Know Who You Are.

 This is one of those blogs where I show off my own confidence but in doing so I am taking a real risk that others who may not be as confident as I am, may think I am being conceited or arrogant simply because I already know who I am.  I remember being a kid and literally walking the top of the six-foot fence that Daddy had put up around our suburbanized home's backyard. The fence was of steady eddy 1" x 4" x 6' stock style, wooden, unfinished, and in pallets of about 10 feet I think. I remember climbing to the top using the rungs or slats he had stationed the panels together with, or maybe he created the pallets, I don't know. I just used the inside board to climb to the top, and once up on top of the fence, I began walking along the 1" wide surface the entire length of the fence line. If I were to have fallen, and I don't believe I did, I would have ended up in the neighbor's yard either to the north of us or the east of us, as the south fence was put up by the other neighbors and it was a chain link fence. I couldn't walk that one. 

    It was on one occasion that I was trekking across the top of the thin but sturdy fence that my mother came out of the house screaming at the top of her lungs to get down immediately, she claimed I was going to break my neck. It may seem impossible to some to imagine, but I had a pang in my heart at that very moment; I knew right then that my mother didn't have the knowledge of a blue jay if she thought I was going to fall! I knew I could walk the fence, and if the wind stayed calm I was perfectly fine to do it any dang day I wanted to. Most people would have just jumped down I guess, but I'm a bit harder-headed than most, I suppose. I laughed and told her I would get down, but I needed to get to a place I could use the boards as a ladder as I didn't want to just jump to the ground from that high up in the air! Nervously she stood under me and tried to get me to come to her shaking arms, but let me tell you, I didn't have much confidence that she could catch me if I did jump down. Nope. I trusted myself. I was four years old folks, that was who I was at the age of four! 

    So, today, some hundred and sixty-nine years later, I'm still rather stubborn about doing things my own way. When I say I'm somewhat stubborn I mean there's no reason whatsoever for you or anyone else to tell me to do something, not to do something, how I should do something, or why I should do something. I'm absolutely OK with screwing up on my own and finding out the hard way. I've been so good at it for so long that the number of times I actually fudge up has dwindled to the point of being controlled. I'm good.  Leave me be. I may smile at you and even nod in agreement, but you can bet your last fat dollar that I'm always going to do what I think I should do. It's not going to change.  The ONLY one, and I mean ONLY one I have more confidence in other than myself is Jesus, and that's ONLY because He has proven to me over and over again that He really is the answer to every situation possible. 

      Why am I telling you this? Because it's important that you know who you are before you put on that paper mask and go out into the world to try and get back into the swing of things. It's not the same swingset you played on before, folks. We live in a very different and scary world that has become so accustomed to being selfish and independent that with most partnerships now, not marriages, they're calling them partnerships even if there is a license to be wed, with most partnerships now there is an expectation of living "Dutch" or I'll pay mine, and you pay yours. Gone (almost) are the days when a couple will have one bank account because one or the other of them becomes dominant or possessive with the money THEY earned. Can you imagine if you're a housewife or a househusband in the union and the breadwinner is not allowing you to make decisions simply because you didn't EARN the money in the account? It's a real thing. It causes so much destruction in a relationship, but I see both sides because "partners" talk and communicate, they know what the other is about, that is NOT what we have in 2023; we haven't had that in so many years really.

    When I say I am 100% confident and sure that I will remain single unless and until God Himself drops a man into my lap and makes the statement "This one is for you, Jude", I'm serious. It's been 24 years and I could easily go another 24 if I needed or had to. I do feel so very very sorry for those holding their paper masks and putting on the good front because the one you may end up with is not always the one you should have ended up with; the one who doesn't want to see the paper mask, but the man (or woman) who is behind the forced smile and fake confidence in themselves. If you can't show the one you want to spend the rest of your life with the truth about who you really are, and they accept that person, you, completely, you're in for ride after ride after turbulent ride; destined to crash, burn, collide and destruct over and over again. Don't do it. Best to stay in one piece by yourself than to be shredded of your heart, mind, soul, and psyche like that. Not to mention STDs, AIDS, warts, and more...yeah, it's out there. Some paper masks are paper diapers and what's behind that door is not pretty.  

    Just this: confidence is not arrogance. Confidence is not conceited. Confidence is just knowing who you are and what you can or can't do. It's knowing that if you screw up you are the one to pick yourself up. You believe in yourself and no one else needs to do that for you to carry on with being you. If you don't have that, then that's the thing to focus on first; no one out there in the big bad ugly world is going to let you have the time, money, and healing you need to make it unless God Himself drops you into the lap of the person He knows can and will do that for you. WAIT ON GOD is what I'm saying. Don't chase a rainbow when the Creator's hands are the ones in which to be held. I know, it sounds really churchy and overly religious, doesn't it? Well, it's time folks realize that normal ain't coming back, decent people aren't coming back, but Jesus is. That is something we can put our FULL confidence in without worry.

    

Photo Credit: fenceworkssnw.com

Chapter Nine was a Surprise, but a Good one.

 Earlier today I was questioning myself on how I was going to handle this chapter because I knew it would require me to think like a man, and have the restraint and maturity of a philosopher to describe what takes place within the body of a young lad when he comes across his first naked or semi-naked woman whom he has been crushing on secretly.  That is what happens in Chapter 9 and to say I had been putting it off for a while for fear that I may not be as sensitive as perhaps I needed to be, would be more or less accurate.  Today was the day!  I managed.  I just reread the chapter and to be honest I did a great job. (She laughs because that sounded really arrogant for about a second until I realized that I'm the only one who can decide if I did or didn't give it my utmost! I'm the writer)

    Chapter 9 is done.  The characters of Aria Cambell MacFarlane and Ewan Williams Hastings are now formally acquainted. They will soon become fast and vast friends; this will lead to the completely obsessive behavior of one of the characters; this behavior involving what we would clearly observe today as being stalking behavior. We will see that the two are inseparable when the world, time, space, and society have only their separation in mind. We will find in time, in future chapters, that the two bodies will find reasons to unite. We will learn that the word "love" means more to some than it does to others.

    The writing for Chapter 9 was a bit interesting on its own. I read through the 200+-year-old books written about the Borders of Scotland, and the people of course, and I came across a tale, a story, about a man finding his son after many years of being apart from one another. The son had raced off from his homestead with a few shillings in his pocket and had not been seen for several years. No one was able to comfort his family as to what may have become of the man until some years later and quite without ceremony, the father runs into a doctor who thinks out loud that the man before him resembles the man he has just attended upon his deathbed. This was the case, and the father saw his son only minutes before he expired and on his way to eternal bliss. The moments that they shared were good ones, and the father was so blessed to have refrained himself from bringing up the past and the questions he may have had in order to use the sparse time between the two for a better cause.  I loved that story. I used a piece of it on my own. 

    They say there are only about 110 story plots out there, and we all (writers) mix and match until we come up with what we think is original. It's probably true for the most part. This is a good thing, and we are challenged to at least (as writers) mix and match to the point that the 110 become millions of possibilities. The words we choose, the way we use the words we have chosen, and the purpose we choose to use those particular words should matter. I hope I've done that for each of my chapters and in this one in particular as the boy in my story has a special meaning to me. I will raise him from a beaten boy to a strong and mighty protector. He will be the man he was told he could never be. He will overcome and he will project what others said was impossible; this is Ewan William Hastings, and he will not soon be forgotten. He will be loved, and relatable, and he will be engraved on the hearts of millions forever. 

Photo Credit: fineartamerica.com  Portrait: Scottish Boy With Wolfhounds in the Highlands by James Hardy

Chapter 8 is Ready to be Stationed.

 I'm stationing the chapters as they are written. They are not completed yet, and they will not be completed until they are canonized and I have the opportunity to go through each page one by one, each paragraph one by one, and each and every line, one by...OK, I may skip a few of those because if I was that bad I wouldn't finish the book at all. I would be in constant rewriting mode. I have to give it up at some point.

Here is Chapter 8 for your reading pleasure. It is a FILLER chapter, as will be a few of the chapters. They are shorter, about 1800-2000 words and they are usually there to give you a bit of history and fun rather than a really in-depth understanding of the book itself. This chapter has our fine warrior-type man of the hour Antoin Broonfood, aka Tony Broonford, as he is introduced to Keely Marie Elizabet Buchanan, aka Kiersten Broonford in real life.  There will be more said about Keely in other chapters regarding her queenliness and her ability to wrap the man around her fingers without any trouble whatsoever. From the minute she saw him she knew, but she wasn't sure he did. From the minute he saw her he knew, but he wasn't quite sure how to let her know. We find out later in the book. For now, here is the 8th Chapter of a book that will probably not be called "Of Kilted Pleasure" but for now it is. OF COURSE, if you find something incorrect with the history please let me know by emailing me at: jude.stringfellow@gmail.com the comments for the blogs have been disabled. I will check with experts on any and all historical points before publication. 

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Of Kilted Pleasure

Chapter Eight

 

            Antoin Broonford’s way of living left very little to the imagination of anyone who could be blessed to say they had cast their eyes upon the man. His was a stronger and sturdier composure than the average mythological tale of the Nordic Vikings who chose to ravage their way through these islands.  Tall, robust in stature; bravery merely oozed from his ever pore, and yet there was something quite relatable in terms of reducing the man to that of a human man by way of realizing that he was fallible to the act of falling in love; the fate of many men just like him.  Where it could be said that Broonford was a man among men, the leader and the scout of a pack of soldiers who may find themselves searching for rivals among their numbers, Broonford was equally apt to be seen roaming openly through the streets of Old Town Edinburgh, pointing to the tops of the highest stacked tenement, directing the gaze of his companions to see through the nooks and crannies of every close that lined the incredibly winding roads of the city. His was the amusement and pleasure to be not only an escort to visitors who may never have stepped foot into his fair city before, but to those who walked its cobbled streets on a daily basis not taking the time or the energy to see what was directly in front of their faces, under their own noses for centuries before they were born.

            Lifting his hand from the hilt of his sward to point upward gesturing his suggestion for others to take notice; the citizen soldier emphasized the importance of remembering that history has a way of creeping back into our existence if we choose to forget it. “This very spot”, he injected with authority, “tis the spot where old man George Henderson of Fordell once owned the passage, the close, but seeing how he didn’t find it to be to his liking he sold it off to Henry Paisley in the year of our Lord, 1711; just not for what he wanted to get for it, mind you. Look at it, mind you again that this type of stacked clay won’t hold forever. It may only be my opinion, but one day the whole building could collapse and fall right on top of us!”  This Broonford said as he reached up to grasp hold of a stone he knew to be loosened in the close so that for dramatic effect he could pretend to shudder and shake, his face curling in pretend agony as he continued to convulse and shake until he was fully collapsed before his small audience of four.  The ladies screamed with genuine fright, thinking perhaps there was a shake in the ground beneath them. Startled and dismayed each of them removed their gaze from their conductor and up toward the western side of the small and narrow close; were the bricks so loose to give way this very day, they imagined, could this be the end?  With glee in his heart for having delivered his intended emotion to them all, Antoin leaped to his feet in such a jovial manner that no one could continue a grudge for having been played the fool.

            Though he was in the company of four immaculately dressed and prim ladies from and about the city area of Glasgow, their accents much stronger than the ladies Antoin was likely to come across in the more northern regions; he was only fair interested in the opinions and favor of one such lass, that person being the daughter of Evelyn Buchanan Baye; Keely Mhairi Elizabet Buchanan. Keely being born after the death of her warrior and hero father in the years 1715 at the Battle of Preston, not so very far from the place she and her mother and cousins now stood, had conveyed upon the ear of her potential suitor Antoin that she would very much like to visit the area if not the very spot if they could be inclined to find where it was that her gritty and undaunting father would have stood his last before expiring into what would become only memories and tales of who the man was. Her request was immediately taken up as a command to the heart of one who had been captivated by her grace the instance he saw her. To hear Antoin speak of his new interest would keen bring a blush to any face.

            Blond and petite, Keely Buchanan could have the world if she requested it. Nothing was beyond question if she were only to ask for it. To the love-stricken man before her now, Keely’s lips, he would say, carry upon them the ability to command without one feeling the need to surrender, but only to fulfill her every wish. Her height though much less than his own was taller than anyone else her same size as she carried herself with immense refinement and poise as to lend the impression or flatly give it, that she was a woman of wealth and education. Hers was not the mind of an idiot or common woman in a lowly hamlet without the fortitude to challenge herself to read, study, or make herself aware of her surroundings as well as events both current and past. She found the prearranged tour which was certainly given privately for herself and her family to be entertaining and full of interest due mostly to the man presenting himself as their guide. Could this one, a man seeming a bit older and wiser than her playmates or close kin be around the age of his mid-thirties and yet unmarried? She questioned, was his a wink cast in her direction, or was there something about him that could cause him to flirt with everyone for whom he would walk the streets? Keely hoped that she was not mistaken as she believed the man was thinking of speaking to her directly soon. She cleared her throat in case this turn took place sooner than later.

            The tour from one point of the main street they traversed, locally known as High Street, stretched from one end of a long trek to another with the western end showcasing the vast and immovable Castle itself. To the east, and certainly not to be mistaken for anything less royal as the Castle, stood the Palace of Holyroodhouse, the very former home of Mary Queen of Scots and to all other monarchs of Great Britain who would live inside its grand interior upon making their way through Scotland for business or for pleasure. Between the two points on the south side of the streets perhaps about one-third of the way down from the Castle toward the end of the cobbled way stood the old Parliament House which houses both the various courts of law given and the Parliament of Scotland before the Act of Union of 1707 ended the need for such a place.  Used mainly for other government needs Antoin found it unnecessary to traverse into the buildings themselves or to disturb any official business of administration lest he is possibly questioned as to why he was then roaming the streets as a seemingly overly zealous bodyguard to one and a companion friend to three finely dressed women of good posture and conversation. Next then, as they made their way further down the hilly street, their conductor pointed out the steeples of no less than three glorious kirks which themselves had been the very subject of controversy, trouble, and mayhem. St. Giles being the oldest, having been built in sections ranging from the 12^th to the 16^th century, the building itself had been both a Catholic place of worship and a Protestant one; having its main charge of duty with the outspoken renown minister of John Knox and of course others. St. Giles a Parish Church of Scotland is located near the eastern edge of the city of Edinburgh. Antoin pointed out that by the time of the formation of what is called the King's Wall in the mid-15th century, the area was now a fully funded and decreed burgh that had been allowed to expand with the Kirk as its central point of interest. Literally situated across the street from a tall brownstone building with turrets and small ascending windows, Broonford pointed out that until just a few decades before there were many public executions within the view of anyone standing where they were standing now.  The Tolbooth building he commented, was also a building of higher administration and governmental practices and was not one to be visited but one to be given notice of.

            Fitful and shadowy storms began to encase the small party as they made haste to find shelter within a close near to them. For the three who were not otherwise engaged in making eye contact with each other, and who were less interested in hanging on every word which was uttered by their host, they soon gave their excuses verbally as well as intimating that with the coming of the storm, they felt it best to return to their inn as quickly as possible. Evelyn Baye, whose motherly instincts could not have misinterpreted the cooing and obvious courting taking place between her only daughter and a man she felt was more than capable of keeping good watch, felt the most comfortable of the three who would soon be racing through the wet streets to find more permanent shelter. As they parted, leaving Keely in the secure care of Antoin Broonford, a mother’s warning was given to be understood that she would see her daughter at the Pleasance Inn no later than upon the stroke of another hour of that Tolbooth clock. The time was currently a bit after two o’clock in the afternoon. The smile etching across the jubilant and whiskered face of her docent could not have been more broad as he was given a full nod from Mrs. Baye to be the caregiver and escorted safeguard to her most precious possession.

            With his arm extended in gratitude, a rather forward hug rather than a mere clasping of the hands ensued. Taken only a bit off her heel, Evelyn Baye commented as the ladies made their way back through the winding herringbone streets of Edinburgh that she hadn’t been held that closely to a man other than her own husband since the day she had last seen and held her first husband, Brandon Buchanan only weeks before he was to give the final sacrifice to his country, his lord, and his God.  Her confidence in Broonford could only be compared with her own; she knew within seconds of his embrace that he would one day be considered a member of their family. Her departing glance only solidified the feeling in her breast, as her own daughter’s arms were now clasped through those of this gentle giant with the soul of a seraphim.

Photo Credit: traveldigg.com

Chapter 7 - Completed.

 I'm really not sure if every day I will report when I have finished a chapter in the Highland book, but so far that is exactly what I have done.  I'll be honest with you, completing each chapter, and in consecutive order with how the outline runs, has been both challenging and rewarding.  I want to find new methods to write and I want to find new words to include. I have the means to do that; and as any author, I use other works to inspire me for this or that sentence, feeling, message, segway, etc. I don't ever, and I will never plagiarise, but I am never above using an angle or a thought that may have inspired another author. I have and will use their work in the allowed and creative way of remastering or rephrasing in order to keep the sentiment of the statement. We all know that there is nothing new under the sun, and since we should know that this statement was made long before the printed word, I think we're good if we choose to honor others with their first thoughts as long as we give credit or redesign the caption. 

    Let me explain what I mean when I say remaster or redesign a caption. For instance, if I want to describe the rain falling effortlessly outside the window of a hut or cabin at night, I may read a chapter in a book written over 200 years ago and the author of the passage may have said something like: "Sweet elegance fell without sound from the heavens which once secured its weight"  I could change that to something like "In silence, the heavens opened allowing splendid drops of life to replenish the land."  In both cases, the rain fell quietly. This was the intended thought behind the writing. I choose the rose while another may choose a thistle, but the beauty, strength, and lure of both buds and the lands they carpet have caused many men to go to war to protect such grace.  Did you like that? I wrote that. If someone wanted to use it they could read it, rewrite it, use it, and I'd be honored. If they wanted to actually use my words, they could put quotation marks around it, give me credit, or at least not say they wrote it. See how it works?

    Chapter 7 was about the hero when yet a boy, and how he is first introduced into the book's main thesis. He is found at the right place, but at the wrong time, and he suffers a great beating for it. The beating is a message and/or warning to rival clans who would dare try to remove the newly-wedged scoundrels who have claimed the area for their own. In the chapter, he is hurt but returns home. He is given to panic and forgets to clothe himself, thus exposing his body to the villagers who are both shocked and concerned. He is shown love and guidance by his elder cousin who has been given charge of the boy. He is made a permanent point of humility for the reader and will be a relatable character throughout the book; one whom the reader will route for and want to defend in future pages.  I love writing.

    Tomorrow we will see the families gathering and traveling through waterways, land, and by carriage from Glasgow to Edinburgh, as they trek their annual and/or semi-annual trip to the larger and more robust city of commerce to deal with traders and vendors for what will remain their predominant source of income to sustain them for months and seasons. In some cases, we see a few pounds earned and in others, we will see an enormous fortune created and exchanged for promises of more merchandise and wares from our crafty and creative villagers who live just south of the Clyde to the west of the artisan city of Glasgow; the land of the Campbells, Arthurs, MacLeans, and Kessocks.  Fun times.

Fun times indeed. More to come. Every day about 2500-3000 words per chapter. Since there will be between 30-33 chapters we are talking about 90,000-100,000 words, and I will end up adding another 20,000 so I will need to also retract that many in order to keep the numbers where they need to be. It's both challenging and rewarding as I mentioned...and it can be a really cool way to dive into the study of the yesteryear writers I love.

Photo Credit:  Thriftbooks.com  (John Mackay Wilson)

Roscoe Inspired Me!

 There's a little black, older, greying dog in my complex named Roscoe. If I had to guess and put a real number to it, I would say he's about 15 years old. He's part Schnauzer and this could account for his durability. He's built like a little German tank! So well behaved, so sweet in demeanor, and just the best dog out there with his bushy bushy eyebrows, his long little go-tee beard, and of course, that throaty sort of raspy howl that probably comes from whatever else is mixed in with his breeding. Roscoe can be such a gentleman and then, break your heart by leaving you to be cuddled and loved by someone else in our community who also loves him as much as I do.

    When Roscoe is out and about he really doesn't bother having his lead attached to his collar; there's no need, in that literally all of us in the complex know exactly who his human is, and we know that when you see Roscoe that Kenny is not far behind. Today, that was not the case. Today, I was both blessed and frightened at the sight of seeing Roscoe because there simply was no Kenny to be found!  I looked in all directions. Usually, and there has never been an exception in the many years I've seen them together, when there was a time that Kenny was more than 100 feet from his hound. I say hound. I have no idea if there's a hound in the mix, but the braying does imply that there certainly may be. The thing is, Kenny is ALWAYS behind Roscoe, and today he was not.

    If you know anything about where I live through these blogs, you'll know that ours is a community with a great sense of community. I often say I could move to a more luxurious place, but I don't know the crazies that live around it, and I do know the crazies in my own complex.  It may not be glamourous, but today when Kenny was possibly in trouble, I was able to immediately round up four residents, the landlord, and a police officer to try and find the man.  This is what community does and how a community should conduct itself. We are all in this together, even if we don't see eye-to-eye politically, religiously, or whatever, if one is in need the others could and should respond.

    The first thing I did was alert the landlord. I wanted her to call Kenny as she has his number, and that is exactly what she did. Having not received a pickup or a text back in about five minutes, she called me to say she was headed to his apartment. I took Roscoe to mine.  She called back, Kenny was not home, or at least he did not answer. This could be bad. I spotted a police officer parked in the parking lot beside our apartment, I gave him a full report. He called it in, and he took off looking for Kenny in his truck...yes, here in Oklahoma we have cops driving trucks. I love that. Then, I took off walking, finding neighbors who would do the same and in a few minutes, maybe twenty actually, we were able to locate Kenny. He had been in another apartment helping a neighbor put up framed pictures. He had used an air-staple gun to find studs for the hooks, and that was something Roscoe could not tolerate. He left.

    One of the reasons we were panicked is that he didn't respond to the phone text. He couldn't hear it since he had his ear protection on his head and the phone was across the room. That act sent all of us into motion. At least we know we have a posse ready and willing to find a soul that may be dead in the alleys or from falling in the pond! Thank God, (yes, I prayed and asked God to find him for us) Kenny was just helping another neighbor and didn't really need our assistance, but once he realized that his dog was out he began searching for him. Kenny went one way and I went the other apparently. Others made the rounds around the complex, and when we found each other I was able to flag him down and let him know I had his best friend in my apartment, who by now was probably fatter having spent time with Laura and the treats we give our dogs.

    If you leave a dog or cat, (bird, pig, sheep, cow, horse, or donkey) with Laura long enough (2 minutes) it will be fed. It will be groomed. It will be started on some sort of training regiment. Roscoe was found in the apartment with the others, being given treats for handing Laura his paw on command. She was most impressed by his talents, but now Kenny may be forced to reward Roscoe with treats for the privilege of shaking his paw, we will have to wait and see how that turns out. For an older dog, Roscoe is both spry and athletic. Seeing Kenny waiting for him about 100 yards away, Roscoe jumped out of Laura's arms and sprinted the distance making that all too familiar howling call of his. The call we all hear from time to time and say to ourselves, "There's Roscoe!"  It was great to know he was not missing his human for more than a few minutes. 

    I wish more people would help more people. That's the point of the story, and I think I'll add the story to my book in another chapter so I can show that community used to be so much more important to us than it is today. We need to return to that time, for sure.

Photo Credit: broadband5g.net

This is not Roscoe, but he looks so much like this.

Chapter Five is Written!!

 Done, finished, in the can, written...after a while I'm going to run out of things to say each time I finish a different chapter. I bet I can find something to say. Few are the times in my life when I was in fact truly wordless.  I know you don't find that stat to be surprising.

    So now, Chapter Five has hit the keys and it is done. I have wrapped it into a really nice package, set it with a bow, and it is now ready to join the other four chapters which have been sitting around on the computer and saved to a flash drive. I think all in all, I have written about 40 actual pages of the 300-page book. This only being the 5th chapter, and 1/7 of the book, I may have to rethink the fluffing and stuffing and do more actual writing as I go along. At this rate, I'll have more than 500 pages in the book and I don't feel that the book should carry that -- I wouldn't want to carry it, I have a Kindle for that. When I first saw the "Clan of the Cave Bear" I wanted to shoot myself since I both wanted to read but felt that lugging it around would be impossible. I think that was the year I bought a bigger purse if I'm not mistaken.

    Chapter Five finds Aria with her newfound "sister" and best friend of all ages, the lovely and stately Bridget Buchanan. Bridget is the older of a set of twins, aged 16 to Aria's 13. Bridget is to be wed in the coming spring to her lover and best friend Logan Kennedy. Back in the 1700s you could call a man your lover without tongues wagging, as everyone knew there was no lovemaking going on...or was there? Either way, you'll have to read the book to find out more about the two new Kennedys as they set off from Argyll to live in Glasgow, leaving Aria in a situation most uncomfortable in that she will soon be betrothed to a brutal man in the person of James Fraser MacFarlane.  We only meet the unkind soul in the current chapter. His is to be a short but biting relationship with our heroine.  Quickly...grab the edge of your seat now so that you'll be prepped and ready to hate the villain, and love the beautiful sisters who give unfettered devotion to Aria and their kin.

    As in all of the chapters, Chapter Five has a bit of history shoved into the ink. I discuss the Glasglow Cathedral, a 12th Century monument devoted to worship. We learn about the battle of Pinkie Cleuth, or as it was called when it happened, "Pynkie Cleuth". I like the latter spelling better I think.  We learn and discover the beliefs that many Scottish people carried then and today about the underworld lives and supernatural lives of the fae, faun, or fairy.  Good creatures? Are they? We can agree to disagree on either side of the argument.  With Chapter Five finished, I am forced to write on and pursue the ugliest chapter of them all, the one in which James and Aria unite through matrimony, but never in love. Cruelty found and served up cold enough to freeze the burning sun itself. Hers will be a fate only spared in the next chapter by gallantry known amongst men, but delivered by a lad.

Photo Credit: CelticJackAlope.com

Chapter Four is FINISHED!!

 Ya'all know me better than that. You know my work isn't finished until it's published. LOL. I'm over here bragging about how I have completed Chapter Four of the Highlander book, and really all I've done is type it out and give it more flesh than it had sitting over there on the side of my computer as part of an outline that reads "Chapter Four: Aria's birth and more".  Yep, that was the outline. I used my wit, charm, thesaurus, and keyboard to fluff and stuff it a bit before I add it to the meager collective that will be about say ... 5000 x 30 = 150,000 words, which will be far more than it's supposed to be. Then, after I have the 150,000 words I have to go through them and delete some of the fluff and stuff and put in the boring bones that will somehow have to suffice.  Right now I'm thinking what I have is a bunch of bones, but then I go back and read it and I giggle because I can't help myself. I'm a fluffer.

    If I choose to use the thesaurus on that last line, I would also be a "linter" and an "eiderdowner" to boot. Yeah, that's why I will always use my thesaurus! It adds so much more color than my tiny brain can muster. (or in terms of using the thesaurus, "it calculates scads in volume than my wee thought-matter can service") See what I did there? That's what I do when I go back over the manuscript. I find a few too many incidents where I used the same word and I change it a few times. I add to it, I change the entire direction of it, I make it stand out, I often hide it, I'm just out there eiderdowning....as I think people should be doing from time to time.

    Chapter Four is all about the birth of Aria, the main character, and her rejected beginnings. She was in fact rejected by her birthmother, and given to an unsuspecting but religious woman to be reared. She then becomes an orphan for the second time under the age of three, to be handed over to a friend of the family who overlooks Aria's strange behavior and offers not to correct her but to allow her to be the free spirit that she is. This could end up being a really good book folks. Not kidding you. I really like writing it. I found myself going over the Scots words for use when villagers speak to one another, so in the front of the book itself, I'll have to have a legend to explain some of the words that appear to be language to most but are either misspelled or seemingly misspelled. They are not.  For example, the word "vera" means "very" and the word "ae'" means "all".  There will be a legend.

    During the writing of the chapter my daughter was live streaming and she was doing both karaoke and using her A.I. voice. It (She) became such a distraction for me that I had to put on a pair of noise-canceling headsets in order to type in peace. It took me about an hour and a half to write the five pages for the chapter which will be fleshed into about 10. There are about 300 words per page of a book the size that I want this book to be produced. The font will be size 12, not 11, and believe me that makes a difference. There will be about 300 pages and which means about 90,000 words.  Right now I have about 3000 words per chapter, and there are four chapters. That's 12,000 words. I'll have to pick and choose soon, and that's real fun, let me tell you. It's more fun to flesh out and retrace your tracing than it is to create the trace. It's more fun to go through it and tweak it than it is to simply write and throw up matter onto an invisible framework using an outline.

    The dang outline is a full 10 pages. The first outline, mind you, was only a couple of pages, as it was just the front and back of a sheet of paper with numbers and a brief synopsis of what should chronologically take place. We all know that books don't always take that shape, so then the next outline was me moving those lines around and fleshing them out...I've used flesh too often, let me see what the thesaurus would recommend..."figuring" or "body"...nope, we'll go with fleshing it out. That can happen too. I get to a word that I don't prefer and I'm stuck with it. I love the words "copse" for a group of trees. Just saying. Once the outlines have been fleshed and made full enough to work with, I begin the typing of each chapter, again without much body or information, just the necessary needness of what has to be told in that chapter. That right now is averaging 2500-3500 words per chapter. I need the book to be right at 90,000 words to fit into the size my mind wants it to be.  I know there are 30 chapters today, but by the time I get to the end, there could be 33.  (33 x 4000 is too many words for the book)

    I suppose I could always write a sequel if I have too many words for this book, but I think this book is a one-off. I may write other Highlander historical romance novels, but this story is going to be told and that's it. There could be a spin-off...Antoin and Kirsten could have a book, Michael and Jedelle could have a book - - wait? Who? Michael and Jedelle? You don't know them? Oh, well, you will. They are a fantastically interesting Irish couple who come through the kingdom of Scotland to put on grand and stately plays such as never has been seen in the citizenships and denizens of Great Britain; daring and intellectual performances which will leave the audience breathless!  Michael Givens is a personal friend of mine, and I simply couldn't pass up the opportunity to add him to this rugged and sensual manuscript; especially since it is he who I will ask to be the director of the film adaptation of the book!  (Jedelle, his gorgeously chiseled wife will not only be a stage performer, but perhaps she will dabble in the arts of mystics as well.)  Michael and Jedelle will be introduced soon, I can't wait to add color and grace to that chapter!

Michael Givens (Warrior and Director)

Jedelle Givens (Princess and Stage Actress)

Photo Credit: Jedelle Givens

    

Chapter Three: Done and Doner

 I've sort of made a promise to myself that I would write at least one chapter of the book every night, and so far I've done exactly that. I am done with the prewriting of three chapters and in keeping with the same style and type of writing that I do, I have about 6 pages per chapter, or about 18-20 pages written. This is again, prewriting. I'm going to go through it and fluff and stuff all the way through the dang thing once it's completed, which at this pace should be mid-February.

    Fluff and stuff is the easy and simple way of saying I'm going to go through the book paragraph by paragraph and add lines, take out lines, add flowery imagery, and make the "blue sky" read more like "treasured azure illusions lifted effortlessly in the heavens".  That alone should take the minimal wording into the abyss of overwordedness so that I find myself going back through the book and eliminating 20% of the stuff I added thinking I needed to sound more fluffy.

    In order to get ideas about how I should be sounding, what the characters should be feeling, and what I want the readers to understand, I am doing some rather tedious and unique studying of the period wording(s) as well as things that took place in and around the timeframe(s) of the book. I'm delving into the writings of many 17th and 18th (even 19th) century authors who at the time of their writing, were living in or around Scotland. I want to get a feel and comprehensive understanding of the thoughts and desires of the class of individuals I'm setting before my own readers. I can't use their language perfectly, I know that but I will be using it in the best way I think I can produce for a woman who only grew up loving Scotland and it's language and people; I was not there.

    Chapter Three is all about the small and vast differences and/or some similarities between Glasgow and Edinburgh between 1740-1744. It's about the Grassmarket, the trips made by families and merchants, and it introduces a semi-recurring figure in the person of Antoin Alfred Brooford. If the name Antoin Broonford sounds vaguely familiar, it is because the person of Tony Broonford of Edinburgh is the man I am fashioning the character around!  Tony has graciously allowed me to use his likeness and image, and I'll throw in a few personality traits as well as his great capabilities as a tour guide!  This is a fun chapter, and I really enjoy it. I had a chance to look up certain facts through Wikipedia too, and let me tell you, I always learn something when I go there!

    One of the best things about being a writer is being a reader too. I get the chance to read the works of so many others who were writing about similar events many centuries ago, and I lean a bit to the help of contemporaries as well, but only for flare and descriptions of the glens and moors perhaps. I can't rely on a 21st-century Highlander to be much like that of an 18th-century Campbell or Arthur (MacArthur). I have the Macleods wearing their hunting colors rather than the "Loud Macleod" yellow and black plaid; if only for less distraction on the battlefield. You don't want a MacDonald or MacDougal calling out "Oy! There's ane!" Could be a bad thing for the men of Lewis. Best to be subdued.

    OK, so that's all there is to report about Chapter Three. I'm looking forward to my work in terms of fleshing, fluffing, stuffing and otherwise expanding this particular chapter because it means I'll be able to watch Tony's videos again and learn more about the old closes, the new bridges, the cobbled walkways, hanging gallows, the Maiden, and a bit about the bathhouse if it was standing during the time of the rebellions. We'll have to take a gander while we wander.

Photo Credit: Pinterest  (painting 1759 of a site near Edinburgh)

Antoin Alfred Broonford

 Suffice it to say that writing about Tony (Antoin Alfred Broonfood) Broonford gave me the biggest smile on my face. I can't wait to share the words with him and his beautiful wife Kirsten (I may be misspelling that) who will be named Keely in my book.  Antoin is so in love with Keely Buchanan, and he has demonstrated his love for her by not only visiting the city of her birth and youth, but he also makes a showcase of his artful tour-guiding skills when her family and friends make their way to the Big City a couple of times each year. We'll see Antoin courting Keely, as their dogs meet, and accept each other. We'll find them falling in love, planning a great wedding, and even expecting a tiny bairn later in the book.

    Thank you Tony for allowing me to use your image, likeness, and life skills in my new book. I won't say the title of the book just yet, as it has not been registered with the Library of Congress, but it soon will be, and I will blast it from the rooftops.  Here, for your viewing and reading pleasure, is the unofficial introduction to my new Highlander historical novel, of our very own wonderful Edinburgh son, Tony Broonfood of Clan Broonford.  (A link to his YouTube is here: https://www.youtube.com/@ClanBroonford)  and if you thought Tony's introduction was nice, you'll have to wait to see how pretty and adorable Kirsten is.

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Antoin Alfred Broonford   

 

So much was to be seen in the city often called the “Old Smoky”,  Edinburgh birthed her own history-wielding, man-about-the-know, her own son, Antoin Alfred Broonford, a finer guide hath ne’er been found around the parts of the fairest city of what was now considered Great Britain having the Act of Union consecrated in 1707, several decades before the Buchanans brought young Aria to feast upon the pleasantries of their second home and favored harbor. Knowing one day that after the children had left the home completely and were on their own, Joy and Colin Buchanan wished nothing more than to find real estate just outside the castle walls where they would retire and perhaps learn the trades offered in home goods along Grassmarkets cobbled roads.

            Antoin, tall, sturdy and strong gave pleasure to every eye cast upon him. His was a born and natural confidence; his head as bald and shiny as the day’s smile, with a beard, kept closely cropped about his jawline, tightly as if it were weaved into his skin. Eyes as strongly set as the crested Honours of Scotland themselves gave light and laughter to his countenance. His brilliant smile full of evenly naturally chiseled white teeth one more even than the other drew immediate attention from any who cast their glance. With a lion’s strength, he seemingly set the standard for all who would call themselves men in the city he loved with his own soul.

Standing just over six feet, embracing thirteen stone, Antoin was said to be likened to a Greek warrior or mythical Zeus with the power he embodied; and yet, with such strength and warlike power, his was a demeanor of tolerant gentleness. With every inch of the man came a meek and controlled effectiveness.  Choosing to follow his blood kin through battle was a singular accepted fate, yet Antoin’s passion for his city led him to customarily find himself etching out a living on the cobbled hard streets of Edinburgh guiding visitors as he showcased for them the new bridges, old closes, passages, and wynds which would  shorten their footslogs through the herringbone structure of the city streets.

 

Photo Credit: Tony Broonford

Chapter Two: In the Can!

 My, my, my....the book is just rolling off my brain. I would say it's rolling off my tongue, but I'm typing it not telling the story orally.  I'm writing and I'm writing, and believe it or not I don't really like what I've written because I know it's not flowery enough, it's not detailed yet. It lacks the lackluster that will lusterly lack it later. I've been on the whole "I'm going to write a chapter a day" kick, and I am going to, but then I'll have to go back and thoroughly go through the thing one page and even one paragraph at a time. When you actually finish it there aren't paragraphs really. I mean there are, but you don't separate them with space, only an indention. I'll have to do that sort of formatting as well. Geez!

    So, Chapter Two explains who the main characters are a bit more focused than what takes place in Chapter One. Chapter One is about grabbing the reader by the throat and forcing them to continue reading. Chapter Two is about who it is that these people are reading about. You have to make the characters believable, loved, hated, whatever, but you have to explain them to the reader.  So far, and this is only Chapter Two, I am not pleased with the lack of explanation. I find myself wanting to go into so much more detail about the characters. I will. I will redo the whole thing once I have cranked out the bulk of it.

    The way I write is to plan the pre-plan. Then I write the pre-plan which is essentially the way I want to show the book in an outline. The Outline is the plan. Then there's the fleshing of the chapters and that's what I'm doing now. First, I wrote up a synopsis for each Chapter, then I typed it out and added information to each chapter since writing it seemed a bit dry.  Next, I printed the 10-page outline which literally has 30 chapters one on top of the other with an explanation and/or a brief description of what will go into it. Did you catch that the synopsis is 10 pages? It is.

    The next thing to do is literally go chapter by chapter, day by day, adding at least one chapter a day to the whole, and then after that is finished I'll go through it as a whole and take out what I hate, add what I love, add what I think needs to be said, and once that's done it should be ready for a second full read.  The second full read is truly the first true read. The second full read is the first read after the changes have been made.  Then I'll tweak it again, this time taking out the separating lines and using the "find" and "replace" buttons to change all of the words that can be changed to another one. Here's an example. I call the first wife of the mean villain by a name I shouldn't have used. I'll change that. I was just being a bit rude and now I am over it. So, yeah, I'll change it. 

    During the first full read, I will add graphic details about waterfalls, cress being sold at the market, how a guitar is made, and other bits and bobs that make the book pop.  Right now I just mention that Ewan plays the oud. What the hell is an OUD?  It will need to be explained, so I will do that during the first full read. For now, the oud is just that, a mentioned stringed instrument, but after the first full read of the oud's origin, which is in fact the history of the guitar, so that all the readers know that Ewan is a singer and songwriter! There you go, I will be the champion of using 1000 words rather than the six needed, and I will do so with luster and lambency! You don't even know what lambency is....neither did I until I looked up words for luster, and found it. I just wanted to sound really cool. 

    Bam! Chapter Two is in the can! I'll get started on Chapter Three tonight probably, and if I'm true to myself, I'll have the book finished long before the end of February so that I can do the first full read. I'm expecting the changes to take four or five days, and then the second full read, and if I can be so bold, I will make a prediction that I can have the book entirely ready for publication around mid-March. I just have to come up with $$$$ to pay for the design of the cover, and then the publication. I can do that. I'm making plans to make more plans. It will happen.

    Here's a bit of foreshadowing for you. After the Highland Romance novel, which is also a Historical Fiction novel, I will end up writing the murder book. Then I have plans to write a second Historical Fiction novel with both murder and intrigue that takes place in my own city at the start of the 1980s.  Next, will be the follow-up to the Murder Book, and then another History Fiction novel that spans Europe and the US from the late 1800s to the present time....then, you guessed it, a third MURDER BOOK!!  So busy, so busy.  Pray for me. :)

Photo Credit: ClipArtPanda.com