I am more fortunate than some.  I can navigate around a computer.  Not everyone can.

What is probably most disturbing is the attitude of the new management to the concerns of the citizenry.  The concerted protests of residents do not matter.  We are collateral damage in the new management's greedy quest for revenue.  Many prominent people have offered solutions.  Some entrepreneurs and businesspeople have proposed buying the paper at a fair price.  He whose name we do not speak has said it doesn't matter how much "noise" we make.  Well, we are not some local yokels.  Maybe our local advertisers should boycott you. Maybe we should make Howard Avenue a protest ground.  Thank you for walking over us.  Maybe you raised our consciousness as never before.

Heroism and the author's challenge

James Baldwin has said that "a real writer is always shifting an changing and searching."  Like James Baldwin, I believe a writer should grow continually.  Some people ask me why I write in so many different genres, and the reason is simply that I like the challenge.  Historical fiction challenges me as a researcher.  In grad school, I was one of the people from Mars who loved the challenge of research.  On the other hand, writing a mystery is like solving a puzzle.  The pieces have to be in place in order to solve the mystery and reveal the criminal. Contemporary romances reaffirm the principles of true love and sacrifice.  

After my mother died, writing became more than a hobby. The need to write was embedded in my very being--an escape and refuge in a sea of grief.  It also became a way to channel energy after a year that was academically stifling.  I reveled in the journey into another time, losing myself in people who faced challenges but who rose to the challenge. 

Christopher Reeve has said, "a hero is an ordinary individual who finds the strength to persevere and endure in spite of overwhelming obstacles."  Nuala, the protagonist in LOVE AT WAR (www.redrosepublishing.com), evolves from a rather sheltered girl into a covert operative, skilled in the art of weaponry and deception.  She doesn't think--at the beginning of the story--that she ever will be called upon to perform any acts of heroism, but within the course of the novel, Nuala grows in ways she never would have imagined.  At the start of the story, Nuala is a rather innocent girl living a sheltered life with her working class New Orleans family.  Love transforms her in ways she could never foresee, and when her husband is supposedly killed in action, Nuala joins covert operations, intent upon seeking revenge while she destroys the enemy.  Nuala, her husband Keith, and her brothers were heroes--not because they were extraordinary people--but because they faced a challenge, accepted it, and fought the good fight (to paraphrase St. Paul).

After LOVE AT WAR, I sought yet another challenge.  My fascination with Ireland has grown since I started to research my family's past.  My ancestry is largely German and Irish; the history of Ireland is tragic, turbulent, but always thrilling.  My first experience in the Emerald Isle was with Galway, the gorgeous West of Ireland. I'd never seen a land so beautiful or experienced people so warm.  The land held history, mystery, and breath-taking lyricism.  I was with a group of Irish musicians, and the native music stirred my soul.  

I've always wanted to celebrate Ireland in my writing, and when I came across the legend of Grace O'Malley, I knew she was the type of heroine to come alive within the pages I would create.  Like Nuala, she is an unlikely heroine.  Born the daughter of a successful chieftain, she defies convention, heading to sea against her father's wishes.  Grace is not only the equal of the men she encounters but their superior.  She ably represented the maritime interests of two husbands while simultaneously protecting her clan's interests against British incursion.  Grace (or Grainne) was the ultimate PIRATE WOMAN, (www.redrosepublishing.com.) 

I've always loved heroines who could defy convention, hold their own, and thwart their adversaries.  Nuala and Grace do just that.  

Ireland and A Certain Pirate Woman

I first visited Ireland after a very hard year at a job I hated. A friend of mine was touring his native country, bringing his brand of Irish folk music to the West of Ireland. I joined him, his fellow musicians, and a group of friends on a tour of Ireland that took us to such places as Galway, the Aran Islands, and Sligo. I reveled in the land and its people. This was the land of my ancestors, and I loved being in a place that was still bathed in ancient lore and timeless beauty. The people were warm and kind, wrapping me in the embrace I sorely needed after a terrible year. I danced in pubs, drank Guinness, and sang Irish folk songs.

The land itself also enclosed me in its protective womb. The windswept countryside held a siren song I couldn't resist. I climbed Dun Aengus, stood against the bracing winds of Croagh Patrick, and stared in awe at Kylemore Abbey. I'd never seen a country so green. Sheep climbed mountains and stared at us, unafraid as they munched on grass. I stood in awe as people swam in what to me were freezing beaches. Standing by Yeats' grave in Sligo was an almost mystical experience.

I've returned to the West and to Dublin since my first visit, and I've always wanted to write a novel about that amazing place, but I didn't know how to express the spirit and appeal of so gorgeous a place. It took me years to stumble upon Grainne (Grace) O'Malley. I was researching something else when I learned of a woman who embodied everything Ireland was in all its fierceness and beauty. As I studied secondary sources, my admiration for Grainne (Grace), the woman pirate, grew. Grainne was a woman who fought for her family and her clan. She compromised when she had to do so but often bested her opponents and survived. Grainne lived through the British incursion on her land, imprisonment, the birth of one son at sea, the brutal murder of another, and the deaths of two husbands. This woman commanded her own ships into her seventies. From the life of this extraordinary woman, my novel PIRATE WOMAN, was born.

Go to the Red Rose Publishing website at www.redrosepublishing.com. Read the excerpt and answer the following questions on the "Questions" section of my website at www.violarussell.com. The first three people to respond will win a free download of PIRATE WOMAN.

1. What mountain towers over Grainne as she runs to the water? (Hint: It contains a saint's name.)

2. What flower does Bruce Donnel refer to Grainne as?

3. Who is the friar Grainne fears meeting?

Wanderlust

No, I'm not writing about the new comedy that's recently been released in the States. Rather, I'm commenting on the desire to travel that hits me often--some people would say too often, but many of my family and friends are rooted to the earth like plants. I love 'em, but that's a fact. I, in fact, am happiest when I'm removing my shoes at Louis Armstrong Airport and boarding a plane to Anywhere.

So into travel am I that I experienced a moment of delight when a colleague who sponsored the school's European trip needed bypass surgery. Knowing behavior such as vying for her role might be ghoulish, I controlled myself and didn't run to the principal, begging for the role of chaperone and moderator. This sounds awful, but I was actually sad when I learned she would recover. The trip will take her, the students, and another lucky chaperone to France and Germany. I'm dripping green envy juice. Okay, I know I'm going to Hell. (By the way, I really didn't wish my colleague any harm. i don't wish ill on my fellow creatures).

Maybe my love of travel is the reason I write historical fiction. I live a very ordinary life by most standards (aside from the steamy scenes I put in fiction). I think most of us live dull lives. For me, historical fiction helps me disappear into another time and another world-- at least within my head. I've created WWII spies and soldiers who fought the good fight in Europe and Asia. My soon to come manuscript is the life of Grace O'Malley, the Irish pirate, and even my contemporary heroines engage in affairs with exotic, foreign men.

Wanderlust! I feel you calling. I hope summer comes soon.