About the Author:
Thursday, March 29, 2012
Miriam Newman, Ireland and the Pesky Muse
Karen: I'm thrilled to introduce Miriam Newman, the author of heartfelt historical romances and adventure-filled science fiction tales. Teas brewing so sit back and enjoy your stay.
In Miriam Newman's Words:
Once upon a time there was a poet. She was a poet because she had no time to write. When you have a husband, five kids, a full-time job and you like to raise horses, you have NO time. That was my drill for years, and since penning a sonnet took considerably less time than knocking out 90,000 words, I wrote poetry. I did well at it. Still, there was always a little voice in the back of my mind whispering, “But I wanna write a book!” That voice was so persistent that I finally realized it was a muse and I named her The Wench because she was totally annoying.
Then my fairly happy if somewhat madcap life began to fall apart. The kids grew up, my husband died after a 4 ½ year battle with leukemia and my job was history because I had left it to care for him. I could no longer afford horses. My muse was peeking at me around corners, trying to get in, but I was so annoyed I renamed her Persephone. You know…the Queen of Hell. Eventually I decided I was going to blow my entire small fortune on a plane ticket to Ireland, with no plan to return any time soon. Despite the pleas of family and friends who thought I was out of my mind, I did. What I didn’t realize was that Persephone was in the cargo hold.
She finally announced herself in a sheep pasture on the west coast of Ireland where I was sitting sort of like J.K. Rowling with one of those ubiquitous yellow legal pads, since I couldn’t afford a laptop. I had a fantastic view of the Atlantic Ocean pounding green surf against 300-foot cliffs, but even above the noise of the waters I heard Persephone whining at me like some sort of literary mosquito. “What if you were a princess, sitting at your castle window, watching that surf?” Seph whispered. “What if your father was a king bound on using you as a pawn to save his kingdom? What if…”
“STOP!” I screamed. “I’m writing a poem!” But Seph just smiled. I put my pen to the paper and started writing—or should I say SHE started writing?
133,000 words later, she finally stopped. Some poem.
* * *
I was the King’s daughter once, so many years ago that sometimes now it is hard to remember. Before the tide of time carried away so many things, so many people, it was worth something to be the daughter of a King.
Our little island nation of Alcinia was not rich, except for tin mines honeycombing the south. It wasn’t even hospitable. Summer was a brief affair and fall was only a short time of muted colors on the northernmost coast where my father sat his throne at the ancient Keep of Landsfel. Winter was the killing time and spring was hardly better, with frosts that could last into Fifth-Month. But from the south, where men cut thatch in a pattern like the bones of fish, to the north where rock roses spilled down cliffs to the sea, it was my own.
One thinks such things will never change, yet all things do.
* * *
That was “The King’s Daughter,” Book I of The Chronicles of Alcinia. Book II, “Heart of the Earth,” I wrote a little later--in a pub in Killarney. But that’s a story for another day.
You can purchase a copy of The King's Daughter at:
Fantasy poetry driven by myths and legends has been Miriam’s passion for as long as she can remember. She was published in poetry before catching the romance writing bug. She brings that background to her writing along with a lifelong addiction to horses, an 18 year career in various areas of psychiatric social services and many trips to Ireland, where she nurtures her muse. Her published works range from contemporary fantasy romance to fantasy historical, futuristic, science fiction and historical romance. Currently she lives in rural Pennsylvania with a “motley crew” of rescue animals. You can view her books at www.miriamnewman.com.