THE SECRET IN THE WALL - Cover and copy (and a sea shanty, just because )

 Interrupting the usual slinging of slang to offer a preview of the cover and back-cover copy for the eighth book in my historical mystery series, THE SECRET IN THE WALL. And so, without further ado...

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(... well, maybe a little ado...)

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(...think of this as a stage curtain slowly drawing open...)
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... TA-DA!! 

Does this whet your curiosity? Look mysterious? Well, when you flip the book over, this is what you'll read:

Sometimes you can’t keep your gown out of the gutter… 

Inez Stannert has reinvented herself—again. Fleeing the comfort and wealth of her East Coast upbringing, she became a saloon owner and card sharp in the rough silver boomtown of Leadville, Colorado, always favoring the unconventional path—a difficult road for a woman in the late 1800s. 

Then the teenaged daughter of a local fortune teller is orphaned by her mother’s murder, and Inez steps up to raise the troubled girl as her own. Inez works hard to keep a respectable, loving home for Antonia, carefully crafting their new life in San Francisco. But risk is a seductive friend, difficult to resist. When a skeleton tumbles from the wall of her latest business investment, the police only seem interested in the bag of Civil War-era gold coins that fell out with it. With her trusty derringer tucked in the folds of her gown, Inez uses her street smarts and sheer will to unearth a secret that someone has already killed to keep buried. The more she digs, the muddier and more dangerous things become.

She enlists the help of Walter de Brujin, a local private investigator with whom she shares some history. Though she wants to trust him, she fears that his knowledge of her past, along with her growing attraction to him, may well blow her veneer of respectability to bits—that is, if her dogged pursuit of the truth doesn’t kill her first.

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Hats off and three cheers to the crew at Poisoned Pen Press/Sourcebooks for their tremendous job creating the lovely cover and back-cover text!

THE SECRET IN THE WALL is scheduled for release in February 2022, so there is a while yet before you can dive into Inez's next adventure. Meanwhile, if you haven't already, please consider signing up for my newsletter. To do so, click here and scroll to the bottom of the page. The newsletter comes out occasionally and at random intervals, so shouldn't overwhelm your inbox. I will say this: one is in the works right now, so do sign up soon! I'll be offering fun tidbits from my research and a random drawing for books from authors I admire.

Now, your reward, for reading all the way to the end of this lengthy post, is this delightful sea shanty, "Leave Her, Johnny." Enjoy!

Here is another rendition of "Leave Her, Johnny," WITH LYRICS, because one just can't have too many sea shanties:

News Flash: Silver Rush book #8 has a title!

 Taking a break from Slang-o-rama to announce some bookish news: the eighth book in my Silver Rush historical mystery series has a title!

THE SECRET IN THE WALL

Photo by Ann Parker
Location: Bodie, California

It's early 1882 in San Francisco, and Inez Stannert has forged a partnership to purchase an abandoned house that needs work, but has "good bones." Renovations begin, and, uh-oh, what do they find lurking in the darkness and the shadows, behind the weathered planks? I'm not telling, because...

... it's a secret. 😉

Look for THE SECRET IN THE WALL to come your way in February 2022, courtesy of the good folks at Poisoned Pen Press, an imprint of Sourcebooks. 

Wednesday's Random Slang-o-rama: Loose cannon

 

Having just wrapped up the 8th book in the Silver Rush series and rushed it off to the editor, I'm still awash (so to speak) in nautical slang, all while watching the election returns. I was looking for an idiom that might bridge the two worlds, and fell upon the phrase loose cannon.

Want to guess the etymology of that one?

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From the Online Etymological Dictionary:

[I]n the figurative sense "wildly irresponsible person, potent person or thing freed from usual restraint," by 1896; in the literal sense an object of dread on old warships; the figurative use probably arose from a celebrated scene in a popular late novel by Victor Hugo: 

"You can reason with a bull dog, astonish a bull, fascinate a boa, frighten a tiger, soften a lion; no resource with such a monster as a loose cannon. You cannot kill it, it is dead; and at the same time it lives. It lives with a sinister life which comes from the infinite. It is moved by the ship, which is moved by the sea, which is moved by the wind. This exterminator is a plaything." [Victor Hugo, "Ninety Three," 1874]

Slinging Mud: Rude Nicknames, Scurrilous Slogans, and Insulting Slang from Two Centuries of American Policies by Rosemarie Ostler, credits Theodore Roosevelt with making this phrase popular around 1901. At a dinner one evening at his brother-in-law's house, while speculating on life after his term was up, Roosevelt apparently remarked, "I don't want to be the old cannon loose on the deck in the storm." Ostler also references Victor Hugo's novel Ninety-Three, so I think we'll let the laurels rest with Hugo...

Cannons: dangerous enough when fixed in place, but even worse when loose!
"Three ships offshore firing cannons." Gouache copy of 17th Century Netherlandish painting. http://www.abbottandholder-thelist.co.uk/, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=91348813

Wednesday's Random Slang-o-rama: Hat in hand

I wrote the phrase hat in hand in my Silver Rush WIP, then had to stop and look it up. (Of course!)
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According to Merriam-Webster, hat in hand, a phrase that indicates something is done "in an attitude of respectful humility," dates from 1821, putting it comfortably in the earlier part of the 19th century. The American Heritage Dictionary of Idioms by Christine Ammer includes cap in hand with a definition of "in a humble manner." Ammer places first use of the phrase circa 1700 and adds:

This expression alludes to removing one's headgear as a sign of respect and has survived the era of doffing one's hat.

[ASIDE: Doffing... love that word! Will have to find a place for it...]

In any case, doing something hat in hand is perfectly reasonable for my 1882-era characters, whether they proceed literally or figuratively.

This guy does not look like the "hat in hand" type.
General Étienne-Maurice Gérard (1816) by Jacques Louis David
The Metropolitan Museum

Wednesday's Random Slang-o-rama: By the skin of one's teeth

When a character of mine managed to escape detection by the skin of her teeth, I stopped and thought about that a bit. Since when do teeth have skin? Maybe if they haven't been brushed in a long time? (eeeuw!) And where did that little phrase come from anyway?

Sooooo many distractions from focusing on plowing through Book #8!

But I don't want to use an anachronistic phrase if I can avoid it, so time to sink my teeth into by the skin of one's teeth.
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To my vast relief, this appears to be a very old phrase. In fact, thousands of years old, according to The Grammarist:

By the skin of one’s teeth means just barely, by a narrow margin, just in time. The phrase by the skin of one’s teeth is found in the book of Job in the Old Testament of the Bible. Job is a character in the Bible who undergoes an abundance of suffering due to a challenge that Satan has made to God. Satan tries to break Job’s righteousness by bringing suffering upon him. Job laments his status through much of the book, including the phrase, “My bone cleaveth to my skin and to my flesh, and I am escaped with the skin of my teeth.” What exactly the phrase “escaped with the skin of my teeth” meant in Ancient Hebrew is unknown. It is assumed that the skin referred to in the term skin of my teeth is the enamel, though this is only a guess.

World Wide Words notes the idiom appeared first in the Geneva Bible of 1560 and is a direct translation of the original Hebrew:

Since teeth don’t have skin, the phrase is hard to make sense of; Bible translators and commentators have struggled with it down the centuries. The Douay-Rheims Bible has instead “My bone hath cleaved to my skin, and nothing but lips are left about my teeth.” Other writers have suggested that the reference is to the gums.... 

One modern writer has concluded: "The explanations for the last metaphor are multiple and unconvincing. Its meaning eludes us."

I guess all we can conclude is: 'tis a mystery!

Meeting deadlines by the skin of my teeth (i.e., barely)
Image by Dmitry Abramov from Pixabay

Wednesday's Random Slang-o-rama: Tin ear

A character in my work-in-progress claims to have a tin ear. I dutifully recorded it... and stopped.

And how did "tin" get all wrapped up with ears? And how old is that idiom, anyway? My books are set in the 1880s, long before author L. Frank Baum introduced the Tin Man in his 1900 book, The Wonderful Wizard of Oz.

So, I proceeded down my virtual version of the Yellow Brick Road to figure out the when, where, and why of the phrase tin ear.

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According to the Online Etymological Dictionary, tin ear, meaning "lack of musical discernment," has been around since 1909.

The Stack Exchange has a lively discussion on this phrase and throws out several theories on its origin, including:

• Ear trumpets made of tin 
• Tin (plate) as cheap and nasty
• Tin instruments or dropped items made of tin sounding horrible
• A tale of using a piece of tin on a morse buzzer to amplify the sound
• Tinnitus

One intrepid Stack Exchange responder noted:

The earliest record I can track of the use in print is in the novel Titan:A Romance, by Jean Paul Richter, published in translation from the German in 1863 and in the original language between 1800 and 1803. 

In that early 19th century novel, tin ear is synonymous with an ear trumpet. Alas, not the meaning I had in mind at all for my character who is in San Francisco in 1882.

Changes were required.

Now, the poor fellow no longer has a tin ear but is tone deaf (which I found in an 1876 tome and an 1880 magazine... good enough for my purposes!).

Not the tin ear I was hoping for, but pretty cool, nonetheless.
A collapsible Victorian ear trumpet made of tin made by Atkinson, Union Court, Holborn, London
See page for author / CC BY

Wednesday's Random Not-Quite-Slang O-rama: 1800s telephone etiquette

Taking a little different tack on today's posting with a peek into recent research and my findings and frustrations.

What do you say when you greet someone over the phone? It's probably some version of "Hello." I'm betting it's not "Ahoy!" However, if Alexander Graham Bell had had his way, that might indeed be what you'd holler down the (wireless) line....

Ring-a-ding-ding, 19th century-style.
Image by Momentmal from Pixabay

One recent night as the midnight hour struck, I became a little over-obsessed over how phone calls were handled in the 19th century. (Late at night is never a good time for me to get obsessed.) I stumbled upon an NPR article explaining that whereas Bell preferred the term Ahoy! as a telephonic greeting, Thomas Edison preferred Hello! (We know who won that tug-of-war.) This passage also caught my late-night attention:

... [T]he first phone book ever published, by the District Telephone Company of New Haven, Connecticut, in 1878 (with 50 subscribers listed) told users to begin their conversations with "a firm and cheery 'hulloa.'"

I knew there was a telephone exchange in Leadville, Colorado, in 1879, thanks to Leadville silver baron Horace Tabor. (In fact, there's a wonderful article in Colorado Magazine, dated 1928, talking about the early years of telephone, right here.) And San Francisco apparently had its first telephone directory in 1878. 

Wouldn't it be wonderful, thinks I, if I could find a digital copy of that early San Francisco phone book and read their instructions on telephone etiquette and how to use a telephone??

The minutes ticked by as I buzzed around the internet, looking for such a directory. Alas, all I could dig up was a version that had been typed up from the original in 1952. This transcribed version only included names and addresses and the cryptic note: 

Names preceded by stars are connected with the CENTRAL OFFICE SYSTEM and can be switched into private connection with each other.

I finally uncovered a text version of the 1893 San Francisco Telephone Directory, which although much later in time than my 1882 setting, includes this fascinating information on page 2:
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REMARKS FOR THE BENEFIT OF THE SERVICE. 

"HERE'S 64."  

At least half the time consumed in every telephone connection, is used in ascertaining who is talking at each end. If subscribers will adopt the following style, they will be surprised at the saving of time and annoyance to themselves 

Suppose Smith's Telephone number is 741 and he desires to converse with Jones, whose telephone number is 64. 

FIRST: Smith calls Central Office and says: "741 wants 64" and waits, with telephone at his ear. SECOND: Central Office rings Jones' Bell.
THIRD: Jones rings his bell once in reply and without waiting further, says, "here's 64, Mr. Jones;"
FOURTH: Smith then says, "this is Mr. Smith," and proceeds with his conversation. 

"SUNSET" 

The lines connecting San Francisco with the interior towns are owned by the SUNSET TELEPHONE AND TELEGRAPH CO. If subscribers will kindly observe the following Instructions, they will receive quicker and more satisfying service:
1.--When you wish to connect with any interior town, call the local Exchange as usual.
2.--Operator: "What is it, please?"
2.--Subscriber: "Sunset room."(Central office then connects the Sunset room and--)
3.--Operator: "Here's the Sunset;"
3.--Subscriber: "Give me No. 42 Oakland;"
4.--Operator: "Who is talking, please?"
4.--Subscriber: "Mr. Jones."
5.--Operator: "Whom shall we ask for, please?'
5.--Subscriber: (The subscriber will now name the person with whom he particularly desires to converse, or tell the operator to call up "Anybody".)
Then hang up your telephone: your order is now fully understood and when we ring your bell again, we will have Mr. Brown at Oakland, he will know it is Mr. Jones at telephone No. 46, San Francisco wants him, and both will be saved a lot of preliminary "hello,"  "Is that Mr. Jones," "Who are you," etc., etc.

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There it is, in the very last paragraph: the word "hello."

Of course, this is from 1893, and since my current work-in-progress has a bit of a nautical flavor, you can bet your bottom dollar I'm going to find a way to slip in an "Ahoy!" here and there.

I also have a little more direction as to what might be said and heard as my protagonist Inez  Stannert attempts to eavesdrop on a telephone conversation in the next room in 1882 San Francisco....

"Ahoy there, sailor...."
Les bienfaits du téléphone Abeillé, Jack , Dessinateur Entre 1904 et 1912 20e siècle Petit Palais, musée des Beaux-arts de la Ville de Paris PPD4790 CC0

Wednesday's Random Slang-o-rama: Sail close to the wind

Those of you who are nautically inclined will no doubt know the origins and meaning of the phrase sail close to the wind, and why it has an air of danger about its definition. However, I do not, and since I'm mucking around with bits of maritime history as I trudge along drafting book #8 of the Silver Rush series, it seemed time to look this one up...
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The American Heritage Dictionary of Idioms by Christine Ammer summarizes as follows:

sail close to the wind: Be on the verge of doing something illegal or improper, as in "She was sailing pretty close to the wind when she called him a liar." This term alludes to the danger incurred when literally sailing too close to (that is, in the direction of) the wind. Its figurative use dates from the first half of the 1800s.

Well, that's pretty cool! And I rather like the sample sentence. There are all kinds of folks my protagonist Inez could accuse of sailing close to the wind in my current work-in-progess. In fact, she could be probably be accused of the same.

There is a little more back'n forth about the phrase over at The Phrase Finder, to wit:

This is a true sailing expression. Sail boats have different characteristics, but all need wind. Some can harvest the wind better than others. If you sail close to the edge of direction that the wind is coming from you may well lose the wind altogether, but you may be able to make better progress than a boat that can't sail as well in such a difficult situation. Thus, if you can 'sail close to the wind' then you can benefit, but you enter a risky area and may lose all!

I looked around a bit more, but that was about all I could find that shed light on this particular phrase. At least, the timing gives me license to let my characters sail close to the wind—in some cases, with disastrous results.

Sailed too close to the wind? Or a reef?...
Shipwreck by Ivan Aivazovsky, 1854