The Quick Guide to Purchasing My Work

Shorter Work

"Crimean Fairy Tale," an erotic romance set during the Crimean War. About 7000 words, available for Kindle and for Smashwords and for Nook.

"The Magnificent Threesome," a 6000 word short story set in a loosely historical American West, is available for Kindle and for Nook.

"Under Her Uniform," a Spice Brief - tie-in to The Moonlight Mistress (electronic only): (2012)
Kindle
Nook
Harlequin e-book (Adobe editions)
Google e-book from Powell's
Mills and Boon e-book (UK)
The Sony Bookstore
Audiobook at Audible.com, read by Kelsey Larsen.

Erotic Exploits (electronic only):
Seven Tales of Speculative Lesbian Erotica by Victoria Janssen. Includes: "Free Falling"; "Camera"; "Wire," a sequel to "Camera"; "Toy," a sequel to "Wire"; "The Princess on the Rock"; "Place, Park, Scene, Dark"; and "Mo'o and the Woman."
Kindle
Nook
Smashwords

Download my first published erotic story, "Water Music," in PDF format. Also available for Kindle and for Nook.

NOVELS

The Duke and The Pirate Queen: (2010)
Kindle
Amazon
Barnes & Noble
Indiebound
Powell’s
Audiobook at Audible.com, read by Phoebe Stewart.

The Moonlight Mistress: (2009)
Kindle
Amazon.com
Barnes & Noble
IndieBound
Powell's
Audiobook at Audible.com, read by Patsy Kelland.
FlipKart in India.
Italian translation.
Italian translation for Kindle

The Duchess, Her Maid, The Groom and Their Lover: (2008)
Kindle
Amazon.com
Barnes & Noble
Indiebound
Powell’s
Audiobook at Audible.com, read by Helen Stern.
Russian translation.
French translation.
German translation.
Download "Camille, Henri, Maxime," a free outtake in PDF format (please note this outtake is explicit).

"Under Her Uniform" is here!

Available today, at Harlequin! Go here.

"Under Her Uniform" by Victoria Janssen

Isobel Hailey has disguised herself as a man so she can fight in the British Army in World War I. Only a few people know the truth, including her two officer lovers--so why can’t she stop thinking about handsome Corporal Andrew Southey instead? Hailey has to keep her wits about her and her erotic fantasies hidden so she doesn’t blow her cover. But when she and Southey find themselves working closely on a mission, their attraction--and the truth--is impossible to deny.

A sequel to Victoria Janssen’s The Moonlight Mistress, now available in ebook from Spice Books.

Bearded Heroes

I'm a guest today at the Novelists, Inc. blog on "Five Ways of Thinking About a Writer's Conference."

As for my own personal blog, I've been wondering something. Where are all the romance heroes with beards? Or even moustaches?

I'm thinking about this because Maxime, hero of The Duke & the Pirate Queen, has a beard. The man on the book's cover does not have a beard; I've rarely seen moustaches, much less beards, on the covers of romance novels. Or on the characters inside romance novels. Or even in erotic novels, for that matter.

I recently read The Forbidden Rose by Joanna Bourne; it's a historical set during the French Revolution. For most of the novel, the hero is bearded, or more accurately, stubbled. It's part of his disguise. I believe, though, in "normal" life he is cleanshaven.

Three major characters in my World War One-set novel The Moonlight Mistress (Pascal Fournier, Noel Ashby, and Gabriel Meyer) have moustaches. In that case, I considered their facial hair to be an important part of the historical worldbuilding; it's early in the war, and they don't yet have the gas mask issue that led some soldiers to shave. But also, I like moustaches. Again, the man on the book's cover does not have a moustache, though I am pretty sure he represents Pascal. Maybe there's some kind of marketing thing going on with all these cleanshaven men. Or maybe models just don't tend to have facial hair.

I wonder why that is? Facial hair, I suspect, is more commmon in historical romance set in certain periods when, well, facial hair would be more common. Is there more facial hair in Western Romance? I can't bring examples to mind. Does this trend hold over time?

Do readers just not want to imagine the scratchiness?

Anybody have any thoughts on this?

Carezze Di Luna releases!

I'm on the road today, traveling to Readercon with friends Judith Berman and Michael Swanwick. If you're going to the con, my schedule is posted here.

Today is the release date for the first translation of The Moonlight Mistress. The Italian title is Carezze Di Luna. I love this adaptation of the original cover.

Look inside the book!



Mentre scoppia la Prima Guerra Mondiale, l'avvenente chimica Lucilla Daglish s'innamora di Pascal Fournier, uno scienziato che nasconde un inquietante e sbalorditivo segreto. Quando lui le rivela di compiere studi sui lupi mannari, facendola entrare in contatto con quelle creature selvagge e pericolose che si aggirano fra gli umani ignari, per Lucilla niente sarà più lo stesso. Da quel momento sarà attratta in un vortice di passione e pericolo, di sensualità e inganno, di amore e morte, in un crescendo di rocambolesche avventure, insidie soprannaturali e passioni proibite.

There's some commentary on the book (in Italian) at this blog.

Wordles for my novels!

I made some Wordles. Actually, I did this before, but I didn't save them. Click to see a larger version - you'll be sent to the main site. It's an application that transforms a large chunk of text (in this case, a novel) into a cluster of the most common words. Larger words appear more often in the text. You can then play with the layout to some extent, mainly the orientation of the words, the overall shape of the cloud, and the colors.

Musings on Discovering/Implementing Theme in The Moonlight Mistress

Someone asked me fairly recently about how I use theme.

For me, I might think about theme ahead of time, but it doesn't really start to manifest until I've written a certain amount of the manuscript. Then I start realizing what my subconscious is trying to tell me (or maybe my conscious mind gives it a name and a shape). Like, for The Moonlight Mistress I knew wolves were a symbol of the wild, but linking the shapechanging idea to the human characters sank into my my mind gradually, influenced by something a transgendered woman had once told me about feeling she was a real-life shapechanger.

I decided that acting outside of conventional gender roles was also, in a way, like shapechanging, and I had plenty of characters who did that, whether by dressing and acting as the opposite gender, or performing a job usually associated with the other gender, or simply by not having a heteronormative sex life.

After I realized all that is when I start adding descriptive details throughout the manuscript to emphasize this theme and to, hopefully, bring the idea to the reader's attention. I examined all the characters and how I'd presented them, and thought about which ones were most like shapechangers, and how, and tried to emphasize that a little, indirectly. I also tried to do a little bit of mirroring, werewolves with humans.

I don't know if that kind of detail actually works for the reader or not, but I make the attempt. Even if it doesn't come through, it's fun to do! I'm also not sure if it really counts as theme if you're doing it on purpose. But I think it should count.

I'm still thinking about this myself, so I apologize if I sound a little vague. Your input is welcome!

Proposing and Disposing

"I shall now defuse this highly explosive bomb while simultaneously, and at the same time, reciting from the works of Percy Bysshe Shelley." --Gonzo the Great

While I'm writing my Crimean War time travel story, I'm also thinking about the second book on my current contract.

I am planning to propose another World War One paranormal, this one heavier on the paranormal elements. It would be a sequel to The Moonlight Mistress.

I haven't fully developed a plot arc in my mind, but I have the character conflicts in my mind, which for me usually come first. The main couple will have internal conflicts that will generate external conflicts, complicating how they negotiate the big external conflict of the war. Their conflicts were set up in The Moonlight Mistress, and can proceed logically from there. I have a tentative plan for introducing a third major character, a new one, who will be a foil and sometimes a mirror. I also have a subplot in mind, involving other characters from The Moonlight Mistress, but that one is already getting complicated in my mind, possibly too complicated for a single subplot, even though it would work in beautifully in many ways. I'm not sure yet. So I'm letting my backbrain work on it.

That almost always works well for me. Think hard, then let it go. Later, think again. Probably once I'm done with the short story, and can devote all of my attention to it. Switching back and forth, I should get the best of both methods.

Today Through History

One of the reasons I most enjoy researching and writing about World War One is that it's a time period rich in issues that interest me. For instance, in Great Britain during World War One, woman suffrage was still being debated, and sex between two men was still a crime. These gender issues are still relevant today, as women continue to fight for true equality in education and employment, and the right to marry a same-sex partner (or even to have such a partner) remains illegal in many countries.

Though The Moonlight Mistress is an erotic novel, and a pulpish adventure, I still wanted to offer views of these issues seen through different lenses and incorporate them into the novel's themes, especially through my use of werewolves as a paranormal element.

For those reasons, I included several female characters who were on the edges of acceptability in 1914. One is a professional chemist. Unable to obtain an academic position because of her gender, she works as a nurse, stealing research time when she can find it. Another, unable to make a living at her chosen trade, disguises herself as a man. Both of these women, in taking on roles separate from what their society expects of them, mirror the shapechanging werewolves in the story.

Another subplot follows a gay man who longs for acceptance even more than he longs for love. He cannot know if the object of his affections shares his preferences, and if he reveals himself the consequences could be dire. Another character is slowly coming to terms with the idea that he is bisexual. It's easy for the present-day reader to identify him as such, but the character doesn't know if anyone else like him exists in the world. They, too, can be seen as mirrors of the werewolves: hiding in plain sight, always looking for others of their kind.

The werewolves can stand in for any outsider, whether societal outcast or stranger in a strange land. The reader, hopefully, will find her own resonance in the story.

Science fiction, often ostensibly about the future, offers a truer picture of the writer's world. Historical fiction, too, doesn't represent the past as it happened, but the past as we, looking back, see it. The view is distorted by our past experiences and opinions, not only those we consciously notice but those that are so ingrained that we don't even think to question them.

As a writer I can't control, for the most part, what interpretations readers bring to my stories. Too much happens in the gaps between what I've written and the reader's personal experiences. The two mingle together and give a different picture to each reader. The best I can do is offer the reader as much fodder for the subconscious as I can possibly manage.

Werewolves in WWI? Why Not?

This post was written for Harlequin's Paranormal Romance Blog.

For The Moonlight Mistress, I combined a historical novel with paranormal elements. As you probably know already if you read this blog regularly, the book is set during the early days of World War One, and begins with a romance between Lucilla, an English chemist and nurse, and Pascal, a French scientist. They're trapped in Germany when war is declared and must escape together.

I could have gone from there to write a straightforward wartime adventure novel, but instead I established that Pascal is only in Germany because he's investigating rumors of a werewolf held captive by an amoral scientist. Soon, two werewolf characters are introduced, one a soldier and the other a spy, and their role in the war and their relationship is woven into the novel's main plot.

I love historical romance, but I love historical science fiction and fantasy even more, particularly when there are romantic elements. To me, mixing genres is a way to avoid the same-old, same-old of historical romance.

For example, the plot of a historical romance might be: hero and heroine meet, family/money/status/scandalous past/amnesia keep them apart, then they must resolve their issues to be brought together romantically. For me, those plot complications and their resolutions become more compelling if the family issue is that a werewolf needs to marry another werewolf or she can't have werewolf children, or if the scandalous past results from the heroine not being human and not having human standards of behavior. Not knowing what to expect makes the journey more fun.

I've been asked, more than once, why World War One? Why werewolves?

I'm fascinated by World War One and the period immediately before and after. It might be because I grew up reading Dorothy Sayers' Peter Wimsey mysteries, or might be because my school history classes rarely spent much time on those decades, and that made me more curious rather than less. Regardless, I have several shelves of reference books on the period and love to read about it even when I'm not writing it. Also, I rarely find fiction, especially romance, set during World War One. If I want some, I have to write it myself. So I did!

For me, World War One is a period when large parts of the world underwent a major change. One of the themes of that change, in my opinion, is technology and the way humans relate to it. In that war, technology was used for violence: massive artillery, airplanes, tanks, poison gas. Humans used technology to kill each other in mass numbers.

I chose werewolves as my paranormal element because werewolves are often used, thematically, to symbolize or represent nature and the vital life force of wild creatures. Wolves are hunters, killing to eat; humans at war are killing for reasons distant from immediate survival. For that reason, I felt werewolves were a good contrast to the technology theme.

In particular, my werewolves are rare and growing more so. What happens when nature suffers at the hands of technology? What happens when a scientist tries to bend nature to his will, in order to gain power over other people? How do the goals of the humans and the werewolves come into conflict? I enjoyed these questions so much that I would like to write another novel with the same themes one day.

Also? Werewolves are sexy. There's something about all that animal energy that makes them appealing – think Wolverine in the X-Men comics – he's not a werewolf, but he has a similar appeal. I wanted my characters to have some of that energy, and at the same time to be more like people to whom I'd be drawn in real life.

One of the things I love most about real-world wolves is that they are playful. They play with each other, and they will even play with other species, such as crows. I included that element by having my male werewolf be a bit of a joker. The female werewolf is much more serious because of her past experiences, but that aspect of play is one of the things that most attracts her to her future partner. I incorporated verbal banter into most of their dialogue and of course into their sex scene, which takes place in human form. For them, being able to talk to each other is an added level of intimacy. When one of them is in human form and the other in wolf form, play is still an element of their relationship; one teases the other.

As a way of making the werewolf characters less like ordinary humans, I used their senses of smell. Scent affects their perceptions and feelings, including their relationship with each other. When they meet, they can immediately tell that they are both werewolves, and that affects the ways in which they interact. They're human, but they're also something more.

Finally, werewolves are an important element of the genre-mixing I mentioned back at the beginning of this post. They're the unexpected element. A novel about World War One has lots of available conflict for the characters. Any reader can predict what might happen to a group of characters who go off to war. So why not add werewolves, and see what happens?

Moonlight Mistress Excerpt - Explosions

Moonlight Mistress is from Harlequin Spice. In this scene, three soldiers are causing a distraction at one site while a more secret operation happens at another. Note there's been a change to this excerpt to protect a plot detail.

#

It would have been better to have grenades thrown from all directions, but it hadn't been practical with only the three of them. Meyer had insisted that one of them be armed with a more accurate and long-range weapon, much as the infantry were protected by artillery. Of them all, he was the best shot with a rifle, though he wasn't as good as Southey or anywhere near as good as Mason, back at the regiment. Hailey reminded himself that accuracy like Mason's or even Southey's wasn't required here. All Meyer had to do was plug someone until he couldn't attack any more. Even the worst shot in the regiment could usually manage that.

Meyer interrupted his thoughts. "Be careful. Both of you."

Daglish said, "I for one don't intend to be killed. Hailey, you ready?"

"Yes," he said.

After that it was the usual sort of running and dodging and flinging oneself into cover, except the sniper gear was uncomfortable and one had to do everything more carefully because of the grenades; and normally, Hailey wouldn't be given grenades, even jam tins, because his job was to carry messages. In front of Meyer, he'd pretended he didn't mind, but in truth the grenades made his nervous enough that his palms were sweating inside his gloves.

Daglish had taken platoons out on raids, so he knew what he was about. When they reached the stand of trees that was their midpoint, he settled in among the leaf litter and silently began to lay out his grenades in an arc around his feet. Hailey did the same, then slipped the lit pipe from its loop on his webbing. He could still see a red-orange glow within the pipe's bowl. He stirred up the embers just a bit with a stick and murmured, "Ready."

Daglish rose slowly, stretching his arm and rotating it to make sure his sleeves--uniform beneath, sniper tunic above--wouldn't catch and land a grenade on top of them. He scooped up a tin in each gloved hand and held them out to Hailey, who held the pipe bowl to the fuses until they caught. Together, they counted, then Daglish threw, strong clean arcs that nearly made Hailey whistle in admiration.

Daglish had easily cleared the tall fence. Hailey counted another second, then two explosions ripped the air, one after the other. Sound rushed in, and he realized he hadn't been breathing, but he was already lighting the next grenade, holding the fuse steady in the bowl of the pipe until sparks crackled, slowly eating their way up the fuse, towards the tight-packed gun cotton. The explosion would fling free the nails and other bits of metal rubbish they'd packed into the tin. The sharp odor of gunpowder singed his nostrils, or was it smoke from the laboratory compound? He held the grenade up to Daglish without looking at him, shook burning ash off his leather glove, then began to light the next fuse.

Daglish had thrown perhaps half the grenades before Hailey heard the gate rattle open and rifle shots popping. "Run?" he asked. He risked a glance; three guards had ventured out, staying close to the fence.

"Two more," Daglish said, heaving the grenade he held. It landed on a roof, and the resulting explosion resulted in a tower of flame as dry wood caught fire. He hissed with satisfaction as the flame leapt to another roof, which caught fire with a roar.

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c. Victoria Janssen 2009

Order from Amazon.com.

More excerpts.

More Snippet Saturday:

McKenna Jeffries
Vivian Arend
Ashley Ladd
Kelly Maher
Shelley Munro
Taige Crenshaw
Mari Carr
Eliza Gayle

Multi-Purpose Worldbuilding

This post was originally written for Star-Crossed Romance.

In The Moonlight Mistress, werewolves are an important element. However, the world they live in is much like our world; the werewolves exist as "secret history." Though several of the characters know about the existence of werewolves, and one finds out about them in the course of the novel, for the most part they exist out of sight.

The setting of the novel is World War One Europe, so the primary worldbuilding for the novel consists of historical detail. Also, it's an erotic novel, so sexual relationships are also very important. But I wanted the paranormal elements to be inextricable from the rest. If any one of the three elements was removed -- history, erotica, werewolves -- the story would collapse.

I've always been told that every detail of a story should be relevant in more than one aspect, and that's even more important in speculative fiction, where so many more details are required. For example, a particular song and its topic tell the reader something about the world as well as something about the character who's chosen that song to sing. If the character is singing too loudly, he might alert his enemies and thus propel the plot forward. I tried to use duplicate or triplicate relevance whenever the werewolves appeared in the story.

First, the werewolves served a plot purpose. The main romantic couple in the story meet because the hero is trying to gain information about a secret laboratory studying werewolves; later, when he shares this with the heroine, it demonstrates that a level of trust has been established between them. Her reaction shows how she's come to feel about him. When they take action together (deepening their relationship) to save the werewolves, again the werewolves are propelling the plot. At the same time, the personal relationship between two werewolves comments on the relationship between the main couple; both couples are thrown together because of the war, and both pairs discover they have something powerful in common.

One of the soldier characters is a werewolf. He has werewolf problems which draw in his human friends and have consequences for them. Each time he acts like a werewolf, the plot is moving, his character is being reinforced, and the reader is being reminded that they're reading a fantasy.

Related posts:

Historical Detail in Fiction.

Types of Paranormal Romance.

Excerpt from a War Nurse's Diary: The Retreat

In The Moonlight Mistress, it's mentioned in passing that Antwerp fell to the Germans. Here's a first-person account about that event which I didn't get to use in my novel (yet!).

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Excerpt from A War Nurse's Diary: Sketches From A Belgian Field Hospital (1918):

"We felt in taking these buses that we were no longer robbing the Marines. Many of them were with us; many more were dead and had no use for them. It was now 3 P. M. on Thursday. As soon as the five buses arrived we commenced loading them up with our wounded. Those who could sit up were placed on top and the stretcher cases lay across from seat to seat inside. We formed a long procession, for there were five private cars as well. My car was the first to get loaded, and 1 was put in charge of the inside passengers. Shall we ever forget the loading up of those cars? They tried to save all the theatre instruments. What an eternity it seemed! Just sitting still, with the guns at last trained on to our locality.

One of the young doctors ran upstairs for his kitbag; half-way up, the wall suddenly collapsed, revealing the next house in ruins. He left that kitbag behind! Even to the last minute patients arrived, chiefly British. Just before we started a tall Marine in a navy jersey and sailor's cap was helped in. He sat in the corner next to me. All his ribs were broken down one side, and he had no plaster or support. Opposite me were two Tommies with compound fractures of the leg. 1 placed both legs on my knees to lessen the jolting.

The Marine suffered in silent agony, his lips pressed tightly together, and his white face set. 1 looked at him helplessly, and he said "Never mind me, Sister; if I swear don't take any notice." Fortunately, they had pushed in two bottles of whiskey and some soda-syphons; I just dosed them all around until it was finished. Placing the Marine's arm around my shoulders, I used my right arm as a splint to support his ribs, and so we sat for seven and a half hours without moving. Then another nurse took my place and I went up on top. During the first part of the ride I bethought me of that tube of morphia, and it came in very useful, as I gave each of those poor sufferers one or two tablets to swallow.

How can I ever describe that journey to Ghent of fourteen and a half hours? No one but those who went through it can realize it. Have you ever ridden in a London motor bus? If not, I can give little idea of what our poor men suffered. To begin with, even traversing the smooth London streets these vehicles jolt you to bits, whilst inside the smell of burnt gasoline is often stifling, so just imagine these unwieldy things bumping along over cobble stones and the loose sandy ruts of rough tracks among the sand-dunes, which constantly necessitated every one who could, dismounting and pushing behind and pulling by ropes in front, to get the vehicle into an upright position again, out of the ruts. When you have the picture of this before you, just think of the passengers---not healthy people on a penny bus ride, but wounded soldiers and sailors. Upon the brow of many Death had set his seal. All those inside passengers were either wounded in the abdomen, shot through the lungs, or pierced through the skull, often with their brains running out through the wound, whilst we had more than one case of men with broken backs. Many of these had just been operated upon.

We started from the Boulevard Leopold at 3 in the afternoon. We arrived in Ghent at 5.30 next morning. For twenty-four hours those men had had no nourishment, and we were so placed that it was impossible to reach them. Now that you understand the circumstances, I will ask you to accompany me on that journey.

Leaving our own shell-swept street which seemed like hell let loose, we turned down a long boulevard. From one end to the other the houses were a sheet of flames. We literally travelled through a valley with walls of fire. Keeping well in the middle of the street we constantly had to make detours to avoid large shell-holes. At last we arrived at one of the large squares near the Cathedral. That appeared to be intact, whilst the Belgians had taken Rubens' and Van Dyck's famous pictures and hidden them in the crypts.

Every sort of vehicle in existence filled that square. It would have been possible to have walked across on the top of the cars. The only way to get out of Antwerp was across the Scheldt by a pontoon-bridge made of barges with planks between. It would not bear too much traffic, so the authorities let the people and vehicles cross one by one, still looking at passports.

For one and a half hours we stood there waiting for our turn to come. Just after we were safely over a shell struck the bridge and broke it in half.

From Antwerp to St. Nicolas is about twenty miles. It was the Highway of Sorrow. Some people escaped in carriages and carts, but by far the greater number plodded on foot. It was now 5 P. M. on an October evening; there was a fine drizzling rain; it was cold and soon it was dark. Along that road streamed thousands, panic-stricken, cold, hungry, weary, homeless. Where were they going? Where would they spend the night? Here was a mother carrying her baby, around her skirts clung four of five children, small sisters of five or six carried baby-brothers of two years old. There was a donkey cart piled high with mattresses and bundles and swarming on it were bedridden old men and women and babies. Here was a little girl wheeling an old fashioned cot-perambulator, with an old grey-bearded man in it, his legs dangling over the edge. Suddenly a girl's voice called out of the darkness, "Oh Mees, Mees, take me and my leetle dog with you. I have lost my father and he has our money." So we gave her a seat on the spiral stairs outside.

Very soon all the ills that could happen to sick men came upon us. The jolting and agony made them violently sick. Seizing any utensil which had been saved from the theatre I gave it to them, and we kept that mademoiselle busy outside. All along the road we saw little groups, weary mothers sitting on the muddy banks of a ditch sharing the last loaf among the family. After some time of slow travelling we came to St. Nicolas. Here the peasants ran out warning us, "The Germans have taken the main road to Ghent and blown up the bridge." So we went on by little lanes and by-ways across the sanddunes and flat country that lie between Belgium and Holland.

We were very fortunate in having with us a Captain of the Belgian Boy Scouts. He knew the way and guided us. Soon the order went forth from car to car, "Lights out and silence!" Later on we saw the reason for this; across some sloping fields by a river we saw the tents and glimmering lights of the Germans. We passed very few houses, as we avoided towns and villages; any habitations we saw were shuttered and barred, for the people hid in terror expecting every one who passed to be the dreaded enemy. All this time our men were in torture, constantly they asked "Are we nearly there, Sister? How much longer?" I, who was strong, felt dead beat, so what must they have felt? One weary soul gave up the battle and just died. We could not even reach him to cover his face as he lay there among his companions.

From St. Nicolas I was faced with new anxiety. Where were our friends who went to Ghent with the first convoy of wounded? Had they taken the main road and fallen into the hands of the Germans? I thought of all the tales I had heard of the treatment Englishwomen received at their hands. At any place where people were visible we anxiously inquired if three buses had passed that way earlier. We could get no satisfactory answer.

Soon we began to meet the first detachments of the Expeditionary Force. In a narrow lane with a ditch on one side lay an overturned cannon whilst a plump English Major cursed and swore in the darkness. Then a heavy motor lorry confronted us; one of us had to back till a suitable place came in the narrow lane where we could pass. Later on we met small companies of weary Tommies, wet and footsore, who had lost their way. Our Scout Captain warned them to turn back, telling them the Germans had by now entered Antwerp, but they did not believe us. Even had they believed us, they had their orders to relieve Antwerp, so to Antwerp they went, never to return.

At last that weary night came to an end. For some hours I had been relieved by another nurse, and sat on top in the rain and cold. The medical students were so worn out that they lay down in the narrow passage between the seats and slept, oblivious of our trampling over them. Before dawn we entered the suburbs of Ghent."

It's All in the Details

This post originally appeared at Lust in Time.

My new book from Harlequin Spice, a historical with werewolves, is titled The Moonlight Mistress and it's out this month. I've been amusing myself by going through my copy and re-reading my favorite moments, many of which are bits of historical detail. I love the tiny bits best.

See, I am a total geek and really love research for its own sake. It grieves me that I don't have time to read every one of my research books cover to cover…I buy rather more research books than I really need, and some of them are only peripherally related to the topics of my novels, but they're all just so interesting! And that's not even counting the books I check out of the library.

Just in case some of you readers are research geeks as well, here are my favorite World War One historical bits from The Moonlight Mistress and where I found them. I think that often the most interesting details, that give the greatest sense of realism to the narrative, are not the most major. It's the tiny, unusual facts that stand out for the reader.

The novel's opening line is "There were no trains to Strasbourg." And this is absolutely true. When the first declarations of war were flying back and forth, all sorts of daily activities were affected. I pored over Lyn Macdonald's 1914: The Days of Hope, which is a collection of first-person accounts placed into chronological order. One of those accounts, from the very day Germany declared war, mentioned in passing that there were no trains to Strasbourg. I couldn't shake that bit of information from my head; something about the specificity of it, and the narrator's shock that things were not as they should be, perfectly summed up for me the feelings of a character who's just found out they are stranded. I never considered using another opening.

"Best of all, there was a shower…with brass fittings on three walls in the shape of lily blossoms, and tiled in green-and-white patterns like lacework." Though I took liberties with the decorative elements, this idea of this period-appropriate shower originated in one I actually saw, at Casa Loma in Toronto; the real shower actually had six taps at three different levels. As a side note, the fancy ducal stables in The Duchess, Her Maid, The Groom and Their Lover were based on stables I saw at Casa Loma.

The extensive section on the arrival of the British Expeditionary Force in France, and the subsequent battle and retreat, was mostly drawn from first-person accounts in Macdonald's 1914 with some fragments of information coming from several more general accounts of the First World War, including John Keegan's The First World War and, to a lesser extent, Paths of Glory: The French Army 1914-18. The fate of the regiment's boy trumpeters – to be left behind when their regiment sailed to war – came directly from the first-person accounts, as did the information that bandsmen might be assigned to be stretcher bearers. More than one account mentioned that many of the soldiers had new, ill-fitting boots. Even the crops growing in the fields the soldiers passed were all noticed by contemporary observers.

Many of the quotidian details about the lives of the British soldiers I drew from Tommy: The British Soldier on the Western Front 1914-1918 by Richard Holmes, including small economic facts such as this one: "…Lincoln owed Hailey a guinea sixpence, enough for a new overcoat."

Finally, most of the information about the hospital where Lucilla goes to work were extrapolated from The Women of Royaumont: A Scottish Women's Hospital on the Western Front and several other volumes about or written by British nurses and VADs. After taking the basic information, that there were hospitals staffed almost entirely by women, I blended details from different sources to suit my purposes, combining occurrences and locations. For instance, "She managed a greeting in Hindustani; her phrases were limited, but efficient" was drawn from a first-person account by a nurse who served on a hospital train, in Diary of a Nursing Sister on the Western Front: 1914-1915. Shipment and supply problems at Royaumont led me to include this bit of detail: "Tanks of nitrous oxide were procured, but some of the tanks of oxygen needed to mix with it had leaked and arrived empty, and had to be replaced."

I could go on, but I think I've made my point. At the start of a project, you never know what details you might need and which sources might have the best details, so it's best to check out a wide range, and to pay close attention to everything.

Related Posts:
Historical Detail in Fiction.
Synergy in Writing and Research.
Reading for the Writer.

Visiting Harlequin's Paranormal Romance Blog

I'm a guest today at Harlequin's Paranormal Romance Blog on "Werewolves in World War One? Why Not?" It's about why I chose those two elements, and also a little about werewolf sex.

Visiting Lust in Time

I'm visiting today at Lust in Time and blogging on where I found some of my historical details, so please drop by!

Moonlight Mistress Excerpt - Secondary Characters

Moonlight Mistress is out NOW from Harlequin Spice. In this scene, Hailey is carrying a message to Meyer and Daglish, who are on leave in Paris. Note there's been a change to this excerpt to protect a plot detail.

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The road to Paris was in awful shape. Hailey clung desperately to the zouave piloting the motorbike and tried to ignore the fragments of cold mud whipping his cheek and splatting on his goggles. Periodically, the rear wheel would skid in a puddle and the bike would be knocked askew, sometimes careening far enough to one side that the zouave's boot would scrape through mud; he would shout in French, right the machine with a disconcerting jerk, and off they would speed again, weaving in and out of various ambulances, lorries, and the occasional horse-drawn wagon. Aside from trains, Hailey had never traveled so fast in his life, especially not balanced half on a seat and half on a saddlebag.

Traffic grew heavier as they approached Paris, necessitating that the zouave slow down. Hailey fumbled the envelope from his jacket pocket with gloved hands and checked the hotel's address once again. Inside was a scribbled note from Captain Ashby, dated a mere two days before, with details of their irregular mission for the French. It definitely beat being back with the battalion, laying a railway in the rain.

The zouave left him at the Hotel Lutetia with a cheery salute and more incomprehensible attempts at English, then rattled off, his scarlet trousers flapping in the wind. Hailey found his handkerchief and wiped most of the mud off his face before swathing it in his muffler, hunching his shoulders against the cold, and trudging across the hotel's cobblestoned courtyard.

Inside wasn't much warmer than outside. The concierge was also wrapped in a muffler, and the end of his nose looked distinctly red. He at least spoke some English. Hailey was able to make herself understood once he unbuttoned his coat to display his uniform, and pointed out the names he wanted in the register.

Meyer came down to meet him, closely followed by Daglish. They looked clean and warm and well-fed, and he was startled by a stab of jealousy. They in turn looked startled to see him. Hailey dug out the letter, bundled in with the other papers he'd brought. "Got some important news."

Meyer and Daglish exchanged a glance. Meyer said, "You look chilled to the bone. Come on up to our room."

Once climbing the staircase, it became evident to Hailey that the two officers were clean and he was not. It wasn't the mud so much as the fact that he hadn't had so much as a wash since he'd left Sister Daglish, and before that, it had been weeks since he'd had a real bath. He'd been hoping for one on leave, when he could get some privacy; maybe there'd be a chance of one before they had to leave Paris. Though there might not be time. He'd likely need to scrape the dirt off himself with a knife. Twice.

The door of their small room had barely closed behind them when Meyer asked, "What is it?"

Hailey couldn't stop himself from smiling. "Ashby's alive!"
He wasn't prepared for Meyer's knees to go.

Daglish grabbed Meyer before he could hit the floor and eased him onto the bed, where he sat staring at Hailey as if he were about to weep, but grinning, too. Daglish looked at the neatly printed list Hailey held and said, puzzled, "Is that my sister's handwriting?"

#

c. Victoria Janssen 2009

Order from Amazon.com.

More excerpts.

More Snippet Saturday:
Vivian Arend
Moira Rogers
Ashley Ladd
Anya Bast
Jaci Burton
Kelly Maher
Lauren Dane
Leah Braemel
Mandy Roth
McKenna Jeffries
Sasha White
Taige Crenshaw
Shelli Stevens
Shelley Munro
Eliza Gayle
Jody Wallace
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Visiting Smutketeers for an Interview

I'm being interviewed today by The Smutketeers, so please drop by! One of the questions they asked me was my dream movie cast for The Moonlight Mistress.

And yesterday's winner of a copy of the book is Lapis! Congratulations!

Happy Book Birthday, Moonlight Mistress!!!

Leave a comment about your favorite werewolf book or movie, and tomorrow morning I'll choose one name randomly to win a free copy.



The Moonlight Mistress

Read some excerpts, and more about the book, in these posts.

Moonlight Mistress Excerpt - Arrivals

Moonlight Mistress is out December 2009 from Harlequin Spice. In this scene, Lucilla is briefly and unexpectedly reunited with her lover.

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After Hailey was safe and cared for, Lucilla walked down the muddy path back to her quarters in one of the slapdash rear huts. She was dizzy from lack of sleep and reliving, in a near trance, the moments when Ashby had shifted from one form to the other. If only she could tell Pascal. For a few wild moments, she considered ways of sending him a letter--through the French command, perhaps, or to his relatives in Le Havre--before laughing at herself. He would not be pleased to hear from her, she was sure. He no doubt had quite a few pretty mademoiselles trying to catch his eye.

No, that was unfair; there was work to be done, and she felt sure the French army had not overlooked his usefulness. It made her feel a bit better to think of him occupied with engineering problems. She could even consider him with nostalgia.
He would love knowing that werewolves truly existed. She could encode that information in a letter, perhaps; it would not be like sending a letter simply because she wanted to do so. He would wish to discuss her discovery with her, and they could--no. She really had nothing to do with all this. She was neither an officer in the army or a person with any scientific standing that an army would recognize.

...Oh, she would give anything right now for a cup of tea, heavily dosed with Irish whiskey.

When she pushed open the door to her hut and saw the light on, Pascal standing there beside her bed, at first she thought she was dreaming. In one stride, he held her by the arms. A moment later, his mouth swept down upon hers. His mustache tickled her nose. That felt real. He drew back, looked down at her as if to confirm his welcome, then kissed her again before lifting her off the dirt floor and holding her tightly against him.

Lucilla stroked her hands up and down his back. Was he thinner than he'd been? She'd never before seen him in his uniform. The pale blue didn't really suit him, nor did the loose cut of his jacket. Of course, her own uniform added at least ten years to her, and included a silly hat and cape besides, so she supposed she couldn't criticize.

"Lucilla," he said. He kissed her cheek and set her on her feet. "I thought I would have to search you out."

"How did you--"

He shrugged. "I am a spy. Not in the field," he added, hastily. "I persuaded them that would be unwise. I have been working with data that others provide."

"But, here--

"I missed you," he said, with devastating simplicity. He cupped her cheek in his palm. "I had hoped you might miss me, as well."
Exhaustion and shock shattered over Lucilla's head like a shell exploding. Before she could burst into tears, she buried her face against Pascal's chest. She wrapped her arms around his waist and held on. "Yes," she said, muffled against his uniform.

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c. Victoria Janssen 2009

Pre-order on Amazon.com.

More excerpts.

More Snippet Saturday:
Vivian Arend
Ashley Ladd
Leah Braemel
Taige Crenshaw
Shelley Munro
TJ Michaels
Juliana Stone
Eliza Gayle
McKenna Jeffries
Jody Wallace
Lauren Dane
Juliana Stone
Kelly Maher
Shelli Stevens

Moonlight Mistress Excerpt - Weaponry

Moonlight Mistress is out December 2009 from Harlequin Spice. This scene depicts the first combat of World War One, as experienced by one of the secondary characters, Lieutenant Gabriel Meyer, who until this moment directed the regimental band.

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Gabriel slid from tree to tree until he reached the low wall bordering the cemetery. He stepped over, then wriggled to the road on his belly. The terrain dropped towards the canal just in front of him, and he could see. Smoke scummed the air. He smelled acrid burnt powder. Gray-uniformed men crowded the width of the bridge, firing as they advanced, struggling to climb past fallen comrades who blocked their way to the bank. He tried to count, to estimate their numbers, but kept losing track at the middle of the bridge. He couldn't see how far the crowd of Germans stretched on the other bank. Two companies? Three? A cluster of willows on the opposite bank blocked his view. Where were Ashby and Daglish? Were they safe? He sighed in relief when he spotted Daglish's stocky torso on the right flank. He looked to be under adequate cover, training a pair of binoculars at the opposite bank.

The men were doing well. He estimated twelve to fifteen rounds a minute, at the least, and considerably more accurate with their aim than their German opponents, even given that the Germans were exposed and moving. He crushed the thought that he, too, might have to shoot soon. He'd never killed a man. He'd never intended to. He only hoped he could manage it if the need arose.
As Gabriel watched, Cawley and Lyton each fired a final round from their advance placement, then abandoned the wagon's inadequate cover and retreated for the barricades. Cawley went down, his body jerking with the impact of two, then three bullets.

Gabriel closed his eyes for a moment, but the picture was the same when he opened them, Cawley sprawled amid the lush grass and wildflowers like a painting, bright and unreal. He didn't move again. Lyton didn't see, and a moment later was dragged behind a heap of sofas and thrust into a trench.

...Someone touched his elbow, and he rolled, pistol ready. Ashby halted his movement with a hand on his wrist, and Gabriel let his breath free in a rush. Trust Ashby to move like a ghost. Ashby said, loudly enough to be heard over the rifles, "You're to hold this position."

Ashby's usually insouciant expression had tightened, his mouth drawn into a thin line, his face caked with dust and sweat beneath the brim of his cap. A red line streaked across his neck, the blood already crusting. He'd come within inches of being killed already. His throat too tight for words, Gabriel could only nod.
Ashby grinned at him and gripped the back of his neck for a moment, a comforting squeeze that conveyed fresh energy. Then he scrambled down the road. Gabriel worked his way back to the cemetery wall and relayed their orders, then returned to his vantage point. A couple of Germans had fought free of the chaos at the foot of the bridge and were advancing at a run, bayonets leveled. Gabriel couldn't hear individual shots amid the percussive storm of them, but the two interlopers jerked to a halt and landed short of Cawley's body. Southey and Mason, he realized, peering up at the spire. Sure enough, he could just see the tip of a rifle protruding from the narrow arras.

#

c. Victoria Janssen 2009

Pre-order on Amazon.com.

More excerpts.

More Snippet Saturday:
Vivian Arend
Ashley Ladd
Leah Braemel
Jaci Burton
Taige Crenshaw
Shelley Munro
Sasha White
Jody Wallace
TJ Michaels