historical-fiction

War__ all either country knows, and everything seems to depend on it now.

I do not need to understand words to know he is disappointed I am not a boy. Some things need no translation. And I know, because my body remembers without benefit of words, that men who do not welcome girl-babies will not treasure me as I grow to woman - though he call me princess just because the Guru told him to.I have come so far, I have borne so much pain and emptiness!But men have not yet changed.

What to do now, Father? I am going to die like a killer, and I do not even remember killing.___ou can pray, my son. You are in the hands of God now,_ said the good priest.

He who whets his steel, whets his courage.

If she could walk away, she would; her pride demanded at least that much from her. But Quincy knew that her heart beat with the rhythm of the presses in the back room, that her blood ran black with ink, and that her mind filled with reams of numbers and projections and plans. The Q was Quincy's only vital organ, so she would play the game.

But then, she wonders,just what kind of man would ever give her the courage to marry at all- to overcome that dreadful fear of death that seemed always to accompany the very thought of love? It was illogical, idiotic and childish. And yet the child was with her always; and always she would be afraid unless someone could place a light down there inside that dark and chilly heart of hers and chase all the ghosts away - the ghosts of Katherine Howard, of Jane Seymour and, not least, that of her own poor mother. They accompanied her always, those spirits - especially at this kind of time, a time of being alone, of being feminine and reflective. They would all gather round to whisper in her ear and warn her - so that even as she looks up once more into her mirror she almost expects to see them there, ranged behind her shoulders, their faces full of concern and anxiety. Never trust them - never trust the men, for they will betray you always the moment you surrender to them!

¡Ay, las faldas!_ (__h, the skirts!_) he sighed, shaking his head and winking with a mischievous smile. While admitting women were his __chilles heel,_ Antonio, as many young men of the times did, also disclaimed responsibility, as though he had no control over his behavior or desires. Loving the opposite sex was __he natural thing to do for a man,_ he thought.

She ran the harder and zagged more erratically, and in the wreckage left from the hurricane the girl misjudged her path and ran straight into the old well. She didn__ even scream.

Dear Governor Whitman, _ Our father is not a simple criminal. _ He was harassed by more ideas than his mind could stand. _

Of all the things I dislike, I hate women worst.

Church words are easy to say, but they're not so easy to live by.

No person _ shall be compelled in any criminal case to be a witness against himself, nor be deprived of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law _- Fifth Amendment, United States Constitution

Thomas slammed his fist on the table, sending eating utensils flying. __hameful! It is downright shameful that so-called men of God would use religion to manipulate people._--from Prairie Grace when Thomas learns how the Indian agents and others are stealing from Native Americans

Have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow know what you truly want to become." -Steve Jobs

I once heard an elder say that the dead who have no use for their words leave them as part of their children's inheritance. Proverbs, teeth suckings, obscenities, even grunts and moans once inserted in special places during conversations, all are passed along to the next heir.

It was all her doing. She had cried wolf and the wolf had come.

In my long career in this historical fiction business, though, I've found that the most effective storytelling concept is this: Once upon a time it was now.That has become my credo and my method as a longtime historical novelist.It's quite simple, if you see as Janus sees:Today is now.Yesterday was now.Tomorrow will be now.Three hundred years ago, the eighteenth century was now.You, as a historical novelist, can make any time now by taking your reader into that time. Once you grasp that, the rest is just hard work.Stay with me, and you'll see how such work is done.

He said to himself that he really had not suffered enough to deserve such radiant happiness, and he thanked God, in the depths of his soul, for having permitted that he, a miserable man, should be so loved by this innocent being." He said to himself that he really had not suffered enough to deserve such radiant happiness, and he thanked God, in the depths of his soul, for having permitted that he, a miserable man, should be so loved by this innocent being." -Jean Valjean about Cossette-