Romancing Mark Twain and a Give Away!

The Fillies welcome back Miss E.E. Burke to talk about her big Laramie award and other interesting things.

* * * * * 

On Valentine’s Day in 2022, E.E. was featured by the Mark Twain House & Museum in the author spotlight, Romancing Mark Twain. Since then, E.E.’s novel Tom Sawyer Returns won the Laramie Grand Prize for Americana Fiction in the 2021 Chanticleer International Book Awards. This year, the outstanding historical novel has reached the finals for 2022 contests in Romance and Mystery.

Here are excerpts from the interview about her award-winning novel.

Q: Everyone has a story of how they were introduced to Mark Twain. What is yours and why do you adore these characters so much?

E.E. – I read The Adventures of Tom Sawyer and Adventures of Huckleberry Finn when I was in grade school and high school. (Didn’t we all?) The stories about Tom and Huck’s adventures resonated with me. I didn’t grow up in Missouri, but as I’m thinking back, I can see how the rural area in Florida where I was raised had similarities in its cultural background. The boys reminded me of other boys I knew, and of my “tomboy” self. They became woven into the fabric of my childhood like old friends. Years later, I longed to know what happened to them when they grew up. The author didn’t tell us, although he left a great deal of written literature that provided helpful guidance and cultural perspective. I had to envision the possibilities.


Q: How did you go about imagining these fictional children into fictional adults?

E.E. – It was extremely important to me to honor Twain’s characters as he had created them. Of course, he created them as children. I wanted them to retain their core personalities, the unique aspects of their character that made them so endearing, yet they had to grow up. They had to become men (and women) who lived their own history, with all the painful and beautiful experiences that go along with it, as well as the complications and complexities that make adult life so challenging.

In the original adventures, Becky is a product of her upbringing: a spoiled only child of an influential judge, pampered, the center of attention, the Victorian ideal of girlhood.

I asked myself—what attracted her to Tom in the first place? He’s not exactly the type to be voted as “most likely to succeed.” Her parents wouldn’t have approved of him as a suitor. Becky flouts social strictures when she takes up with the schoolyard scoundrel. This gave me the kernel of an idea. If Becky had to live through the hellish experience of the Civil War in Missouri, if she lost everything, stood to lose even her beloved father, and was forced to depend on herself, she would either collapse or become a stronger person. I voted for her strength.

Tom matures into a surprisingly complex character. He’s a wartime spy who has spent years risking his life for the sake of honor, loyalty, and, frankly, his obsession with being a hero. He is duty-bound and responsible, but deep inside he is also the eternal, willful boy. One who craves attention and affection, much like his creator, Mark Twain (Sam Clemens). Livy (Sam’s wife), had a nickname for him. Youth.

Q: I found the clever ways you entwined elements of the original stories really interesting. How did you come up with all the additional facts about the characters and story?

E.E. – Twain’s original stories essentially served as backstories for the adult characters in my books. Where he didn’t expound (i.e., secondary characters, family relationships, historical events) I came up with what I thought would be a feasible history. I used a variety of sources for this: Mark Twain’s autobiography, historical information, and my imagination.

I wondered, “what if” Twain’s creations were actual people who could be placed in history? I put them in the same general timeframe as the man, Sam Clemens, because he was writing about these characters as contemporaries. His fictionalized settings were based on real places and real events. All this helped me flesh out Twain’s future world.

While these books are rooted in Twain’s original novels, readers can still enjoy them even if they haven’t read the originals or don’t recall them. I just think you might enjoy these novels even more if you revisit Twain’s adventures.

Missouri, 1864
The country is at war, Missouri languishes under martial law, and a once-peaceful river town throngs with soldiers, spies, and sedition.


Caught in the middle is Becky Thatcher. Once a pampered only child, she has lost nearly everything, including her faith in love. When her father is jailed for treason and their very survival depends on her, the last person she wants to rely on is her faithless first beau, Tom Sawyer, who shows up unconscious at her doorstep after having gone missing for years.


Tom has no problem remembering the mistakes he made concerning Becky, but is she the reason he returned home? Upon awakening without crucial memories, the undercover spy can’t recall his mission and dares not to confide in anyone—not even his childhood sweetheart.
As an assassin closes in and a deadly scheme unfolds, Tom and Becky must work together to solve a mystery before their enemy separates them. Forever.

Inspired by America’s favorite storyteller, bestselling author E.E. Burke brings her vision to two unique historical novels with a colorful cast of characters, both familiar and new, in Tom Sawyer Returns and Taming Huck Finn.

You can purchase Tom Sawyer Returns at the following retailers: books2read.com/NewAdventure1



Today E.E. is giving away a copy of Tom Sawyer Returns to one lucky commenter who answers her question: Have you read Mark Twain’s The Adventures of Tom Sawyer? If so, what kind of person did you think Tom would grow up to be?



E.E. Burke is a bestselling author whose lush novels set in the American West transport readers to a thrilling era filled with breathtaking adventure, taut suspense, and undeniable romance. Her books have won critical acclaim in numerous national and regional contests, including the Chanticleer International Book Awards, Readers’ Choice, and Kindle Best Book. Over the years, she’s been a disc jockey, a journalist, and an advertising executive, before finally getting around to living the dream–writing stories readers can get lost in.

Find out more about E.E. and her books or sign up for her exclusive historical newsletter, On the Journey, at her website: http://www.eeburke.com.

GRAY HAWK’S LADY, 25th Anniversary Edition Excerpt & Give-Away

Howdy!

Welcome to another terrific Tuesday.  Well, GRAY HAWK’S LADY has just been re-released for its 25th Year Anniversary Edition.  Although it is not yet in paperback, we hope to have it up and ready for sale soon.  Once it’s published again in paperback, it will be about 25 years since it was in print.

Meanwhile, the e-book is on sale right now for $4.99 at Amazon.  It’s also on Kindle Unlimited, so you can read it for free if you subscribe to Kindle Unlimited.

Isn’t this a beautiful cover?  It’s quickly becoming one of my favorites.

When a 25th Year Anniversary Book is released, it’s gone through another series of editing.  When the original mass market paperback books were put into e-book format, I didn’t realize how many errors can be made on the conversion.  And so slowly, one by one, we’re re-editing them and getting them released again.  One of the wonderful things we’re doing is putting back in the original maps.  These are special because they were drawn by my then teen-aged daughter, Trina.  And so getting the maps put back in them is exciting for me.

This book is also special for me because I met and married my husband while I was writing this book, which makes this a very, very special book for me.

I’ll be giving away an e-book of this today for a lucky blogger, so do please leave a comment.

I’ll leave this here with the synopsis for the book and an excerpt.

Hope you’ll enjoy!

GRAY HAWK’S LADY

BY

KAREN KAY

Different worlds, one heart.

Blackfoot Warriors, Book 1

 

When Lady Genevieve Rohan joins her father in the farthest reaches of the American West, she expects to bring a bit of genteel English charm to his dry, academic existence. Instead, she finds her father desperately ill, and it’s up to her to finish his study of the Indian and publish his work—or face the wrath of his creditors.

Her troubles mount when the men hired to capture a member of the Blackfoot tribe don’t bring her a docile maid to study. They present her with a magnificent warrior—proud, outrageously handsome and simmering with fury at the loss of his freedom.

The white woman is beautiful beyond compare, but Gray Hawk can’t think past his plan to exact revenge against this meddling foreigner. It’s ridiculously easy to escape, then turn the tables and take her captive. When anger turns to passion, then to love, he embarks on a new quest. To claim the stubborn, red-headed vixen as his own.

Yet as their hearts strain toward each other, pride conspires to pull them apart…unless they can each find a way for their hearts to become one.  

 

 

Why didn’t the savage look away? And why didn’t he join in the laughter? Laughter the others in his tribe were enjoying…at her expense.

Genevieve shuddered and glanced away from the window, her gaze catching on to and lingering over the simple, hand-carved furniture that had been given to her for her “use.”

The room was clean, but that was all it was.

There was nothing in the room to recommend it—no feminine touches here and there, no lacy curtains to cushion the windows, no crystal or china to brighten each nook and cranny, no tablecloths, no rugs…no white women, period. Except for her.

She groaned.

She had thought, when she and her father had reached St. Louis, that she had come to the very edge of civilization, but she had been wrong. At least there, she and her father had been able to rent a house where they had enjoyed all the comforts to which they were both accustomed.

But here, away from any sort of civilization, she felt destitute.

Genevieve sighed, her white-gloved hand coming up to bat at a fly hovering around her face.

“Robert,” she spoke out. He bent toward her where she sat at the crude wooden table at one side of the room, and said, “Go ask Mr. McKenzie if there is any truth to the rumor that these Blackfoot Indians are leaving today. Oh, and Robert,” she added as her manservant rose to do her bidding, “please ask Mr. McKenzie if those two half-breed trappers I met yesterday are still in residence at the fort, and if they are, please tell him that I wish to see those men at once.”

Robert nodded, and, as he set off to carry out her wishes, Lady Genevieve turned back toward the window and looked out at the Indians, her gaze riveted by the dark, ominous regard of that one mysterious Indian man, but only for a moment.

She averted her glance, a certain amount of healthy fear coursing through her.

And why not? These Indians, though dignified enough in their savage appearance and dress, wielded enough untamed presence to instill terror into the hearts of even the most stouthearted of trappers and traders.

A shiver raced over her skin, the sensation bringing with it…what? Fear? Assuredly so. She had been gently raised. And yet…

She lowered her lashes, again studying the Indian in question, her head turned away and her hat, she hoped, hiding her expression. The man stood there among his peers, all ten or eleven of them. All were here at the fort to trade; all had come to this room to see—what the interpreter had said they called her—the mad white woman.

But none of the other Indians affected her like this one Indian man. He, alone, stood out; he, alone, captured her attention. Why?

Perhaps it was because he was too handsome by far, primitive and savage though he might be.

Was that it? She concentrated on him again. Perhaps it was the energy that radiated from him…maybe….

She tried to look away, to fix her gaze on something else, someone else, but she found she couldn’t. No, she examined him more fully.

He wore a long skin tunic or shirt, generously adorned with blue and white geometric designs. His leggings fell to his moccasins, and everywhere, at every seam and extending down each arm and the length of his tunic and the leggings themselves, hung scalp locks, hair taken from the human head. Though black was the main color of those locks, now and again she saw a blond or brown swatch of hair: white man’s hair. It made her shiver just to think of it.

The Indian’s own black mane hung loose and long, the front locks of it extending well down over his chest. His eyes were dark, black, piercing, and he seemed to see past her guard and defenses, peering into her every thought. In truth, she felt as though he glimpsed into her very soul.

Genevieve tossed her head and looked up, the brim of her fashionable hat sweeping upward with the movement. She tried to pretend she hadn’t been staring, hadn’t been inspecting. It was useless, however.

Had she but known, the sunlight, pouring in from the open window right then, caught the green chiffon of her hat, accentuating the color of it. And her hair, the auburn-red locks of it, glowed with a health and vitality equally appealing, and there wasn’t a savage or civilized gaze in the place that didn’t note the lady’s every move, her every expression. She, however, tried not to notice theirs.

She forced herself to look away…from him. She didn’t want to think about him. She needed to concentrate on her own purpose for being here. She hadn’t made such a long, grueling journey to sit here and gawk at one Indian man, compelling though he might be.

She had to find some Indian child or maiden here, now, today, willing to come back with her to St. Louis. She must.

She would not accept defeat.

It should have been a simpler task than it was turning out to be. Hadn’t she made it plain that she meant no harm to these people? That she and her father would only detain the person for a few months?

Hadn’t she told these people that she would return the person who volunteered back to their tribe at the end of that time, handsomely rewarded?

She had thought, back there in St. Louis, to lure one of the Indians with a trinket or two, a gown, a necklace for the women, money—anything, but some treasure no one could ignore. It should have been simple.

She had reckoned, however, without any knowledge of the dignity of the tribe in residence here at the fort: the Piegan or Pikuni band of the Blackfeet.  It was a grave miscalculation on her part.

If only she had been more prepared to offer them something they might consider valuable. But how could she have known this?

Wasn’t this the problem? No one knew the Blackfoot Indians.  It was this fact and this fact alone that made her father’s manuscript so valuable.

Genevieve sighed. It got worse.

She had such a short time in which to work, too. Only today and perhaps tomorrow.

She had tried to convince Mr. Chouteau, the part-owner and captain of the steamship, to stay at Fort Union a little longer. She had argued with him, using every bit of feminine guile that she possessed, but to no avail. He had remained adamant about leaving on his scheduled date.

The river was falling, he’d said. He had to get his steamship, the Yellow Stone, back to St. Louis before the Missouri fell so low that the ship would run aground.

It was not what she wanted to hear.  It meant she had only a few days to accomplish her ends. It also meant that she might be facing failure.

No, she would not allow herself to fail.

“Milady.” Robert materialized at her side, his large frame blocking out the light as he bent down toward her. “Mr. Kenneth McKenzie says the Indians are preparing to leave on a buffalo hunt and will most likely be gone by tomorrow. I have taken the liberty of arranging for the two trappers that you seek to come here to see you.” Robert seemed to hesitate.  “Milady, might I offer a word of caution?” he asked, though he went on without awaiting her reply. “The two men that you seek are known to be scoundrels. It has also been said of them that they have often been dishonest in their dealings with the trading post here as well as with Indians. It is my opinion that you would do well to—”

“What else am I to do?” Lady Genevieve interrupted, though she spoke quietly. “Robert,” she said, not even looking at him, “you know the dire circumstances of this venture. How can I possibly go back to St. Louis with nothing to show for my journey? And worse, how could I ever face my father again? You know that his condition is even more delicate now. If I were to fail…”

“But, milady, surely there must be another way besides dealing with these trappers.”

Genevieve raised her chin. Focusing her gaze upon Robert, she said, “Name one.”

Robert opened his mouth, but when he didn’t speak, Genevieve once again glanced away.

“You see,” she said, “even you know it is true, though you won’t say it. There is no other way. Mr. Chouteau keeps telling me that the steamship is to leave tomorrow or the next day. I must be on it, and I must have an Indian on board, too. I wish it were different. I truly wish it were. You must know that if I could change things, if I could make them different, I would.” She paused. “I cannot.”

Robert stared at her for a moment before he finally shook his head, but he offered no other advice.

Genevieve said, “I will see the two gentlemen as soon as they arrive. Please ensure, then, that they are shown to me immediately.”

“Yes, milady,” Robert said, rising. He stood up straight, and, as Genevieve glanced toward him, she was certain that her trusted bodyguard stared over at the Indian, that one Indian man.

But the Indian’s menacing black gaze didn’t acknowledge Robert at all. Not in the least. No, the Indian stared at her. Only at her.

Genevieve rose to her feet, averting her eyes from the Indian, although in her peripheral vision she noted every detail of the man. She shook her head, intent on shifting her attention away.

And then it happened. Despite herself, she turned her head. Despite herself, she slowly, so very leisurely, lifted her gaze toward his.

Her stomach fell at once, and the two of them stared at one another through the panes of glass for innumerable seconds.

She knew she should look away, but she couldn’t. She watched the man as though she wished to memorize his every feature, as though she needed the memory for some time distant, to be brought to mind again and again. And as Genevieve kept the man’s steady gaze, she felt her breathing quicken.

Suddenly he smiled at her, a simple gesture. It should have had no effect on her whatsoever.

But it did, and Genevieve felt herself go limp.

All at once, as though caught in a storm, her senses exploded. Her heartbeat pounded furiously, making her bring her hand up to her chest.

And, even as she felt herself beginning to swoon, she wondered why she was reacting so. One would think she had never before caught a man’s smile, had never before seized the attention of one simple man.

She heard Robert calling her name, and she breathed out a silent prayer of thanks for the interruption. She shut her eyes, which proved to be her only means of defense, and, taking as many deep breaths as she could, tried to steady the beating of her heart.

“Lady Genevieve.” She heard Robert call to her again.

“Yes, Robert, I’ll be right there.” Her voice sounded steady, though she hadn’t been certain she would be able to speak at all.

She opened her eyes, but she didn’t dare glance at the Indian again. She couldn’t risk meeting his gaze even one more time. And so she turned away from him, walking as swiftly as possible from the spot where she had been so recently seated, her silky gown of lace and chiffon whispering over the crude wooden floor as though it alone protested her departure.

She would never see the man again, never think of him again; of this she was certain. But even as this thought materialized, another one struck her with an even greater force: she fooled herself.

She would think of him, perhaps too often, over and over again, and in the not-too-distant future. She wouldn’t be able to help herself.

She knew it. Truly the Indian was a magnificent specimen of man. Yes, that was the right word. Impressive, splendid.

Utterly, completely and without question magnificent.

 

https://tinyurl.com/qtl7hsu

The Franklin Institute

newsletter_headerjpg - 2

In my latest novel, Full Steam Ahead, my hero, Darius Thornton is determined to discover the possible causes of steamboat boiler explosions by conducting various experiments. In his quest for greater scientific understanding and to keep abreast of the latest scientific discoveries in the area, he subscribes to the Journal of the Franklin Institute, an actual publication that is still in print today.

The Franklin Institute Today
The Franklin Institute Today

The Franklin Institute was founded in 1824 for the promotion of the mechanic arts and the exploration of science. It is housed in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania and yes, it was named for the great Benjamin Franklin. It maintained a museum, and in 1826, started publishing a scientific journal which focused on the field of engineering and mechanics.

Darius turned to this journal to read up on the latest scientific theories regarding boiler construction and safety protocols. However, this journal also contained accounts of many of the explosions themselves, steamboats destroyed by an exploding boiler.

In my research, I found some wonderful old scans of the Journal from back in the same period in which my story takes place. In fact, articles in these old journals inspired many of the ideas I had for ways in which Darius could run his own experiments.

In the January 1850 edition of the Journal, I ran across an article describing the explosion of the Louisiana, the very tragedy that Darius experienced firsthand. Here’s the opening paragraphs:

FullSteamAhead Cover FinalI love that the Franklin Institute is still alive and well today and that it is still centered on scientific education and investigation. Maybe someday I’ll get to see it in person. If they had old journals on display, I’d probably find myself looking for the article that Darius and Nicole submitted somewhere among their 1852 collection.

  • Do you have a museum close to your home that you enjoy visiting?
  • What scientific invention are you most grateful for?