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.

Diary of a Sheltered Girl

I've lived a sheltered life, apparently. Someone I know recently said that, and the comment, quite plainly, pissed me off. After reflecting a bit, however, I considered the source. For most of my family and many of my friends, independence, career, and world travel are considered Verboten for women. Most of my family and friends are not world travelers, and while a few have achieved college--even advanced degrees--most have been content to live their lives in what I consider stale conventionality. For most of my family, life means losing oneself in a spouse and children. I'm not criticizing that option, mind you, but I was not destined to live my life in that manner.

In some ways, I have traveled a very conventional road: college, work for a while, and then graduate school. For many of the people I knew, graduate school for a woman was an anomaly. A friend's mother said, "Five years? It's going to take five years?" She then rolled her eyes in disbelief. Hell, I was going to be five years older anyway. Why not work on a degree. Still others said, "You don't want to meet a nice young man and get married?" Still others said, "Why would you want to live in the outpost of College Station, Texas?" I did finish the degree, but I knew academia wasn't for me. Nonetheless, I loved the ride, the adventure. The most fun I had was living in a fourplex with engineering majors, foreign students, and a gay hairdresser. At night, I read Kant, Foucault, and Schiller with my British Romanticism and loved every second. Of course, many of my friends and family couldn't understand why I wasn't yearning for a house in the suburbs with a car, husband, and three children. Why, after all, would I subject myself to such rigorous brain activity? Why hadn't I just gotten the standard MRS. degree and popped out babies?

When I settled on teaching, I decided I would travel frequently. The sheltered girl has crossed the Atlantic several times and has visited many places in the States--even on my limited funds. The first time I crossed the Atlantic, I did so with friends who were determined to take in London theatre and night life. I worked my way through college, so why not? What the hell--it's always been my motto. One night, I dodged my friends for an afternoon out. (I always was a bit of a loner). New Year's Eve was in full swing, and on the way back to the hotel, I encountered many revelers at Trafalgar Square. Scores of people jumped into the fountain. I was in an amazing white coat, but then, my motto kicked in. What the hell? I jumped in, too. When I returned, my mother took one look at the coat and said, "I see you had a good time." I cold only sheepishly giggle and say, "Yes, ma'am." She raised her eyebrows, suppressed a smile, and said, "Take this to the cleaners, for God's sakes." Mama, God rest her. She had a sense of humor and knew me when many people did not--and apparently still don't.

I'm offering one of my giveaways. Go to my website at www.violarussell.com. Check out the slideshow, interviews, etc. The first two people who post comments on the "Questions" section about my blogs or the website will receive a free PDF version of LOVE AT WAR. Be sure to post your e-mail.

Additions to the Website and reflections on life

Recently, my talented webmaster Judah Mahay added a slide show to my website (www.violarussell.com). As I combed through the family album in order to select the pictures, I began to assess my past, present, and future. Much of who I am has been shaped by those who went before me, but I also had to embrace my past in order to transcend it and form who I was.

The pictures brought the people I've loved and lost back in the bittersweet way only memory can. I love the pictures I chose of my parents. My father's signing a boxing contract. He was a trainer and manager at one time. Later, he was a horse trainer/bookie and a restaurant/bar owner who began life driving an ice wagon. My father was a survivor of the Depression. He would straighten nails to erect a new fence, and he never glorified the past. When someone would say he/she remembered when apples were a nickel, my father would quickly retort, "Who in hell had the nickel?" He learned early how to hustle and survive. Not much was left after his death, but when he was alive, we instinctively knew all would be well. My mother's in the slideshow, too, standing on Canal Street with her best friend Terry. They were so gorgeous and classy. I miss my parents so very much that it's sometimes like bile in my throat.

My most recent book is LOVE AT WAR, and the experiences of family members during WWII inspired me to write that book. The picture of my Uncle Willie in his Navy uniform brings back bittersweet memories. He began life as a merry prankster, loving women and life. He returned from the Pacific theatre a changed man, good-hearted but hardened by war. When I wrote the character of Nuala's brother George in LOVE AT WAR (www.redrosepublishing.com and Amazon), I initially didn't think that he would play such a huge part in the novel, and after I'd written a substantial amount of it, I realized I'd recreated my uncle in George. Not that Willie's experience mirrored George's, but he was a man like George--wild, daring, and brave. In the novel, George becomes as much a hero as Nuala and Keith. The picture of my Uncle Russell standing with his wife and baby rends my heart whenever I see it. I never met Russell. In fact, his only daughter doesn't remember him because he never returned from Germany. His wife was a widow at twenty-three, and their passionate letters to each other are more moving than any novel. His experience also doesn't simply mirror what happens in my book, but the spirit of these people permeates the book. The spirits of these people surrounded me as I wrote.

Those pictures, however, are my past. I had to find myself in the midst of genetics and family lore. Following the road of my own destiny is a long one, and I'm know I've not finished the journey. Th slideshow also contains images of my trips to places like Ireland and England. I've forged fond memories of those places, an they will figure prominently in future, coming novels. Stay tuned!

I read the news today: Little Murders leading to Mayhem

Reading the newspapers could destroy our sense of security and completely annihilate our faith in humanity, but staying abreast of world and local events is imperative. We cannot avoid the world in all its turmoil. I find the inspiration for many of my plot lines there. As a writer, I often explore the darkness of humanity; the cruelty, inhumanity, carelessness, and plain rudeness of people never fails to amaze me. In LOVE AT WAR, www.redrosepublishing.com, I depicted the cruelty of battle, but local and even petty crimes exist as kin to the kind of destruction marked by war.

What makes people murder, rape, rob, and engage in all sorts of cruelty? Every day we read of public officials who betray our trust, criminals who shoot acquaintances or foes, and sports fans who are just downright rude. The same kind of hatred that sparks petty but vicious acts is at the root of the more destructive and cruel behavior that results in murder and genocide. LOVE AT WAR portrays the brutality of WWII. Soldiers and civilians died in that mayhem, and human beings carried out horrific atrocities upon each other.

Why do people commit such awful acts? Perhaps such behavior stems from original sin, but people who commit crimes against others (and against sentient creatures) view others as irrelevant. This week alone, the newspapers reported on a woman who gave birth and left the child exposed to the elements. A man killed the father of his grandchild because they disagreed on the child's upbringing. Local police arrested one disturbed young man for having sex with his pet husky. Another man was arrested for systematically torturing cats. An Alabama fan exposed himself and assaulted an unconscious LSU fan. These tales of deviant behavior accompanied tales of murder, rape, and corrupt politicians and reflect the kind of cruelty that leads to destruction. The people who commit these crimes on the local scene see their victims as irrelevant and disposable.

What do all of these horrible acts have to do with war? In WWII, the Nazis and their allies convinced themselves that some people were inferior to others. People could be eliminated or tortured. In LOVE AT WAR, Nuala swallows her disgust when her Nazi lover revels in revealing his cruelty. As a covert operative, she must convince him of her attraction, but his brutality repulses her and forces her into a situation where she must match his brutality.

Mundane cruelty and thuggish behavior? How does it reflect war time behavior? Human beings have the potential to commit cruel acts as children. Bullies are made in childhood. Who hasn't been the victim of a childhood bully? Those people, unless checked, grown into the Nazis of tomorrow.