By the Light of a Flickering Candle…

Lecia Cornwall's Best Christmas cookies EVER!

2011-12-11T09:10:00.000-08:00

LECIA CORNWALL’S

BEST CHRISTMAS CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIES

EVER!

I make these cookies at Christmas every year. It started out as a treat to make for my children when they were too young to appreciate fruitcake or eat my boozy rum balls, and grew from there. First, there were several years of tweaking the recipe in The Joy of Cooking (see stained and rumpled page 705 in my battered copy), trying new chocolate, better ingredients, and hunting down superior chips— and just when I had cooking times perfect in Ottawa, we moved to Calgary, where baking at altitude offered a whole new learning curve.

I used to take my cookies to potluck pre-school Christmas parties, mail them to family far away, and give them to neighbors, teachers and dear friends, since it was difficult with two little kids to afford any other gift. The cookie list has grown every year as more and more special people have come into our lives.

Since these are haute cuisine indeed, and have been called more complicated than chef Heston Blumenthal’s recipe instructions http://bit.ly/twMHMf, I’ll offer a few suggestions for beverage pairings. These cookies go well with red wine, according to my cousin Martin, who is on the cookie list every year. My son likes them with egg nog, my daughter with cold milk or hot tea. I can tell you that after baking, wrapping, shopping, decorating, and general Christmas mayhem, they also go very well indeed with a wee dram of Glenmorangie Scotch.

Since I can’t mail these everywhere to everyone who deserves them (does customs even have a tick box for Superior Cookies on the declaration form?), and people tell me this recipe can be trickier than Heston Blumenthal’s turkey instructions, if you try it and have questions, e-mail me at leciacornwall@shaw.ca, and I will give you advice and help to make them perfect.

The nice thing about this recipe is that you can play with it even further than I have and make it your own. Add different kinds of nuts, or try a new kind of chocolate (white, hazelnut, or Toblerone. perhaps?) This is an exercise in Christmas joy and creativity, and like decking the Christmas tree, there’s just no wrong way to do it.

Wouldn’t the world be a happier place right now if everyone had a warm melting cookie, fresh from the oven, clutched in our mittens? Try one, and you’ll see what I mean! And please pass them on to the ones you love.

This recipe makes a double batch, about 40 cookies(ish)

Cream 1 cup soft butter

Add and beat until creamy:

1 cup brown sugar

1 cup white sugar

a dollop of liquid honey—about a tablespoon

beat in:

2 large eggs

1 generous tsp. good vanilla

Stir in:

1 cup plus two heaping tablespoons all purpose flour

1 cup cake and pastry flour

¾ tsp salt

1 tsp. baking soda

(You may need more flour. Add extra tablespoons of flour one at a time until the dough is stiff. It keeps them from spreading too much when you bake them, so they’re as lovely as they are delicious (hey, I’m a romance writer—pretty and delicious are important plot points!) Bake one or two as a test batch, and add more flour if they spread.

Stir in (this is the good part):

A generous amount of a mixture of best quality chocolate chips, dark and milk (I use Ghirardelli or Callebaut)

Throw in a handful of chopped chunks of good quality bar chocolate, dark and milk (I use those big 300g bars of Lindt Swiss Classic Milk and Lindt Swiss Dark Chocolate. Two of those bars make about three double batches of cookies. This year, I’m adding some 85% cocoa Lindt dark chocolate to the mix.

NOTE (this is important): Chop up the chocolate in advance and FREEZE it! It melts instead of burning.

Drop the cookies onto baking sheets, and—this is what makes them look like The Belles of The Ball—stud the top of the raw cookies with extra frozen chocolate chunks and chips. Lots of it. Now add a few more…

In Calgary, I bake the cookies in the top of my convection oven at 330 degrees F for 7 minutes.

In Ottawa, I baked them at 325 degrees F for 6 minutes on convection.

The Joy of Cooking calls for 10 minutes at 375 degrees, but the extra sugar and all that chocolate will definitely make that too long. Play with the position of your oven rack as well. I find the cookies bake best in my oven near the top.

Bake test batches of one or two cookies each first, to determine the best temperature and time. They should come out slightly golden, set in the middle, with the chocolate melting and lovely. They should be lumpy and thick, not flat. If they’re flat, add a little more flour to the dough.

Wishing you a very Happy Holiday filled with sweet treats, lovely surprises, peace and joy, and All The Pleasures of The Season

Lecia

Auntie's Borscht

2011-10-03T09:25:00.001-07:00

I remember the parties my family used to have when I was a child. Every New Year’s Day, cousins, aunts and uncles would gather at my Auntie Helen’s house to celebrate the season.

My aunts were warm, generous women, and the Ukrainian culture is one of good food, hospitality, generosity, and love. The food in their homes was always incredible—homemade holubtsi (cabbage rolls), perogies, bread hot from the oven, and so many other delicacies.

Like most families with members that grew up during the depression, nothing was ever wasted. My aunts knew the value of a vegetable garden, and grew their own beets and cabbage and tomatoes. They visited each other’s kitchens and shared the work and the bounty by making huge batches of everything. What did Ukrainian aunties do before freezers were invented?

One of my favorite stories is about my aunts Vickie and Helen going for a walk in the woods. They found a patch of mushrooms that were simply too good to ignore. Not having a basket, they peeled off their slacks, tied the ankles shut, and used them to carry the mushrooms. As we ate the preserved mushrooms on the New Year’s Day that followed that summer outing, my uncle had everyone in stitches as he described the sight of two middle-aged ladies coming out of the woods under the weight of their mushroom-stuffed polyester slacks, racing for the car before anyone could see they were bottomless. Now that’s dedication to good cuisine!

One of the dishes we did not have at New Year’s was borscht, or beet soup. It was for every day, an ordinary thing, rather than something fit for a party. I disagree—it’s rich, earthy, and wonderful, a treat on a cold day, but times have changed, haven’t they? Fortunately, I was visiting my Auntie Ollie when there was a particularly good crop of beets to be dealt with, and I learned to make borscht from her.

My aunts are gone now, and the annual family reunions have come to an end, but there was a wonderful display of beets at the farmer’s market on Saturday, and a Ukrainian auntie was stocking up. How could I resist? So I made borscht yesterday, and remembered all the wonderful things about family, and traditions, and how good food brings people together.

I want to share the recipe with you, but my aunts didn’t use a cookbook, and I learned to cook like that, from the heart. Sometimes I make things up (how my family dreads those dinners!) and I almost never measure ingredients exactly. It still turns out…mostly. I always measure when I bake, which is where it counts, right? Thankfully, borscht is one of those recipes that somehow turns out well with very little help, no matter what you do to it.

Next weekend is Thanksgiving here in Canada, and while we’ll be having turkey and all the traditional side dishes, the holidays are still a month away in the United States. You’ll need something to eat until then, and there’s always something to be thankful for, so in honor of Thanksgiving, good food, family, and my wonderful aunts, here’s my recipe for Auntie’s Borscht:

Ingredients:

•Stew beef or sirloin, cut into cubes (about 2 cups)

• 3 tbsp oil

•1 large can diced tomatoes

•2 onions, chopped

• Beef stock (enough to cover the vegetables in the pot—about 4 cups)

•2-3 cloves of fresh garlic, roughly chopped

• Beets, cut into cubes (about 3 cups)

• Carrots, cut into cubes (about 3 cups)

• Potatoes (peeled, or skin on as preferred, about 3 cups. I use baby potatoes and leave the skin on)

• Fresh dill

• Sour cream

• Green onions, chopped

Here’s how:

Add the oil to the pot and sear the meat over high heat in small batches until browned on the outside, about 2 minutes.

Remove the meat and set aside.

Turn the heat down to medium, add the onions to the pot and cook until golden and softened.

Put the meat back into the pot, add the canned tomatoes with juice, and beef stock.

Add the beets, carrots and potatoes. Throw in a few tablespoons of chopped dill. Simmer until the meat is tender.

Serve with a dollop of sour cream, and some dill and green onions sprinkled on top. Swirl the sour cream into the soup (the color is incredible!) and enjoy.

Let me know how it turns out!

Here's to the glorious 49th!

2011-03-20T06:51:00.000-07:00

Today is my birthday. I’m 49 (really! I was born in 1962).

Am I worried about getting older? Nope. Of course, I’d love to think when people meet me they’ll tell me I don’t look a day over 35, but I’m happy with the experiences, memories and the life I have at this moment.

I remember turning 25, and feeling a sense of panic that I hadn’t done anything with my life yet, that the years were slipping past too quickly. I can smile at that now, but it was a crisis then.

At 39, I remember thinking I was at the perfect age. My kids were still young, but everyone was toilet trained, in school, and I was extremely happy being a stay at home mom. I did a lot of volunteering at the school and as a Cub Scout leader, and I loved every minute. I had time to garden, bake, paint, and it was then that I began to write fiction.

I’d always wanted to write a novel. Composition, English and History were my favorite subjects in school. My highest marks were for anything creative or written. Good thing, since math was baffling to me. I eventually made my career in advertising copywriting, and then in direct marketing. I started my own freelance business, so I could stay at home and raise my children.

But through all this, I dreamed of writing novels, making up stories, carrying readers away to the fantasy places that filled my head, making the historical time periods I love come alive. Every other kind of writing just felt like preparation for that.

Of course, carrying anyone anywhere requires bravery and determination. It took a while (as I suspect it does for most writers) to develop a thick-enough skin and the courage to show anyone my fiction. I had no problem with changes—as a business writer you learn not to fall in love with your own words, because the client is going to want to change them. I once did a project for a government department where thirty people reviewed one document I’d written, and they all had suggestions! My first tentative fiction submission to an agent met with rejection. I was too inexperienced to see that it was a ‘good’ rejection, and said the work had merit, and wished me the best. I only saw the rejection, sadly, and went back to writing in secret.

When we moved from Ottawa to Calgary in 2004, I was responsible for driving my children back and forth to school in the city, which amounted to several hours a day in the car. A full-time job was out of the question, and I decided the time had come to get serious about writing a book.

I joined the wonderfully supportive Calgary chapter of the Romance Writers of America. Our members take writing and submitting seriously. They actively work on their careers and the goal of becoming published authors. They share their rejections, their triumphs and their ideas. I began entering contests and sending things to publishers, and pitching when the opportunity arose. There were more rejections, but I learned to take the positive from each one, and move forward.

I was also fortunate enough to find three wonderful critique partners to work with, too. They helped me fix what was wrong and improve enough to get published. There are times when you can’t see the flaws in your own work, no matter how often you re-read and edit it, but a good critique partner can see it at once.

I made a rule that whenever a manuscript was rejected, it must be submitted somewhere else within a week, whether to a contest or the next agent on the list. I read craft books, attended workshops, listened to lectures, honed query letters and learned the technique of writing a decent synopsis.

I was in Edinburgh in 2009 when I got an e-mail from agent Kevan Lyon saying she was interested in working with me.

Kevan sent the manuscript was sent to ten publishers. After a flurry of interest, I received two offers, and chose Avon.

And so, just nine days after my 49^th birthday, my first book, SECRETS OF A PROPER

COUNTESS will be in stores.

Through the whole process I’ve come to believe that things happen when they do for a reason. With two very busy kids in multiple school bands, advanced level classes, and a dozen other activities, I couldn’t have managed a writing career and a busy family a few years ago.

Now my eldest is in university, and my youngest is entering her last year of high school, and I have time to devote to my career. Part of my desire to be published stems from wanting to make them proud, to show them dreams can come true if you do the work, keep learning, and don’t give up.

That’s the secret to luck and the fountain of youth, all in one, and it’s only taken me 49 years to find it.

So I’m not worrying about getting old today. I’m looking forward to the future, wrinkles and all.

Writer's Block

2011-02-15T09:57:00.000-08:00

February 15, 2011

(42 days ‘till the release of SECRETS OF A PROPER COUNTESS on March 29)

Writer’s Block

In the past few months, busy with activities for my second book and the promotion of my first, SECRETS OF A PROPER COUNTESS, I’ve been suffering from a bit of writer’s block. One thing I’ve discovered is that writer’s black is seldom about the writing. It’s usually about other things in our lives that keep us from getting the words on the page.

I never have trouble thinking of things to write about, and if I don’t write for a week or two, or even a few days, the stories start downloading themselves into my dreams at night. I’m crabby and out-of-sorts until I get back to work.

But right now, my son is at university in Russia for six months. I worry if I don’t hear from him for a few days, and that affects my ability to concentrate on writing. I know he’s doing fine (thank heaven for Skype), and loving every moment of the experience, or I’d hear more often, but mothers always worry.

Learning how to promote my debut release (and myself, a very shy writer) has been fun, but stressful. There are so many ways to get the news of a new book out there, and I’ve had to learn things like Twitter, and blogging and how to use Facebook (a work still in progress, but coming soon! According to a recent survey by my publisher, Harper Collins/Avon, 70 percent of readers said they look for new book information on Facebook first, so look out, social media, here I come, and we’re going to find each other quite a challenge!)

It’s always been hard for me to ask people for things, and setting up a blog tour was torture from that perspective, but it’s nice to get to know the reviewers and romance readers out there! I’m looking forward to my first set of reviews, positive or negative, though I hope readers will love reading SECRETS OF A PROPER COUNTESS as much as I loved writing it.

Ah, back to writing. I haven’t had a whole day to simply sit and write for several weeks. I squeeze in an hour or two here and there, but the luxury of knowing there’s no one looking for me but my characters has been absent. No wonder I’m grumpy, and grumpy is the polite word for it.

In addition to doing publicity for SECRETS, I also have a big volunteer commitment coming up. My husband says my arm is defective—when someone says the word ‘volunteer’, my trick arm shoots skyward. For me, volunteering is a complete commitment to the best of my ability. If I offer, I follow through. Unfortunately, I have an unusual ability— I can build almost anything out of cardboard or paper mache, which is only useful when it comes to things like decorating a cavernous high school gymnasium for a dinner dance. One year I built a 14-foot lighthouse for this event because someone said it couldn’t be done. This year the theme is New York, which is terrific, given that this year’s RWA National Conference, my first, is in New York this year. I’ve decided to build some ‘windows’ to hang on the gym walls. Each will be 3-D and lighted from behind. One will be a brownstone window, complete with a fire escape. The second will be a jazz club, complete with a neon sign made from glow sticks, though I won’t know if that will work until I try it. The third will be the front of an old fashioned cafe. All the how-to’s are percolating in my mind just like a story plot. Did I mention each decoration has to be collapsible so I can transport it in the back of my small station wagon? It has to go up fast, and come down easily.

So at this moment, more than anything else, it’s all these activities that are blocking me from writing. The story-telling part of me is growing impatient. The heroine is nagging me in my sleep to get on with it. It’s not you, I tell her, it’s getting past the housekeeping activities in a writer’s day and getting to do what I love, which is of course, writing stories.

It’s not that stories spring into my head fully formed and ready to fall on the page in graceful piles of elegant prose. I usually haven’t got any idea exactly how the story is going to end when I start writing it. It’s like walking in the dark. Beyond the beam of the flashlight lies an unknown world. Yet with each step forward, more is revealed, until you finally reach your destination. That, by the way, is one of the most important lessons I ever learned as a writer. I have dozens of unfinished manuscripts in my basement from years ago. When the going got tough in each story, I flitted off to the next idea, instead of working through the darkness and getting to the next step. When I learned to persevere, to think it through and keep writing, I got books written, and eventually, published.

There’s no point in sitting at the computer and staring at an empty page. I do some of my best work while I’m walking my dog. Our favorite spot is down by the Bow River, a wild strip of land between a gravel pit, and the river itself. There’s pair of bald eagles that perch in the same tree every day and supervise the people and dogs that pass beneath them. There are crows, wild ducks, Canada geese, pelicans, and coyotes, and even a rumored cougar. It makes a perfect place to think, a bit of peace and fresh air away from the computer and cell phones. There’s nothing to do except walk and think. I’ve worked out some of my most tangled story problems on our walks. Kipper (my chocolate lab) doesn’t mind. He does his own reflecting and discovering.

As we go, I can imagine what if, and work on plotting. What if my hero had a secret he couldn’t share with his family? What if they secretly knew? What if they didn’t, but the heroine did? I can wander down each potential story path as we, well, wander down the path under our feet. Solutions always come, and some days it seems like magic.

So tell me how you handle writer’s block, because no two writers are the same. We’re like snowflakes, each of us unique. Can you tell it was snowing when Kipper and I went out today?

Where do you get your ideas?

2010-09-14T14:50:00.001-07:00

People seem fascinated by the whole process of writing. Writers are baffling creatures to many, and there is such a wide variety of reactions when I tell people what I do.

Some people talk about their own aspirations to write a book, and the brilliant idea they have that would be an instant bestseller if only they had time to commit it to paper.

Others ask, “where do you get your ideas?” Actually, that question can come phrased in two ways, with two meanings, depending on the emphasis. It can be genuine interest, or the kind of question you’d ask someone who’s slightly demented. “Where do you get your ideas?”

It’s an intriguing question, no matter how it’s put.

The life of a romance writer isn’t easy. Readers crave realistic heroes and heroines, but they want a story that’s luscious, heart-pounding fantasy. The emotional journey must be satisfying, the sex amazing, the setting exotic. It must pull people out of their everyday world, yet offer something they can identify with. A good story must have the familiar happy ending, but it must be new.

That’s a tall order.

Imagine going into a new restaurant and ordering your favorite dish, You want it perfect, familiar and expertly prepared, but different too, with a dash of spice and sweetness in the sauce, and a surprise burst of flavor to make it a breathtaking, unforgettable experience. A good story has the same requirements.

They both start with a basic idea or recipe, and come to life in the hands of a master chef.

Now, I must admit that I write historical romance because I love history. I also love a good story, and the past is full of them – great legends, real life heroes, brave women, and incredible love stories. And the costumes are fantastic. Who can forget Colin Firth as Mr. Darcy in A&E’s Pride and Prejudice, standing before his estate, watching longingly as Elizabeth Bennett drives away in her carriage? I get shivers just thinking about it!

While real history offers writers a rich tapestry, imagination can dramatically improve the duller parts of history. Imagine if one of the sober, middle-aged statesmen at World War II’s Potsdam conference had a love affair with an enemy that could compromise everything he stands for. It might have happened. Not comfortable casting the honorable President Roosevelt in that role? What if the hero was a close advisor to the President, with access to every American secret, and he was the one who fell in love with a beautiful Russian in Stalin’s service? See how ideas grow?

But where do ideas come from? A&E. Jane Austen. The perfect fit of Colin Firth’s breeches. Faces on the subway. True stories. Lies. Trees. I named all the trees on my way to school when I was little, invented homes in the woods where elves lived, and imagined hidden doors among the maples that led to the past.

At the airport, I look at my fellow passengers and wonder what their love story would be. Some perfectly ordinary mother with a fractious baby might end up imagined as a desperate woman flying off to confront the father of her late sister’s illegitimate child, only to discover her sister was entirely wrong about the man, and he’s her Mr. Right.

Sigh. So many places to find the germ of an idea for a fabulous story, so little time to write them all…

The idea for my upcoming debut novel Secrets of A Proper Countess came from wanting to write something lighthearted and sexy over the summer, something without research or complication. It was going to be a story about a rake who seduces an anonymous lady at a masquerade ball. In this Cinderella tale, the rake would be spoiled for any other woman, and would be determined to find his lady love among the thousands of women in London.

Well, that was the original idea. It wasn’t satisfying enough, or rich enough, though. It was ordinary. The story needed a twist, a hero readers could fall in love with, and a heroine that women could see themselves playing, if they ever made a movie of the story.

I hate predictable. I feel let down when I can guess the outcome of a movie or a book before it’s even halfway through. Perhaps that’s an odd admission for a history lover, since I’m a sucker for any new biographies of Eleanor of Aquitaine, or Anne Boleyn, and I certainly know how they’re going to end. Still, nothing is more thrilling than a book that makes me gasp, curls my toes with wicked delight at the unexpected, and keeps me up reading all night.

In a romance, where the ending is always happily ever after, adding intrigue, or a mystery adds spice to the old recipe. Since the couple is going to end up happy together in the end, why not torment them on the way to the finish line, if only so they appreciate each other all the more when the big wedding scene comes along. It’s also more fun for the reader. Will they make it out of the snake pit unscathed or not? Will he have to suck the poison out, or will she?

In Secrets of A Proper Countess, my carefree rake became a man with a secret of his own. He’s a spy, a man merely playing the role of a rake to discover what England’s upper classes are hiding. He listens to the whispers of the noble ladies he beds, and searches their boudoirs for evidence. He notes the drunken ramblings of their husbands, learns who is in debt, who has nefarious connections, and who is skating a thin line between respectability and treason, so the crown knows just who to trust.

The heroine, far from her humble origins as a lady who simply wished for a quickie at a masked ball, became a woman who had secret of her own, and an important reason to keep her identity hidden.

As you can see, I based Secrets of A Proper Countess on the story of Cinderella. I love using themes that readers are familiar with, then creating a fresh expression to the story. My hero is based on The Scarlet Pimpernel, a wonderful story about a gentleman spy.

In Secrets of A Proper Countess, my heroine is a young widow. Her husband’s will states that poor Isobel must live a proper, respectable life under his mother’s supervision. If she remarries or forms friendships her in-laws disapprove of, then she will lose all contact with her child. Rather than rags, Isobel is expected to wear widow’s weeds long past the usual grieving period. You can picture our Cinderella standing in the shadows as everyone whirls past at the ball.

Since truly worthy heroines never do the expected, Isobel gives in to temptation at a masked ball. She’s in disguise, and she’s admired this man from afar for ages. This is her one chance for a bit of male admiration, a bit of flirtation. Who will ever know? Isobel takes a bold risk, and lets the hero seduce her in the dark garden. Quite out of character, perhaps, but in keeping with how Isobel feels inside, and what she wants. That’s the first twist. Sex in Chapter Two.

Isobel goes home, feeling safely anonymous imagining that’s that, but it never is in a good story, is it?

Destiny is like that nosy aunt. She pokes her nose in and ferrets out family secrets, and of course there are several doozies to be unearthed in Isobel’s case.

And the poor, tortured hero – another element of a great story – he’s a spy, and a rake, and he smugly prides himself on knowing every secret and every desirable woman in London. Still, he can’t find his lovely femme fatale, and has no idea that it’s the dull widow with the truly horrible hairdo.

While Phineas might not recognize his lover, he does discover that Isobel’s family has some deep secrets. Smuggling, certainly, but possibly even worse. Murder and a royal kidnapping come up, smelling suspiciously of the heroine’s perfume, so to speak.

The thing I love best about writing, the most amazing aspect, is that even with plotting, ideas have the most incredible way of blossoming in surprising ways as I write. An idea might take an unexpected twist I didn’t foresee, or a character will say something that changes everything.

It’s those breathtaking ‘aha’ moments that keep me writing, turning those little ideas into big books.

I can’t tell you how many times I decided I had a brilliant idea in my head that would magically transform itself into a full-fledged story. I have twenty or so partial manuscripts in my basement, started and abandoned. I still love some of those ideas. Others are shudderingly bad, and are labeled ‘burn, bury or shred in case of untimely death’.

I can look back on all those ideas now and understand something important, years later, having actually completed a few manuscripts. It’s what you do with the idea that counts, how you nurture it.

Do you watch those design shows on television? The ones where the brilliant designer comes to the rescue of a desperate homeowner?

The homeowner knows there’s an element missing that keeps their living room from being as magnificent as they envision. Think of that blank room as the original idea.

The designer (you, the writer) knows exactly what to do (this is where your story ideas come in, so bear with me). They start with a paint color. Too dark, or too purple, you might say. It will never work. Then, they bring in the sofa. Stripes and flowers? Think of the opposite natures of your characters here. The sofa suits the room perfectly. The lamps and cushions and art come next, the secondary characters, unexpected plot twists and settings. By the time they lead the hopeful homeowner (your reader) into the finished room with their eyes closed, the idea has come together. All the elements are there – the wow factor, the “oh-I didn’t-expect-that”, and the “I love it!”

And if you don’t love it? Repaint it. Rewrite it, rearrange the cushions and furniture until you do.

So where do I get my ideas? Everywhere! As the Isobel and Phineas discover in Secrets of A Proper Countess, finding that first romantic spark isn’t the hard part. The challenge in writing a great story lies in creating a relationship out of that first moment, and nurturing an idea through all the difficult ages and stages until it becomes a rich and satisfying book.