Angels, Sinners and Madmen is free starting today, and running through Sunday. I hope you'll grab a copy from Amazon. It would be a huge thrill to see this one in the bestseller list too.
Set in 1850s Key West, Florida, Angels, Sinners and Madmen brings to life the time of the wreckers - men who salvaged ships that wrecked along the reefs bordering the island. Some say the wreckers were only thieves, or worse, but my research didn't bear that out. Most were men of honor who valued human life over everything, and saved so many people from watery graves - in turbulent water, without benefit of oxygen tanks. They could hold their breath for up to six minutes! I found it so fascinating during a visit to the island, The story actually flashed through my head during a visit to the wrecker museum, and had to know more about the wreckers, so bought up every book I could find, and found great treasures of documents in the library. Although it took a few years to finally finish, the result was this novel.
Is it hot in here?
Today, the ladies at Author Roast and Toast are helping me celebrate its re-release! Yep, I'm being roasted at http://authorroastandtoast.blogspot.com/. So come on over and join the beach party, complete with umbrella drinks, Key Lime pie and all the island goodies.
Today wraps up a crazy summer! It's actually my last release of the year, so it's even more special.
Today at 6:30 p.m. EST, I'll be chatting on the EP site, and giving away an ebook copy. Hope you'll come over and join me! The other release authors will be chatting from afternoon into evening too - it's a great way to learn more about them. Click here tonight to join the chat!
And on Monday night, I'll be at Night Owl Reviews with Margaret West and Ginger Simpson in a Native American romance-themed chat. I'll be giving away a PDF copy of Follow the Stars Home, and Ginger and Margaret have great giveaways too. Monday's chat is from 8:00 till 9:00 p.m. EST. On Monday, click here to join that chat.
Follow the Stars Home was a true labor of love. Like all my character, Black Bear and Quiet Thunder became very real to me in their struggle to get home again.
Luckily, Ginger Simpson of The Examiner thought so too. :) Her review said, in part: Ms. Masters has penned an insightful and entertaining novel that’s bound to teach you a few things about history. The mark of a good historical writing is peppering in the historical facts, and… you’ll walk away knowing much more than you did about the Lakota and their brethren than you did when you began the story. Kudos to Cate Masters for another winning novel. You won’t be able to put Follow the Stars Home down until you turn the last page.
Black Bear stared at her, the fullness in her gaze made his breath flutter like the fireflies. “The moonlight lit your face. You’re more beautiful than ever.” Warmth coursed through his face. He must have enchanted himself with the song. Though he’d thought it many times, he’d never before called her beautiful. Unable to hold back any longer, he knelt in front of her, and she lifted up to kneel before him. Entwining his fingers through hers, he held them against the scar on his chest where the bone tore through two summers ago. With a voice soft as a trickling stream, he spoke. “I welcomed the pain of becoming a man. Do you know why?” “Because you wanted to be a great warrior?” His thumbs caressed the back of her hands. “No. The time of great Sioux warriors is ending. I must learn to be a better hunter. To provide for my family.” A family he wished with all his heart to have with her. His insides lurched when she glanced down. “Black Bear—” She tried to slide her hand away, but he held it fast. “Please let me speak.” His seriousness silenced her. With a nod, she lifted her gaze to his scar, the mark of his love for her. It spoke of his hopes for their future. From now on, he wanted it to be a reminder of this night. Soft urgency gave fire to his words, and the fire sparked in his blood. “I know now why you are called Quiet Thunder. I didn’t know I could feel such thunder inside. It overtakes me every night while I try to sleep. In everything I do, I feel your spirit with me. I need to know if you feel the same.” He pressed her hand against his scar so she might feel his heart thudding through his skin. It pulsed with his life’s blood as if to mingle with her own. When she raised her chin, moonlight illuminated her face, her dark eyes ablaze. “Yes.”
I'm very excited for tomorrow's release of Follow the Stars Home, my Native American romance and my second historical novel.
Like Angels Sinners and Madmen, Follow the Stars Home came together after meticulous research. Based on the 1879 founding of the Carlisle Indian Industrial School, Follow the Stars Home weaves true accounts with fictional characters.
I first learned about the Carlisle Indian Industrial School from a PBS special shortly after moving to Carlisle, Pa. I found the episode so compelling, I would purposely drive by the students' graveyard on what is now the Army War College.
Descendants visit the graveyard and leave offerings on this tree, or place them on the headstones.
The Cumberland County Historical Society has a wonderful exhibit of photographs and artifacts at its Carlisle museum.
When I came upon this near-life-sized exhibit, I felt as if the schoolchildren stood in the same room looking back at me. A chilling experience.
Later, Dickinson College's Trout Gallery had an exhibit on the school called Visualizing a Mission. Displays included photographs of the students, some of their personal effects such as drums, clothing and moccasins. The most striking was the pictograph created by Etahdleuh Doanmoe called A Kiowa’s Odyssey, which documents the experiences of this student.
Captain Pratt's motto was: Kill the Indian, Save the Man. In some cases, it just killed the Indian. Students died of exposure to foreign diseases, or sheer homesickness, or sometimes suicide. Many ran away. In fact, many ran away to join the spectacular traveling show Buffalo Bill's Wild West.
Pratt despised the show, not surprisingly. He wanted to obliterate the culture, and hated that the show glorified it instead. When circumstances turn against Black Bear, now called Samuel, he runs away to find the show. He's been beaten, locked in the guard house, forced to change his name and cut his hair, and is no longer sure of who he is. He feels undeserving of Rose Quiet Thunder, who seems to have adapted well to the school's rigid structure.
Rose Quiet Thunder may have learned everything the teachers hoped, but sees through the propaganda of their school newspaper when she joins the staff. Devastated when Samuel Black Bear runs away, she stays at the school several more years. Once she realizes it would take another several years for her to graduate, she opts to go home instead. She intends to do what she can to preserve the Lakota culture Pratt's trying to destroy.
The characters in my novel are fictional. No disrespect is intended in writing from a Lakota perspective, and I hope to honor those first students with this story. Imagining their journey from a human perspective, I wove in Lakota mythology and legend, using books such as Richard Erdoes and Alfonso Ortiz' American Indian Myths and Legends, and James Mooney's The Ghost-Dance Religion. Linda Witmer's "The Indian Industrial School" provided a great deal of information about the student's daily lives, along with fascinating photos. Pratt was careful to document students' progress through photographs, showing them as sad savages upon their arrival, and happy, neatly dressed civilians after attending his school.
Surprisingly, I also found a news account from the local newspaper, then called the Valley Sentinel. Dated Friday, October 10, 1879, it began:
"About twelve o'clock on Sunday night Captain Pratt arrived at the Junction with eighty-six Sioux Indian children, whom he had just selected from the Rosebud and Pine Sage agency, varying in age from ten to seventeen. Their dress was curious, made of different cheap material, and representing all the shades and colors. Cheap jewelry was worn by the girls. Their moccasins are covered with fancy bead work. They carry heavy blankets or shawls with them, and their appearance would not suggest that their toilet was a matter of care. Some of them were very pretty, while others are extremely homely. All possessed the large black eye, beautiful pearl-white teeth, the high cheek-bone, straight-cut mouth and peculiar nose."
Imagine those poor kids arriving at midnight in a town full of white strangers, so far from their loved ones. I hope I did them justice.
One of the most easily recognizable fare from the Keys is Key Lime Pie. Yum. The history of the pie has been lost to the ages. While some claim to have invented the dessert, most believe it originated in the late 1800s (after Angels Sinners and Madmen takes place, so I make no mention of it). Hard to say, though, since most people didn't begin to write down recipes until the early 1900s, according to the following web site. I'm fairly certain they didn't have prepared crusts then either. :)
Key Lime Pie 1 (9-inch) prepared Graham Cracker Pie Crust 1 (14 ounce) can sweetened condensed milk 1/4 cup key lime juice** 2 teaspoons finely grated zest from key limes 2 eggs, separated 1 egg, room temperature 4 tablespoons granulated sugar ** The recipe says if you can't find fresh key limes, Tahiti or Persian limes may be substituted as they are very similar in taste. You can also substitute the bottled key lime juice. The online recipe also includes instructions to prepare a graham cracker crust, which you should refrigerate until well chilled. Preheat oven to 350 degrees. In a medium bowl, combine condensed milk, key lime zest, and key lime juice. Add egg yolks and egg; stir until well blended. Pour into chilled graham cracker crust. In a medium bowl, beat egg whites until stiff peaks form; gradually fold in sugar. Spread meringue over key lime mixture, being careful to spread to edge of pastry to prevent shrinkage during baking. Check out my hints and tips on making a Perfect Meringue. Bake 20 minutes or until meringue is golden brown. Remove from oven and cool completely on a wire rack. Makes 6 servings.
I thought Mojitos a modern drink until I came across the following web site, which includes another interesting history. Because of Key West's proximity to Cuba, wreckers often sailed there for supplies. Cubans not only perfected the cigar (like the antique logo above, which I thought was pretty cool), but supposedly also the mojito. Unless you believe another story that English pirate Sir Richard Drake first mixed the drink and later introduced it to Cubans. Either way, it makes a refreshing summertime cocktail, but also packs a punch. A favorite of Hemingway's, I'm sure if the walls of the bars in Key West could talk, they'd have quite a few tales to tell.
The Magnificent Mojito: History and Recipe 2 oz. light rum 1-2 oz. lime juice (depending on your taste) 2 tsp. superfine sugar (you can also use confectioner's sugar) 2-3 mint leaves club soda or seltzer water lime slice and mint sprigs for garnish Lightly muddle (that is, gently smash up) the mint and sugar with a splash of soda water in a mixing glass until the sugar is dissolved and you can smell the mint. Pour the lime juice into the glass, add the rum and pour into an ice-filled cocktail shaker. Give it a few shakes and then strain into a collins glass. Top with soda water or seltzer water, garnish with a lime slice and a mint sprig. Serve.
If you've ever been to Key West, you'd have noticed them everywhere. The chickens. Walking across the street, hanging out at restaurants and bars as if they were Hemingway reincarnated.
In researching what islanders ate during 1856, the time in which Angels Sinners and Madmen takes place, one thing was clear - they made good work of the abundance of seafood.
Apparently conch shells were so plentiful, they ate the meat of the creature within, although it was apparently very tough, according to this recipe for Conch Chowder, handed down through generations. Key West residents transplanted from Bahama were called Conchs also.
Conch Chowder 3 onions, finely chopped 2 to 3 cloves garlic, minced 1 green bell pepper, cored, seeded, and finely chopped 1 (14 1/2-ounce) can whole tomatoes, undrained and cut up* 2 1/2 to 3 pounds conch meat, cleaned and ground** 2 potatoes, peeled and finely chopped 2 quarts water (approximately) Salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste * To easily prepare the tomatoes, use a sharp knife and cut the tomatoes while still in the can. ** Because conch meat is very tough, you must grind it using a meat grinder or food processor. In a large, heavy pot over medium-high heat, add onions, garlic, bell pepper, and tomatoes; cook until vegetables are soft. Reduce heat to low; add ground conch meat, potatoes, and enough water to make it soupy but not watery. Let simmer 1 hour. Add salt and pepper to taste. Remove from heat and serve in individual soup bowls. Makes 6 to 8 servings.
I found several references to camperou, a favorite drink in the mid-1800s, but the best recipe I could find was rather vague: The favorite social drink is camperou, a compound of caracoa, eggs, Jamaica spirits and other ingredients.
Hm. 'Other ingredients' leaves it pretty wide open.
So in advance of tomorrow's release of my historical novel (which I like to call a historical adventure romance), I've posted the first chapter of Angels, Sinners and Madmen on my web site. While historicals may not be to everyone's liking, I hope the first chapter will entice people to want more. The trailer and excerpt are here.
On Wednesday, I'm also launching a new blog series called Casting Call - I hope you'll check it out. First up is Angels, Sinners and Madmen.
And tomorrow is my monthly post at Popculturedivas, a tribute to my much-maligned home state of New Jersey. I hope you'll pop over!
I'm having such a great summer! My third release of summer is Follow the Stars Home, available Aug. 7 from Eternal Press.
Like Angels Sinners and Madmen, the meticulous historical research slowed down the actual writing of the novel. But I found it fascinating, and hope you will too.
Here's a different excerpt:
Black Bear stared at her, the fullness in her gaze made his breath flutter like the fireflies. “The moonlight lit your face. You’re more beautiful than ever.” Warmth coursed through his face. He must have enchanted himself with the song. Though he’d thought it many times, he’d never before called her beautiful. Unable to hold back any longer, he knelt in front of her, and she lifted up to kneel before him. Entwining his fingers through hers, he held them against the scar on his chest where the bone tore through two summers ago. With a voice soft as a trickling stream, he spoke. “I welcomed the pain of becoming a man. Do you know why?” “Because you wanted to be a great warrior?” His thumbs caressed the back of her hands. “No. The time of great Sioux warriors is ending. I must learn to be a better hunter. To provide for my family.” A family he wished with all his heart to have with her. His insides lurched when she glanced down. “Black Bear—” She tried to slide her hand away, but he held it fast. “Please let me speak.” His seriousness silenced her. With a nod, she lifted her gaze to his scar, the mark of his love for her. It spoke of his hopes for their future. From now on, he wanted it to be a reminder of this night. Soft urgency gave fire to his words, and the fire sparked in his blood. “I know now why you are called Quiet Thunder. I didn’t know I could feel such thunder inside. It overtakes me every night while I try to sleep. In everything I do, I feel your spirit with me. I need to know if you feel the same.” He pressed her hand against his scar so she might feel his heart thudding through his skin. It pulsed with his life’s blood as if to mingle with her own. When she raised her chin, moonlight illuminated her face, her dark eyes ablaze. “Yes.”
I'm so psyched! I can't wait for this release. Angels Sinners and Madmen was such fun to write, but also one of the most difficult because of the research. When we visited the tiny Florida island of Key West years ago, the history of the wreckers really swept me up. These men dove into stormy seas to salvage wrecks under the worst weather conditions imaginable, and without benefit of any diving equipment. According to The Wreckers' Historeum, they could hold their breath up to six minutes.
You can purchase Angels Sinners and Madmen before it's released at Freya's Bower.
Here's a different excerpt:
Acutely aware of his presence beside her, she suspected he had the same effect on other females. “It sounds like your days are very full, Mr. Langhorne.” He halted, his gaze intense. “Will you never call me Sam? I may be older than you, but not so old to warrant such formality.” His sudden seriousness took her by surprise. Using his name implied an informality—a familiarity–she wasn’t quite ready to allow. Then again, he’d brought her up from the depths, his strong arms leaving an indelible impression on her skin, one she felt even now. How much more familiar could one get? “Sam.” He continued walking. “Thank you, Livvie.” He said it naturally, as though he’d called her that all her life. She glanced behind them, then ahead. “This is not a quicker route. In fact, I believe it will lengthen our walk.” These streets were new to her. The houses appeared larger, maintained better than those on Duval Street, at least at the end where the Crowells’ boarding house stood. His brows furrowed as he pressed his lips together. “Hmm. Is that a fact?” The stern look she tried to affect gave way to a smile. “So. Tell me about Philadelphia.” “It’s a bustling metropolis where small-minded people live.” His tone had a sharper edge, and he avoided her gaze. “City life doesn’t suit you?” Livvie’s curiosity got the better of her, one of her father’s chief complaints. “Not when I could be here instead. The choice between spending my days there, devising means to outwit others, or here, in the glorious sunshine, my life mine to live as I see fit–well, it was the easiest choice I’ve ever made.” “What do you mean, outwitting others? Were you a thief?” He laughed. “In a manner of speaking.” So willing to share certain parts of himself, so reticent to share others. What secrets, she wondered, did Samuel Langhorne hide? She scrutinized him. “You are a puzzle.” More likely a Pandora’s box, and the temptation to open it grew.
My Native American historical romance, Follow the Stars Home, will be available on August 7. Check out the trailer, which I just finished:
I'm very excited about its release! The story's very dear to me. Here's a sneak peek:
A movement in the trees caught his eye, the slightest shift in the shadows. He lowered the stick and sat still as a tree atop his buffalo skin. An animal would have revealed itself, so he suspected a person hid there. His heart tightened with hope. After waiting a moment, he called, “Hello?” The moonlight alighted her doeskin dress no matter as she stepped from the shadows into the clearing. He scrambled to his feet. “Quiet Thunder. You’re here.” His thick voice caught in his throat and his self-confidence abandoned him. Long he’d waited for this moment, but now felt unsure what to do. Her words rushed out in a strangled breath. “Yes. I heard the cry.” He held the twig with both hands and twisted it. “I played all afternoon trying to get it right.” Her eyes widened as she recognized the siyotanka. He’d made the flute hoping to enchant her with its magic. His song must be working—she walked to him as if drawn by it. “I thought it an elk’s cry.” The high praise made his breath tangle in his ribs. Grandfather told tales of Lakota who cut cedarwood branches to craft a flute shaped like the long neck and head of a bird with an open beak. The instrument’s sound resembled the call of an elk, powerful medicine supposed to make a man irresistible to the woman he loved. He lowered his head. “I hoped it would bring you here.” Shyness overcame him, and he could not meet her gaze, only stare at the siyotanka. “You brought me here.” Her words were bold with truth. Tonight, he wanted to speak only truth. To hear only truth. His gaze leaped to hers. Glancing at the bow she carried, he grinned. “You came to shoot me?” Ducking her head, she said softly, “No.” When he reached for the bow, his hand grazed hers, and he struggled against the urge to pull her close. “I’ll set them down. Nearby, in case you need them.” Gently, he slid the strap from her shoulder and put both next to the buffalo skin, then extended his hand for her to sit. Nervousness twisted through him, made every action stiff and formal as if performing a ritual. Since childhood, he’d run with Quiet Thunder, shot arrows with her, rode horses with her. Two summers ago when a sticker branch cut her leg, he’d carried her to a stream. Holding her in his arms had awakened new feelings, and since then, his fingers itched to feel her skin every night. She knelt, and then sat atop her legs. “Are you all right?” He crossed his legs and sat. “I am now that you’re here.” Biting his lip, he cast his gaze away. Happiness surged through his spirit, filled his skin so full it threatened to burst open. “Play me your song.” Like the stars twinkling above them, her eyes sparkled, like laughing spirits clustered in crowds along the white carpet of the Milky Way. He lifted the flute to his lips and gently blew. His song seemed to enchant everything around them. Fireflies glittered like falling embers. The music of the stream mixed with the flute. His heart skipped and danced with the lilting tune, the tune he made for her alone. When she closed her eyes, he painted her beauty in his memory. She opened her eyes. “Why did you stop?” Black Bear stared at her, the fullness in her gaze made his breath flutter like the fireflies. “The moonlight lit your face. You’re more beautiful than ever.” Warmth coursed through his face. He must have enchanted himself with the song. Though he’d thought it many times, he’d never before called her beautiful. Unable to hold back any longer, he knelt in front of her, and she lifted up to kneel before him. Entwining his fingers through hers, he held them against the scar on his chest where the bone tore through two summers ago. With a voice soft as a trickling stream, he spoke. “I welcomed the pain of becoming a man. Do you know why?” “Because you wanted to be a great warrior?” His thumbs caressed the back of her hands. “No. The time of great Sioux warriors is ending. I must learn to be a better hunter. To provide for my family.” A family he wished with all his heart to have with her. His insides lurched when she glanced down. “Black Bear—” She tried to slide her hand away, but he held it fast. “Please let me speak.” His seriousness silenced her. With a nod, she lifted her gaze to his scar, the mark of his love for her. It spoke of his hopes for their future. From now on, he wanted it to be a reminder of this night. Soft urgency gave fire to his words, and the fire sparked in his blood. “I know now why you are called Quiet Thunder. I didn’t know I could feel such thunder inside. It overtakes me every night while I try to sleep. In everything I do, I feel your spirit with me. I need to know if you feel the same.” He pressed her hand against his scar so she might feel his heart thudding through his skin. It pulsed with his life’s blood as if to mingle with her own. When she raised her chin, moonlight illuminated her face, her dark eyes ablaze. “Yes.” He exhaled a ragged breath and leaned in to touch his lips to hers. When she slid her arms around his neck and pressed close to him, he felt in danger of floating into the laughing stars. With slow purpose, he slid his mouth against hers, fueling desires he’d never before experienced. The effort of holding himself back caused him to tremble. Slowly he lifted his lips and whispered her name fervent as a prayer, his breath stirring her hair. She clung to him, her arms wrapped tight around his waist like a vine clinging to a tree.
I put the finishing touches on the trailer this morning. What do you think?
Here's an excerpt: Her intense scrutiny made him uneasy. “Did someone hurt you? So much you distrust every other who shares her gender?” Her face, illuminated by the setting sun, appeared so innocent, so youthful. She could not possibly know of the terrible danger inherent in offering oneself to another. The intricacies of a relationship. “Yes.” The lone word revealed more than he had ever shared with anyone else. He stood rigid, unwilling to display himself further through any action or language. “Then I am truly sorry, Sam. To close yourself off in such a way you can never know happiness again. It makes me sad for you.” His laugh was hollow. “You needn’t pity me.” Her face hardened, her beautiful lips retreating to a thin, disapproving line. “No. You’re right. To choose such a life willingly is your own doing. You deserve no pity.” This was the kind of woman he was used to. Whose tender caresses turned to merciless clawing, so deep his very heart was at peril. “Such harsh words from one who would have me believe—” “I will not be so pathetic as to cling to false hope. To wait for you to sort out your feelings could take years.” She bowed her head. “I hold you to nothing, Sam. Forget yesterday, if you must.” She lifted her head to hold his gaze for a moment, perhaps waiting for him to open himself to her. In resignation, she turned and walked out. Stunned, Sam stood there, looking at the closed door. She knew him. She knew him completely, her sweet touch had divined his true self, had breathed into his mouth and captured the essence of his soul. Her openness, her honesty, entranced him more than her beauty. Yet he still could not move, could not will himself to go after her, confess his feelings. The sensation of being in Livvie’s arms could not be more opposite to his time with Helen. When Livvie looked at him, she exposed herself completely. Nothing else existed in the world. Her giving nature resulted from her feelings, and what she did not feel, she would not give. He knew it to be true. If Livvie left Key West, he would likely never meet another near her qualities. Her inquisitive nature inspired him to share his thoughts, his world. He trusted her reaction to be true, not a response designed to please him. Her skills of comprehension and analysis exceeded those of many educated men. Were it not for the constraints of society, Livvie could have risen to great power, if she’d aspired to. He had never encountered another girl like her. That was perhaps what frightened him most. Yet he still felt rooted where he stood, even as he saw, in his mind’s eye, her figure grow smaller and disappear altogether. One thought repeated in his head: I will never forget.
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