STOP AND BROWSE...HISTORICAL NOVELISTS BOOK FAIR IS ON!

They are lining up for a book fair for readers who like stepping back in time...and in the case of SECRETS IN TIME, literally!

When you were a child did you dream of waking up and finding yourself magically transported back in time? I did...I would squeeze my eyes tight shut and wish and wish and wish. Of course I woke up still firmly in the twentieth century and with the benefit of hindsight, I can't imagine anything worse than finding myself in the seventeenth century without a flushing loo or a toothbrush!

Or what if you come forward in time...what would you make of the flushing loo, a toothbrush, television, cars...and cricket. These are the dilemmas facing my hero, Nathaniel Preston in SECRETS IN TIME, a dashing seventeenth century cavalier who, with a healthy dose of witchcraft to help, finds himself in 1995...

When a seventeenth-century cavalier hurls himself over her garden wall, Doctor Jessica Shepherd is more angry than surprised. Although she ís no stranger to military re-enactors, there ís something different about Nathaniel Preston. If he ís to be believed, something…or someone…has sent him forward in time from the midst of a civil war to the quiet English countryside of the twentieth century.

With time working against them, Nathaniel has to convince Jessica why fate brought them together before he ís forced to return to his own era and certain death in battle.

Can the strength of love overcome all obstacles, even time itself?

Of course, Nat has a very good reason for his time travelling...he just didn't reckon on falling in love...or the dangers of foreknowledge. Can you imagine knowing the exact time and method of your death or the cause you will die for is doomed?

In the following excerpt, Nat wrestles with these questions:

I cannot sleep.

Every time I close my eyes I see this new world and all its wonders. The noise overwhelms me. Even now in the dead of night, I hear the carriages racing past and see the bright lights illuminate the curtains over the windows. Light. There is so much light.

I try to order things in my understanding, relate them to my own time, but I fail. My own ignorance fails me. I am a savage in this land. Jessica the Witch must think me a veritable fool, and that concerns me. I think of her warm, sun-touched skin on that day I first saw her, and the courage with which she faced me. I want to touch her. I need that touch of a warm, living being to remind me that I am still a man and not an object of pity.

The knowledge of my death tugs at my mind. I keep pushing the memory of that cold stone in the chapel away. I don’t believe I am to die. I am only thirty years old. I have two small sons. Who will care for them? Who will protect my sister and my grandmother?

Alice. Help me. I can’t live with this knowledge.

I hear her voice coming through the mist of my mind. “You must find the strength. Remember why you are there. Learn as much as you can of this new world Nathaniel,

and you will have a chance to set things in order.”

I close my eyes and remember all we talked about, Alice and I. She is right, I have to acquire the knowledge needed to set my world in order. But to do that I will return to my time. To do that, I must die.

To read a longer excerpt and for buy links, click HERE. Available in eformat only at Lyrical Press (all formats), Barnes & Noble and Amazon 

If you, like me, love the seventeenth century, then don't miss my two full length novels set in the English Civil War, THE KING'S MAN and the award winning BY THE SWORD or if you like a ghost story with a bit of a mystery, history and romance, then GATHER THE BONES is the book for you (set in the 1920s world of Downton Abbey)

Whether it is Spring (and you are looking for great reading for your summer holidays) or autumn, as it is here in Australia (and you are looking for a good novel to curl up with on a cold winter afternoon), then don't miss the HISTORICAL NOVELISTS BOOK FAIR (12-15 April). To find more fabulous authors market stalls, see the list below

And for a chance to win a $25 Amazon Voucher, enter the SECRETS IN TIME CONTEST by clicking  HERE

Come and visit the wonderful historical authors hyperlinked below!

1. francine howarth    19. maggi andersen     37. elizabeth hopkinson

2. fenella j miller        20. suzi love             38. michael wills

3. paula lofting        21. jeanne treat           39. dm denton

4. helen hollick       22. chris longmuir      40. richard abbott

5. martin lake         23. kiru taye             41. sue millard

6. jane godman       24. betty cloer wallace     42. margaret skea

7. j.g. harlond        25. christina phillips        43. wendy j. dunn

8. melanie robertson-king  26. suzy witten      44. bryn hammond

9. nicole hurley-moore    27. kim rendfeld      45. sarah waldock

10. anne gallagher     28. kevin john grote     46. hilda reilly

11. deborah swift       29. ginger myrick      47. roy e stolworthy

12. derek birks         30. linda root          48. patricia o’sullivan

13. katherine pym      31. prue batten          49. glen craney

14. michael wills        32. pauline montagna      50. suzan tisdale

15. sandra ramos o’briant    33. sophie schiller      51. jo ann butler

16. elizabeth caulfield felt    34. judith arnopp     52. charles degelman

17. j l oakley              35. anna belfrage            53. gates of eden

18. alison stuart           36. jean fullerton            54. elizabeth keysian

55. marie macpherson     56. tim vicary           57. evan ostryzniuk

Writer's Life: In the Waiting Room...with Godot

“Let's go." "We can't." "Why not?" "We're waiting for Godot.” 

― Samuel Beckett, Waiting for Godot

Did anyone else study Beckett's Waiting for Godot at school? I know I did...and I've seen it done as a play. Do I understand it? Thought I did at the time...now I'm not so sure!

Over the Easter break I went bushwalking...there is nothing like a tramp (no Godot puns intended!) through the Australian bush, crackling dry after the end of a hot summer with scent of eucalyptus hanging in the air, to get yourself thinking.

As I pondered the work in progress (or works in progress...there are a couple), the conclusion I came to is that too much of my life is spent waiting...my mantra seems to have become, "When X happens, I will be able to do Y." Hmmm...other people might call this Writers Block perhaps?


At the moment I have 3 submissions and several contest entries out there in the big wide world. Every morning I leap for my iPad on the off chance there might be an email with some fabulous news...every morning it is the usual round of emails from the wives of ex dictators wanting me to help them squirrel away their fabulous wealth or (lucky me) $1million wins in lotteries I didn't know I had entered. These are not the lottery results I am waiting for!

The upshot of this waiting is I stop doing anything else. As I twiddle the feathers on my quill, my thought process goes down this road... "When I get that offer from X publisher, I will get on with writing Y".  Ah ha I hear you say, Why don't I get on with writing Y anyway? Because, I reply, my quill towards my guttering candle to see if burning feathers really do revive fainting women,  if I don't get that offer from X publisher then there's no point pouring my heart and soul into Y because nobody wants X.... Get the picture?

But to make it even worse, even if I do get published, I still drop into "waiting" mode. First there is "waiting for edits", then "waiting for the cover", "waiting for the release date" and on on it goes. Paralysing me into a complete standstill. My daily routine is subsumed into mini waiting periods...I will finish writing this blog before I do any writing...oh wait, what am I going to write? I'm waiting to hear from publisher X about book A and publisher Z about book B...should I be working on the sequel to Book B or should I be working on a series set up for Book A...

...and on the circular argument in my head goes.

A few years a go I did Margie Lawson's Beating Self Defeating Behaviours Course...obviously I need to go back for a refresher. If this isn't a self defeating behaviour then I don't know what is!

So I need to shake myself out of the doldrums and I think the answer is to get back to work on something I really want to do and let the submissions/the contests and the new release take care of themselves. Better to wait in hope or wait and dream up fabulous new characters and plots for the next book...just in case Publisher X really does want Book A...STOP right now!

SECRETS IN TIME IS OUT NOW!

HOOZAH! 
It is a few days early but I am so excited to see SECRETS IN TIME is already up on several online book stores. 

It's available as an ebook from the following sites:  AMAZON, LYRICAL PRESS (all eformats) and ALL ROMANCE EBOOKS (all eformats).

When a seventeenth-century cavalier hurls himself over her garden wall, Doctor Jessica Shepherd is more angry than surprised. Although she ís no stranger to military re-enactors, there ís something different about Nathaniel Preston. If he ís to be believed, something…or someone…has sent him forward in time from the midst of a civil war to the quiet English countryside of the twentieth century.

With time working against them, Nathaniel has to convince Jessica why fate brought them together before he ís forced to return to his own era and certain death in battle.

Can the strength of love overcome all obstacles, even time itself?

For More Information and to read an excerpt...click HERE

Historical Heroes

Next Monday April 1 (US time), my historical time travel, SECRETS IN TIME is released.

There will be an "online" launch party on my Facebook page on Tuesday 2 April 7.00 pm, Australian Eastern Standard Time. To join the fun, come over and "Like" my page...click HERE.  The theme of the party is "Historical Heroes".

In a departure from my darker themed books, SECRETS IN TIME, is a lighthearted look at love through time, although there is a darker reason for Nat's time travelling... 

SECRETS IN TIME

When a seventeenth-century cavalier hurls himself over her garden wall, Doctor Jessica Shepherd is more angry than surprised. Although she ís no stranger to military re-enactors, there ís something different about Nathaniel Preston. If he ís to be believed, something…or someone…has sent him forward in time from the midst of a civil war to the quiet English countryside of the twentieth century.

With time working against them, Nathaniel has to convince Jessica why fate brought them together before he ís forced to return to his own era and certain death in battle.

Can the strength of love overcome all obstacles, even time itself?

Because I am now a certified time traveller I am inviting a few heroes of history (real and fictional) to the party. Because SECRETS IN TIME is based on the English Civil War and that is my favourite historical period, I need look no further than these two gentlemen.

PRINCE RUPERT OF THE RHINE

Timothy Dalton as Prince Rupert in CROMWELL

Top of my list is, of course, PRINCE RUPERT OF THE RHINE. Nephew of King Charles I, Rupert was the quintessential "cavalier" - young, dashing, charming and devastatingly handsome. His dashing nature was his undoing in battle with his hot headed cavaliers bursting upon the enemy and then disappearing off the battlefield in hot pursuit of the fleeing enemy or the baggage train, never to return to the field of battle. He  fought valiantly for his uncle, only to have King Charles turn on him after he was forced through military necessity to surrender the city of Bristol, thus losing control of the west of England. 

SIR THOMAS FAIRFAX

While I am on the subject of English Civil War heroes, my own personal historical hero is SIR THOMAS FAIRFAX. "Black Tom" was the antithesis of Rupert. Tall, dark, grave but, like Rupert, a brilliant leader. His story is often overshadowed by Oliver Cromwell.  I fell in love with him when I first read Rosemary Sutcliff's RIDER OF THE WHITE HORSE. 

To read a short story I wrote about Sir Thomas Fairfax (THE PETITION) click HERE

Dougray Scott as Sir Thomas Fairfax in TO KILL A KING

So Rupert and Tom will be coming to my launch party, whether they like it or not (I am sure Rupert will have a ball). Just so I can get the guest list spot on...I am looking for other suggestions of historical heroes.

Which Historical Hero (real or fictional) would like to invite to the party?

(For more information and to read an excerpt from SECRETS IN TIME, click HERE)

The End

THE END... I always write those words when I reach the end of writing a book. They are the punctuation mark that finishes my relationship with that world I have created.

Not that I believe any book is actually completely finished...it could always be that little bit better, the words in paragraph 2 on page 167 could be rearranged...ENOUGH! At some point a writer has to let go and hit the "Send" button that will send it winging into the waiting Inbox of an eager editor or agent, who will of course promptly respond with "This is the greatest novel ever written, here is a contract for a gazillion dollars..." . Such are the thoughts you will entertain for about the first twenty four hours as you eagerly hit the refresh button on your own inbox...again...and again...

Of course when you don't get an instantaneous response (and quite honestly I would be extremely suspicious of any editor who got back to me in twenty fours*), depression sets in. That has to be the worst book I have ever written. They are going to hate it. What was I thinking? Why didn't I fix paragraph 2 on page 167?...and on the spiral into depression goes... for at least the next 48 hours. I'm not alone.

Novelist Simon Brett wrote: "...There are two points in the novel-writing cycle when authors are particularly vulnerable.... Almost every writer I know goes through the same reaction after a novel is finished – there are 24 hours of euphoria and then all the negative thoughts you have shut out while finishing it come out, and either you get drunk or depressed or get the flu.
"The other point is two-thirds or three-quarters of the way through a novel, when almost all writers get what I call the 'three-quarters sag', when the only thing you like less about what you've written so far is the ideas you have for finishing the book. My books are written quite quickly, so it only lasts a week or two, but for people who spend two years writing, it can take months." Simon Brett in the Guardian 


It is no surprise that rated among the 10 of occupations with the highest rates of depression are Artists, Entertainers and Writers according to health.com but let me hasten to add, I am no Virginia Woolf or Sylvia Plath. There are many writers who suffer clinical depression and having friends who battle serious depressive illnesses I do not make light of it. But there is a distinction between an illness and just a mild sense of loss!

Being essentially a person with a sunny disposition and a happy childhood (and thus doomed never to write "great literature"), the "depression" I suffer at the completion of a book can realistically be described as a mild sense of loss. 

I have been living inside my characters heads. I know every nuance of their behaviour, what their favorite color is...and if I'm really in the zone they talk to me. We have conversations. (No...seriously, other writers will no exactly what I mean) and then quite suddenly they've gone. I've waved them off at the door and the house feels empty. 

I look at the mound of ironing, the washing up, a study that is breeding dust elephants and a to do list as long as my arm which includes such unimportant things as "Last year's tax". I cannot settle to anything (particularly as I'm checking my inbox every 5 minutes). 

I have been doing this long enough to remember the days before the internet when the query letter was neatly typed and put in an envelope with a stamp and for months I would dog the postman before the inevitable rejection slip arrived (if at all). If a manucript was requested it was printed out (I'm not quite THAT old...we did have computers and printers!), secured with a rubber band and the family fortune expended in sending it off...only to have a single one page rejection return. 

Now it is all mechanised (or is that digitalised?). Submissions are done online ...some publishers even have a "Submission" proforma to which you attach your manuscript and off it goes, lacking even the interaction of an email and in modern business models you are assured of a response in 4-6 weeks. 

In the first 3 months of this year I have signed off on two books. Two chances of publication...two chances of rejection. Every morning I check my Inbox with a mingling of fear and optimism. Bouyed always by Charles I's  quote "While I live, I hope" (at least I've always believed it was Charles who said this...shortly before he had his head chopped off). "While I have a submission in the ether, I hope..." 

When the response comes, I can always tell instinctively whether it is a rejection or an acceptance, even before I click on it. It exudes a "vibe". If it is a rejection, then it will get no more than a glance as I slide into the obligatory 24 hour sulk. I only allow myself 24 hours - any longer is self indulgent- before I read it properly and take away any kernels of improvement from the editor's experience. If it's an acceptance...well...that's what we all hope for isn't it? That's why we write...

So what do I do now my latest book has gone winging its way into cyber space? Well I really should tidy my office, strike a few things off the to do list and start my next book...WHAT ABOUT YOU?

*I did once get a response from an agent in less than 24 hours - to tell me they weren't interested, of course.

Date for the diaries: My latest book, SECRETS IN TIME, will be released on APRIL 1. IF YOU LIKE A FUN, SHORT, ROMANTIC HISTORICAL TIME TRAVEL WITH A GORGEOUS CAVALIER...this is the book for you.

Riding a Float - New Orlean Mardi Gras Part 2

I'll be honest. I really had no idea what I was letting myself in for when I volunteered to ride a float with the Krewe of Morpheus. First I had to join the Krewe. Membership covered the cost of the costume and pre and post ride bash. Being in Australia I missed the social events that went on during the year, such as the Captain's Crawl, a pub crawl through the French Quarter accompanied by a jazz band...that would have been fun.

The next major decision was which "Throw Package" to purchase. I had visualised a few strings of beads and a packet of doubloons. Umm...No...my trusty Float Lieutenant, MKL,  informed me. The route is 6 miles long and you will run out very quickly. So, taking a deep breath, I invested in a throws package guaranteed to restore the economy of Louisiana. That was it...now all we had to do was turn up.


My dear friend, AK (a friendship that has dated since we were both the nerdy kids with funny accents in a new school in Australia), met us at New Orleans airport and took us straight to the float staging area where the throws were being loaded. Naively I had assumed this to be a large warehouse with busy people loading throws on to floats. It was a dark, deserted street in the old port area down by the Mississippi.  We bumped down pot holed, unlit roads and over rail lines to where the dark silhouettes of the floats loomed against the sky. The always prepared Aussies had torches so we carried AK's bags of throws down the long, ominous line of floats where weird faces loomed at us from the dark and no other living soul seemed to be around.

The theme for our parade was Friday Night at the Movies so we passed Batman and Pirates of the Carribbean floats. Ours (Number 16), one of the smaller floats, had a Star Wars theme. I have to say that unlit and in the dark you realise they are just  painted canvas contraptions built over a frame  and pulled by tractors. I had paid for our throws to be preloaded and nearly died when I saw the HUGE pile of stash I had invested in. "We'll never get through this," I said to DH (darling husband) as we eyed the 26 bags of beads and 5 big blue bags of other throws.

We have our take away slushies...

Friday, parade day, dawned and festivities kicked off at 2.00 pm with the pre-ride bash at Generation Hall but first we had to lay in supplies for the ride. DH and I packed water (sensible) but we stopped off at a take away Daquiri shop (yes I did say a take away Daquiri shop) and purchased large frozen slurpies of daquiri, white russian and (for me) margerita. These were stowed on ice to be loaded on to the float.

Ready to rock at the Bash

Admission to the pre-ride bash was by silver bracelet and tunic (our costume was a turquoise blue with silver sequins worn with a silver face mask and a hat that looked like an upside down icecream container crossed with a French Foreign Legion hat). Hardly flattering but it guaranteed anonymity.

Mixing with Royalty. The Queen of Morpheus

Generation Hall was already pumping to an 80s cover band, Bag o'Donuts. The King and Queen of Morpheus and their court was duly presented. There was plenty of food and drink and by the time the floats arrived at 5.00pm we were ready to rock!

Float 16, Star Wars and one excited rider

I actually think, in retrospect, that the long, slow ride to the staging area (under police escort) in the gathering twilight of a New Orleans evening was probably the most pleasant part of the day. We broke open the first of our bead bags and organised ourselves as best we could around the bags of throws (with 4 of us in one small area it was cramped). The addition of a cheerful DJ called Sidney with a dubious taste in rapper music that blared loudly right into our ears all night, made it even more squeezy.  We had 19 or 20 floats (I didn't count) and being small, we were towards the end of the parade. High School marching bands squeezed in between the floats.

The slow ride to the staging area

Morpheus Throws

Then we were off...and then we stopped...then we started again...and then we stopped. It seemed ages before we finally seemed to be moving and the whole parade began to blur. The early crowds were thin but eager. By the time we reached the beautiful St. Charles avenue, it seemed to be a sea of hands reaching up, children perched on their parents shoulders, fishing nets reached out from strategically placed ladders. Everyone clamouring for more stuff to be thrown. It took a while to get in the rhythm  I quickly learned that you needed to make eye contact with a potential recipient, not just throw willy nilly on the off chance someone would catch it. I saved the soft, fluffy toys for small children. Among the beads, I had special medallions, doubloons (very popular and collectable), hundreds of plastic cups, bags, sleep masks, flashing balls, flashing medallions, gold medallions, yellow "sleep hats". Interesting to see what is popping up on EBay! And beads, literally 1000s of elegant purple, yellow and green beads. We threw them in groups, we threw them still in their bags. Sweat began to pour from under my mask! Overnight rain had turned the dusty float into mud which had seeped into some our throw bags. I was hot and muddy! Thank heavens for my frozen Margarita!

I hated seeing beads and cups fall to the ground unheeded. Hey, mister, I PAID for those!!!!

Half way through...hot, sweaty and muddy!

We stopped again. Chinese whispers said we only had half a mile to go. DH and I looked at our undiminished stash and began jettisoning overboard. The wait dragged on...45 minutes while a broken float from the previous parade and a flat tyre on one of our floats were dealt with and then we jerked forward again. Not half a mile...half way through! We still had half the parade to go but by the time we turned into Canal Street, unrecognisable behind the stands, DH and I had run out of throws. Seriously...we had run out!

Canal Street

Kind Krewe members took pity on us and passed over spare throws.  I had one "gold medallion" I was saving for the token drunk Aussie we would see in the crowd but six miles passed and not one identifiable drunk Aussie, token or otherwise!

The float made another turn and it was over. We saw other Krewe members from earlier floats, walking back up the path towards us. I wore no watch (too much risk of it going overboard with the throws). DH told me it was 1230. We had been on the float for 7 hours and it had gone in a flash!

Exhausted riders!

Suddenly I was terribly tired but the night was not over, we collected what was left our bits and pieces and trudged back toward Generation Hall where the after party was in full swing. Our feet ached, we were hot, mud ingrained our fingernails, our hair clung to our foreheads in sweaty bands...but we needed to eat and drink and we desperately needed to sit down. Being peripherally related to the Queen we gained entrance to the royal court where we just collapsed, clutching a beer and a plate of sandwiches. No..energy...to...get up...and dance...

It was 3.00 am before we got to bed but it took a while to go to sleep as the passing sea of faces and hands, the thump of Sidney's execrable music still echoed in my mind.

On Monday we posted two expensive parcels with our memorabilia from the night to share with disbelieving friends and family back home...$150 worth or memories. Can't wait to unpack them.

But Mardi Gras was far from over...watch for Part 3 or How I Nearly Got Shot in Bourbon Street...

In which the Author does not get shot in Bourbon Street...New Orleans Mardi Gras Part 3

It is a standing joke in our family that my DH (darling husband) routinely tries to kill me on every holiday. In fact I am the only person I know who has to train for holidays - teach me to marry Action Man. 

So it is no surprise that on the night we went to Bourbon Street, there was a shooting. I am happy to say at the time we were half a block away from the shooting and heading away from the revelry when it happened but it still counts as one of my closer brushes with danger! More on that later...

Bourbon Street revellers

In my last post I wrote about the experience of riding a float in a Mardi Gras Parade. As you can imagine the next day was somewhat leisurely. We ate lunch at a restaurant on the levee and my friends showed us East New Orleans, where the damage from Katrina is still evident in destroyed houses and vacant blocks. I last visited New Orleans in 2001 and I have to say, in general, that from the ashes (or is that mud) of Katrina, there is a new vibrancy about New Orleans. My friends told us that the first Mardi Gras Parade after Katrina was an extraordinary experience, a tribute to a city that would not die and it is a city with a huge heart. But it has its dark side...for example residents of the beautiful Garden District, employ private firms of security guards to walk them from their cars to their front doors at night.

My friends had procured tickets for a balcony at the Royal Senestor Hotel in Bourbon Street for the Saturday night.  During Mardi Gras, hotels and other venues in Bourbon Street, rent out their balconies and suites (a bit like a corporate box at the football) so a couple of free tickets were not going to be wasted.

Ferry across the river

We caught the ferry from Algiers across the Mississippi to the French Quarter. When we arrived it was still fairly early and the crowd had just begun to build, but as we approached Bourbon Street, the energy level hefted up a notch. Bourbon Street at the best of times is not really a pleasant place populated as it is with  bars and cheap souvenir shops and an overarching smell of bad drains.

An already well lubricated crowd milled down the street clutching Hand Grenades (green plastic containers with a vile looking drink), laden with beads, some wearing masks and costumes. At each street corner, neatly dressed men  clutching bibles, placards and crosses handed out leaflets exorting the revellers to repent. Fat chance!

A balcony in Bourbon Street - Saturday night

Above us, more revellers lined the balconies, throwing beads into the crowd. Beneath our feet, broken strings of beads and muddy puddles made the going treacherous. But you find yourself drawn into the moment and there is a satisfaction in catching your first throws. Beside me, a woman peeled back her tee shirt exposing her breasts. So, the stories about the ritual flashing were true...a phenomenon first recorded in 1889 and definitely one for the tourists.

The view from the balcony

We found our suite at the Royal Senestor. The balcony was already crowded but playing the "I've come all the way from Australia" card, I managed to secure a small corner. We had a couple of bags of beads saved from the night before and I joined the others, dangling my wares over the balcony.The roof across from us was covered in badly thrown beads!

 Like the float, you needed to make eye contact and I caught the eye of a couple of young men who happily flashed their chests for me - oh well...when in Rome...

Beside me a young man waved a large, gaudy string of beads for which several women seemed keen to expose themselves. When 

Throwing beads from the balcony

DH took my place, the young man, now comfortable in the company of another male, explained that while he may offer the exotic beads,  he never threw them. Bastard!

Waving an Australian flag in an attempt to find that elusive token drunk Aussie...(oh wait, that may have been me?)... I garnered a bit of attention until the beads ran out.

By 9.30 we had enough. Our drink vouchers had run out and the suite was dangerously crowded. Below us the crowd had thickened and there seemed to be an electric element in the air that said it was not the place for the middle aged who needed their beds.

As we walked out of Royal Senestor, DH remarked that he heard fireworks. Police were running up the street towards us. It was only later on the ferry back to Algiers we heard that just half a block from the Royal Senestor there had been a shooting with 4 people badly injured. Holy, lucky escape, Batman! Of course it hit the news in New Orleans and at home. You can read about it HERE.

DH and I returned to the French Quarter on Monday, during the day. Crowds still thronged the streets but the electric atmosphere had been tempered and the feeling was just one of good will. We walked the streets, admiring the decorations and the Mask Market, listened to the music, watched the arrival of Rex on a Coast Guard boat,  ate beignets and coffee. drank a beer at Pat O'Briens  and had po boys for lunch. For all its undercurrent of violence, there is something innately loveable about New Orleans.

Mardi Gras decorations - French Quarters

Tuesday was Mardi Gras day. In the city the Krewes of Zulu and Rex were parading. We watched the parades on the television before joining our friends at a local parade for the Krewe of Grela in the Gretna Parish. Here the local fire department (yes fire trucks!), the sheriff and local councillors joined the parade, tossing throws, cups and doubloons. The King and Queen of Grela passed by and the local high school marching bands, entertained us. I stood on the side of the road, my own hand upreached... "Throw me something mister...". 

Despite the showers (and a howling cold), I drank bloody marys, ate King Cake and watched the parade sitting on the tail gate of a pick up truck. It was homespun, fun and a wonderful end to the Mardi Gras experience.

The King of Grela

High School Marching Band

And a firetruck - of course!

Mardi Gras Explained - New Orleans Part 1

Sometimes we have things on our bucket lists that we don't even know we have written there. When an invitation came to ride a float in the 2013 New Orleans Mardi Gras, DH (darling husband) turned pale, gulped and then smiled bravely. We were going to New Orleans.

To an Australian, the concept of "Mardi Gras" means only one thing...the Sydney Mardi Gras, an annual celebration of gay pride. Visions of gold spangly shorts and nipple tassels sprang into my friends' eyes when I  announced our impending visit to Louisiana. No, we were not coming out! The New Orleans Mardi Gras, like Rio's Carnival, has its origins deeply rooted in Christian tradition. That's right... Christian tradition.

So before I share my own experience of riding a float in the New Orleans Mardi Gras, I feel a little explanation about the New Orleans Mardi Gras is required!

"Mardi Gras" means literally "Fat Tuesday" and is the day we know as Shrove Tuesday, the day before Ash Wednesday and the start of Lent. It was the day of celebration and feasting before the privations of Lent - hence our own pancake day tradition. In New Orleans it is a season commencing with Epiphany (the day in the Christian calendar when the   baby Jesus is visited by the three wise men) and the appearance of the King cakes. King cakes are a highlight of the Mardi Gras. A sort of cinnamon roll (or doughnut pastry) iced with the traditional Mardi Gras colors of green (meaning faith), gold (power) and purple (justice) and containing a trinket - a small plastic baby symbolising the baby Jesus. My friend, M, a teacher tells me it is a tradition to bring King cakes to school and whoever finds the baby in their piece has to bring the next King Cake. 

A King Cake - baby in centre

 The New Orleans Mardi Gras, as we know it, began in the 1850s with the first parade by the Krewe of Comus and is these days, a highly efficient and regulated event. For example no advertising material is allowed and costume is to be worn at all times on the float. Costume consists of a hat, mask and tunic (no little spangly shorts involved!). As I discovered, being a float rider is both hot and dirty work so the costume serves a practical purpose apart from preserving the anonymity of the rider!

Mardi Gras is not just one parade on one day, a whole  parade season begins two weeks before Mardi Gras day with daily parades. No parades now go through the French Quarter itself - the main route is St. Charles Avenue and down Canal Street. Many parishes (local council areas) in New Orleans have their own local parades as well. 

A KREWE is a social grouping,  each responsible for the organisation of its own parade. There are at least 50 Krewes in New Orleans. Some are all women, many just all men (the more traditional Krewes), some are for African Americans (Krewe of Zulu - although I was astonished to see that some of the riders in Zulu were white people in black face!). Our own Krewe, the Krewe of Morpheus is a comparative newcomer, formed in 2002 and being a "co-ed" Krewe, meaning both men and women can be members. More on Morpheus later!

While each Krewe has its own King and Queen, there is one King for the whole Mardi Gras Season, called Rex. The Krewe of Rex and the Krewe of Zulu, the two oldest and (arguably) the most important of Krewes are the only Krewes to parade on Mardi Gras day. The Krewe of Morpheus parades on the Friday night before Mardi Gras day and is the last Krewe to parade, commencing officially at 7.00 pm,  following the Krewes of Hermes and d'Etat.

Morpheus Throws

"Throws". Originally these were glass beads, a rather expensive option leading to alternatives such as Coconuts (wouldn't want to be hit by one of them!) which still form part of the Zulu tradition. In addition to the coloured plastic beads of every shape, size and description, each Krewe has its own merchandise (soft toys, plastic cups etc.) and doubloons (aluminium coins). These items are thrown from the floats into the waiting (and expectant crowd). "Throw me something mister..." is a catch cry of the parade. A note...the items are purchased by the individual float riders. 

Bourbon Street crowd waiting for throws

Finally a word on Bourbon Street. As I said, the parades themselves no longer enter the old French Quarter, but Mardi Gras celebrations are firmly centred on Bourbon Street, where revellers, some masked and costumed and clutching a vile green drink called a Hand Grenade, celebrate into the night. Party goers line the balconies of the beautiful old buildings tossing throws into the crowd below. This is where things get interesting and the "tradition" of flashing for throws is to be seen. 

So now, dear readers, you have some of the background to Mardi Gras...watch this space for Part 2 (on Wednesday) and my own experience of riding a float in the 2013 New Orleans Mardi Gras!

Alison waiting to ride Float 16....