Yves Fey's Blog

Before I began my historical mysteries, I wrote historical romance as Gayle Feyrer and Taylor Chase. I’m reprinting my romances over the next year. Heart of Deception is set during the reign of Elizabeth I, when the followers of Mary Queen of Scots were plotting to put her on the throne. It has rich historical detail, a thrilling plot, and steamy sex. Plus a fierce heroine.
I’ll be touring with Goddess Fish promotions and answering fascinating questions like who would I cast in the movie?

Ont un Halloween Heureux! That’s what I’d like to say, since heureux co-mingles nicely with horreur in the ear, but Joyeux Halloween! is probably correct. Meanwhile, you can learn a little here about Halloween in the French style. I hope I’ve given you sufficient vocabulary. Vous serez surpris de voir à quel point beaucoup français vous savez déjà.

Par exemple, ici, c’est le tombeau de Delacroix au cimetière du Père Lachaise.

 

Halloween is not a French holiday, but they’ve adopted it so les petits enfants can put on classic déguisements and get some bonbons.  Perhaps your jeune fille would like to be a zombie?

C’est le même mot en anglais ou en français.Dark Child by psyberartistHalloween is not a French holiday, but they’ve adopted it so les petits enfants can put on classic déguisements and get some bonbons. But the French have their own Day of the Dead, though it is far more somberly celebrated than in Mexico. November 1st is La Toussaint, or All Saint’s Day. Les cimetières are visited and chrysanthèmes left on the graves in magnificent displays praised as worthy of tourist visits.

 

I’ve read that if you are ever invited to an automne dinner by a French family, you should not horrify your hostess by presenting her with a bouquet of chrysanthemums. Since one can find images of this lovely autumnal flower looking cheerful in vases, I can’t attest to the accuracy of this warning. More research is needed.

Bouquet of Chrysantemums by RenoirHowever, I have assured myself that there will be a tarte à la citrouille, perhaps served by the light of un bougie. I saw many delicous recipes on the internet. One called for roasting the pumpkin first. Fascinating.Pumpkin pie by candlelight. Photo from freshtopia.net

Bougie? I searched and found that this “wax candle” comes from Bugia, a town in Algeria with an ancient wax trade. Odd that bougie conjures Boogey(man), though not, in this case, boogie. According to Wikimedia: “The French equivalent of the Bogeyman is le croque-mitaine (“the mitten-biter” or rather “the hand-cruncher”, mitaine means mitt in an informal way).” Isn’t it very Russian to have a diminutive longer than the word? Apparently the Bogeyman is usually a deliberately vague and faceless personification of terror, and the same goes for the French version. There were no illustrations of a demonic figure crunching or munching gloved hands. I went in search of an image from one of those old Hollywood movies with crawling hand searching out a victim to throttle. No luck. I did find a lady in black leather “bondage mittens.” A bit kinky for this post? Then I found this “crime scene” photo. Rather too perfect to be real, and no mittens, but it’s quite striking.

Original photo by JRLibby

So if French bougies come from Bugia, wence cometh candles? According to the online Etymology Dictionary: “Old English candel “lamp, lantern, candle,” an early ecclesiastical borrowing from Latin candela “a light, torch, candle made of tallow or wax,” from candere “to shine,” from PIE root *kand- “to glow, to shine, to shoot out light” (cf. Sanskrit cand- “to give light, shine,” candra- “shining, glowing, moon;” Greek kandaros “coal;” Welsh cann “white;” Middle Irish condud “fuel”).”

Vanitas by Pieter Claeszoon

And not only that! “Candles were unknown in ancient Greece (where oil lamps sufficed), but common from early times among Romans and Etruscans. Candles on birthday cakes seems to have been originally a German custom. To hold a candle to originally meant “to help in a subordinate capacity,” from the notion of an assistant or apprentice holding a candle for light while the master works. To burn the candle at both ends is recorded from 1730.”

But back to Halloween… There are the usual costume possibilities. Various monstres are as popular there as they are here. Le Diable is always present. Terrifiants fantômes hanter le monde. Paris lays claim to one of the most famous fantômes.Phantom of the OperaIn 1884, this fashionable outfit was suggested if you wanted to be une sorcière. She does not wear a masque, but she does hold un balai.Elle a deux familiers. Un petit hibou perché sur son chapeau, et un chat noir rideaux ses épaules.a witchToutefois, ce chat noir beau est beaucoup plus célèbre.Il est le véritable symbole de la Butte Montmartre et la fin du siècle.Vampires et autres créatures de la nuit, font leur apparition sur la scène.Old movie postera batUne autre créature renvoyée par le royaume de la mort est la momie.Classic cinema posterOr perhaps, you could design a chapeau avec un lutin, as in this strange illustration.Man pecked by the goblin of criticism.What other French words might you need for a proper Halloween? Here’s an new one for me: un feu follet for a Jack O’Lantern.Citroulle préparée pour Halloween by Carol Pasquier.Also new and strange is un épouventail is a scarecrow.Gladys as a Scarecrow from James.lenbinskiFor creepiness, we must needs have a creepy crawly critter.A spider in its web. Photo by Micael HartlAnd finally, a skeleton.Most versatile, this mummified couple could be a zombie duo, or Death on a mount.He holds a link to les catacombs. What better trip to take on Halloween? Photo by Jebulon

 

If you wanted a creepy experience in the era of my novels, you could visit Cabaret du Néant, of nothingness, and be treated to a body dissolving in a coffin. You could enter the coffin yourself, if you chose.

Illustration by W. C. Morrow

 

For continued creepiness, go to my website and visit les catacombes – just click on this image.

RULE #1 – NEVER OPEN A BOOK WITH THE WEATHER:

Get Shorty by Elmore Leonard:
When Chili first came to Miami Beach twelve years ago, they were having one of their off-and-on cold winters: thirty-four degrees the day he met Tommy Carlo for lunch at Vesuvio’s on South Collins and had his leather jacket ripped off. One his wife had given him a year ago for Christmas, before they moved down here.

Tom Adams’ fabulous cover. Click the image for the original trailer.The Big Sleep by Raymond Chandler
It was about eleven o’clock in the morning, mid October, with the sun not shining and a look of hard wet rain in the clearness of the foothills. I was wearing my powder-blue suit, with dark blue shirt, tie and display handkerchief, black brogues, black wool socks with dark blue clocks on them. I was neat, clean, shaved and sober, and I didn’t care who knew it. I was everything the well-dressed private detective ought to be. I was calling on four million dollars.

1984 by George Orwell
It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen. Winston Smith, his chin nuzzled into his breast in an effort to escape the vile wind, slipped quickly through the glass doors of Victory Mansions, though not quickly enough to prevent a swirl of gritty dust from entering along with him.

Little Dorrit by Charles Dickens
Thirty years ago, Marseilles lay burning in the sun one day.
A blazing sun upon a fierce August day was no greater rarity in Southern France then that at any other time, before or since. Everything in Marseilles, and about Marseilles, had stared at the fervid sky, and been stared at in return, until a staring habit had become universal there. Strangers were started out of countenance by staring white houses, staring white walls, staring white streets, staring tracts of arid road, staring hills from which verdure was burnt away. The only things that did not seem fixedly staring and glaring were the vines drooping under their load of grapes. These did occasionally wink a little, as the hot air barely moved their faint leaves.

Click to view trailerAll The King’s Men by Robert Penn Warren
To get there you follow Highway 58, going northeast out of the city, and it is a good highway and new. Or was new, that day we went up it. You look up the highway and it is straight for miles, coming at you, with the black line down the center coming at you and at you, black and slick and tarry-shining against the white of the slab, and the heat dazzles up from the white slab so that only the black line is clear, coming at you with the whine of the tires, and if you don’t quit starting at that line and don’t take a few deep breaths and slap yourself hard on the back of the neck you’ll hypnotize yourself and you’ll come to just at the moment when the right front wheel hooks over into the black dirt shoulder off the slab, and you’ll try to jerk her back on but you can’t because the slab is high like a curb, and maybe you’ll try to reach to turn off the ignition just as she starts the dive. But you won’t make it, of course.

And what about endings?

Wuthering Heights by Emily Brönte
“I lingered round them, under that benign sky: watched the moths fluttering among the heath and harebells, listened to the soft wind breathing through the grass, and wondered how anyone could ever imagine unquiet slumbers for the sleepers in that quiet earth.”

The Dead by James Joyce
It had begun to snow again. He watched sleepily the flakes, silver and dark, falling obliquely against the lamplight…. Yes, the newspapers were right: snow was general all over Ireland. It was falling on every part of the dark central plain, on the treeless hills, falling softly upon the Bog of Allen and, farther westward, softly falling into the dark mutinous Shannon waves. It was falling, too, upon every part of the lonely churchyard on the hill where Michael Furey lay buried. It lay thickly drifted on the crooked crosses and headstones, on the spears of the little gate, on the barren thorns. His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead.

Elmore Leonard’s RULES are making the rounds again. I can read an Elmore Leonard book with delight, but I dislike every single one of his rules except the last one about leaving out the boring bits. Years back, I wrote a guest post to that effect: Breaking All The Rules for D.V. Berkom’s blog.
Below is the expansion on one of the rules I find the most annoying, perhaps because those who truly find the “said” tag invisible continue to tout it to those who find it screamingly apparent.

Breaking Elmore Leonard’s Rule #3

“Elmore Leonard said never use a verb other than “said” to carry dialogue,” he said.
“Well, how boring is that?” she said.
“Unobtrusive,” he said.
“Tedious,” she said.
“Concise,” he said. “Invisible.”
“Ha!” she said.
“Did you just use an exclamation point?” he said.
“Shouldn’t that “said” be an “ask”?” she said, wondering about the placement of internal quote marks.
“Just drop the tag,” he said. “Why ask at all?”
“What about rhythm?”
“Rhythm?”
“You know,” she said, “all the words together form a rhythm.”
“Ummm,” he said.
“And tags can be used to vary rhythm,” she said.
“Ummm,” he said. Again.
“How annoying!” she said, wishing he’d just repeat himself. “What about whispering? What about demanding? Cajoling? Yelling and yelping?”
“It should all be clear from context,” he said.
“Ha!” she said.
“That’s two. You get three every 100,000 words. Rule #5,” he said.
“You missed four,” she said.
“Adverbs.” He shuddered visibly.
She could see that if he shuddered, it would probably be visibly. Refusing to be distracted, she stuck to her guns, though using a cliché might break rule #6. “Scolding? Reproving? Admonishing?”
“Only Victorians admonish,” he said.
“So you say,” she said.
“And academics,” he said.
“So dialogue tags can be used to characterize,” she said. It was not a question.
“Ummm,” he said.
“Muttering? Mumbling? Murmuring? Musing? Subtle differences all clear from context? Coaxing? Wheedling? Enticing?”
“Distracting,” he said. “Why clutter the sentence with ornate verbs?”
“Why not clarify the sentence with the exact verb?” she had to ask.
“It should all be clear from context,” he (repeated himself again) said.
“What about sudden changes in emotion—all clear from context?”
“Really, all you need is said,” he said. “Simple. Clean. Unpretentious. All but imperceptible.”
“Years before I heard this rule,” she said, “I read a page and a half of a different bestselling author’s short terse dialogue, that ended with “he said” after every sentence.”
“Every sentence?”
“I mean ghastly,” she said.
“You exaggerate,” he said.
“Chinese water torture,” she said. “No, too subtle,” she said. “Sledge hammer!” she said – using another forbidden exclamation point.
“You used “said” too many times,” he said.
“Have I made my point?” she said.

P.B.C.’s, as he affectionately initializes them, are a favorite of my husband.  It’s the extra peanut butter that makes them so good.  They are a very dense, chewy cookie. These are my own devising, and I’m very proud of how delicious they are.

1/2 cup butter

1 1/2 cups brown sugar

2 cups good peanut butter, crunchy

1 egg, beaten

Grated rind of one small orange

¼ cup orange juice

1 teaspoon vanilla or vanilla paste

2 cups flour

1 teaspoon baking powder

!/2 teaspoon baking soda

 
Preheat the oven to 350.  Lightly butter a cookie sheet.

Cream together the butter and brown sugar, then cream in the peanut butter.  Add the beaten egg.   Add the flavorings.  Sift in the dry ingredients.  Work with a big spoon or your hands until all the flour is incorporated.

Roll the dough into balls and place on the prepared cookie sheet.  Press the cookies with a flour-dipped fork, making crosshatched patterns.  Bake the cookies for about 12 minutes.  Cool a couple of minutes, and then remove from pan.  Makes about 2 – 4 dozen, depending on how big you make the cookies.

BOO!!  

Enhanced detail of catacombs art by Jérȏme Bon.

To celebrate Halloween I’ve added an extra page on the Paris Catacombs to my website.  The main page deals with the history of the catacombs, the new one has a more modern slant, with a story about the cataphiles, those who venture into the forbidden tunnels of the catacombs, alone or in packs.  There are solitary artists, cinema goers, and rave attendees.

Here is a sample of the beautiful photographs and art on the page.

Image by J.M. Shomburg, enhanced in green.

 

To visit the photographer’s site, click the image.

Also in the Catacombs Today page, you’ll see the art of the cataphiles, both fabulous and funky.

This image by Jérȏme Bon has been intensified for effect.

 

Another enhanced detail. Click the image to see the original photo.

 

Wonderfully silly anarchist bomber photographed by Jérȏme Bon.

To have a look at the modern day catacombs, click the image by Jérȏme Bon.

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To descend into the ancient necropolis, touch this Tambour Macabre, a Lord of Death of Johann Robert Schürch.

To descend into the ancient necropolis, touch this Tambour Macabre, a Lord of Death of Johann Robert Schürch. http://yvesfey.com/2montmartre/the-re...

Nils de Dardel, one of Sweden’s most famous artists, is all but unknown beyond its borders. His surname, according to the guide at the Modern Art Museum in Stockholm, is pronounced Dar-a-del.

Portrait of the young Nils de Dardel by Ivan Constantin

As soon as I saw the poster, I knew that I must see his retrospective. I was amazed that I’d never heard of this artist despite the quality of his work, its uniqueness, and that he was part of the famous and notorious 1920’s crowd in Montmartre and Montparnasse.

Image used in the poster. Click to link to the Moderna Museet.

The Moderna Museet wrote that he is now described as proto-surrealist, but that his style “is reminiscent of a mixture of naivism and late-19th century symbolism.” Even before I read that description, it was the fusion I experienced in his work – exquisite and often decadent poetic imagery combined with a naïvete at once self-mocking and heartfelt.

Charming elephants.

One section of text at the museum reads: “Nils Dardel was an eccentric dandy with an unusual lifestyle. His character stood in the way of his artistic career…” There were several coy references to his wayward behavior at the museum and on-line. At first I presumed he was gay.

Gender bending café painting.

However, Dardel was, variously, secretly engaged, married, and spent the last years of his life traveling with a female companion. So I decided he was bisexual, or perhaps polymorphously perverse. Certainly narcissistic, given the number of his self-portraits. The Monderna Museet had a Found Object version displaying his palette beside a mirror.

One of his most famous paintings, The Dying Dandy.

Dardel worked in several of the experimental styles popular in the early years of the 20th Century. You may want to click through the Moderna Museet’s Walking Quiz Tour for kids which is very amusing.

Just click the image to go to the tour.

He was most successful as a portrait painter, and he experimented with various styles in that genre as well.

Dardel’s portrait of another dandy.

Portrait of Rolfe de Mare

His pencil work is gorgeous, and far more realistic in style. My apologies here for not getting the titles of most of these works and for the reflections in the glass. I had to throw away many images because of the reflections.

Pencil portrait of a young man.

Pencil drawing of dramatic man with mustache.

This drawing is a particular favorite, so I’m including it despite the distracting reflections. The abstract way in which Dardel handles her hair is especially gorgeous.

Pencil drawing of a young girl.

Certain images haunted Dardel, themes were repeated, even the same image given different treatments. Here are two versions of his Crime of Passion.

A green Passion.

A crimson Passion.

Mystery writers, historical fiction writers, are you looking for a new sleuth, a fascinating major or minor character? This could be your guy.

The Dance of Death

The main problem being that you may need to be able to read Swedish to find out about him in any depth. I found this family site, which has a number of the same images, plus many I don’t have. Click the image to visit.

Funeral in Senlis

Or click this picture to visit the blog of another woman who attended the Stockholm show several times and has other images and history of this fascinating artist, Nils de Dardel.

A particularly famous painting, The Waterfall.

In honor of Halloween, here is a collection of wonderful black cat images.  Enjoy.  Better yet, adopt a black cat.

 

 

Die Katze by Hans Thoma

 

Chatfemme offered to the public domain by Pascual Carlos Esteban

 

 

Poster of Momus float.

 

A black cat by Paul Ranson.

 

Still Life with Cat by Boris Grigoriev

 

And something pretty to polish it all off….

 

Lady with Cat by Bodarevsky.

As part of my October Blog Tour for Floats the Dark Shadow, I’ll be adding a couple of new pages to my website.

The first is The World of the Courtesan, which has bits and pieces of general history with a focus on the famous beauties of the Belle Époque. Among the courtesans are Marie Duplessis, Cora Pearl, Liane de Pougy and others.

La Belle Otero in one of her daring costumes.

There are photographs and posters of these courtesans from the fin-de-siècle

The ballerina Cléo de Mérode.

And there are paintings from many eras.

Henry Fuseli’s painting, Courtesan.

There’s even one of the Greek namesake of the much loved heroine of Kerry Greenwood’s Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries, Phyrne Fisher, whose father really meant to name her Psyche, but was too drunk to get it right, and so got it delightfully wrong.

Click on the image to see the books.

Come have a look and learn a little more about some of the fascinating women of the era.

Boldini’s portrait of Sarah Bernhardt. Click on the image to visit The World of the Courtesan.

Click on this link to follow the tour and win a copy of my multiple award-winning mystery.

I’m delighted to present Ingrid Hall, unique author, savvy reviewer, and provider of book and manuscript services. Ingrid was the prime mover behind forming Indie and Proud, our diverse group of talented authors. Ingrid has two books available. There’s Granny Irene’s Guide to the Afterlife (provocatively sub-titled Revenge, Part 1) and the novella The Tunnel Betwixt which was inspired by her own near-death experience. It is deliciously described in a review by Lenora as “Dada-esque, surreal, pagan.

But there’s more ahead. Shimmying into her alter-ego Luna Ballantyne, she’s embarking on adventures in the (fictional) erotic realm.

 

 

The Interview: How is constructing an erotic novel different from writing another genre?

Well, I guess the main part is the obvious part: the erotic content. I have read a lot of erotica/steamy romances over the years and I think I have a fairly good feel for the genre. I have written some fairly graphic scenes in a brothel for previous work, but because the emphasis in those scenes was very much on prostitutes/working girls, then they weren’t by definition erotic. I also think you have to have a clear idea in your head as to whether you are aiming for pure porn, or whether you are looking to introduce a romantic element and a story…I also believe that in order to write good erotica, you have to have lived and experienced (most) of it. I say most, because you always need to let your imagination run rip in whatever you are writing, but with something as detailed as this, then you kind of need to know what you are talking about. God forbid that you should write something, and the position/scene be completely unworkable in real life – Imagine the flak that you would cop for that! So, it is with a certain sense of trepidation that I am writing my One Night Stand Series, as I am a teeny bit nervous, seeing how there is quite a lot of “me” in there, as to how it will be perceived, especially among people who know me, but don’t really know that side of me.

Have you ever had a One Night Stand…and was it any good?

I didn’t meet my husband until I was thirty, and yes, it’s fair to say that I lived quite a wild life before then. I had several one night stands over the years, some of them were amazing, and some of them were a complete waste of time. I remember throwing one guy out of my house at about 04:00 a.m. because he was so boring, and I just thought that when I wake up, it isn’t going to be with you! Do I feel any guilt, or have any regrets? Well, yes, I have a few regrets about some of the dubious choices that I made, but do I feel any guilt or shame? No, absolutely not! I was a single woman, in the prime of her life…and I had fun.

Do you need to be in love with your hero to write a sexy book?

My hero in my upcoming book is a 17th Century Highwayman, who has travelled through time and has now found himself in the 21st Century. What’s not to love about him? I definitely have to have a mental connection with my hero. I have to understand what makes him tick, even if I don’t particularly like him. I definitely have to want to rip his clothes off at any given minute, and he DEFINITELY has to be amazing in bed. Does that mean I have to be in love with him? Hmmm, not too sure, I think provided he ticks all of those boxes, I could still have my fun with him and then cheerfully send him to the gallows…Does my heroine feel the same way, well, that’s the million dollar question, and as the series progresses, readers will see that my emphasis is definitely on the hero, as, unlike most erotic romance series the heroine changes with each new book!

Was your starting point a particular scenario, setting, or the characters?

My starting point was with the hero (my highwayman) and also a young woman who was accused of being a witch in the 17th Century.   The whole series is based loosely upon the real life Newcastle witch trials. I originally started with the intention of telling the story of Elizabetha and her highwayman in one go, but then realised that it would be a hell of a lot more interesting, if I separated them right from the start, and had to make him find his way back to her.   Bizarre as it may seem, by shagging everything that moves, he will gain the tools that he needs to do exactly that. The highwayman is definitely on a mission, and I hope readers will understand this. It will also be interesting to see how they respond to each of his women because while he will always take what he wants from them, he will always give them something that they desire in return… and it won’t always be the most obvious thing that you can think of!

What do you find most erotic in erotic novels, and what do you find least erotic?

I like erotica that makes me think as well as pushing my buttons! There has to be a reasonably strong story to make me keep reading. The sex scenes have to be full on, no holds barred, but they can’t be mechanical. There also has to be an emotional or psychological element. I don’t really mind how they get their kicks, or how perverse it may seem, so long as I am invested to a reasonably high level in the characters.

Is there any genre you wouldn’t attempt?

I would never say never to anything! How does writing fiction differ from critiquing fiction?

When I am writing, I am free to be me. When I am critiquing, then I owe it to the author to write a fair and balanced review, so I do take a lot of care to make sure that I toss anything negative that I am feeling about the book, around in my head for a while, to make sure that when it comes out in the actual review, it is a fair and constructive reflection…rather than something that has just hacked me off!

Does critiquing help you to view your own work more critically?

Critiquing fiction has actually made me write much better fiction. I have seen first-hand the common mistake that indie authors make and I am now doing my utmost to avoid falling into the same trap.

What’s the hardest criticism you’ve had to take to heart?

When my first novel Granny Irene’s Guide to the Afterlife was first published, a lot of people really struggled with the main character’s voice. It was written completely in broad Geordie, exactly as Irene spoke. (Not just the dialogue!) I had hoped people would just embrace it, but soon came to realise that people simply didn’t understand what the character was saying! It was hard to take, and a massive learning curve, but what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. I now know what readers will and won’t accept and my upcoming work will all be written in a standard, third person voice. Granny Irene, will make a comeback in the future, but while she will feature, the main emphasis will be on the Viking Gods and I will be aiming that series at the Norse Fantasy genre.

A near death experience inspired your novella The Tunnel Betwixt. How did that experience reshape your life?

It made me realise that I was put on this earth for a reason and that it wasn’t my time to die, and while it took me several years after the event to fully find my path in life, the experience was never far from my thoughts. It also completely reaffirmed my belief in the afterlife and I now have absolutely no fear of death.   I guess on a subconscious level it has also made me a teeny bit obsessed with death, because to date all of my books have been death themed! My upcoming erotica series writing under my pen name of Luna Ballantyne is a massive leap of faith for me…but is also giving me a chance to explore a different dark side to me!

Have you had any other paranormal experiences?

More than I can count! I have been to several psychics/mediums over the years. Some were good. Some were downright atrocious.   I also believe that I am sensitive to the spirit world, and while I can’t talk to them (yet) I do routinely feel their presence, and can always tell when a spirit has stepped for whatever reason into my aura. Nine times out of time that is a source of comfort to me, but I have also learned the importance of putting up barriers, and psychic protection, to ensure that I don’t get pestered by those spirits that might wish me harm. This may sound completely barmy to some people, but hey, that’s me, and that’s what I believe!

Find out more about Ingrid at her websites:

http://ingridhall.com/

http://lunaballantyne.wordpress.com/