Lynne Cantwell Writes to Honor Her Heritage

Lynne Cantwell says:
I think of my two published novels, SwanSong and The Maidens’ War, as a two-book series honoring my heritage.

My mother’s family came to America around the turn of the 20^th century from what was then Czechoslovakia.  (Our family’s homelands are now part of the Czech Republic.)  Many of my older relatives spoke Czech as well as English, and I had always wanted to learn Czech.  A few years ago, I discovered a group in Baltimore that taught Czech to adults and began taking classes there.

Being a storyteller, I was also interested in learning the folklore and mythology of my ancestral lands, so I began searching out Czech myths.  I was intrigued by one called “The Girls’ War,” and particularly by the fate of Šárka, who is portrayed in the most popular version of the tale as a wanton who hates all men, and who is all too willing to participate in the downfall of the warrior Ctirad.  But I knew how stories could be exaggerated for effect; look what Disney did to Pocahontas by turning the real-life prepubescent girl into a willowy young woman, all so that the movie could incorporate a love story.  What if the real Šárka (if one had ever existed) was a lot younger, and a lot more confused, than the popular myth portrayed her?  And if a goddess really had led her into a mountain, then my version of her story would have to release her.  That led me to begin crafting Maggie’s story in the present day.

My father’s side of the family is more complex.  Cantwell is an Irish name, more or less – which is to say that the first Cantwell in Ireland arrived with Strongbow’s Anglo-Norman knights, and the family held property in Ireland ‘til Cromwell confiscated it.  But the first of our line in America (Capt. Edmund Cantwell, who was high sheriff of New Castle Co., DE, while Delaware was still part of Pennsylvania) was apparently British.  In any case, we consider ourselves Irish.

So I went looking for the folklore and mythology of Ireland, and found it in spades.  The story that really grabbed me was “The Fate of the Children of Lír.”  Lír – who may be the Irish deity Manannán mac Lir, but is probably not – weds Aobh and has, by her, two sets of twins, a girl and three boys.  Aobh dies in childbirth; the king steps in and pretty much orders Lír to wed her sister Aoife.  Aoife becomes jealous of Lír’s relationship with his children, so one day she pulls a Druid’s wand out of nowhere and turns the four children into swans.  She then curses them with nine hundred years of wandering – three hundred near home, three hundred in the wild North Sea, and three hundred away in the west of Ireland.  Aoife is punished, but that doesn’t help the children, who must spend the next nine hundred years as swans.  Their only hope is in the sound of a church bell; but upon hearing it, they turn into withered old people and pretty much die immediately.  It’s a very sad story.  But being a single mother, I was drawn to the fate of Fionnuala, who becomes de facto mother to her three brothers – and is then locked into the role for nine hundred years.  Imagine being exiled with only your siblings for company!  Imagine having to cook and clean for them, to nurture them, for nearly a thousand years!  That, for me, was the heart of the story.

I’ve never been to Ireland, but I knew my potential readership included people who either lived there or had been there.  So to avoid looking clueless, I moved the story to a fantasy setting and changed a few details, including all the names; Fionnuala, for instance, became Neeve.

I think I’ve done my heritage justice.  Neeve has a much richer life than Fionnuala the swan ever had.  And Šárka is able to give Maggie the sort of help that she was never able to receive.  With that, I am content.

Why I Write

Linda Rae Blair

gives a glimpse into her life and tells us

Why she is a Writer...

Why Do I Write?

I remember the first time I was asked that question. It was during an interview and I thought to myself...now that's a silly question! Looking back on it now, I don't think so.

When I approached retirement, I thought how lovely it would be to paint landscapes, practice the piano, garden--I even bought a sewing machine so I could be creative that way, as I had been when I was a young mother. Then it happened! That simple statement from a friend that brought my whole idea of retirement crashing down around me.

If you've read "Where is Harry?” my first novel and part 1 of my Chicago Trilogy, "Intersections: Love, Betrayal, Murder", you know some of this already. Here's the whole story!

My mom was born in 1904 to parents she would lose by the time she was 3 years old. She had few memories: her mother brushing her long brown hair, her father setting mom's broken arm, her brother (Harry) carrying her on his shoulders to take her fishing, and the saddest of all--her sister dying in their shared bed. In later years, when I suggested that, at age 89, she might still be able to find Harry alive, or at least his children, she was horrified! I couldn't understand her reaction--still don't really! I urged her that I would research and find him for her, but she was adamant. When I asked her much later, she revealed that she had one other memory she'd never shared--her father in some sort of uniform, but she had no idea what kind it was. She was afraid she would find out something she didn't want to know. I'll never know what! She died at 92, having made me swear an oath that I wouldn't search for her family history.

Mom and her brother were separated--the only survivors of a dreaded scarlet fever epidemic--and put into foster homes, never to see one another again. Mom was raised with little or no nurturing, treated like a servant, and, at age 16 was asked if she wanted to be adopted. She turned them down flat (she always was a spunky little thing).

Let me digress for just a moment to say that I have always been a right-brained person! I loved to sketch in charcoal as a kid and did portraits of my friends and pets. I danced--clumsily--for 6 years of classes and recitals. I had absolutely NO rhythm, a problem that plagues me to this day. Gave it up for guitar lesson--too small to hold down the strings sufficiently; accordion--too boring; and finally, piano! I loved piano--was never going to really be any good at it--that rhythm thing again, I simply could not keep time! I could copy what I heard, but couldn't translate from the page to my brain to my hands.

I put away my right brain after 3 years of piano lessons, playing only for myself and my mom listening in the next room. Then came marriage, children, divorce, marriage, divorce, years of earning a living as a secretary, assistant to many men of position in various corporations. My poor right brain was ready to explode from lack of use! Then--COMPUTERS! I was in heaven. I learned to program, to set up LANs, install software--and I was good at it!

I dreamed of working for IBM--be careful what you dream for and how you ask! I finally got a temp job at IBM--as a secretary. After a few years of drudgery (I say this with nothing against secretaries--they're the backbone of any company and anyone who tells you different doesn't know what they're talking about--it just wasn't what I wanted to be when I grew up, but I didn't know what that was yet) and a department buyout, my right brain was again given that chance at computer work. A very astute executive recognized what I was capable of doing and gave me an assignment--wait for it--writing process documentation! My poor little right brain just nearly went ballistic. I wrote and I wrote and I wrote--got the job done so fast that even the executive couldn't believe it! Okay, so enough of the background...back to our subject!

When my mom died, I found out some interesting information--she'd been married before she married my dad at age 18! Well, lay this on someone with a right brain that has headed toward writing and what do you get? Imaginary tales of what had happened before she met dad flooded my brain. One day, I shared one of these fantasies with a friend and she said, "Linda, you should write a book!" Now I was not naive enough to believe that I was the only person who had been given this suggestion. I kind of brushed it off. Later, I thought about it more and more. I got out a pad of paper (I had sworn not to buy a computer until I retired--I'm also OCD and knew I'd never get off the damned thing) and wrote until I thought my arm would drop off.

I had no idea how to get it published, but I knew I had to get it typed on a computer first. One step at a time, Linda! I kept repeating that to myself over the next few months, believe me! After a few days of writing incessantly, I finally bit the bullet and went to Circuit City and came home with my first PC!

From beginning to end "Harry" published within two months of my first scratching on that pad and I hadn't even retired yet!

I knew I needed to keep writing. I asked people who their favorite character was and kept hearing "Claire". So I sat down to that PC and wrote "Claire: A Woman's Journey - NY Heiress~Chicago Madam". By the fall of the year of my retirement, I was writing what I now realized was part 3 of a trilogy. So I published "Intersections: Love, Betrayal, Murder" complete with Richard's story (he was my favorite character and I recently published his story as a stand-alone).

So...there you have it. This is why I write. I'm driven. It fulfills a need in me that even my art never has. My paint brushes sit dry and unused, the sewing machine still doesn't have thread in it, the piano has been played twice in the 4 years I've owned it. But, I've gone through one PC and two laptops! I have 10 books published, one in final edit, one in preliminary edit, one just begun, and enough characters in my head to man an army.

I'm just waiting for the next time someone asks me that question. I'm going to pat them on the back and say, "Have you read my blog?"

Did You Know - Robert DeBurgh

Wings, Wheels, Broken Bones, No Regrets

Robert DeBurgh

We all know that Robert DeBurgh is the author of Riders of the Wind and Winds of Fate and that he is a professional pilot with over 22,000 hours of flight time. Just in case you did not know that before, you do now.

But, did you know …. that Bob is a past motorcycle road racing champion? In 1982, he was #1 regional and #4 national champion with WERA (Western Eastern Roadracing Association) in the 250cc production class.

When asked how he got started riding motorcycles, Bob responded, “Riding with my uncle on his Indian motorcycle, he also got me into flying. He taught me all the bad things.”

The fearless teenager started both flying and riding at the age of 15 under the supervision of his uncle, Charlie Cross. Bob got his student pilot certificate at age 16 and about that same time he traded a .22 rifle for his first real motorcycle, an old non-running Indian.

“I pushed the bike home and when my mother saw me turning into the driveway, she gave me the choice, either the bike goes or I go. So I started pushing it back out of the drive and told her we would both go. She finally relented and said I could keep the bike as long as I didn’t get it running. Needless to say, I did get it running and rode it around the block when she was not home.”

Bob’s first experience in competition was flat track which was not too successful but he progressed to winning quite a few trophies in scrambles, trials and road racing. The trophies came at a cost at times. He broke his leg out in the middle of nowhere while riding a night enduro and had to continue on to the next check point to get medical attention. Another time, he was creamed by a rider going the wrong way on a scrambles course and wound up spending weeks in a hospital.

Either Bob was crazy, determined or just plain stubborn but he kept on racing. No matter where he resided for his flying jobs, a motorcycle was always close at hand. He even rode for a factory team while flying with a Columbian airline.

His stint with WERA lasted for about five years culminating in his championship. “I had the regional championship sown up and was going for national title. It was my last race of the season and all I had to do was finish first, second or third place. I had blown away the rest of the field and was heading towards the finish line with dreams of the number one plate dancing in my head. Then about a quarter of a mile from the finish, the bike died on me. I couldn’t believe it. After throwing it down and kicking it several times, I realized I still had to cross the finish line so I pushed it uphill to the checkered flag and got enough points to come in fourth in the nationals.”

After that, the ‘red mist’ of competition remained but as Bob put it, “I couldn’t afford racing anymore and my body couldn’t take any more crashes. Now I restore, ride and show classic bikes … but I am fixing up a little Honda for straight line speed trials. If I could just get my name in the record books for that class, then …”