Chicken Nuggets

I occasionally post recipes. Here’s how to make chicken nuggets, for all you Yankee heathens. It also works with Okra – proof that God loves us.

  1. Cut your chicken in pieces. My children are picky so I use the breasts, but y’all can use whatever you want. Unlike various Yankee impositions, do not use ground mystery chicken meat – unless y’all like eatin intestines, tendons, and feathers. 
  2. Put an egg over them and stir it in. Shades of cooking a kid in its mother’s milk, which comes from the Canaanites and is decidedly not kosher. (To the best of my Goy understanding eggs and chicken together are actually kosher and Halaal).
  3. In a quart plastic bag put about 1/2 cup flour, 1/2 cup corn meal, 1/2 tsp salt, and various spices. I use a mixture of a quarter tsp of chipolte pepper and a quarter tsp of powdered ginger. Actually I just throw it in by eye, but that’s about right. (1/4 tsp is officially 6.25 ml for the technically compulsive.) For Okra I only use a pinch of regular pepper. Shake the bag to mix.
  4. Throw the chicken and egg mix into the bag and shake thoroughly. Get every piece coated. 
  5. In a skillet (frying pan) heat about 1/4 inch of cooking oil and put the coated chicken pieces in it. When they are about halfway cooked turn them over. I use a fairly high heat because I like a crispy crust. Since different stoves vary in their heating, your mileage may vary.
  6. Take out, drain on paper towels and enjoy.

This even works in the UK, though in blighty the idea of using so much hot pepper is an anathema. 

Writer’s block

Like any aspiring writer, I’ve run into my share of writer’s block. I’ve found several general cures for it.

  1. Edit. Maybe your brain needs a break. Edit some other part of the story. This can give you a chance to refresh.
  2. Skip. Write a note or a comment and move further down the story. You may find you didn’t need the part that you were blocking on, or that a solution suggests itself from the part of story you develop. I’ll often use ALL CAPITALS or a C++ comment \ (my husband’s idea) to delimit a block of incomplete text. I’ll deleted the comments when I’ve addressed them.
  3. Write. Write something else. It can be another story, a study of a character, or an outline for more of what you’re writing.
  4. Read. Do some of your background research. For example, with the civil war romance I’m working on, I needed to know things like: the names of the railroad companies, what is the difference between Southern and Northern track gauges, or was HIHI still a laugh in American Morse code.
  5. Exercise. (Exorcise?) Go do something else that isn’t connected with writing.

The start of another regency romance

 Testing out how another theme might work. Updated to current draft.

1. The Captain and Miss Arnold Arrive.

Cecelia Wood was riding part way up Bal Mawr, with an eye to climbing to the top, when she saw a procession of carriages arrive at Penyclawdd house. Nestled at the foot of the Black Mountains, Penyclawdd was where she lived her first 18 years. It was entailed on a distant cousin, Captain George Wood, who could now ask her leave at any moment. Tell her to leave the high, flat moorland, steep valleys, woods and streams that she had known and loved as long as she could remember.
She turned her horse around and galloped back to greet the newcomers. Her groom took her horse and she ran to greet the new owner. To her surprise, it was just a pair carriages full of baggage, a valet, and a couple of lady’s maids. The valet informed her, “Ma’am, the captain and Miss Arnold will be here shortly. They were driving his curricle.”
“Miss Arnold?”
“His fiancée. May I ask, are you Miss Wood?”
“Yes.” The man glanced at her, then turned away muttering something that sounded like it started with “Pity,” and ended with “first.”
“What was that and Who are you?”
“Nothing, I’m Captain Wood’s valet. You may address me as Meadows.”
“Mr. Meadows, have you been shown where the captain is to sleep?”
“I believe it is your father’s bedroom, and Miss Arnold will be down the hall.”
“Good.”
“Miss Wood?”
“Yes, Mr. Meadows.”
“It’s just Meadows, not Mr. Meadows. The carriage also contains a number of barrels of Madeira wine. Is there an easier way to cellar them than this front entrance?” She showed him to the kitchen entrance which was behind the building, then went inside to await Captain Wood and his bride to be.
She grabbed a book of poetry penned by the irascible Mr. Landor, her neighbor from up Cwm Bwlch at Llanthony. She’d promised him that she would read it and tell him what she thought. He was sure to ask her about it the next time they met. The tome was hard going, but it would help her pass the time while she was waiting for Captain Wood. It took longer than she expected for him to arrive, and the book was harder going than she thought. She drifted off to sleep. The noise of an argument in the hallway in the front hall pierced the air and woke her. It was loud enough to penetrate the quiet of the front parlor.
“Did you have to stop at all those pubs? You’re half-drunk!”
“I always drive better when I’m a bit bosky.”
“You were more than a bit bosky, and I detest an open carriage. If I’d known it would be for all day we’d have ridden in one of the closed carriages. I mean look at my dress, it’s ruined with the wind and the dirt.”
“I think you look beautiful like that, Jane.”
“Call me Miss Arnold, Captain Wood. I am seriously displeased with you. I’m sure that the sun and wind have ruined my complexion. Simply ruined it.”
Cecelia quickly and carefully smoothed out the creases in her muslins. Then she walked to the hall and quietly announced herself. The arguing stopped almost immediately and a smiling Miss Arnold asked her, “And who are you, my dear?”
“I’m Miss Wood, Miss Cecelia Wood. Welcome to Penyclawdd house. I hope your trip wasn’t too difficult.”
Captain Wood started to say that it had been a pleasant trip. Miss Arnold stopped him, “That’s another thing, Captain Wood, how do you expect me to live in a place where I can’t even pronounce the names?”
Cecelia pipped the argument at the post by pointing out, “It isn’t that difficult, once you get the hang of it. ‘P’,’E’,’N’ is just ‘pen’, ‘Y’ is ‘a’, ‘CL’ is ‘cl’, and ‘AW’ is ‘ou’ as in couth, which just leaves ‘DD’ which is ‘th’. So it’s just pronounced ‘pen’ ‘a’ ‘clouth’.”
“It’s still an uncouth language, this Welsh.”
“The name means start of the dike. We’re at one end of Offa’s dike, the border between England and Wales. The farm started as a Norman castle built to defend England from the Welsh.”
“I still think it’s a primitive barbaric place.”
Captain Wood made southing noises, “Jane dear, you’re tired, it has been a long day. Maybe you will feel better with some refreshment.” He waited, with bated breath to see how the light of his life would take to his idea.
Miss Arnold sighed, “You are so right, Georgie. It has been a hard day. Miss Wood, could you see if there is any refreshment available?”
“I’ll ask, but why don’t you sit in the parlor? There’s a book of poetry written by one of our neighbors, Mr. Walter Landor.”
“People write poetry in these wilds?”
“He does at least. Apparently he’s a famous poet. He and his wife Julia have been restoring Llanthony abbey. We could visit them, when you’ve settled in.”
“So there is at least someculture in this forsaken wilderness.”
Cecelia responded, “There are assemblies at Abergavenny. They have dances, concerts and readings.”
“The big city of Abergavenny, you don’t say. Does everyone wear the latest mode?”
Cecelia ignored the snipe and continued, “The moors are so romantic, especially in storms when the clouds sweep across them. It always reminds me of Miss Radcliffes’ ‘The Romance of the Forest’.”
“I never read novels, they are so common.”
“Then perhaps the works of Shelley or Byron? I find it the best place to read them. Alone, high up on the moor with the wind whistling around me, and the call of the skylarks filling the air.”
A serious argument was beginning to brew between Miss Wood and Miss Arnold. Fortunately for the peace, Meadows came out from the servants’ wing and announced that dinner was ready.
Captain Wood, realizing that his escape had been exceedingly narrow, said, “Thank you Meadows, I know this is outside of your normal duties as a valet.”
“Sir, it is sometimes, especially in these barbaric circumstances, necessary to adjust one’s expectations to the exigencies of the situation.”
“Yes, what you said. Miss Wood, could you do the honor of showing us to the dinning room?”
Miss Arnold broke in, “That is my role, I have the precedence here.”
“Miss Arnold, do you know the way?”
“No.”
“I’ll show you the way, but you are free to precede me into the room if you wish.” Jane nodded, unaware of the hidden satire in Cecelia’s response, but fully satisfied that her prerogatives and status were duly preserved. Captain Wood did not miss it, and looked at his cousin in a new light.
Dinner went very well. At least the parts of dinner. Miss Arnold’s complained about the toughness of the lamb, the lack of variety of vegetables, and the general inelegance of the table settings. Captain Wood’s drank so much wine that he fell asleep at table and started snoring midway through the main course. These activities ensured that a sparkling level of conversation and society filled the hall. As soon as dinner was over Cecelia made her apologies and retired for the night with a headache and a good book.
Early in the morning Cecelia had the groom saddle her horse. In need of relief from her cousin and his fiancée, she set out in search of fresh air, long vistas, and romantic settings. She rode up Hatterrall hill, following Offa’s Dike, the ancient border between Wales and England to the top. This ride had the great advantage that she couldn’t even see Penyclawdd house and could blot its occupants from her mind. Soon, alone with the wind whipping past her, the sheep calling, and the skylarks chirping she felt like a true romantic heroine. A woman out of Byron’s poems or Mrs. Radcliffe’s novels.
Her solitude and the reverie that went with it were not to last. There was a woman up ahead, where the path from Llanthony prior rose to meet the dike. She was sitting and crying. Cecelia rode closer and recognized her neighbor, Julia, Mrs. Landor. She rode up to her, leaned over and asked, “Mrs. Landor, what’s wrong?”
“Miss Wood, can I call you Cecelia?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Cecelia, it’s my husband. He’s so irascible. We’ve just had a fight and I’m upset. I don’t know what I’ll do if he won’t forgive me.” She broke into tears.
“Forgive you for what?”
“Disagreeing with him. If only that solicitor, Mr. Gable hadn’t put him in a bad mood this morning.” Cecelia found herself thinking that there could be fates worse than death and being married to an unloving husband or wife could be one of them. She carefully dismounted and, while still holding the reins, went to sit with her neighbor.
“Julia, I’m sure it will be fine. Didn’t you argue last month and Mr. Landor stormed out of the house?”
“Yes, but this is different. It was all so magical when we met in Bath. He saw me in the assembly, said I was the most beautiful woman there and proposed on the spot.”
“That must have been wonderful.”
“It was. But then we came here, the farmers all try to cheat us, and that solicitor. I think he’s just using Walter as a source of funds.” She sobbed a bit more, “I, I wish we’d stayed in Bath.” Finally, she broke into untrammeled weeping.
Cecelia looked away from her friend and scanned the horizon. With one horse, there wasn’t any easy way to get her home. Looking at Julia’s feet she realized that her friend fled in her slippers. “Julia?”
“Yes?”
“Get up on my mare.”
“I can’t ride.”
“I’ll lead her for you. We’ll walk back to Penyclawdd. You can send Mr. Landor a note from there. I’m sure when he’s calmed down, he’ll be sorry. He is always sorry afterwards, you know that.”
“I suppose so. I’m not sure. I feel so odd.”
“Are you,” she paused knowing she was asking a very personal question, “breeding?”
“Might be. Would that make me feel this way?”
“I wouldn’t know myself, but remember Mrs. Llewellyn?”
Julia laughed at the memory. The young farmer’s wife was notorious for bursting into tears at church every Sunday until she delivered her child.
“Come on, you can’t stay out here in any case.”
Julia stood and with a bit of difficulty swung up into the side-saddle. Cecelia started to lead her off, when they heard the noise of another horse, being ridden hard behind them.
Julia cried, “It’s him, it’s Mr. Landor!”
It was. He was looking for Julia, calling at the top of his lungs, “Julia! Where are you? Please forgive me.”
Cecelia waved, and he rode to them. Julia looked away as he approached.
“Miss Wood, what a pleasure to see you.”
“It’s not me you need to charm Mr. Landor.”
He collected himself, and then began, “Julia, I’m sorry for what I said. You know how I get started ranting and say things I can’t possibly mean. Could you forgive me?”
The noise of the wind blowing filled the silence between them until Julia let loose. She gave her husband every bit as good a tongue-lashing as he had given her earlier.
“Forgive you, you, you insolent loud-mouthed irascible fool! Storming and shouting just because the porridge was a little too milky and the fool solicitor of yours sent you another padded bill.” She turned to Cecelia and told her, “If you would pass the reins to Mr. Landor, he can lead me back to Llanthony. I have a few more things to say to him, which might be embarrassing for you to hear.”
Cecelia handed the leads to Mr. Landor who gave her a sheepish grin, and quietly asked, “Would you mind walking home?”
“Miss Wood, walk to Penyclawdd from here? Mr. Landor whatever are you thinking of? Nothing as usual. Miss Wood, please join us in Llanthony for some refreshments before you ride home.”
“It would be my pleasure, as long as you will be done arguing by the time I arrive.”
“We will be, I have only a few more things to tell my Lord and Master.”
Mr. Landor winked at Cecelia, “Miss Wood, Julia and I are well-matched. We give each other as good as we get.”
The Landors could be heard arguing as they walked their horses back along the dike and then down the steep hill to Llanthony. Cecelia waited until she couldn’t hear their raised voices and then started walking after them.

Railroad maps.

These are from the Georgia archives, but may be useful for understanding the geography of the book.

This one shows the roads, as the were supposed to be right after the end of the Civil War. Note that there is a line which goes from Marietta to Jackson. It roughly follows the Silver Comet trail.

By 1874 there is a marked increase in the roads near Rome and Cartersville. Part of that triangle goes just one side of Snake Gap, where Sherman’s men looped around our boys at Resaca. The road from Marietta to Jackson is gone. I wonder why. My guess is it wasn’t real or had been damaged too badly by Sherman’s merry gang of vandals. The road to Charlotte is almost done. That’s the main AMTRAK route today.

In 1878, and in more detail, the roads are more like today’s freight lines. The Marietta road is still not there. Today both the Silver Comet trail and freight lines follow that path.

The start of the second chapter of the civil war romance

This one seems to be writing itself. Nearly 5000 words already. There won’t be a lot happening in the first section, but it sets the stage for the sparks, sturm and drang of the rest of the book.

2. Covington.

The 23rd arrived at the town square in Covington well ahead of the infantry. They set up camp in the town square and waited for the leading elements of infantry to trickle in. Over the vociferous protests of some of his men, Captain Patrick insisted on placing out a picket line and putting an observer up in the church tower. He explained to them, “Just because Joe Wheeler or the local militia ain’t Forrest doesn’t mean we can slack off.”
Walking back to Miss Mary and her servant, he stated, “We’ve got the time. Where’s your Aunt?”
Mary glared at him, angry at being brought to town and doubly angry at being escorted there by a union division. Sally, practical as ever, replied, “Miss Mary, he’s trying to help you, and Massa Sam. Though I don’t know why he would with how you’ve been sassing him. Do you want me to tell him?”
Mary remained aloof and defiant, so Sally finally answered for her, “Down Church street. Not far.” This was met with an explosion of wrath from her mistress, “Sally, no! You don’t answer for me, ever! I should have you whipped for this.”
“But you won’t, will you?” Mary seethed for a few minutes, and then finally gasped out, “No. I can’t do that. Not to my oldest friend. You know it, don’t you?”
Captain Patrick waited for her to calm down, and then said, “Let’s go. I want to get shot of you two before I have to deal with the provost.”
While the scratches the Captain’s roundels made on Mrs Joan Cummings’ polished floors would be shown as evidence of “Yankee brutality” for the next forty years, Mary’s Aunt was pleased to have her niece stay with her. “I was worried stiff with her out at that farm, only servants and no overseer. Glad to see she’s here with her kin.”
“I suggest, that until her war paint wears off, your niece stays inside. If they find out what she was up to, the provost marshal’s won’t be as nice as I was about releasing her.”
“What was Mary doing?”
“I was counting the blue-bellies in Atlanta.”
“In other words, she was spying.” Turning to Mary he continued, “You’re done with that, aren’t you? Because the next time you’re caught, that’s it.”
“What do you mean ‘that’s it’?”
“We don’t usually shoot ladies. Hang them instead. Doesn’t make much difference to you though, except shootings faster.”
“Oh.”
“Now about your brother Sam. I’ll see if he can be paroled, but Mrs. Cummings will have to answer for him. Keep him from getting into any more mischief.”
“Mischief?”
Mary explained, “Sam’s militia unit attacked these blue-bellies this morning. They shot them all. All but Sam.”
Her aunt gasped, “All of them, even Mr. Fair?”
“They charged out of the mist at dawn yelling and waving their sabers. Even fired a shot or two. So yes, unless some of them ran away, we shot them all.”
“That’s awful.”
“I agree. There’s no reason to use schoolboys for such a forlorn mission. There weren’t enough of them to succeed in any case. Whoever ordered that attack has a lot of innocent blood on his hands.”
“And you don’t?”
“Not from that, Ma’am. Not one single drop of it. My men are disciplined and we prepare for a surprise attack when we stop. Shooting soldiers, well Ma’am,” he paused, “that’s what the army does.” He boasted, “We’re darned good at it. Had a lot of practice.”
Neither Mary nor her aunt agreed with him, but politely kept their mouths shut. The Captain continued, “With your permission, could Miss Sally here, wait with my division? She can come and get you when a provost marshal arrives. It won’t be long.”
Captain Patrick and Sally walked back to the center of town. He stopped near the church, turned and asked bluntly asked her, “Miss Cummings, are you going to stay with your sister?”
“My sister, How did you know?”

“It’s obvious when I see the two of you together. I’d rather you stay here if you are willing. I wasn’t exaggerating when I told Old Joshua about the difficulties they’d run into if they followed the army.”
“I thought you union men were for freedom.”

“Not all of us. Uncle Billy doesn’t particularly like niggers. I fought next to some damned fine black regiments before we were transferred south with General Hooker. None of those regiments is welcome inthis army.”
“It’s all changing. I don’t want to stay a sla- a servant.”
“Don’t blame you at all. From what I’ve seen I’d rather be dead that one of these slaves.Just be aware that the only darkies Sherman wants are laborers to help his army. He isn’t going to lift a finger to help anyone else. I’m worried about what will happen to them.”
“It’s going to be different after the warisn’t it?”

“Yes, but I don’t know how much. I was home on leave in ’63, couldn’t recognize the place. I can barely imagine what it’s like for you.”

“It’s scary and exciting. All mixed up at once. It’s my turn to ask you a question, Captain.”

“Ask me.”
“Why do you care about Miss Mary? These white southerners hate you. They all do, her included.”

“As if I didn’t already know that. Is it that hard to imagine that a Yankee can be an officer anda gentleman?”
“Suppose not. The governor issued a proclamation claiming you all are vandals and savages. Miss Mary read it to us. Guess they was lyin’ just like when the said you Yankee’s ate black babies.”
“War is a cruel business. You saw what we did this morning. I’ll do the same tomorrow if I have to. It’s the chances to be kind that are rare in this business. They help to make it possible to go on.”

By the time they returned to the town square, the advance units of the infantry from the second division of the Army of Georgia1had arrived.
Captain Patrick left Sally with his lieutenants and reported to General Morgan. Other than the skirmish with the militia, his sweep had been uneventful, and the maps Captain Poe had given them were accurate.
“Sir, there is one other matter that I have to report.”
“What is it?’
“Prisoners, a thirteen year old boy and his older sister.”
“Local militia, I’ll direct the provost to parole him.”
“He can stay with his aunt in town. She’s willing to keep him out of trouble. It’s the sister who’s a problem.”
“Really?”
“She wore black-face and spied on us in Atlanta. I destroyed her reports and she promises not to continue, but-.”
The general chuckled, “Pretty girl is she Dan? You want me to put the scare into her, don’t you?”
“If you could, just have someone search for her.”
“You know where this aunt lives?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll post a guard. That’ll scare them enough.”
“Thank you Sir. Unless you have other orders, I’ll get my men’s ammunition resupplied and be off on the next sweep.”
“Impatient are you?”
“Sir, cavalry does no one any good sitting in camp with the infantry.”
“Something tells me you like the independent command too.”
“There is that.”
“Makes you a good scout. Be careful Dan, I don’t want to have to write a letter to your mother.”
Captain Patrick saluted, and returned to his unit.
1The left wing of Sherman’s army.

Start of Civil War Romance.

This is set near the start of Sherman’s march to the sea. I’ve had to use a few terms for African Americans (Darky) that were current at the time to set the atmosphere.
I often write drafts of ideas to see how they work. This one, if it works will be in two sections, a short one in 1864 where the characters are introduced, and a longer one in 1870 (or so) where the romantic sparks fly. 
We’ll see how it works.

 

1864.

1. Uncle Billy’s Men.

Mary scrubbed at the stains on her hands and face. “It won’t come off! Sally, it won’t come off!” She stained her skin with butternut’s to blend in with the Negro’s and spy on that devil Sherman’s army. Now with the union cavalry patrol on the way, the stain wouldn’t shift. Coarse soap, lye, and hard scrubbing weren’t doing anything to remove the deep brown that covered her face, hands, and neck. She was panicking and her black servant, Sally, who had been her best friend as a little girl, was scrubbing as well. She was trying to help her mistress look like what she was, namely ‘Massa’s daughter’.
Sally finally stopped scrubbing. “Miss Mary?”
“Yes!”
“There’s only one thing to do. Put more on. You look enough like me that maybe them union folk won’t notice.”
“But that would leave the house unguarded and you know what those bummers do to empty houses.”
“Better that than they shoot you as a spy.”
Mary paused, then said, “Sally, I don’t know what I’d do without you. You’ll watch after me, won’t you?”
“Miss Mary, you know I will.” They had grown up together, played as best friends until Mary had been sent to finishing school in Atlanta. Mary had even secretly taught her how to read. If ‘Miss Mary’ had forgotten her whipping from when she’d told her father that she didn’t want to own her best friend, Sally hadn’t. Not that it had mattered in the end. Sally was still a slave and Mary still her mistress.

Captain Daniel Patrick of the 23rd Ohio cavalry rode at the head of his squad as they entered the farm yard in the late November afternoon. They were riding a sweep in front of the infantry as the Army of the Tennessee marched out of Atlanta heading for Savannah. He raised his hand and had the division halt.
“Lieutenant, this looks like a good place to bivouac for the evening. Get the men settled, and don’t forget to set out the pickets. I’ve been smelling Joe Wheeler’s boys for the last couple of hours.” One reason Captain Patrick was Captain Patrick and not the gallant deceased Private Patrick was his ability to ‘smell out’ rebel soldiers.
As the men deployed, Captain Patrick led a few men into the mansion, to see what there was. Since the owners had decamped for better grounds, it was fair game. He called out in frustration, “Sergeant James.”
“Sir?”
“What a purse-poor proud lot these are. I’ve seen better houses on the poor side of Cleveland, haven’t you?”
Sergeant James replied, “Yes, but you know there’s always something good hidden in these houses.”
“True, and it doesn’t look like the masters had much time to pack. The closet is still full of dresses.”
“Yes, it looks that way, sir.”
“Well remember that we aren’t supposed to spoil civilians. Have a good look, but don’t destroy more than you have to. See if there’s any war material, because then we can burn it.”
“Sir?”
“Search the place. If it’s just dresses, leave it. Anything else, come and find me.”
“Yes sir.”
“Good. Now I’m going to look at the darkies and see if I can convince them to stay. There isn’t much point in having them join the army, is there?”
Leaving his sergeant and selected helpers to search the house, Captain Patrick went over to the slave quarters. Something immediately caught his eye, but he couldn’t quite figure out what it meant. “Lieutenant Oats?”
“Sir?”
“Notice anything odd about these darkies?”
“They’re awful quiet.” Usually by the time the union soldiers reached the slave quarters, there was a riotous party. He was used to the newly freed negro’s pointing at Lieutenant Oats, who wore a beard, and shouting “He’s got the Lincoln head, the Lincoln head!” Instead, there was a sullen gathering in the yard, and they weren’t even packing their things to flee.
“Oats, do you think they know something’s up?”
“Wheeler’s boys?”
“Could be.” Captain Patrick looked at the darkies. They stood in the yard, nervously watching the soldiers, and were clustered away from two young women. Occasionally one would shoot the pair a worried glance. “Could be something to do with those two. See how they’re staying away from them?”
“Yes, what do you think it is?”
“Let’s go and find out.” Together they walked over to the women.
Sally could feel her mistress stiffen with fear, She quickly turned and whisperd, “Miss Mary, let me do the talking.”
Captain Patrick walked over and carefully circled the two women. He thoroughly looked them over while whistling a monotonous tune. Suddenly he smiled, and chuckled, “Well, I haven’t seen this before. These southerners will do anything.” He reached over and pulled up Mary’s dress. It revealed a shapely and white calf. “Sorry Ma’am, but that was the easiest way to find out.”
Mary was about to slap him for his impertinence, when Sergeant James came running out. “Sir! Look what we found!” He was waving a sheath of papers.
“What is it?”
“Looks like a report on the Army. Detailed.”
Captain Patrick read the papers. They gave a fairly accurate description of the Army of the Tennessee’s strength and marching order as it was when it left Atlanta. He whistled to himself then added, “Old Joe Wheeler would love these. Might even entice General Hood to come back down here from Alabama.” The papers were written in a feminine hand.
“So Miss, Mary was it. What are these about?”
“Miss Cummings. Miss Mary Cummings. I don’t know anything about those papers.”
“Next time you try spying, don’t sign your work. You know I can just shoot you for spying?”
Mary paled, not that it was visible beneath her staining, and started to faint. Sally caught her and glared at the captain. “You wouldn’t do that, would you?”
Daniel chuckled, “No, I don’t like to shoot females. I’ll find something else.” He addressed Sergeant James, “The men probably need some coffee, if they haven’t started the fires, use these for tinder. Make sure they’re all burnt.”
“Sir!”
Captain Patrick reached inside his jacket and pulled out a small bundle of letters. He looked at them, paused for a moment and then asked his sergeant, “While you’re at it burn these too.” Like most of the men, he kept a bundle of letters from his dearest friend. Lieutenant Oats noticed this and remarked, “Dan, what happened?”
“Last letter I got in Atlanta, Charlene married some railroad man. Don’t blame her, this war looks to go on forever, and she’s smart to grab a man while she can.”
“Still, it must sting.”
“A little, now back to what to do with our pretty captive.”

Some Technical Notes

Just uploaded the Kindle-specific version of Charlotte. (If you’re looking and it has an ISBN number that’s the direct conversion, the kindle version will say Kindle version).

I used LibreOffice to write the book. It generally works very well for this. The alternative program I could have used was word (though not on my machine because for some reason I love Linux!)  Unfortunately Amazon really needs a native Word document, so I had to borrow my BFF’s windows machine to make the kindle version. So I can give a relative assessment of the strengths of the programs.

  1. Basic functions. Format/font/spellchecking. There’s not a lot of difference in function here, but LibreOffice is easier to use. It is easier to pull down and modify elements of the template to do things like change font or margins. My BFF finds that above a certain size document word stops the spellcheck. Libreoffice continues no matter how large the document (although the check document seems to stop at a certain length too).
  2. Grammar functions. LibreOffice uses an addin called Languagetool. It is pretty good, and I used it for Charlotte. It has a few quirks, my favorite having ‘to Bath’ (as in ‘they drove to Bath’) flagged as an error; it wanted me to say either to the bath or to bathe, which doesn’t quite mean the same thing. It’s also very sensitive to the use of some, as in ‘some of these’.  Word’s tool is still a bit better at catching homonymic miss-spellings and dropped letters (a instead of at, though instead of thought). So this is one good reason to use word.
  3. Table of contents. Word rules here. The current version of LibreOffice simply does not support generating a good table of contents. This is a pity because the older versions were very good at it (much better than word).
  4. Word format. Open office is good at it, word is almost, but not quite perfect.

Charlotte is (almost) online

I just finished with submitting the hard-copy version of Charlotte to Amazon, etc. The kindle version will probably be done tomorrow. Just sending the paper copy to Kindle results in an inferior product, so I’ll take the time to do it correctly. No DRM this time because as a beginning writer, it’s more important that someone reads my book, than that I get paid for it.

After its 90 days on kindle, I’ll try smashwords.

Some atmospheric pictures from the Welsh/English border

These are from the area around Llanthony prior. High moorland near a picturesque set of ruins (which contain a pub).

I think these could make a good backdrop for a book.

First draft is done

Charlotte, the practical education of a distressed gentlewoman has a complete first draft.

There are a few places that are rougher than I like, but overall it’s not bad. It will probably go via create space to Kindle and then (eventually) smashwords.