Isabeau: German Edition

Look! It's almost here!

I am proud to announce that the German language edition of Isabeau will be released by Amazon Crossing in mid October at amazon.de.

Click here to view it in the German Amazon store.

I am truly grateful for this opportunity to reach new readers. The journey to bring this to fruition  has been virtually seamless, from acquisition to translation to cover art. The folks at Amazon Crossing are simply the bomb. And the best part is that all this took less than a year - lightning speed in the world of publishing.

This is something I wouldn't have imagined a year ago. And to think, just five years ago I was pretty sure the chances of Isabella's story ever being read were slim to none. Then I learned about Amazon's self-publishing venture, KDP (then DTP), Kindle Direct Publishing. So I released it into the world, hoping for the best, expecting nothing. And, to be cliche, the rest was history. What I thought was the low point of my hopes to be a published author was actually the beginning of a new leg of my journey and the chance to reach even more readers than I ever dreamed possible.

This is so surreal, but ... squeeee! Isn't that cover GORGEOUS?!

Until later,
Gemi

Isabeau Is Only 99 Cents!

Isabeau: A Novel of Queen Isabella and Sir Roger Mortimer, is just 99 cents on Kindle for a limited time!

Buy now on Amazon.com

 The story of Queen Isabella, who sought revenge on her husband Edward II, and her lover Sir Roger Mortimer, who masterminded the invasion in 1326 that accomplished it.


     "As I made my way across the floor, I overheard Edward mumble above the rustle of my skirt’s fabric: “I am no man’s chattel. I swear on my life ... there will be requital.”
      With that utterance, any hope I might have held – for lasting peace, for my children’s future – crumbled into a dust so fine that even the slightest whisper of civil war would blow it away without a trace."


Happy reading,
Gemi

The Big Cover Reveal for The King Must Die

What is done cannot be undone.

England, 1326. Edward II has been dethroned. Queen Isabella and her lover, Sir Roger Mortimer, are at the pinnacle of their power.

Fated to rule, Isabella’s son becomes King Edward III at the callow age of fourteen. Young Edward, however, must bide his time as the loyal son until he can break the shackles of his minority and dissolve the regency council which dictates his every action.

When the former king is found mysteriously dead in his cell, the truth becomes obscured and Isabella can no longer trust her own memory . . . or confide in those closest to her. Meanwhile, she struggles to keep her beloved Mortimer at her side and gain yet another crown—France’s—for the son who no longer trusts her.

Amidst a maelstrom of shifting loyalties, accusations of murder propel England to the brink of civil war.

In the sequel to Isabeau, secrecy and treason, conspiracy and revenge once again overtake England. The future rests in the hands of a mother and son whose bonds have reached a breaking point.

*****

The release of The King Must Die is coming soon! The paperback should be available in early April, followed shortly afterward by the Kindle book. I'll post here when and where the various formats can be purchased - or if you're a regular user of Facebook, sign up for my fan page (it still seems weird to me to say that). Don't worry - I keep my postings to about one per week, so I won't flood your newsfeed. You can also drop me a line via e-mail at imgnr "at" imgnr "dot" com and I'll add you to my e-mail list for new releases.

Some folks have wondered why I ended Isabeau where I did and why I didn't tell "the rest of the story" (not giving out any spoiler here, so forgive me for not elaborating further). Initially, I intended to write a single book, but there was just so much to tell about Isabella and Mortimer I knew I couldn't do it justice without writing an 800 page book. I don't know about the rest of you, but I find doorstoppers like that a bit daunting. Isabeau begins in 1308 with her wedding to Edward II, yet she lived until 1358. Covering that many years while moving the story forward and keeping it all connected was a challenge. So as I considered events, I decided there were two distinct periods in Isabella's life worthy of telling - and thus, two books.

For anyone who thinks I research and write fast enough to put out fresh new books every six months . . . uh, sorry, but I actually write much more slowly than that. I started writing over 12 years ago, while my kids were at school, and even while I was querying agents and then my lovely agent was circulating my manuscripts to editors, I kept writing. During the past two years, I've been mostly re-writing, adding a few new chapters here and there, learning about digital publishing and gleaning wisdom from the generous indie author community.

While I enjoyed my writing time, those 12 years were sometimes also lonely and frustrating years. There was a time when I thought The King Must Die would never be finished, let alone become a real book. It sat on my hard drive 2/3 complete for close to three years. I sincerely want to thank all the kind readers who have made the long struggle worthwhile. You are the reason I continue to park myself before the keyboard everyday. I hope that you learn a little bit along the way while getting lost in the world of people and events from the past.

Until later,
Gemi

#SampleSunday - Isabeau, Ch. 6

When I began to write about Queen Isabella, the wife of King Edward II of England, the story at first was solely in her voice. But there were gaps in it - huge holes in time and plot. The only way to bridge those gaps and give the story the dimension it needed was to allow Roger Mortimer to have his own voice. So Isabeau became as much Isabella's story as it was Roger's. I'll admit, by today's standards he's a bit of a chauvinist, but he also felt strong connections to certain people in his life, one of them being his uncle, Roger of Chirk.

Here's part of a scene from Ch. 6 of Isabeau, A Novel of Queen Isabella and Sir Roger Mortimer. Roger, his son Edmund and his uncle have submitted to King Edward II and been taken prisoner. They arrive at the Tower of London to await their fate:

*****

I was not spoken to again until we reached the inner bailey of the Tower of London. There, they snatched the blanket away and pitched me sideways from the wagon. My elbow and chest slammed against the cobbles. Air was sucked from my lungs. Before I could draw breath, Edmund landed across my legs, tumbled over, and banged his head on the stones. He gritted his teeth to keep from crying out, but a long hiss of pain escaped his mouth. I choked and sputtered as I fought to breathe. Then I saw another shadow wobbling above me. There was an irascible grunt, followed by a spit and a curse.

They hurled my uncle from the wagon. My torso broke his fall; only he did not land with the lithe reactions of my son, but the dead weight of an old man stiff in the joints. I tried to inhale, but his weight crushed me. My lungs would not expand. Down low my ribs burned with pain, as though someone had plunged a flaming poker into me.

“Get . . . off,” I gasped.

They hoisted him to his feet and began to drag him away.

I tucked my right elbow beneath me to roll over, but the pain burst through me again. With my hands still bound, I could not push myself up with either of them. The scrape of fading footsteps urged me to try again. I lifted my other shoulder and turned my head enough to see, in the silver etchings of a winter night, my uncle being escorted toward one of the tower doors. A virulent sneer tore from his lips.

“May you rot in hell!” he shouted at me. His crackling voice echoed off the high walls like the shattering of glass. They shoved him headlong through the doorway. He cursed again. The door slammed shut. Then . . . the sound of a beating. His profane oaths were muffled by fist blows, until at last they faded to heavy sobs and drawn-out whimpers.

On his knees, Edmund shook his head. Slowly, he turned his face toward me. A trickle of blood traced its way from the indent of his temple to the ridge of his cheekbone. “He did not mean it,” he said barely above a whisper.

At that, one of the guards seized him by the back of his shirt, yanked him to his feet and slammed a fist into his belly. “Keep your mouth shut, you hear?”

Edmund crumpled against the wagon, his eyes squeezed tight in pain. Before he could recover, they hooked their hands beneath each of his arms and were taking him away, too. Had I any breath to spare, I would have called after him. With stoic courage, Edmund lifted his head, picked up his feet, and kept silent so they would not give him the same pummeling they had given his great uncle. He was escorted to the same door, but when it was opened there was neither sight nor sound of my uncle. Edmund dodged to the side to avoid being slammed into the doorway as they jostled him through.

Vaguely, I was aware of the clop of hooves, the wagon rattling away over the stones, a barking of orders, the groaning of a gate, and the slow murmur of deep voices from behind me.

“—the Lanthorn Tower. There is a room for him there. Mind you, no one is to speak to him.”

Measured footsteps approached me from behind. I felt a pair of hands lift me carefully up until I was sitting. I winced involuntarily.

A man in full mail and wearing the king’s red and gold stepped around me and sank to his haunches. His balding head, bare of coif or helmet, was fringed with close shorn chestnut locks and streaked with the first white hairs of middle age. “A bit bruised, aren’t you?” He began to probe about my head with lightly jabbing fingers and worked his way down my neck and shoulders. When he came to my last two ribs on the right, I clenched my jaw, but there was a little groan deep inside my throat he must have heard, for he drew his hands away and stood. “Take him away. And see to his injuries. ‘Tis the king who says whether he lives or dies, and when, not us.”

Silently, I thanked him for that grace, however morbid.

*****

Meanwhile, I'm the Guest Writer over at the web site of historical fiction author Fred Nath. Fred's book, The Cyclist, is a poignant tale of World War II France and is the first in a trilogy. It was an Editor's Choice selection in the February 2011 issue of the Historical Novel Society's Historical Novels Review and reveals a different (and very human) side of war. Check out Fred's web site for more information!

Happy reading,
Gemi

New news

In case you were all wondering (and I know you were, right?), I am still alive and kicking. The blog has been quiet for a couple of weeks, but all for a good cause. My next book, Isabeau, A Novel of Queen Isabella and Sir Roger Mortimer, is now on Kindle and Smashwords and I've just corrected the last pesky little typos and formatting errors for the print version. By early next week, the stamp of approval should be on the final, final proof and shortly thereafter, the paper book will be available online at Amazon, Barnes and Nobles and other retail web sites.

Originally, I balked at writing a historical story centered on a female protagonist. Why would that be the case when I myself am a woman? Hmm, the only explanation I can give is that I grew up a tomboy and the book that sent me down this path in the first place was The Three Musketeers. Clanging sword blades excite me for some inexplicable reason. The rustle of tafeta, not so much. If I were to dress up at the local Rennaisance Festival, I'd insist on armor, a lance and a caparisoned warhorse. I am NOT a fan of big flouncy dresses and wimples - at least not on me personally - it's impossible to run in the things and I am quite comfortable in my running shorts, Adidas and cotton T-shirts - although I must say Cate Blanchett looks fab in poofy dresses and a jeweled crown.

If you hadn't noticed, the majority of historicals selling in the U.S. do have female MCs, soooo... it was a career move initially, to be frank. Queen Isabella was a contemporary of Robert the Bruce, so I had run across her name frequently while researching her husband, Edward II of England. But as I began to plot out the chapters, something odd happened. This woman who I'd sat down to write about was . . . fascinating. Intelligent, strong and unbelievably bold. Was she perfect in every way? No, what human being is? But she defied her husband, King Edward, at a time when women did not openly speak out against their spouses and took a lover: Sir Roger Mortimer. If that isn't fodder for a rich historical, I'm not sure what is.

Queen Isabella's story is my own interpretation - as are those of the other historical figures in the book, such as Mortimer, Hugh Despenser and Edward II. If nothing else, I hope readers will learn something more about the time period and all its political entanglements while escaping the present. My intention was to step into Isabella's and Mortimer's shoes - and hopefully invite you, the reader, into their world. Like Robert the Bruce, this is one more figure who I'm surprised has been so overlooked in fiction.

Now, I'm going to celebrate one more step in publication by pulling weeds, going for a run and cheering my kids on at some races over the weekend. Then it's back to work, getting the second Bruce book ready for the world.

Until later,
Gemi

Queen Isabella

Often referred to as the ‘She-Wolf of France’, the 14th century English queen, Isabella, has been a poorly understood historical figure – her motivations and actions tainted by the biased pen-stroke of past chroniclers.

Isabella was born in 1295 in Valois, France, to King Philip IV of France and Queen Jeanne of Navarre. In 1308, she married King Edward II of England at Boulogne, France. He was 23 and she was not yet 13. It was a union meant to secure peace between the two most powerful kingdoms in Christendom; instead, it ended in the greatest scandal of their time.

Isabella’s life cannot be understood without first examining the men who played a part in it. From the beginning, more than the age difference separated Isabella and Edward, for when they arrived in Dover, the king was effusively greeted by his ‘favorite’, Piers Gaveston. Three times in the years to come, parliament decreed that Gaveston had corrupted the king and exiled him. When Gaveston returned the third time, without their consent, he was pursued, taken into custody and then executed. Despondent, Edward turned to Isabella, who thus far had displayed nothing but the utmost loyalty toward him. She bore him four healthy children: Edward, John, Eleanor, and Joan.

It may have seemed as though all was now well between the king and queen; however, a new sycophant had entered into the picture following Edward’s humiliating defeat at Bannockburn in 1314. His name was Hugh Despenser the Younger.

Just as he had with Gaveston, Edward soon began heaping titles and possessions upon Despenser. Ultimately, Despenser too was exiled. Embittered, Edward gathered an army and pursued Sir Roger Mortimer, a formerly loyal Marcher lord who had risen in protest. At Shrewsbury, Mortimer gave himself up, believing he would be pardoned, but he was promptly imprisoned in the Tower of London. With his enemies subdued, Edward recalled Despenser.

In desperation, Isabella wrote to her brother, King Charles of France, for help.

Sometime during 1323, it is believed that Isabella visited Mortimer in the Tower. Then, in August, after the castle garrison celebrated the Feast of St. Pater ad Vincula and imbibed a sleeping potion, Mortimer escaped and found his way to France.

Now under heavy suspicion, Isabella was confined to the Tower and not allowed to see her children. When a dispute over French possessions began to brew, the Pope suggested Isabella be sent to France to negotiate a treaty. Reluctantly, Edward allowed her to go – a very shortsighted move on his part.

In Paris, Isabella and Mortimer met again… and began an affair which they increasingly found it hard to hide. Meanwhile, they collected funds and made plans for an invasion. In September of 1326, Isabella and Mortimer landed in Suffolk with a mercenary force. They were welcomed by the people of England with open arms. Edward and Despenser fled west to Wales, but were eventually taken into custody. Hugh Despenser was brutally executed in Hereford. King Edward was sent first to Kenilworth, where he was persuaded to abdicate, and then later to Berkeley Castle.

Isabella and Mortimer were effectively ruling in the name of the young King Edward III. More than once, an attempt was made to free the deposed king. In September of 1327, an announcement proclaimed that the former king had died of natural causes. For centuries, rumors persisted that Edward II was murdered by applying a hot poker through a horn to his innards through his anus. However, letters uncovered in the last century suggest that he may have escaped to the continent and assumed the identity of a holy man.

Meanwhile, Isabella and Mortimer had accrued a great deal of wealth and were under increasing criticism. Despite the fact that England was now at peace with both France and Scotland, they were gaining many enemies. Young Edward himself bristled at their hold on power and just before he reached his eighteenth birthday in October of 1330, he had Mortimer arrested at Nottingham. Isabella was kept under house arrest at Berkhamsted Castle and learned, after the fact, that Mortimer had been tried and executed.

Isabella spent the next two years in virtual confinement at Windsor, deeply aggrieved by Mortimer’s death. Although she later joined her son’s court, relations between them were strained. She lived long enough to see the births of her thirteen grandchildren – and to see Edward III reverse Mortimer’s sentence of treason on the grounds he had not been allowed to speak in his own defense. After taking the habit of the Third Order of Saint Francis, she died in 1358. Edward II’s heart (or a heart purported to be his) was buried with her.

(This post was originally published on History and Women.)