When deadlines loom, writers write, no matter where life finds us.

Still, my favorite place to work is at home in a single, purpose-built room above our garage. In this sacred space, I gather my research books around me, meet with my cast of characters, and follow them about, jotting down everything they say and do, until their tale is finally told.

Let me take you on a virtual tour of my writing study, while I share 10 Things Every Novelist Needs.

1. Every novelist needs a door. See that one on the left, with the lock? On the other side, a hand-made sign hangs from the knob, warning all comers,  “Do Not Enter.” Even if you don’t have a whole room to yourself, even if all you have is one corner of a spare bedroom or the other end of your dining table, use a room a divider, hang a blanket, prop up a cardboard screen—something, anything that lets people know, “I love you, but please stay away just now. I’m writing.”

2. Every novelist needs inspiration. One foot inside the door and we’re greeted by shelves filled with historical novels from various time periods. When I get stuck, when I can’t seem to rub two words together to create a spark, I grab a novel by someone whose work I admire and read a page or two. Not so I can copy their style—heaven forbid!—but so I can recapture the natural rhythms of Story.

3. Every novelist needs resources at the ready. The Internet is invaluable, but you still need lots of reliable books at hand. We’ve taken just three steps up to a landing, where yet another bookshelf holds court. These were resources for my lighthearted contemporary novels. I wrote just two—Mixed Signals (1999) and Bookends  (2000)—plus a novella, Fine Print, in a collection called Three Weddings and a Giggle (2001)—before turning to historical fiction for good, but even contemporary stories deserve our best research efforts.

4. Every novelist needs a restroom. Go ahead and laugh, but you know it’s true. The necessary at the top of these steps started out as a closet. When I realized how much time it took to walk down the stairs, through the office, along the sidewalk, into the house…well, you get the idea. And invariably I’d find something to distract me while I was away from my desk. So, once finances allowed, we called a plumber. Now this very small room serves a very fine purpose: it keeps me in Story.

5. Every novelist needs a collection of books about writing. As you can see, even my wee necessary offers plenty of reading material. This is where I keep all my books about the writing process itself. Anne Lamott’s Bird by Bird, Donald Maass’s Writing the Breakout Novel, William Zinsser’s On Writing Well, Browne and King’s Self-Editing for Fiction Writers, John Gardner’s The Art of Fiction, Christopher Vogler’s The Writer’s Journey, James Scott Bell’s Plot and Structure, and two dozen more favorites.

6. Every novelist needs to read the classics. At the top of the steps sits a bookshelf full of British fiction classics: Austen to Barrie to Buchan to Hardy to MacDonald to Scott to Stephenson. When I’m writing a novel set in a particular time period, I’m also reading a novel actually written during that time period. So, Samuel Richardson’s Clarissa, published in 1747, was on my night stand while I was writing Here Burns My Candle, set in 1745-46.

7. Every novelist needs a globe. Maps are marvelous too. Anything to give us a sense of place, wherever our novels might be set. This is a wider view of my study, showing the table of resources behind my desk, my old lighted globe, and a 19th-century washstand I picked up for a song.

8. Every novelist needs an obsession. Mine is, obviously, Scotland. To the left of my writing desk begins my Scottish collection of books—Architecture to Art to Birds to Costume to Covenanters to Customs to Domestic Life to Edinburgh to Festivals to Folklore to Food to Galloway.

To the right of my desk, more shelves containing the rest of my Scottish collection—Gardens to Highlands to History to Jacobites to Letters to Money to Poetry to Religion to Ships to Tartans to Travelers to Writers. These are, to be honest, older photos from tidier days. Stacks upon stacks of new additions are waiting to be shelved. When we build more shelves. If we build more shelves.

9. Every novelist needs physical objects that capture the time and place of his or her Story. This side of my desk includes a pewter plate, a horn spoon, and a tartan sachet filled with Scottish lavender. It’s easily a dozen years old, yet still as fragrant as the day I bought it on the Isle of Mull, and the best way to quickly dispatch a headache.

Here are more tactile memories of Scotland: a fragrant candle, a teacup, a flock of sheep, an antique paper knife, a Victorian magnifying glass, and a wee blue-and-white Saltire flag.

10. Every novelist needs a place to take a nap. This is where I curl up to read and mark manuscript pages after I finish a chapter. If I fall asleep reading my own book, that’s a definite sign it needs more editing. The needlepoint pillow of “Rose” from Fair Is the Rose was a Mother’s Day gift. And, for all fans of American Girl dolls, that is indeed Felicity on the side table.

There you have it: a virtual tour of my writing study, along with a few thoughts to consider for your own writing nest.

If you have questions about writing fiction or about my Scottish novels, kindly Leave a Reply.

It’s an honor to count you among my readers. Haste ye back!

The post A Room of Her Own: 10 Things Every Novelist Needs appeared first on My Scottish Heart.

Home baked shortbread served with tea is a Scottish tradition worth embracing. Why not brew a pot of Earl Grey or Scottish Breakfast tea and serve it piping hot (I love mine with milk and sugar). While you are enjoying your first cup, it’s time to do a bit of baking.

Lizzie’s kitchen-tested recipe for
Scottish Shortbread

Ingredients:

1/2 cup confectioners’ sugar

1/2 cup cornstarch

1 cup all-purpose flour

3/4 cup butter, softened

1 tablespoon granulated sugar

Instructions:

Sift confectioners’ sugar, cornstarch, and flour together in a bowl. Add softened butter, using your hands to knead the mixture into dough. Wrap dough in plastic wrap, and refrigerate for no longer than 30 minutes.

Press cold dough into the bottom of a greased 8 x 8 pan (round or square; glass is best).

Bake at 325 for 30 minutes or until the edges are very lightly browned.

Sprinkle granulated sugar across the top. Cool completely, then cut into 8 servings.

P.S.  Want to bake a bigger batch? Double the recipe and use a glass oblong baking dish. Want a more festive look? Used colored granulated sugar for the final dusting. (Many thanks to the Hurstbourne Baptist Church Book Clubs for both excellent suggestions!)

Visit my board on Pinterest to enjoy A Victorian visit to Stirling, Scotland, the setting for A Wreath of Snow!

Have you tried baking my shortbread recipe? Read A Wreath of Snow? Visited Scotland? If so, kindly leave a comment below. Holiday blessings to you and yours!

The post Let’s Bake Scottish Shortbread for the Holidays! appeared first on My Scottish Heart.

The air was still. Cold. A thick mist moved round Loch Lomond. Pale sunlight touched the snowy mountaintops.

The landscape had little color, and the trees were black silhouettes. Loch Lomond lay before us glassy, reflective, serene. Even the birds were silent.

Wrapped in our woolen scarves and heavy coats, we ventured forth into the Trossachs, a national park, and a place of sheer beauty. We snapped photos of the mountains through the front window of the motor coach. The road was too snowy, too winding for us to pause longer than a moment.

We descended into a glen and discovered Loch Achray. A low-lying fog bank stretched along its shoreline, with a brilliant blue sky above. Though we still couldn’t disembark, we opened the door to catch a clear shot of this ethereal view, reflected in the loch.

The trees along the shore were more imaginary than real.

At last, a stopping point, where Highland coo—cows, if you like—posed for our cameras.

Against the stark white field, a red Royal Mailbox, with footprints all round it. “Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays these couriers…”

One step to the right, and I saw the empty field, bathed in a snowy mist.

Our next stop, the ancient town of Stirling.

A week ago the Ochil Hills were sunlit. Now clouds hovered over them, brooding. The ground below looked hard, frozen.

A frosting of snow decorated the top of the dry stane dyke.

Outside Stirling Castle, Robert the Bruce surveys the land for which he—and William Wallace—bravely fought.

From this vantage point we might have watched The Battle of Stirling Bridge (September 1297) or the Battle of Bannockburn (June 1314).

Below the castle lies the King’s Knot, a garden built centuries ago. Along its boundary, King’s Park, Stirling’s Victorian neighborhood.

Snow on snow on snow.

Even so, a patch of blue sky. A reminder that this is Scotland, where anything can happen, any season of the year.

If you’ve experienced a memorable wintry day, kindly leave a comment.

The post A Very Scottish Winter appeared first on My Scottish Heart.

One autumn afternoon in Edinburgh, I tiptoed round a centuries-old close—a passageway or courtyard—trying not to infringe on anyone’s privacy as I snapped a few photos of ivy-covered walls.

A small woman of perhaps sixty was busily tending the potted plants outside her door. Her gray hair was caught in a clip on the crown of her head, and her blue eyes shone with an inquisitive gaze.

After we exchanged pleasantries, she wanted to know why I’d come to Scotland.

“Doing research for a novel,” I explained.

Minutes later I walked through the arched door of her two-story dwelling, stunned that a complete stranger would invite me into her home for a cup of tea.

As I took my seat, she gestured toward a circle of pink rose petals on the bare wooden floor. “Had I known you were coming,” she said, “I would have spelled out your name.”

“Ohh,” I sighed, imagining how she might have formed the letter L in her flowery script.

Her nimble hands ever busy, she showed me an intricately patterned sweater she was knitting for a friend, then described how she’d affixed pressed flowers to her mantelpiece using some mysterious process involving glue and a coating of polyurethane.

I confess I began to wonder if she had fairies living at the bottom of her garden. Not that I believe in the wee folk, mind you. But how else to explain this whimsical, charming woman existing in our modern world?

She was kindness itself, offering a plate of shortbread along with a lively show-and-tell of her many creations. We chatted about books and art, about gardens and food, about the Bible and the wisdom it contains.

When I stepped back outside, blinking in the sunlight, her house nearly disappeared behind the greenery. It didn’t look quite like this, but not far from it.

Had I sipped tea with a fairy? No. My new friend was delightfully eccentric, but very much of this realm. Still, I was in Scotland, a country brimming with fairy lore.

The farther north into the Highlands you venture, the more likely you are to hear about fairies. You’ll also stumble upon place names like Fairy Glen on the Isle of Skye. With its many small lochs and cone-shaped hillocks. the glen looks like an entire landscape done in miniature. Perfect for…aye.

Eve Blantyre Simpson, in her book, Folk Lore in Lowland Scotland (1908), told of a learned gentleman who was asked if he believed in fairies. The Highlander replied as gravely as if his confession of faith had been challenged, “Of course I do.”

Even people with strong religious beliefs embraced the notion of fairies, kelpies, and brownies in centuries past. Scottish fairy lore is rich with descriptions of the creatures and their habits. Fairies, it seems, are mischievous and not to be trusted. Cross a fairy and you may find yourself elf-shot.

In my fourth Scottish historical novel, Grace in Thine Eyes, Davina McKie is a young woman of seventeen who has lost the ability to speak, yet finds myriad ways to communicate. Here’s a brief exchange from chapter twelve:

Davina held out the page with its single, bold question: Have you ever seen a fairy?

Her mother, Leana, considered Davina’s diminutive height, her fair complexion and luxuriant red hair, her gift for music, her playful nature, and her penchant for green dresses. Aye, and her utter silence. Fairy motion was said to be soundless.

“Have I ever seen a fairy?” Leana traced her daughter’s freckled cheek with maternal affection. “Only when I look at you.”

Whether covered in moss or Scottish bluebells, gardeners of old trod across small clearings with care, lest they disturb the fairies that gathered there to dance. I didn’t spy a single flutter of wings round this promising spot near Eilean Donan Castle in the Highlands.

Does Scotland really have fairies? Davina didn’t think so. Her cousin asked her, “Wherever did you see the wee folk?” Davina winked and pointed to her head. Only in here, lass.

“Up the airy mountain,
Down the rushy glen,
We daren’t go a-hunting
For fear of little men.”
~William Allingham, Irish poet and editor (1824-1889)

I find the topic of fairies intriguing, if only because it shows us how people over the centuries have yearned for a world beyond the natural one. You can study the fairy lore of old in classic books like Scottish Fairy and Folk Tales by George Douglas, An Illustrated Treasury of Scottish Folk and Fairy Tales by Theresa Breslin, and The Fairy Faith in Celtic Countries by Walter Yeeling Evans-Wentz.

I’ll close with a sprinkling of fairy-themed poetry and an invitation to leave a comment regarding this question: From the Tooth Fairy to Tinkerbell, did you ever believe in fairies?

“Fairies use flowers for their charactery.”
~ William Shakespeare, English dramatist and poet (1564-1616)

“Be secret and discreet; the fairy favors are lost when not concealed.”
~  John Dryden, English poet and dramatist (1631-1700)

“The dances ended, all the fairy train
For pinks and daisies search’d the flow’ry plain.”
~ Alexander Pope, English poet and critic (1688-1744)

“Did you ever hear
Of the frolic fairies dear?”
~ Frances Sargent Osgood, American poet (1811-1850)

The post Does Scotland Really Have Fairies? appeared first on My Scottish Heart.

I love cemeteries. Aye, really. Before you think I’m daft or the least bit morbid, here’s why I’m keen on kirkyards, like the one above, viewed through the sixteenth-century remains of Mar’s Wark, built in Stirling by the Earl of Mar.

The grounds are green, the air quiet, the mood contemplative. On any weekday you’d be hard pressed to find a more peaceful spot than this kirkyard in Selkirk. (Interesting how the path comes to a dead end.)

The residents don’t make a sound. Even visitors keep their voices low. No one is sitting around with a Starbucks in one hand and an iPhone in the other, loudly chatting away—not in a kirkyard.

It’s a good place to think, breathe, and get a clearer perspective on life. The saying, “Every day above ground is a good one,” takes on new meaning in such a spot.

Rural parish churches often are surrounded by natural beauty. Logie is one of the oldest parishes (twelfth century) in Scotland, with the heather-covered Ochil Hills as a backdrop. The curve of the road is pleasing to the eye, the abundance of crosses comforting to the heart.

Other than the occasional bird on the wing, nothing moves when you lift your camera to capture so timeless a scene.

Look closer and you’ll see artistic expression abounds. Some stones are decorated with flowers and vines, others feature winged heads or beautifully carved figures. Even the elements can’t diminish an artist’s careful renderings or a family’s thoughtful investment. To think of being loved and mourned so deeply!

History is everywhere, especially in a place like Dryburgh Abbey in the Borders. For those of us who revel in such details, the inscriptions on the stones show us how long people lived, whom they married and when, how many children they had, what they did for a living, and what mattered most to them in this world and the next.

Epitaphs make fascinating reading. Some are sobering, others amusing, still more are informative, and the best ones point beyond the grave.

Consider these lines etched in memory of a seventeenth-century minister from Kirkoswald in Ayr:

“For praised be God, grace never quat him,
In life nor death, till glory gat him.”

Between archaic spellings and the use of Scots words, such epitaphs can be tricky to sort out, but we get the gist of this one: God’s grace never quits. It’s a gift from the One “who loved us and by his grace gave us eternal encouragement and good hope” (2 Thessalonians 2:16). When the end came for this minister of old, glory claimed him.

The greenery that encircles this Celtic cross in Edinburgh speaks more of life than of death. When I leave behind the silent stones and grassy paths to step back into the land of the living, I always do so with a grateful heart and a renewed longing for a far more beautiful place called Eternity.

The post Welcome to the Quietest Place in Scotland appeared first on My Scottish Heart.

You may be surprised at what you won’t see on the breakfast tables of most B&Bs in Scotland. Not waffles or French toast or pancakes, not muffins or bagels or Danish pastries, not egg casseroles or omelets, not potatoes or hash browns, and definitely not grits.

What is being served? Let’s head for the dining room and find out…

Our first stop is a sideboard lined with cold starters. An assortment of juices. Plain yogurt with muesli to sprinkle on top. Fresh fruit, whole or chopped. Round, thin oatcakes, waiting for a skim of raspberry jam. And a selection of cereals, including Weetabix, which look like granola bars, but are in fact shredded wheat.

I found this out the hard way in New Zealand, where I sank my teeth into a bar of Weet-Bix, as they call it there, and thought I’d bitten into a hay bale. My Kiwi sisters are still laughing about that one.

We return to the table with our yogurt and fruit, and discover piping hot tea waiting for us. Our teacups are flanked by a second pot of water—for thinning our tea when it gets too strong—a bowl of sugar lumps, and a pitcher of milk.

Someday soon I’ll write an entire post on the tradition of tea drinking in Scotland. For now, we’re sipping away and enjoying our yogurt, waiting for the hot food to appear.

A steaming bowl of porridge shows up first. Yum. Scottish oatmeal is smoother than your typical Quaker Oats. Start with a pat of butter and a splash of milk, then toss in some golden currants (like raisins, but not) a generous spoonful of light brown Demerara sugar, and you’re ready to begin the day the way Scots have for centuries.

Toast is next—white or wheat—cut diagonally, then slipped into a little rack to keep it crisp. I purchased such an item on my first trip, pledging never to serve toast any other way. Though it traveled home with me, I fear my toast rack has not surfaced in my kitchen since.

Butter isn’t little pats on paper squares but an enormous slab on a china plate. A pot of thick-cut orange marmalade is on the table along with creamy organic honey, often flavored by heather or wildflowers. Unlike our clear, amber-colored honey in a plastic bear, the Scottish version is more dense and less sticky, which makes it far easier to spread with a knife.

Yogurt, fruit, tea, porridge, and toast…breakfast enough, you might say. Yet here comes our host, bearing two hot plates and a smile.

Impressive, isn’t it? Let’s work our way round, starting at twelve o’clock:

• Half a tomato, broiled with cheese on top
• A rasher of bacon, which in the UK is more like thinly sliced ham
• Potato, or tattie, scone (rhymes with gone)
• Link sausage, or banger
• Sautéed mushrooms
• Baked beans (yes, for breakfast)
• One egg, fixed any way you like
• Black pudding (which is anything but a dark chocolate dessert)

I didn’t sample black pudding on my first twelve trips to Scotland because the ingredients sounded revolting: pigs’ blood, fat, oats, barley, and spices, all stuffed in a length of intestine. When a Galloway friend convinced me to try a good, local variety of black pudding, prepared by a skilled butcher, I had to admit it was tasty, even if the texture was mealy, the aroma earthy, and I chased every other bite with a gulp of OJ.

Why such a huge meal? Consider it your fuel for the day. No need to spend money or time on lunch. With a meal like this you’ll be good at least until afternoon tea.

Now that you have experienced a Full Scottish Breakfast, what’s the most memorable morning meal you had while traveling?

The post What Is a Full Scottish Breakfast? appeared first on My Scottish Heart.

Traditional or not so traditional, with or without bagpipes, Scottish music fills the soul as well as the ear. Whether it sets your foot tapping or brings a tear to your eye, the music seldom leaves you unmoved.

Want something upbeat, sung with a broad swath of Lowland Scots? Have a taste of “Tranent Muir” from the Tannahill Weavers:

In the mood for something moody? Here’s “Aignish,” a haunting melody sung in Gaelic by Karen Matheson (she was the singer in the 1995 movie, Rob Roy) with Capercailllie:

You can find Scottish music anywhere you buy music online. My favorite site for listening, browsing, and learning is MusicScotland.com.

For something spirited and eclectic, check out the Peatbog Faeries from the Isle of Skye. Love the fiddle, as I do? You’ll not go wrong with anything by Aly Bain and Phil Cunningham.

When I wrote my fourth historical novel, Grace in Thine Eyes, the music of fiddler Alasdair Fraser and cellist Natalie Haas was on constant repeat. Their latest release looks and sounds promising.

I also can’t get enough of composer / harpist William Jackson and his albums, A Scottish Island, Inchcolm, and The Ancient Harp of Scotland.

If you want to listen to a true Scot singing the traditional tunes of her Lowland home, Jean Redpath has no peer. I first heard her on Garrison Keillor’s radio show, A Prairie Home Companion. Whenever I drive around Galloway or the Borders, Jean Redpath lives in my CD player (and doesna seem to mind). Look for her solo work on The Songs of Robert Burns in seven volumes. Treasures, all.

Sometime last century I was in a wee shop in Castle Douglas listening enraptured to a Celtic harpist on the shop’s sound system. When I asked the clerk if I she knew anything about the music, she handed me the CD cover. An American musician on an American label? Indeed, Sue Richards plucks her harp out on Hazel Grove, Morning Aire, and Grey Eyed Morn. Three real gems.

Many excellent performers of traditional Scottish music live (dare I say it?) in the United States. The guitar work of William Coulter on Celtic Crossings, Celtic Sessions, and The Crooked Road is exceptional. And Abby Newton plays her cello with genuine emotion on Crossing to Scotland and Castles, Kirks and Caves. Real stand-outs, both of them.

Three more online retailers with lots of helpful information include MaggiesMusic.com, GreenLinnet.com, and Greentrax.com.

Until my next post, I leave you with a simple contest and one more ethereal tune from Karen Matheson and Capercailllie, “Oh Mo Dhuthaich”:

While you’re listening, kindly post a comment below, noting your favorite Scottish band, favorite Scottish tune, or your favorite Scottish style of music. No singing required.

The post Where Can I Find the Best Scottish Music? appeared first on My Scottish Heart.

Some enjoy a round of golf on a windswept course looking over the North Sea. Others are content nursing a dram in a dimly lit pub, listening to locals grouse about politics or the Edinburgh Tram.

My taste runs to simpler pleasures. Most are free or very near it.

Benches, for one thing. You’ll find them on a hilltop, around a bend in the road, by a quiet loch. Whoever placed them there saw no need to etch their names on brass plates, announcing their generosity. A wooden bench simply appears at the precise moment you’re thinking you’d like to sit for a moment and enjoy the view, like this scene overlooking Selkirkshire.  Ahhh.

Scottish shortbread is another treat. Not the kind that comes in tins, but the sort pulled out of an oven in Ayrshire, the edges barely golden, the crisp, buttery taste beyond description. Home-baked shortbread doesn’t crumble on your plate; it melts in your mouth, especially when chased by a steaming cup of tea.

Even the clouds in Scotland are unique. Rather than a faint smear of white, high above the earth, huge billowing piles roll low across the landscape, or an ominous gray mass looms over the rooftops. In any weather Scotland’s skies are dynamic, dramatic, and never boring.

Maybe your love affair with Scotland began with a wall calendar featuring all the classic scenes: photogenic Eilean Donan Castle, moody Ben Nevis, Melrose Abbey at sunset, the aptly named Loch Awe, or Ailsa Craig rising out of the Firth of Clyde, as we see here. Could be the many Scottish novelists crowding your bookshelf have thoroughly captured your imagination: John Buchan, Nigel Tranter, George MacDonald, Robert Louis Stevenson, or Dorothy Sayers. Perhaps your family’s roots are in Scotland, and you proudly wear a clan tartan at every opportunity.

Whatever the reason, whatever the season, Scotland and its stories will be celebrated weekly on MyScottishHeart.com. Is there something particular you’d like to see? Some aspect of Scottish life you’d enjoy learning more about? Perhaps a question about my books set in Scotland? Kindly post your comment here on my blog, and I’ll gladly reply—on the spot or by way of a future post.

Might a wee contest be of interest? I’ll choose at random one terrific question or suggestion from those posted below, then send that happy winner autographed copies of all 8 of my Scottish books. Och, so many stories! To be eligible to win, please post your comment before Tuesday, September 25 at 12 noon EDT. I look forward to hearing from you!

The post Why Do So Many People Love Scotland? appeared first on My Scottish Heart.