In order to fire my creative juices to finish my current Newburgh study, I am writing a semi-fictional narrative that I hope will inspire friends and others to read my upcoming book, "The Lost Line of the Dorset Newburghs."
Much of the Newburgh history is based on surviving but vague remnants of the past, employing educated assumptions derived from fragmentary scripts hidden in distant archives. Whether it is a will, notations in an IPM, or even a log from a prior century’s published chronicle - history is always evolving, using theories no one can verify as the whole truth.
Breathing life back into ancestors who are long dead is the job of historians and historical fiction authors. In the following narrative I don both hats. Some of what is written is verifiable, while other details are based on assumptions arrived at after rigorous investigation.
In the coming months I will be posting a story following Sir Roger Newburgh into knighthood. I will post it on Facebook and on my web sites. Invitations will be sent out to my mailing list when a new chapter is ready. The entire narrative will be used as a preface to whet audience appetites. Get ready for the launch.
Here is the appetizer - or first three paragraphs - of the upcoming saga.
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A KNIGHT'S DONNING
Riding up from the estate's lower fish pond toward his father’s Tonerspuddle manor house, Roger Newburgh noted distant ancient lime trees were crisping out, creating a blazing golden frame surrounding the picturesque stone fortress. Cooler autumnal weather was advancing upon England. It was October 1st 1494.
Coming home was a welcome relief after riding the tri-counties’ countryside. He had been on the road for several days as Sheriff of Dorset and Somerset. Weary with hunger and anticipating a good night’s rest, he spurred his dappled Andalusian into a brisk uphill trot.
Still a distance away he spotted the lithe figure of his lovely Elizabeth in an upper story window of the manor house. Raising his hand in greeting, his heart pulsed, sending a rush of adrenaline through his saddle worn body. Pushing the mare into a light canter, his anticipation grew remembering the fragrant warmth of her skin and hair.
Much of the Newburgh history is based on surviving but vague remnants of the past, employing educated assumptions derived from fragmentary scripts hidden in distant archives. Whether it is a will, notations in an IPM, or even a log from a prior century’s published chronicle - history is always evolving, using theories no one can verify as the whole truth.
Breathing life back into ancestors who are long dead is the job of historians and historical fiction authors. In the following narrative I don both hats. Some of what is written is verifiable, while other details are based on assumptions arrived at after rigorous investigation.
In the coming months I will be posting a story following Sir Roger Newburgh into knighthood. I will post it on Facebook and on my web sites. Invitations will be sent out to my mailing list when a new chapter is ready. The entire narrative will be used as a preface to whet audience appetites. Get ready for the launch.
Here is the appetizer - or first three paragraphs - of the upcoming saga.
***********************************
A KNIGHT'S DONNING
Riding up from the estate's lower fish pond toward his father’s Tonerspuddle manor house, Roger Newburgh noted distant ancient lime trees were crisping out, creating a blazing golden frame surrounding the picturesque stone fortress. Cooler autumnal weather was advancing upon England. It was October 1st 1494.
Coming home was a welcome relief after riding the tri-counties’ countryside. He had been on the road for several days as Sheriff of Dorset and Somerset. Weary with hunger and anticipating a good night’s rest, he spurred his dappled Andalusian into a brisk uphill trot.
Still a distance away he spotted the lithe figure of his lovely Elizabeth in an upper story window of the manor house. Raising his hand in greeting, his heart pulsed, sending a rush of adrenaline through his saddle worn body. Pushing the mare into a light canter, his anticipation grew remembering the fragrant warmth of her skin and hair.