Kate Warren

The sun is shining, there's a small yellow crocus blooming on the south side of my house, and it's almost warm today.  Of course there's a snowstorm coming in tomorrow, but the accumulation thereof will probably melt within a week.  The birds are slowly returning from their vacations.  The trees and lilacs are budding.  Soon the world will take on that unique sent of earth ready for growing.  In a few weeks that local farmer will get his tractor stuck in the mud in his field by the highway.  Ah, spring!

This time of year has an enlivening effect on me.  I don't know why.  I'm still sleep-deprived, but now I'm feeling optimistic.  I actually managed to do some writing yesterday, which felt great.  I never realize just how much I've missed it until I start again.

I vow here and now to make the most of the time left between now and the last day of school.  I will attempt to write every day.  I will continue to blog every week, sometimes maybe even twice a week.  I will start playing the guitar again.  I'd say I'm going to learn piano, but I don't want to push it.  I WILL finish The DeFord Chronicles, Part II and get Bridging The Gaps out for mass consumption before the year is out.  I am strong.  I am invincible.  I am caffeinated.  (you thought I was going to say "I am woman" didn't you?)

I call on all of my readers to encourage me, hold me accountable, nag me if necessary to keep me writing.  The support of my fans is the greatest motivator there is.  I don't write for fame.  I don't write for fortune.  I write for you. 

Kate

Well, what do I have to say for myself?  Not only did I not post on Wednesday, I didn't post yesterday either.  So what's my excuse?  Hectic week combined with sheer exhaustion.  That and I really can't think of a single interesting thing to say.

To make up for it though, I'm going to give you a taste of my current WIP.  It's an unifinished draft; raw and unedited.  I give you [dramatic pause] the opening:

August 1422
Vallenburg, Frandia
         
Chauncy DeFord kept his eyes trained on his surroundings and his back to the wall as gaily attired people floated past him. His vantage point gave him a view of most of the hall.  His senses were engaged at every level for this was a most perilous situation: this was a court ball. 

It was his second visit to court in his four and twenty years, and the atmosphere was far more festive than it had been on his previous visit.  The celebration of the Crown Prince’s marriage, a month previous, was still ongoing in his and his new wife’s absence.  While the bridal couple was on honeymoon, the noble youth of the kingdom continued to flock to the court in search of romance and adventure.  Chauncy DeFord was one of the few who expected to find neither.  Adventure was not something he craved and he was not looking for romance.

 A touch on his arm startled him.  Turning, he found his closest friend grinning.  “Quinly!  When did you learn to be so quiet?”

“I have always known how to avoid detection.  I merely choose not to do so most of the time.”

Chauncy raised an eyebrow.  “I see that becoming a knight has not changed you for the better.”

“It has not changed me at all.” He laughed.  James Quinly was the closest thing to a brother that Chauncy had. They had been fostered together with Roger Boyd and had quickly formed a strong bond.  It was a friendship that had endured years of testing.  They knew one another as well as any two men could, yet the bonds of affection and respect had not diminished.  

He would not say as much, but Chauncy was proud of James’ elevation to the knighthood.  He could think of no more worthy candidate for such an honor.  Whilst formulating a properly humbling response, Chauncy’s eyes were snared by a shining beauty fluttering past on the arm of an unknown courtier.  The girl was truly lovely.  Golden hair streamed down her back like watered sunshine, her rich brown eyes sparkled with life, and her smile fairly took his breath away.  Did he know her?  Had she been at court the last time he had been there?

 James took note of his friend’s interest.  “Have you met Betsy Brighton yet?”

“Who is Betsy Brighton?” Chauncy asked distractedly.

“Who is Betsy Brighton?” James pretended amazement.  “Only the flower of the Frandian summer.  Her first visit to court and she has utterly enchanted every soul present.”  James noted Chauncy’s lack of attention to his words.  This was a momentous occasion.  Never had he seen his dearest friend look so enraptured, in fact he could not remember ever seeing Chauncy pay great attention to a lady at all.  He had at times wondered if Lord DeFord’s habits and desires were not better suited to a monastery than to matrimony.  “Betsy is the most beautiful maiden in the world, some say.”

 Chauncy briefly removed his eyes from the angelic lady to address his counterpart.  “She could not be more lovely than that lady there.”  He indicated the maid he’d been observing.

 James smiled.  “Certainly she could not be more lovely than herself.”

“What?” Chauncy’s attention was finally restored to his friend.

 “That lady there is none other than Elizabeth Brighton.  And I see that she has caught you as well.”

 Chauncy frowned.  “I am not caught.  I merely
appreciate beauty when I see it.  No doubt she has the temper of a fishwife.”

 “Not at all.  She is reputed to be the most amiable of creatures.”  James tried to hide his grin.  This was such a rare occasion, and all the more enjoyable because of its uncommonness. He felt as he imagined a mother must when her child takes its first step.  “Are you going to watch her all night, or might you try dancing with her?”

 “She seems to have no difficulty finding partners, besides which I do not care for her brother.”

 “Then do not ask her brother to dance.” James quipped. 

A trio of ladies approached the two gentlemen.  As they neared the men a mischievous smile appeared on the face of the tallest lady.  She swept a low curtsey.  “Sir James. What a pleasure to have you at court.”

 It was his turn to frown.  “None of that please.”

 She feigned concern.  “Are you not pleased at such an honor having been bestowed upon you?”

 “You know I am pleased, Wini.  I see no reason it should change the way I am treated by my friends.”

 “You need have no fear on that account, for aside from your new title, I can see that you are the same knave I have always known.”  She smiled as she said this.  Winifred St. Robert was as pleased as any other about Sir James’ elevation.  In addition to being a steadying influence on her brother Duncan, James was a friend to the man she considered as the older brother she lacked.  

Chauncy and Winifred had spent many days playing together during the early years of their childhood.  Their fathers had been the best of friends, and that combined with the proximity of the DeFords’ home of Thornhill to the St. Roberts’ keep, Kenleigh, made their children’s association inevitable.  Shifting her attention, Winifred addressed Chauncy.  “You must dance with me now.”

 He smiled.  “Rather forward of you to ask me.”

 “I am not asking.  I am stating a fact.  Besides which if I waited for you to ask me, I’d be waiting at my graveside. You act as if you have never been to court. People are beginning to talk about you.”

 “People talk about me anyway.” He countered.  “Can you honestly state that my dancing with you will not cause more speculation than my not dancing at all?”

 “Now my lord it is hardly my fault that you make yourself scarce and refuse to dance.  Were you to engage in this pastime more often, no one would remark upon your taking any lady to the floor.”

 “So you admit it?”

 “Of course.”  Winifred conceded that point with a smile. “Are you going to dance with me or not?”

 Chauncy sighed.   “Miss St. Robert, would you grant me the honor of the next dance?”

 “Oh, Lord DeFord!”  She pretended.  “I had not expected this.  I fear I shall tread upon your toes, if I accept.”

He smiled.  “I fear that as well.  Nevertheless…”  He offered his arm, which she accepted, and led her to the floor.

 “Our mothers expect us to marry, you know.  Do you think they shall be terribly disappointed.”

 Chauncy shrugged.  “A little, I think.  Rest assured that they shall recover.  I could not marry you Wini.  You are too much a sister to me.”

 “And you too like a brother to me.”  Winifred replied.  “Besides which I do not think I should wished to be bothered with you every day.” 

That remark caused Chauncy to laugh aloud, drawing the attention of several revelers, among them a number of young maidens.  

***********************
 What do you think?  Am I forgiven?

Kate

Did you know there's another writer called Kate Warren?  Neither did I until recently.  Now that I know, I thought it might be a good idea to address the issue of what to do when you find out that someone else is using your name.  In my case, you do nothing.  

Kate Warren isn't my real name.  It's a pen name chosen because someone else was using my real name (which turns out to be a lot more common than I thought).  So I'm not going to get territorial about it.

As far as people getting us mixed up, there are a few considerations that help.  For one thing, we write in different genres.  For another, she lives in England, and I live in the US so the vocabulary we each use in our work is likely to be different. Also I'm the only one using "the condensed writer" after my name.

The funny thing is that six years ago when I was looking for a good pen name, I did internet searches on suitable names using descriptors like author, writer, novelist...etc.  Kate Warren came up with nothing.  Nobody was using it, at least not that Google knew about.

But still I wonder...  Is this other Kate Warren the "other" Kate Warren?  Or am I the "other" Kate Warren?  Maybe she's been writing for ten years and I didn't know about it because she wasn't online yet.

So, I'm not going to contact her and ask her to change her professional name.  The question then is should I change mine?  I could add a middle name or initial, not on the books that are already available, but certainly on the new ones.  

What do you think?  Should I make a minor adjustment to my name or leave it as is?

How would your character react to being in a car accident?  Would he or she check to make sure everyone was ok?  Completely freak out?  Angrily accuse the other driver of being at fault?  Whimper softly while resting against the steering wheel?

How about having the insurance company declare the vehicle they were driving a total loss?  Would your character square his or her shoulders and get on with it?  Burst into tears?  Observe a moment of silence for Walter (or other name)?  For that matter, is your character the kind of person who names inanimate objects like cars?

When looking for a replacement vehicle, what is most important to your character?  Color?  Safety?  Potential for attracting love interests?  The sound system (my personal favorite)?  Price?  The carbon footprint?  

Does he or she test-drive?  Does your character bargain or just pay the sticker price?  Is his or her credit history good enough to get a loan?  Or is your character paying cash on account of having just won the lottery/inherited a great deal of money/insurance payout will cover the whole thing?

Would your character just chuck it all and buy a bicycle?

If you're writing about a time before automobiles were commonplace you can ignore this entire post, or have some fun with it and think up insurance rates and policies for horse/covered wagon/chariot/camel collisions.  It may become terribly important for your characters to know which of the local blacksmiths and wheelwrights provide free estimates. 

I'm afraid that's all I can offer today.  Here's hoping neither you nor your characters really need to deal with this