Category Archives: Historical Fiction

Anne Rouen’s blog about writing and researching her Historical Fiction novels.

Good Enough to Hang?

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My radio is a constant source of inspiration to me. But I did a double-take when I heard these words expressed by one of our Local Treasures: “I like a good hanging,” she said, with a happy lilt in her voice. “I love it when they’re good enough to hang.”

A public hanging sounds fairly historical. Ghoulish stories abound of villagers and townspeople turning out for such a spectacle. Although in those times, surely the debate would have been whether the person in question was ‘bad enough to hang’?

The general run of people are not quite so blood-thirsty these days, certainly not our Treasures. So, lifting my head from a text on the behaviour of the crowd in history, I was momentarily non-plussed.

Of course, as those with more artistry in their soul than I would already know, the lady, an artist and long time volunteer at the gallery, was referring to the inclusion of paintings for an upcoming exhibition.

Immediately, I began to think of a favourite print, a 1925 painting of a Paris street by Maurice Utrillo. Perfect in perspective, the street goes on and on, far into the distance towards a church or cathedral in the background.

In the foreground, shaded by trees, people stroll. A building proclaims its business in large, uneven lettering: vacheresse, cammionage, gravier, voitures à volonté (cars with steering wheels). This last fires my imagination. Suddenly, I am on the street in my straight, modern flapper dress, the breeze ruffling my new, shingled hairstyle, an assortment of long beads and chains clinking against my flattened bosom. A door opens in the building and I follow a handsome man inside. While he effortlessly cranks the elegant Bugatti, I shrug on a driving coat, wind a long, silk scarf around my head. The ends will stream out behind me like a gonfalon, inspiring envy in the breasts of all who watch me drive by.

The car trembles, sputters into life. My hero opens the door for me and I step in, settling myself in luxurious leather seats with ebony buttons. Light shimmers gently off the rosewood dashboard as I reach for my goggles. The engine purrs and the driver expertly manoeuvres the vehicle into the open. The cool air fans my glowing cheeks.

“Ready?” asks my escort, an irresistible gleam in his eye.

Before I can answer, an alarm discords, breaking up the lovely picture. I fall out of the car, out of my dream, out of the painting. Cursing the phone, I pick myself up from my lounge room floor, obedient, as ever, to its shrill demand.

Now, I will never know what it was like to go driving with that gorgeous Frenchman along a tree-lined street in Paris in 1925.

Isn’t it scandalous the way we let everyday matters interfere with our lives?

But, yes, I couldn’t agree more. A painting like that is certainly good enough to hang.

Oh, and by the way, I did learn something from the text about crimes of the ‘bad enough to hang’ variety. Historically, whenever crowds rebel, most of the deaths are caused by the authorities cracking down on them and not by the citizens themselves. Surprised?

Has anything changed?

Punishment or Privilege?

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While researching the period around the French Revolution, I came upon a reference to the guillotine which gave an unusual insight into the thought processes of the historical figures I delve into. I did find it quite a novel point of view and one that had never crossed my mind.

To me, the French Revolution, more particularly the time known as la Terreur, has always epitomised bloodshed and barbarism on a scale only equalled by the Roman gladiatorial contests in the coliseum. Shuddering through the blood-spattered pages of A Tale of Two Cities, I would hardly have thought it a privilege to mount the gory steps of Madame la Guillotine, attended by such notorious tricoteuses as Madame Defarge and a cheering pack of rabid and bloodthirsty sightseers in the Place de la Revolution, previously known as the Place Louis XV( now the Place de la Concorde).

Although similar devices had been used in Scotland and other European countries, its invention has been attributed to Antoine Louis. First called Louisette or Louison, it was later named after the gentleman instrumental in passing a law requiring its use in France for capital punishment. It was experimentally tried out on cadavers but the first living person to be guillotined was a highwayman, on April 25, 1792 in the Place de Grève.

But listen to this reason given by French physician Joseph-Ignace Guillotin, a member of the National Assembly at the time, for the introduction of the guillotine into France in 1792:

He said that all death sentences should be carried out by ‘means of a machine’ so that ‘the privilege of execution by decapitation’ would be available to all; and that the process of execution would be as painless as possible.

It would seem that decapitation as a form of punishment was reserved for the nobility; while common people were hung with grisly alternatives depending on the severity of the crime. Thus, decapitation appears to have been regarded as one of the many privileges enjoyed by the aristocracy. Certainly, it was one which a great number experienced during la Terreur. And while I can think of several terms to describe the process of the guillotine, privilege is not one that springs readily to my pen.

Painless? Perhaps. No-one has been able to come back to tell us. But privilege? I would hardly have thought so. And neither, I suspect, would the unfortunate souls deemed enemies of the Republic and brought in tumbrils through jeering crowds to end their lives in humiliation and despair. Although it surely has it over being hung, drawn and quartered (what kind of evil mind could dream up that one?), another gruesome alternative for the non-aristocracy, along with being burnt at the stake and broken on the wheel(thankfully banned by Louis XV).

The French Revolution may not have totally succeeded in its ideals for equality in life — and most definitely not for women. But I have to hand it to the Revolutionists: Madame la Guillotine certainly ensured equality in death.

 

 

From Closet Writer to (Self-)Published Author

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My secret dream has finally come true! And I only half believe it.

For years, I scribbled away, feeling guilty when I took time out for my hobby; hiding my work from others. But it’s not a hobby, it’s a passion; a compulsion. When I sit down with a pen something takes me over and a whole morning can go by before I surface.

I find myself getting up at night, or jotting on odd scraps of paper because inspiration strikes at odd times. If this sounds familiar, I believe it is a common symptom shared by writers.

One day, I looked around at my piles of manuscripts and decided to see if I could make ‘my obsession my profession’.

I joined a fledgling writers’ group. One of the members read my work and we went to a workshop at NEWC, ‘Mind Your Business’ with Dr Jeremy Fisher. I picked up on some gems of advice: Get a website, show you’re prepared to engage with readers and promote your work; go to writers’ festivals; meet people in the business.

An author talk by Matthew Reilly held me riveted. Here was a man radiating positive energy. It is clear that he loves his work: A man living his dream.

The main thing I took away with me: He believes in himself. None of his wonderful achievements would have happened had he not self-published his first book.

I resolved then and there not to let self-doubt stand in the way of my dream.

Publishing is a business, whether self or otherwise. It is important for self-published authors to have their work professionally edited. You may be grateful you’ve spent the time and money. Editors pay close attention to details that could come back to haunt you.

By an amazing set of circumstances, I found a web designer who was not only a talented and intuitive designer, but an editor and marketing analyst as well. When she suggested I put my novel out as an ebook while I tried to find a publisher, something clicked in my head and I bolted with it.

Forget finding a publisher, I’ll do it, myself. The idea took me over. I read Authorpreneurship by Hazel Edwards – several times, marking the pages. It contains invaluable advice, demanding honest evaluation. I researched blogs of self-published authors, borrowed books from the library.

One of these sounded great: positive and chatty. I went to her website. There had been one post since 2007. I clicked on ‘Comment’ and was taken to another person’s website offering to sell me information!

Rest assured if there is anything I have learned or will learn about self-publishing it will be available for others right here – for free. You only have to ask.

I moved quickly, using my ABN to register a business name and get started.

There were many daunting moments: no domain available in my name; agonising over a nom-de-plume; applying for an ISBN; registering for CiP; and then the big one that almost stopped me in my tracks: I had to have a US tax ID to sell my book on Amazon.

Here, the asa (Australian Society of Authors) was wonderful, organising a US tax seminar at just the right time for me. I met published authors, including the kind and generous Susanne Gervay, who took me under her wing, introduced me to her friends and generally made me feel comfortable. A few days later, success! I had my EIN.

Towards the end of the publishing process, I realised that writing Master of Illusion was the easy part. I fell in love with my characters, let them call the shots and went on a fascinating ride, never knowing what was just around the corner. I loved every minute of it.

There are many people I have to thank for help along this journey. You know who you are and how much I love and appreciate you. All of you.

So what happens now that StoneHut Publishing has run down the slipway and is heading into uncharted waters with the author at the helm? Will it be fair wind and plain sailing from here? Or are there hidden rocks and shoals out there? Monsters of the deep? Waiting …

Watch this space!