From the Sketchbook: Scene 1

These sketches illustrate the first scene of Courting Trouble. After a tour of her abbey with a very tiresome bishop, the elderly Abbess Cynethrith reminisces about her youth. She tells us about the day she pumped a monk for information, got a glimpse of a naked monarch, and ran into a very angry queen.

St. Rumwold the Infant Prodigy

Abbess Cynethrith and the Bishop are chatting in the opening scene of Courting Trouble.

“Abbess, do you remember blessed St. Rumwold, the infant prodigy?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Though he only lived on this earth three days, God gave him the gift of speech, and do you know what he preached about?”

“Yes,” I said.

“He preached about the most blessed and heavenly Trinity.”

“Yes,” I said. “I often wish the young would hold their tongues.” Because I’m old, I can get away with remarks like this. People think I didn’t understand what they said.

Meet Abbess Cynethrith

 When we first meet Cynthrith she is the Abbess of Whitburh. She' a little cranky and lets us know pretty quickly that she probably isn't entirely holy. From Courting Trouble

You’ve heard my story already. Or rather, you think you have. I’ve heard it myself a few times on visits to my grandchildren, bellowed out in the hall by some whelp too green to know a thing about it—and too dim to realize that the source of his fable is sitting right in front of him. I think that’s why the old die in the end: we get so disgusted with young people.

Speaking of disgusting young people, did I tell you about the bishop’s visit last week?. . . .

The (Almost) Lost Manucript

A friend asked me how long it took to write Courting Trouble. I told him that I started it in England in 1990 or there about. I worked on it a couple of years, doing all sorts of research--to the point of taking archeology courses at Southampton University, drawing the local flora to learn it, and embroidering in the style of the times. I wrote during the couple of hours a day that my youngest child attended preschool. I remember sitting at my desk, chortling. Then we returned to America and I let it go. I might have dragged the book out once or twice in Raleigh, but the rewrites I remember were not in the text that Rob found on the old computer.

I had written off the whole project long ago, even though my husband nudged me yearly to finish it. I had no interest. Then he wanted to get rid of the antique (at this point) computer the book lived in, but he wouldn't do it until he found a way to free the imprisoned text. It was a very big job. It had been written in a version of WordPerfect that is so outdated that even later editions of the same software cannot read it.

After he had gone to so much trouble to rescue the book from oblivion I thought I should at least read the damn thing. After all this time I read it as a reader rather than the writer, and at times I had no idea what would happen next. I remember from time to time saying to myself, "I wonder where I am going with this?" I was entertained. It made me laugh, and I thought it would take a month or two to whip it into shape. It took another 10 or 11 months. So, to answer my friend's question, it took probably 3 years of actual work and 30 years of gestation.

From the Sketchbook: Scene 5

I'm sketching each scene of Courting Trouble in my sketchbook as I gather ideas for an illustrated version of the book. Here's Scene 5. Cynethrith goes to the nearby abbey, founded by her mother, and formulates a “plan” to sneak into the King's Court. Her best friend, the nun Athelfald, isn't too sure about this.

 “You don’t mean you’re planning on staying there?” she said.
“Yes,” I said.
“Don’t you think they’ll notice an idle woman wandering around after a while?”
“I won’t be idle,” I answered. “I’ll pretend I’m a servant.”
“You’re not serious.”
“Yeah, that’s the idea. Don’t you think I’d make a great servant?”
“No.”
“What do you mean ‘no’?” I was offended. I tended to assume I was good at everything.
“For heaven’s sake, Cynethrith, you’ve never had to work a day in your life.”
“I beg to differ,” I said. “I work like a slave. Who feeds the dogs? Who has to fetch embroidery floss and gather dyes endlessly for the troll, and run messages to the servants until I could drop? And I’m immensely strong, you know. I ride and practice sword play and archery every day—well, almost.”
“And that’s the sort of thing you think servants do?” she asked.
“They do as little as possible,” I said. “At least that’s what ours do. Of course Waldberg never pays any attention to them so they get away with murder.”
Athelflad looked at me and smirked a little, an uncharacteristic expression for her. “Maybe it’s not such a bad idea,” she said. “How long are you planning on staying there?”
“Long enough to see what it’s like. Haven’t you ever wondered about royal life? About money and majesty? Gold, gowns, jewels, men . . .”