The Luxury of Equality

 Over the weekend, my family had a lively discussion about the whiplash of women’s status through the ages, comparing gender equality in ancient Egypt and the modern Western world vs. women’s status in ancient Greece and some modern Middle Eastern countries.

Why would women let that happen? One nephew asked.

But the thing is, women didn’t let it happen. When a civilization collapses and you’re fighting for survival for yourself and your children, men’s superior physical strength quickly unlevels the playing field. 

The fall from equality to second-class citizen with the legal status of a child might be quick or slow, but I suspect it’s always a shock to the individuals involved—and it chafes future generations of women no matter how much time passes.

Because I write medieval romances, I think a lot about the tensions between men and women within the society. Medieval women knew they deserved better and many got better from individuals, but they still faced institutional misogyny.

In An Unexpected Gift—available tomorrow as a stand-alone novella—the heroine is at her most vulnerable. She’s pitted against a society that sees her as someone to exploit or protect, but not stand beside or respect.

Ada is probably my most traditional heroine in that she is at a powerless moment in her life. She’s brave and strong and resourceful, but ultimately she cannot rescue herself, a fact that she hates.

She must place her faith in a stranger—a man who could be her savior or someone even more dangerous than the man who wants to kill her and her unborn child—and that is where the story begins.

Keena Kincaid writes historical romances in which passion, magic and treachery collide to create unforgettable stories. You can find out more about her books here. 

To Tell the Truth

On July 25, the New Yorker published a story by Donald Trump's ghostwriter, Tony Schwartz, with the subhead: “The Art of the Deal” made America see Trump as a charmer with an unfailing knack for business. Tony Schwartz helped create that myth—and regrets it.

Like a best-selling medieval apology, Schwartz’s Confession offers justification, conviction, and catastrophic consequences.

The ultimate result of selling his soul, Schwartz says, “is an excellent possibility it will lead to the 

end of civilization.”

Wow! A writer will be responsible for the world’s end. Cool. The pen really is mightier than the sword.

OK, maybe it isn't so cool. But on a more serious note, Schwartz's cautionary tale sparks a bigger question for me: what is my responsibility to Truth?

The gifts of writing and storytelling are also the gift of persuasion—the ability to get someone to suspend disbelief and join you in a fictional world is no small feat.

The truth often resonates in ways we don’t expect and probably can’t explain. Our earliest tales conveyed warnings and lessons. These stories entertained and helped us learn from others' misfortune, a way to start where others stopped.

As a fiction writer, my stories aren’t true, but all such tales carry deep within them a kernel of Truth. The truth of what our characters do and say. The truth of love and forgiveness. The Truth of optimism and happily ever afters.

But lately I’ve been struggling with a character because where he needs to go where none of my other characters have gone before. But it is his truth. And it is a truth the heroine desperately needs to know exists. And it could well be a truth that one of my readers needs to see.

I just fear that it won’t sell if I embrace that truth.

Of course, not telling this truth won’t line my pockets with gold or bring about the end of the world (thank God) but it will make the story easier to tell and easier to sell.

Schwartz’s confession reminded me that what I do with my talent matters.

The stories you spin matter, too. Ignoring the truth in what you write might not lead directly to a dystopian future, but it could prevent the need for penning your own Historia Calamitatum.

The stove or the store?

As I was cleaning my stovetop this morning, I started wondering what my current medieval heroine would think of kitchen.

This is a question I ask with each book I write because, well...it says a lot about the heroine (or hero) and gives me an idea of what they like least about their daily life.

Tess (from TIES THAT BIND) was endlessly fascinated by the idea of a shower.

Liza (ANAM CARA) couldn't get past the grocery store--particularly the produce aisle.

William (ENTHRALLED) didn't like guns, calling it dishonorable to kill your opponent without his knowing you were trying to kill him. Only thieves and Frenchmen did that. He liked globes, though, and the GPS feature on my iPhone. He loved the idea of always knowing exactly where you are wherever you go.

Alain (ART OF LOVE) wanted to hang out in the emergency rooms and forced me to watch a lot of medical shows on TV. Unlike William, he was perfectly fine with killing people in anyway that got the job done, but found it a intriguing that our medical skills improve in tandem with our people-killing abilities.

King Henry II and Eleanor of Aquitaine make special appearances in three of my books, TIES THAT BIND, ENTHRALLED, and ART OF LOVE. Henry found the idea of democracy intriguing in a "how does that work without exploding like a rotten corpse" kind of way. Meanwhile, Eleanor dismissed it with a wave of her hand. "I know best," she said.

My newest couple, Johanna and Giric from A QUIET NIGHT AT THE HAPPY MONK (ONE HOT KNIGHT, an new anthology from my publisher) were both surprised at how little drinking establishments have changed.

Johanna, who runs the student hangout The Happy Monk in Paris, wanted to know the profit margin for each drink. If she were to exist in this time and place, I see her attending business school and running a string of tiki bars along the southern coast.

Her hero, Giric, said: "Yer bars still smell of old beer and tae many people." I have a feeling he'd buy a boat and be responsible for the catch of the day at Johanna's waterfront establishment. He's not what we'd call a "people person" in any century.

Getting back to the stove, as I was cleaning it, Emma was enthralled by the simple fact that I could put something in the oven, set the timer and walk away without worries that it would burn, set the house on fire, or the fire would go out.

It's the little things that have changed the most.