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Five More Great Old Words
Beware the Lurking Homonym
Five Great Additions to Your Vocabulary.
Fort Pillow
Hired Soldiers – Substitutes During the Civil War

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A new contest

Bargains Are Out There If You Know Where To Look

Some breaking news as Launch Week for my newest book winds down:







1. The Second Mouse Gets the Cheese is currently listed for free in the B&N Nook bookstore. Get it here if you have a Nook reader, or tell Amazon Kindle about the lower price.  If you're a Kindle user, the book is only $0.99 right now. I have no idea whether they will price-match the Nook bargain, but we can hope.














2. I still have three "Mouse" mousepads to give away in a random drawing. Leave a comment here or on yesterday's blog to put your name in the hat. Drawing will be held at end of he day on February 16th.








The Mule Died!

Several days ago, I asked readers to suggest a way I could put a dead mule into my next book.  (If you missed that column, you can read it here.) There were some strange suggestions. Have the mule abducted by aliens? That's probably a bit anachronistic in a Civil War novel, thanks.  Have someone cook him for dinner?  Yuck! I want my readers to like my characters, not find them disgusting. Let him just drop dead? Well, maybe, but there's not much drama in that scenario. I'd prefer a bit of action, not a total stoppage of action. I was still searching, and you blog readers seemed to be having as much trouble as I was.

Then, lo and behold! A deus ex machina! (If you no longer remember your Latin, that's a reference to a miraculous event -- a solution that seems to drop without warning from a sky hook.)

I was moving on with my research, reading another book of letters written by some of the missionaries who worked in the Port Royal area during the war.  And there was my mule -- or to be more precise -- two mules!  The letter in question was written by Edward S. Philbrick on December 10, 1862.  He was describing conditions on St. Helena Island, just after a new regiment of undisciplined Union soldiers, the 24th Massachusetts, moved into the area.

"This island is very much more favorably placed than Ladies, Port Royal, or Hilton Head Islands, which are all much exposed to the depredations of the Union soldiers. I find on the north end of Ladies Island the pickets are changed every little while, and have killed nearly all the negroes' poultry. The people don't dare to leave their houses, and take all their hens into their houses every night. They shoot their pigs and in one case have shot two working mules! All these things are duly reported to General Saxton, but it does no good."

I felt slightly ashamed that I was rejoicing in the demise of two working mules, but they are exactly what I was looking for.  They provide a scene of dramatic tension between Union soldiers, who are supposed to be fighting to put an end to slavery, and the slaves themselves, who seem fated to be victimsReaders can mourn their loss all the more because they are working mules, and heaven knows a mule who will actually work is a rarity. And what could be more characteristic of a southern novel than two admirable mules who die as a natural development of the story?

I have commented elsewhere that I enjoy writing historical fiction because so many real stories are waiting to be told.  This is one of them, and it proves again the old adage that "truth is stranger than fiction."


Has Anyone Seen a Dead Mule?

My favorite part of Southern Living Magazine comes in the form of a one-page journal entry on the last page.  After wallowing through glorious gardens that I could never grow, designer kitchens too beautiful to make a mess in, floor plans that resemble a medieval labyrinth, and holiday menus replete with impossible gourmet tidbits and edible flowers, I welcome a touch of humor to bring me back into the reality of my comfortable but definitely lived-in little Tennessee condo. The issue that arrived today, however, offered me more than just a smile at the curious things that make life in the South special.  This one brought me a challenge as well.

In his article, "The Quill and the Mule," Rick Bragg suggests that anyone who aspires to be one of the great southern writers must include a dead mule in his work.  Then he goes on to cite dozens of examples, starting with Faulkner, whose niece has a lovely interview in this issue. Now, I don't really expect to ever be called a great southern writer, but if I insist on setting my books in South Carolina during the Civil War, I suspect I had better start looking for my own dead mule.

My first thought was that this would be easy.  After all, I'm writing about slaves on cotton plantations this time. They must all have had a mule or two, either their own or one they cared for. The trouble is, as Bragg points out,  there have already been so many dead mules in southern novels that there seems to be little hope of finding a new way for my particular mule to perish.

So I'm looking for help. In a setting full of newly-freed slaves and northern abolitionist missionaries, greedy cotton agents, restless Union soldiers, and Confederates lurking in the woods, how can I murder my mule? I need a plausible motive, a weapon, and an opportunity.  Here's your chance to commit the perfect crime. If you come up with the most appealing plan for this dastardly deed, I'll give you full credit in the "Author's Note" at the end of the book. Leave a comment below, or email me with your idea.