So pop the kettle on
However, on reflection I recalled that the name of
Amalaric's sister was Amalathea, very nearly the same as
that given to the Jovian satellite. When I looked up
Amalthea I was a bit disconcerted to discover that she
wasn't of Germanic origin, but rather the nymph who nursed
Jupiter with goat's milk. I guess those Christian, albeit
heretical, Ostrogoths knew their mythology.
It struck me as interesting to see an unusual name so
similar to that of one of our characters pop up in such an
unexpected and unconnected context. I began to ponder
whether this -- along with the fascinating facts that
Amalthea is the reddest body in the solar system, and little
more than a pile of ice and rubble held loosely together by
gravitational attraction -- might be twisted into an essay
for Orphan Scrivener.
Then it occurred to me. There isn't anyone named Amalathea
in Three For A Letter, because late in the writing Amalathea
and her brother Amalaric became Sunilda and Gadaric.
It was unavoidable. As we approached the end of Threefer, we
realized we had too many characters whose names began with
A, some of whom were, inconveniently for us, graven in
history -- the Ostrogothic queen Amalasuntha and her young
son Athalaric, for instance.
Although we write about a distant era where naming
conventions differed from our own and people commonly
sported tongue twisting, not to mention mind bending,
monikers, we do our best to avoid the 19th century Russian
novel syndrome. That is to say, we try to name our
characters so as not to leave readers -- and ourselves --
permanently confused, an effort in which we are greatly
aided by our editor Barbara Peters. (In fairness to 19th
century Russian authors, I imagine the l9th century Russian
readers for whom they were writing had no trouble sorting
their Vasilies from their Vasilieyeves.)
In addition, we also largely stick to using a single name
per character, pretty much ignoring that the Romans, like us
but unlike Mongolians up until recently at least, had more
than one name. In addition, we give preference to names that
are still familiar today, such as the ever popular John or
Michael or Paul, or shorter names appropriate to the period.
As for longer names, we use them sparingly, for seasoning. A
minor character who appears only once or twice and so will
not be troublesome to recall may be given a longer name. A
ship owner called Theophylaktos appears briefly in Four For
A Boy, but we'd have a difficult time writing, let alone
reading, a novel filled with Theophylaktoses.
Then too that nasty court page known to readers as Hektor
was initially called Victor, changed for reasons I can't now
recall, and poor Leukos, whose murder John investigated in
One For Sorrow, was Lucius until the novel was completed.
Sometimes I worry that in mentioning characters in a new
book or story I'll inadvertently employ the names by which I
know them, rather than those they bear in print. Maybe I already
have, without realizing it!
At any rate, we changed Amalathea's name to Sunilda, but
having spent so many months in her company during the
writing of the novel, she will always be Amalathea to me.
Sunilda is just her stage name!
First, Pamela James interviewed us for The Writer's Room
Magazine, Danish publisher/editor Simona Nielsen's website.
Ingen panik! Det er på engelsk! (Translation: Don't panic!
It's in English!) Simona's site at
http://www.thewritersroommagazine.com provides information
on many topics relating to the craft. We're lurking about at
http://writersroom2.tripod.com/reviewthreeforaletter.htm
and this time around chat about such topics as "backward"
research and how we came to be co-authors.
Secondly, by Debby Alviso, whose Writer's e-Source Directory
(http://pages.zdnet.com/shenachi/wesd/id53.htm) is full of
very useful information on all manner of writing-related
material. Just to keep things from getting too exciting with
everything else going on this month, this interview won't go
on-line until 20th December. At that point it will appear at
http://pages.zdnet.com/shenachi//interviews/id26.htm
and then interested parties can peruse such arcana as
how the Dorj mysteries came about (it all had to do with
Molotov....) and the (dis)similarities in our backgrounds.
There's even a photo or two...
To commemorate this declaration, a statue of a pensive Constantine
The Minster isn't the first religious structure on the site,
but certainly the most impressive and justly famous for its
magnificent stained glass, in particular the enormous Rose
Window. Historical fiction fans will likely be as fascinated
as I was to learn that the Minster's crypt houses the base
of a column originally forming part of a colonnade belonging
to the Roman commanding officer's house, still sitting there
in the very place those long ago builders originally set it.
To think of the conversations that column could report if
only stone could talk!
Reminded recently about Constantine's statue during a
conversation with an old school friend, I began to wonder if
Justinian had also been thus honoured in more modern times.
Surprisingly, given that his codification of Roman law is
the great underpinning of the European system (and by
extension, those of Quebec and Louisiana also) I've traced
only one statue. Not unexpectedly, perhaps, it's among those
bedecking the building housing the Appellate Division of the
New York State Supreme Court.
A quick search of the vast 24 hour library that is the
Internet reveals that Henry Kirke Bush-Brown's likeness of
Justinian is one of nine worthies of the law whose life-
sized representations adorn this turn of the (l9th) century
courthouse. Justinian's companions in jurisprudence
prominence include Confucius, Moses, Zoroaster and Alfred
the Great (he of the allegedly burnt cakes, although so far
as we know his guilt was never actually established). There
are also allegorical figures of Peace, Justice, Wisdom and
Abundance, and other advantages provided by administration
of an orderly society.
Where Justinian is to be found, can Theodora be far off?
Likely not, except when it comes to the work of hammer and
chisel. The mosaics at San Vitale in Ravenna, including a
set showing the imperial couple and their court, are world
treasures. Their fine detail is astonishing, and since
even minor personages portrayed in them have distinctly
different features, one wonders (a) if the portraits of high
ranking dignitaries at least are drawn from life, and (b)
whether the populace had better vision in those days,
because they would certainly need keen eyesight to pick out
all the details of these soaring works of art.
Alas, however, my search for a statue of "our" Theodora has
thus far proved fruitless. Recalling John Wolcot's comment
that the desire so many have for fame leads them to consider
not even being mentioned worse than being damned, and
bearing in mind Theodora's strong character, I'd wager she'd
have had quite a lot to say about that sorry state of
affairs -- and it wouldn't be pass the cakes either!
Best wishes to all for the festive season and new year
Mary and Eric
who invite you to visit their home page, hanging out on the
virtual washing line that is the aether at
Therein you'll find the usual suspects, including more
personal essays and an interactive game as well as an on-
line jigsaw puzzle (at least if you have a java-enabled
browser) featuring One For Sorrow's boldly scarlet cover.
For those new to the subscription list there's also the
Orphan Scrivener archive, so don't say you weren't warned!
ERIC'S BIT or WHAT HAPPENED TO AMALATHEA?
When I read recently about the Galileo spacecraft's fly-by
of Jupiter's tiny, inner moon, Amalthea, I was reminded
immediately of Three For A Letter and the Ostrogothic
hostage whose brother Amalaric was killed by -- well, I'd
better not say!
NECESSARY EVIL or THE BSP TICKER
The ticker's leaping in a lively fashion this month!
NEWS FROM THE NORTH or JOHN RETURNS TO THE GROVES OF ACADEME
We were honoured to learn recently that next year John will
be back in those most enticing surroundings, although not by
returning to Plato's Academy. Beginning in September 2003,
University of Calgary Emeritus Professor of Classics Barry
Baldwin is presenting a l0 extra-mural talk series entitled
When West was East: Highlights of Byzantine Civilisation.
This series is to be offered under the university's aegis to
people 50+ and John's adventures will be part of the
suggested reading. Mystery readers will recognise Professor
Baldwin's name from his nominations for Ellis and Anthony
Awards.
THE SCRIVENERS SPEAK or INGEN PANIK! DET ER PA ENGELSK!
Since the last issue we've been grilled like hot dogs on the
4th of July.
MARY'S BIT or NINE FOR THE WORTHY COMPANIONS
It was in 306 that the local Roman troops proclaimed
Constantine as emperor upon the death of his father, who was
in Bretania campaigning against the Picts further north.
Their loyal declaration took place in Eburacum (York), an
ancient and beautiful city not that far as the raven flies
from my home area.
AND FINALLY
Speaking of cakes reminds us of the sweet confections often
given to friends and family at this time of year. By
coincidence, the next Orphan Scrivener will show up on l5th
February, right after Valentine's Day, another occasion much
associated with this type of gift. As it happens, l5th
February is also publication date for Four For A Boy, or as
was recently noted chez maywrite Fifteenth February Fetches
Forth Fourfer. John's adventures this time around form part
of a somewhat noirish tale, so you might want save a few of
those Valentine choccies in order to fortify yourself as you
discover how he regained his freedom, and along the way met
some of the other characters in the series!
Sunday, December 15, 2002
THE ORPHAN SCRIVENER ISSUE # EIGHTEEN l5 DECEMBER 2002
Tuesday, October 15, 2002
THE ORPHAN SCRIVENER ISSUE # SEVENTEEN l5 OCTOBER 2002
Even in these modern times there's something poignant in the air during these dying days of summer. Despite autumn's fruitfulness and golden days, its scattered frosts, cold days and thinning sunlight remind us that winter will soon be coming down the pike. Thus we scurry around to make sure we have a box or two of canned comestibles and a supply of candles stashed away in the pantry Just In Case.
On the other hand, when in the l9th century Thomas Hood spoke of shadowless autumn listening to the silence, he was perhaps more fortunate than he knew. Silence is not, alas, the case today, for whereas autumn has indeed arrived it has also brought with it (as you've doubtless already noticed) this latest edition of Orphan Scrivener, never a quiet production at the best of times!
This startling claim comes about because a few days ago it was revealed that Steven Spielberg is to film an Arthurian series for HBO, presenting the familiar tale in a very different light from the well-known romantic legend.
His interpretation could, however, still be described as Romantic in that Camelot will be a Roman fort rather than a towered town. Arthur, or rather Artos since the writers are using Romano-Celt versions of character names, will now be a blacksmith -- a very inventive way of explaining how he drew a sword from a stone, that is, created it from iron ore -- and apparently one based upon the notion that blacksmithing was regarded as somehow magkical at the time.
Thus not only will Excalibur as such not appear, but also there will be no band of chivalrous knights or Round Table. There will, however, be what is described as a "brotherhood of companions", who will be dressed not in courtiers' clothing, but in woollen cloaks and leather jerkins. Doubtless our Thomas, who sported similar duds, would have got along very well with any or all of them!
Further details of this as yet uncast production can be read at the Daily Telegraph website by pointing your clicker at
http://www.dailytelegraph.co.uk/news/main.jhtml?xml=/news/2002/10/06/narth06.xml&sSheet=/news/2002/10/06/ixhome.html
Meantime, speaking of Thomas, he has become increasingly insistent that he must return in Fivefer. So are Cornelia and Europa so it increasingly looks as if there'll be a bit of a Onefer reunion next time around. Now all we have to worry about is the possibility of Ahasuerus suddenly revealing himself to be Merlin in disguise!
The first time I saw him compete, the course ran across and around the edge of a grassy field and seemed, improbably, to be all uphill, rather like an Escher print. Despite this strange effect, he ran the two miles without stopping. It was a huge achievement on less than three weeks in training.
After congratulating him, I wandered back to the finish line, where the grass was already littered with exhausted early finishers. As I watched competitors enter the chute I was amazed. Every runner doubled over in pain, or staggered, or collapsed. Some were being helped away, crying, faces screwed up in agony. These were not even the winners, but the rest of the pack streaming in behind them.
It struck me as an inspirational sight.
There were no cash prizes involved and yet all these young runners were enduring discomfort, forcing themselves to their limits, just for the satisfaction of knowing they had done their best.
I'd seen my nephew battling his way up the last long uphill stretch, wobbly-legged, face redder than any frost-touched maple leaf. Afterwards, the first thing he asked me was "Do you think I could've gone any faster?" I told him, honestly, I didn't think so, that he had given it his best shot.
It seems to me that most writers of fiction should cultivate that attitude.
We live in a society that pressures us to measure ourselves not by own our yardsticks, our personal values, but by how well we can achieve goals largely set by others. For the most part, achievement seems to measured in terms of money produced. Writers can't entirely ignore the goal of making money. The time we work to produce income is, unfortunately, the same time we need to write.
However, to measure writing solely by the money it might make is to misjudge the craft, to miss entirely its essential nature. Writing is about communication and expression. It's an intensely personal activity.
People often refer to the "business of writing", but the act of writing, translating one's ideas into words, is not a business. Selling writing is a business. Publishing is a business.
I've always been puzzled by authors who treat writing as nothing but a money-making proposition, who pride themselves on being hard-headed business persons first and foremost. Why would any truly competent business person choose to waste time writing? It's hard to imagine any more ridiculous business proposition than producing a novel.
Fiction writers need to take the approach of all those runners who will never win a race. The reward for endless hours of effort, sacrifice and pain is simply to discover just how good you can be.
When I ran road races and lined up at the start with 500 other runners, I knew I'd never finish anywhere near the leaders, let alone win, but I took pleasure in extending myself. To be honest, writing is a little different for me than running was. Aside from the fact that I did not have Mary to carry me half the distance, there is always some possibility that one of the books we write might (like the unfortunate stylites in Twofer) catch fire and leap to the top of the bestseller list. A minuscule chance, to be sure, but perhaps a better one than I had of winning a race, which would have required about three hundred runners to break their legs all at once.
Having written that, I have to wonder. Is it me or the nature of writing? I set out to pen an inspirational piece about authorship and conclude with an image of hundreds of broken legs. Perhaps I'd better forget about submitting anything to the Chicken Soup series!
And speaking of cycles, we must now hop onto our bicycles (as the British say) and get moving in order to send this issue winging out into the aether. See you next time!
Best wishes
Mary and Eric
who invite you to visit their home page, hanging out on the virtual washing line that is the aether, and to be found at
http://home.epix.net/~maywrite/
Therein you'll find the usual suspects, including more personal essays and an interactive game as well as an on-
line jigsaw puzzle (at least if you have a java-enabled
browser) featuring One For Sorrow's boldly scarlet
cover. For those new to the subscription list there's also
the Orphan Scrivener archive, so don't say you weren't warned!
MARY'S BIT or ROMAN AROUND CAMELOT
We've never been ones to toot our own cornus, but we've got to say we were well ahead of the Hollywood pack when we introduced Sir Thomas, the red-haired barbarian who claims to be a knight from the court of King Arthur, in One For Sorrow.NECESSARY EVIL or THE BSP TICKER
The ticker's been fairly quiet of late, but we do have a couple of news items for you this time around.
PUBLICATION DATE I or JOHN AGAIN VENTURES FO(U)RTH
Four For A Boy is moving forward, with ARCs soon to be trundling their merry way through the thundering presses of PPP. Publication of Fourfer is set for February, which month also marks the second anniversary of the appearance of the first Orphan Scrivener. How time flies!
PUBLICATION DATE II or MURDEROUS MUMMIES, ANYONE?
The Mammoth Book of Egyptian Whodunnits, edited by Mike Ashley, was published in the US this month by Carroll and Graf, having been issued in the UK in September by Constable Robinson (an eminently suitable name for a publisher of mysteries, come to think of it). Anyhow, the eyecatching view of the pyramids on the US edition's cover entombs a couple of dozen stories, penned by Elizabeth Peters, Lauren Haney, Michael Pearce, Lynda Robinson and Paul Doherty among others. Lurking in the throng, our offering -- Chosen Of The Nile -- relates how protagonist Herodotus solves a strange disappearance involving a locked room, or rather temple.
ERIC'S BIT or FROM TYPING FINGERS TO BROKEN LEGS
My nephew is a runner, although a lot faster than I am!
AND FINALLY
Even in what he described as his most memorable year Edgar Allen Poe rather depressingly wrote of crisp leaves and ashen skies on a night in lonesome October. Hopefully this mid-October edition of Orphan Scrivener has not produced a similar effect on its readership, especially since the next issue will darken your in-boxes on l5th December, that part of the annual cycle when days are short and night clangs down early.
Thursday, August 15, 2002
THE ORPHAN SCRIVENER ISSUE # SIXTEEN l5 AUGUST 2002
Indeed, it's not just William Shakespeare's sunburnt sicklemen who are weary of August but just about everyone else as well. And speaking of Will, we better get on with this latest issue of Orphan Scrivener lest Ariel appear and, with a quaint device, make this literary banquet (oh, all right, light snack) vanish before you've had a chance to consume it.
ERIC'S BIT or THE WRITER'S TICKER TAPE PARADE
Mary and I sent Four For A Boy to Poisoned Pen Press a few days ago -- not a manuscript, an electronic file. We haven't seen a single sentence of our last two books on paper until the edited copy arrived. Before the printer's ink hit those pages the stories existed only as electronic patterns in our computers, somewhat different, I suppose, than the electro-chemical patterns they'd formed in our heads but just as ethereal.That's remarkable to someone who for years battled Underwood manual typewriters bought at local thrift stores. I have to admit it's easier to back up files with a floppy than with carbon paper -- a floppy doesn't leave your fingers black. And the delete key has it all over white-out, which flakes all over everything. I'm not so sure the clicking of the mouse is any less annoying than the clacking of those Underwood keys, however, and I almost miss the clunk -- ziiiiip -- ching! I got when I slapped the return bar, the happy signal I'd managed to complete yet another line.
There's one thing those braille-like old manuscripts (how come the periods on those typewriters were always sharp enough to punch the paper?) share with email attachments -- both could, and can, be rejected.
So waiting for word from our editor brings back memories I try to suppress. Yes, I've read about writers who paper their offices with rejection slips, perhaps because they are motivated by anger, and others who store them in boxes, presumably to chortle over in the future when they have become best selling authors. I knew a fellow who kept meticulous score of every submission and rejection -- literally hundreds of fruitless rejections. It reminded him he was making an effort. Me, I shredded those dismal little squares of preprinted mockery practically before I'd stopped cursing the appropriate editor.
Sorry. I know that's not the "professional" approach. I'm just being honest.
As you can imagine, you won't be seeing articles on How to Handle Rejections in Orphan Scrivener, or at least not by me. The usual advice is not to take a rejection personally. But how can you not? Consider, for example, a typical rejection:
"Sorry, your article on How to Handle Rejections does not meet our present needs."
Notice the sarcasm. "Sorry," it begins. Sure, as if they're really sorry. They don't know me from Adam. Besides, if they were really sorry they would've bought the article instead of shattering my life-long dreams. And what, exactly, is meant by "our present needs"? Well, isn't it obvious from the tone? They don't have any present needs for useless, inept, mind-numbing, garbage like my article. Why don't they just come out and say what they mean?
Some editors do. They aren't content with one-size-insults- fits-all. There was the form letter with the scrawl in the corner instructing "No more grandfather stories!!!" And the helpful printed checklist of errors on which the reader had not only taken the trouble to helpfully check off all 47 available errors from Unoriginal to Stilted Dialogue but out of the goodness of their heart had also taken the effort to insert a plethora of extra helpful hints such as "utterly wooden characters" and "totally unbelievable story line." I'm just amazed I survived so many years of such virulent assistance.
Fortunately, however, I did not heed the words of a science fiction editor/reviewer who liked to say that ten years of rejection slips is nature's way of telling you to give up writing. Thus, after acquiring enough shredded slips for a ticker tape parade, I finally sold an essay to Baby Talk and the rest is history -- or at least an obscure footnote in it.
One thing I have learned is that writers write for those who like their work, not those who don't. There will always be readers and editors who don't like a book or a story. There's no sense trying to please people who don't particularly care for what I'm doing. A writer can learn most from someone who essentially likes what he or she is doing and offers tips for improvement which is why we've learned an enormous amount from working with our Poisoned Pen Press editor, Barbara Peters.
Now I shall begin contemplating the fifth John the Eunuch novel. The thought of rejection is never so distant as when I'm getting enthusiastic over a brand new idea!
NECESSARY EVIL or THE BSP TICKER
IT'S ALL GREEK TO US or A MYSTERY BY ANY OTHER NAME Twang that bouzouki, break out the baklava and broach the 'ogsheads of ouzo, folks! We invite you to join us in an admittedly anachronistic jamboree (at least so far as the aforementioned trio goes) in celebration of recently received intelligence that the Greek edition of Onfer will be titled Åãêëçìá óôï ÂõæÜíôéï. Our spies tell us this may be loosely translated as Crime In Byzantium. As yet no publication date is known but more on that as matters progress.THREEFER RETURNS or STAY TUNED (AND WE DON'T MEAN THE BOUZOUKI)
And speaking of progress, Threefer sails ever onward with a paperback edition slated for publication by Poisoned Pen Press. Again, no firm date for its appearance but Scrivener subscribers *will* hear about it in due course!WHEN JOHN WAS NOT HIS OWN MAN or GOING BACK IN TIME
Meanwhile, Time itself courses backward in Four For A Boy. A prequel to the series, it's set in 525. John, still enslaved, is ordered by Justinian, Emperor Justin's nephew, to investigate the death of a prominent citizen who has been murdered in the Great Church. Much to the loudly expressed disgust of the excubitor Felix, the emperor orders him to work with John. Thus did Fortuna arrange the inauspicious. first meeting of two men who were to become firm friends. However, before that comes about, the pair find themselves in a dangerous web of Very Odd Goings On, in which nothing and nobody is quite as they seem. Along the way John also makes the acquaintance of Isis, Gaius, a very young Anatolius and the latter's father, Senator Aurelius. Readers will also recognise one or two characters from later books who appear anonymously but are easily identified by the unhappy circumstances in which they are, alas, discovered.Fourfer will appear early in the new year and (you are ahead of us) we shall announce the month of publication as soon as we know it.
MARY'S BIT or JUSTIN TIME
As readers have doubtless deduced from certain remarks made above, the events in Fourfer play out during the reign of Emperor Justin, Justinian's uncle and a classic example of a man who progressed from poverty to the purple.Justin was an uneducated fellow who as a young man upped and left his home province of Dardania. With only the clothes they stood up in, he and two companions Zimarchus and Dityvistus (or Ditybistus) walked all the way to Constantinople to seek their fortunes. Upon arrival. the three enrolled in the ranks of the then newly-formed excubitors.
Although nothing further seems to be known about his two friends, Justin thereafter embarked upon a military career, including service in Emperor Anastasius' war against rebelling Isaurians. During that campaign Justin's life is said to have been spared due to an extremely curious intervening event when his commanding officer, John the Hunchback, was about to have him executed.. (This intervention is mentioned in Four For A Boy). When Emperor Anastasius died in July 5l8, Justin, by then commander of the excubitors, was rather unexpectedly elevated to the throne.
Justin was staunchly loyal to his family, bringing more than one of its members to Constantinople and arranging for their education and social and professional advancement. He was married to Euphemia, a slave he purchased and freed and to whom by all accounts he was devoted. Childless himself, Justin adopted his sister's son, Flavius Petrus Sabbatius (who took the name of Justinian) as his heir. In 527, when Justin was in failing health, he declared Justinian co- emperor. Four months later he died, Euphemia having predeceased him by a couple of years.
Hopefully the portrayal of the aging Justin presented in Fourfer provides a closer look at this rather shadowy figure. After all, since Justin set his nephew's boots on the road to the imperial throne, he is also in a way indirectly responsible for John the Eunuch.
AND FINALLY
Speaking of shadows, even this early in the year the nights have drawn in appreciably and despite the heat the air looks noticeably "thinner" as the quality of light begins to change as summer starts to die. While Robert Frost's plea to the hushed, mild October morning was that its hours be slow so the day would seem less short, like many others we are looking forward to much cooler weather two months hence as the glories of fall color and the fruitful harvest spread out around us all.And just to add to those anticipated days of glory, the next Orphan Scrivener will arrive at your email in-box on l5th October. So we'll see you then!
Best wishes
Mary and Eric
whose home page hangs out in the aether at
http://home.epix.net/~maywrite/
Therein you'll find the usual suspects, including more personal essays and an interactive game as well as an on- line jigsaw puzzle (at least if you have a java-enabled browser) featuring One For Sorrow's boldly scarlet cover. For those new to the subscription list there's also the Orphan Scrivener archive, so don't say you weren't warned!
Saturday, June 15, 2002
THE ORPHAN SCRIVENER ISSUE # FIFTEEN l5 JUNE 2002
Yet few things are cosier than pulling your armchair up to the fire and sitting down with a book and a cup of tea on a rainy night, with the wind howling in the chimney and sleet lashing at the windows. Unfortunately, whether it is raining or not when this flies in from the aether, we can offer only virtual fires and cuppas but, ever obliging, we'll request the chorus to keep their singing down to a dull roar so that you can concentrate on this latest Orphan Scrivener.
MARY'S BIT or THEODORA, CHAMPION OF THE WORKING SCHMOE
As far as mystery novels go, we do appear to be labouring alone (if that is not an oxymoron) in the stony fields of Byzantium. But we shouldn't cavil too loudly, seeing as it's little better vis a vis kinematic treatments of personalities and events in the reign of Justinian and Theodora. Such productions are not as numerous as stones in the aforementioned field and despite some research most of them as yet we know little about -- but we're listing them anyhow, just for the heck of it and in case you happen to have a VCR and a video rental shop nearby.Not surprisingly, the Italians have produced a fistful of epics honouring the empress -- Theodora, Empress of Byzantine (l909) plus two succinctly titled Teodora (l9l3 and l92l). The French meantime got into the celluloid act in l9l2 with Theodora. If anyone has details about these films, we'd be happy to share them in Orphan Scrivener!
Our literary excavations have, however, unearthed a little information about the l9l9 Italian black and white silent Teodora (its English title is Theodora, The Slave Princess). According to the indispensable Internet Movie Database website, the story details how Theodora's affair with a Greek ends in tears for many, since it results in extensive swordplay in both Rome and Constantinople.
In a more sympathetic portrayal of the empress, the l954 Italian film Teodora, Imperatrice di Bisanzio (also issued as Theodora, Slave Empress and Theodora, Queen of Byzantium) presents Theodora not only as a former lady of the night but also as an ex-slave and consequently a champion of the common people. This seems not unlikely in that even though she was never a slave, Theodora certainly had very humble origins and her charitable works after her rise in society (including founding a nunnery for former prostitutes) are well known. Unfortunately, however, Theodora's attempts to better the lot of working schmoes result in, yes, more riots and swordplay in both cities.
Kampf Um Rome (screened under several aliases including Fight, Battle or Struggle for Rome as well as The Last Roman) is a Romanian-German-Italian l968 production whose original running time was four hours, although apparently it was cut to somewhat less than half that length for general release. This particular production caught our attention immediately because to our delight its plot deals with, among other things, a power struggle between King Theodoric's orphaned daughters. Thus characters include several either featured -- or referred to -- in Threefer, notably (in variant spellings) Mathaswintha, Witichis and Amalaswintha. The latter is played by Honor Blackman, the inimitable Orson Welles portrays Justinian and Sylva Koscina appears as Theodora.
The basic story of Struggle For Rome concerns Cethegus, a Roman noble (Laurence Harvey) who goes to Constantinople to visit Justinian vis a vis military action to be taken against the Goths. Needless to say, this is not the only reason for Cethegus' journey -- his hidden ambition is to seize control of Italy once the two armies have finished fighting each other. But what about Justinian himself comes the cry from the back row. Well, in the flickers he appears to lurk somewhat in Theodora's long shadow. So far the only title we've located specifically mentioning him is a l907 French black and white silent presentation, Torches Humaines. Evidently this is a lurid affair in more ways than one since its English title is Justinian's Human Torches and while this sobriquet could be applied to certain events occurring at the beginning of Twofer, thankfully we remain entirely in the dark about the film's pyrotechnic details.
NECESSARY EVIL or THE BSP TICKER
And speaking of being in the dark, for the first time since we began Orphan Scrivener, the BSP Ticker sits unlit and silent. Alas.
ERIC'S BIT or THE WRITING THAT WILL BE ON THE WALL
You may have noticed that Three for a Letter was dedicated to Louis H. Silverstein, Chairman of Poisoned Pen Press's Editorial Review Committee, or CERC, as he loved to be known. The first anniversary of his death falls in about three weeks and this seems an appropriate time to share a small anecdote about him.Louis was Poisoned Pen's first reader of the manuscript of our first published novel, One For Sorrow. Of course, first readers don't have last say but it was Louis who saw enough promise in the book to recommend it to the press, even before our editor Barbara Peters began working with us on it. Writing is a strange profession. It's a solitary activity, aimed towards a distant, perhaps unattainable, audience of readers that can be reached only by finding an individual reader, the guardian of a gate to publication, who will allow you to pass through it.
Over the years my writing path has been barred by gatekeepers too numerous to mention. As all writers, I've received everything from typical "not suitable for us at this time" form letters to lovingly handwritten insults. When I started collecting rejection slips I was writing fiction with an Underwood manual and carbon paper. The idea that my first novel acceptance would arrive electronically via a computer on my desk, as Onefer's did, was like something out of the sf stories on which I cut my writing teeth.
An encouraging letter from a publisher was a thing I had quite literally dreamed about but at times seemed as unlikely as a winning lottery ticket. In fact, the entire convergence of circumstances was extremely unlikely. I believe it was necessary for One for Sorrow to be read by a retired Yale librarian, as Louis was. While others might have found our style archaic or convoluted, Louis delighted in it. And just as importantly we needed someone willing to evaluate the book as a book, not a commodity or a product -- an approach it seems only Poisoned Pen Press and a few other publishers practice today.
Given all the strange circumstances underlying our convergence, it is fair to say that none of the three of us should have been doing what we were doing at the time. Mary and I finished One for Sorrow while we were losing our home and being turned out onto the street. Our manuscript was plucked from oblivion by a man who had battled dreadful health problems that could easily have crushed his enthusiasm and will to go on, yet his joie de vivre and delight in matters literary continued unabated to the end. In short, it was a meeting of three people who would have been expected to have long since given up. And thus it was that Onefer came to be published. Sadly, Louis died prematurely only a few years after retirement. You can read a biographical sketch about him here:
http://palimpsest.stanford.edu/byform/mailing-lists/exlibris/2001/07/msg0003 7.html
You may also be interested in an article written by Louis at:
http://www.imagists.org/hd/hdls111.html
Before Onefer had even been accepted, Louis sent us a very kind and encouraging letter. This kind gesture meant a great deal to us and we wrote him that if we ever again got a house of our own, the first thing we would do would be to frame his letter and hang it on the study wall. Apparently the very notion tickled him no end, as Mary would say. Although we haven't got a house yet that's still our hope and if we should accomplish it, you can bet that Louis' letter will be hung on the wall the first day we set feet over threshold!
AND FINALLY
Speaking of gates, as this issue goes out we're still standing at the door of summer. As Will Shakespeare perceptively remarked in sonnet mode, the lease of the season is short -- but it's also true that August is generally when the thermometer soars and headlines in the popular UK press have a tendency to announce "It's A Scorcher" once the mercury passes 70 degrees or so. Whatever the weather turns out to be, however, we'll be adding a modicum of excitement to your summer cavalcade on August l5th when the next issue of Orphan Scrivener flies hot off the virtual press and flaps into your email in-box. See you then!
Best wishes
Mary and Eric
whose home page hangs out in the aether at
http://home.epix.net/~maywrite/
Therein you'll find the usual suspects, including more personal essays and an interactive game as well as an on-line jigsaw puzzle (at least if you have a java-enabled browser) featuring One For Sorrow's boldly scarlet cover. For those new to the subscription list there's also the Orphan Scrivener archive, so don't say you weren't warned!
Monday, April 15, 2002
THE ORPHAN SCRIVENER -- ISSUE # FOURTEEN -- l5 APRIL 2002
And speaking of horse shoes, as if you haven't already suffered enough, April l5th also thunders in bearing the latest issue of Orphan Scrivener, so let's get right to it!
ERIC'S BIT or MENTION OF MEMORIES
As if my stiffening joints aren't enough reminder of progressive fossilization, I've noticed recently that Amazon.com has taken to categorizing some books set in the nineteen sixties as "historicals."My first reaction was that an era I'd so recently lived through couldn't be history yet, but then, as I recalled those days when the roads crawled with VW Beetles rather than SUVs, civil rights legislation was being passed rather than repealed, people could still advocate peace without ninety percent of the population labeling them traitors, not to mention the existence of things like bell bottoms and fizzies - well, it must all seem exotic and improbable to anyone who wasn't there.
It next occurred to me that maybe the present being tailgated by history wasn't such a bad thing for writers of historical mysteries. How much easier would it be to research the sixties than the Byzantine Roman Empire? Research? Heck, all I'd have to do was dust off my own memories.
Or so I thought, until I tried. I'd forgotten I have practically no memory.
It's true. The landscape of my past is mostly obscured by fog, interrupted here and there by dark gaps which I might label lacunae, remembering how I used to pore over the Word Power feature in Reader's Digest, not so much to improve my vocabulary (since adding words like lacunae is, arguably, not an improvement) but rather to add rare words to my menagerie.
Strange how I can remember coming upon "lacunae" but my entire year in third grade has vanished except, of course, for the momentous day our stout teacher broke her chair when she sat down.
Other people seem not to suffer this disability, to judge by the exquisitely rendered detail of their reminiscences. I've always felt that my lousy memory was actually a benefit to me as a writer. I'm not tempted to torture readers with my coming of age story. (There are six billion coming of age stories on planet earth -- this is one of them!) Whatever that involved is either too hideously painful to recall or too unutterably boring. Unless maybe I just haven't come of age yet.
I've always been forced to rely on my imagination rather than trying to dress up my own past in fictional clothing. There was a period when I emulated essayists like James Thurber, E.B. White and Robert Benchley (not to mention Lucius Beebe and Wolcott Gibbs). But even then my remembrances are mostly fanciful embroidery. Oddly, as my brother who was on the scene for most of what I wrote about once observed, readers who didn't know me well tended to doubt the few bits of truth while believing all the rest.
Memory is an unreliable witness anyway. Our pasts are undeniably linear, yet, for me at least, memory is not. Important events, my grandmother reading to me, for instance, remain near at hand and clear while more trivial and recent things, like my final law school exams, have receded so rapidly that I can deduce their existence but cannot conjure up even the foggiest of snapshots.
I always wonder about the authenticity of memories as well. Do I remember playing catch with my grandfather in the backyard when I was six or am I just recalling the photograph I was shown years afterwards? And how much of the original memory survives time? The fact that a changed person is recalling an event under different circumstances must color the memory, and to what extent is it colored further by all the other times and circumstances it has been recalled under. Don't we put more fingerprints on memories every time we take them out to look at them?
Still, I can't deny it might help my writing were I able to remember what happened in Chapter Two by the time I'm writing Chapter Seventeen. I guess Mary must've written Chapter Two.
And a sixties historical mystery might be a good idea, even if it would require some research. The detective would have to be young, naturally. We were all young then. Murder at the Fillmore East. The victim was killed during a drum solo. (Plenty of time for the perpetrator and who'd notice another comatose body in the audience?) Oh, yeah, the detective lives in a VW bus. You know, kind of the equivalent of Australopithecus to modern mini vans. And, let's se, he has a weakness for root beer flavored fizzies. Now there's something I remember. Except how they tasted, exactly. Maybe some things are best forgotten.
ODE TO AN OBELISK or OBFUSCATION OVERCOME
Recently an Orphan Scrivener subscriber jotted us a line vis a vis last issue's revelation concerning the nature of an obelist. After noting that the similar word obelisk derives from the diminutive of obelus, a spit, our correspondent was inspired to pen the following:Ode To An Obelisk
An oboist, an obelist,
A hobo and a belle-lettrist
Obambulate the Obelisk
Observe but missed the obvious:
One marked in time, one marked in rhyme,
One marked in margins of his crime.
The oboist would obsecrate
An obbligate for his mate;
His friend preferred the obscure wit:
Belle-lettrists best obliterate
And not obsess and obstenate.
The hobo was obliged to spit.
The obelist obelized, then quit.
Your far-flung correspondent, R.O.
Consulted concerning quoting the above in OS, his go-ahead arrived in an email signed "Your obsequious observations obviate any obversion. I oblige." Needless to say, if we ever hear of a literary award for the most graceful (not to mention multi syllabled) extending of reprint permission, we intend to nominate R.O. immediately.
NECESSARY EVIL or THE BSP TICKER
ANOTHER SORT OF AWARD or A GLORIOUS SURPRISE
Speaking of awards, we're proud to announce that the folk at Myshelf.com just honoured us with their April 2002 Author Appreciation Award For An Exceptional Web Site, the criteria for which being that sites be "informative, easy to surf, and bookaholic worthy". Since Eric runs ours all on his own, despite constant protestations of not knowing what he's doing, to him goes all the glory -- and to Myshelf thanks from both of us.
MORE ANCIENT WHODUNNITS or AMONG MANY OTHERS
Word reaches us of Mike Ashley's latest anthology, entitled The Mammoth Book of Ancient Egyptian Whodunnits and slated to appear from Robinson this September in the UK with an American edition from Carroll and Graf following shortly thereafter. A special introduction by Elizabeth Peters kicks off the collection, which (apart from one reprint) is made up of new works by Lauren Haney, Lynda S. Robinson, Anton Gill, Paul Doherty, Suzanne Frank, Gillian Bradshaw, Marilyn Todd, Gillian Linscott, Michael Pearce, Ian Morson and several more. Its time span stretches from the third millenium BC to just before the First World War and stories featuring Imhotep, Tutankhamun, Herodotus and Cleopatra, among many others, are included. Quite a line up, to say the least!
We can now confess (so put away the thumb screws) that we're two of the many others, our contribution being a locked temple mystery solved by that colourful traveller and writer Herodotus.
AND SPEAKING OF THE LONG AGO or WHAT ABOUT JOHN?
While we plan to continue writing stories featuring Herodotus as time permits, John will always take first seat at the literary banquet and so needless to say we're now concentrating on finishing Four For A Boy.
It is 525 AD, some ten years before One For Sorrow. Emperor Justin (Justinian's uncle) reigns and John is a palace slave working in the office of the Keeper of the Plate. This younger John is hot-tempered and still grappling with the changes wrought in his life by an ill-fated journey over the Persian border. Fourfer will explain the way in which he regained his freedom as well as how and where he first met some recurring characters, including Justinian and Theodora, the Egyptian madam Isis (who has not long since set up her own establishment), the palace guard Felix (still a rank and file excubitor) and the youthful Anatolius. Needless to say, there'll also be plenty of shenanigans, back stabbings and other byzantine goings-on at court and elsewhere.
FOOD FOR THOUGHT or OVER THERE THERE BE SPOILERS
Since the last issue winged out into the aether, our reading guide to the John the Eunuch series (which includes a brief biography of John) has been placed on our website. Warning: before you sail off to take a look, you can avoid certain perilous reefs by noting now that over there there be spoilers! Otherwise, you can consult the guide by pointing your clicker at http://home.epix.net/~maywrite/reading.htm Since this is an ongoing project, we'll be tinkering with it from time to time, so if you've any thoughts on content, do please jot a line and let us know.MARY'S BIT or SOME IDEAS TAKE THE BISCUIT
Eric's mention of exotic words culled from the Readers Digest feature and the literary banquet just mentioned in Necessary Evil remind me of a news headline last October announcing publication of The Dictionary of Weird and Wonderful Words by the Oxford University Press. The headline suggested this dictionary would be particularly useful to deipnosophists, those folk who enjoy conversation with their meals, because as one would expect it contains so many unusual or under-used words. Words such as jumentous, snollygoster, glabrous and hoddy-noddy. It would certainly be an interesting literary challenge to construct a scenario in which this particular quartet could be used without straining credulity but bearing in mind common complaints concerning the decline of modern dinner conversation, as the English say, that the very notion would merit a headline certainly takes the biscuit.
Readers of Threefer may recall that the library belonging to Zeno's neighbour Castor boasted a copy of Athenaeus' Deipnosophistae (loosely, Banquet of the Learned). A fifteen volume set -- ten have survived intact and the remaining five in summarized form -- it quotes extracts from several hundred writers, including many whose works are otherwise lost in another example of how large a role chance plays in the survival of such scrivenings.
However, when writing about John and his world, it's not so much the content of dinner conversations that causes one to reach for the basil tea as ensuring that the menu doesn't include certain foodstuffs not then known. The versatile though humble potato springs to mind, for example. A somewhat related entanglement arose recently while we were researching one Theodotus Colocynthius, Prefect of Constantinople. His nickname is often rendered as The Pumpkin but it suddenly struck us that during his time pumpkins had not yet made their journey from the New World. As a suitable compromise therefore when he appears in Fourfer he will rejoice in the nickname of The Gourd. We subsequently discovered that in modern colloquial usage gourd refers to the head (as in "smashed out of his gourd", of someone who's over-imbibed) while in Europe gourd is also occasionally (and unkindly) used of one who is slow of wit.
Hopefully however Theodotus won't take it amiss when referred to as The Gourd for he must surely have been no gourd of the intellect to have risen to such high rank in a dangerous milieu where prominent mens' enemies were commonly to be found living a lot closer to home than the Persian border. On the other hand, it's been suggested that his nickname was bestowed because he had an oddly shaped head, the Byzantines being very fond of that type of wit. If so, it seems that certain forms of humour have not changed very much since The Gourd was around, even though what most of us consume for dinner certainly has.
AND FINALLY
The way time is passing it won't be too long before the arrival of kindly June, a month that traditionally fills childrens' hands with posies. It's a welcome time of cakes and ale and long sunsets, bringing with it (for most of us in the temperate zones at least) not the draining heat of the dog days of summer but rather gentler sunny weather, ripe strawberries and the sugary scent of roses mixed with freshly cut lawns -- not to mention weekend traffic jams on roads to the beach and at long last the beginning of the school holidays.On the other hand, l5th June will be a bit of a mixed blessing, being not only when your next issue of Orphan Scrivener is slated to arrive but also two days before the second estimated tax payment for the current work year is due. Which is pretty much where we came in, so we'll sign off now and see you then!
Best wishes
Mary and Eric
whose home page hangs out at http://home.epix.net/~maywrite/
Therein you'll find the usual suspects, including more personal essays and an interactive game as well as an on- line jigsaw puzzle (at least if you have a java-enabled browser) featuring One For Sorrow's boldly scarlet cover. For those new to the subscription list there's also the Orphan Scrivener archive, so don't say you weren't warned!
Friday, February 15, 2002
THE ORPHAN SCRIVENER ISSUE # THIRTEEN l5 FEBRUARY 2002
Mind you, some mysteries eventually do get solved and one particularly vexed question has at last been clarified.
Some time ago we mentioned that we'd long been searching for the meaning of obelist as in Obelists Fly High, C. Daly King's l935 "locked room" mystery set aboard a lengthy flight. Since we wrote about the book, by the way, we've found references to a couple other obelist titles by Daly King -- Obelists at Sea (l932) and Obelists En Route (l934). Anyhow, our quest ended recently when a correspondent kindly provided the answer and we're happy to be able to pass along this fascinating piece of information. Obelists are people who mark passages they think significant in mystery novels (with an obelus, n.b) and Daly King's novel makes such people "fly high" both in a figurative and in a literal sense. As our correspondent points out, his readers should remember the appendix of clues at the end, which mark corresponding passages as an obelist would.
And now that one mystery's been cleared up, we'll proceed to jot a few lines explaining a couple of others.