An Interview, a Talk, a Book Club, a Reading


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Lithia Park, Ashland, OR

I’m back in my office after a week in Ashland (southwestern Oregon), home of the Oregon Shakespeare Festival. The photo is Lithia Park in the center of town.

Geoffrey Riley got my week off to a great start with a wide-ranging interview on the Jefferson Exchange, a morning show on Jefferson Public Radio, a service of Southern Oregon University. Listen here! He is the sort of interviewer every writer dreams of, so well prepared.

reading-at-bloomsbury-booksAt the Ashland Public Library later that day I talked about the historic Richard II, prelude to an evening performance of Shakespeare’s Richard II. Christopher Liam Moore’s Richard, though at odds with my own impression of the man, was riveting. Here’s a quote from a review in the Ashland Daily Tidings: “Mr. Moore presents a bewildered and snotty little Richard; a spoiled princeling not nearly ready for prime time. Decked out in assorted hilariously inappropriate outfits (a jester-like crown that doesn’t quite fit the head, a pair of pretentious leopard-print shoes) and seated on a leather Chesterfield throne that is a conspicuous nod to the absurdities of the London gentleman’s club, Moore’s Richard is less a king and more a spoiled and isolated product of the grandiose bubble in which he lives. He makes horrible decisions. He rages against his few remaining loyalists. He irritates, alienates, and discreetly obliterates every sympathetic éminence grise within a 200-mile radius.” I agree. What they don’t mention is his sardonic presentation of the tragic monologue at the beginning of V.v. It will be a while before I can read it with the pathos I usually find in it–his biting, scornful tone is still in my head. I thoroughly enjoyed the evening.

nightingales-book-clubOn Thursday, I spent the afternoon with members of a book club that meets at Nightingales Inn. They had read The Apothecary Rose and many had also caught my Tuesday morning interview, so they didn’t limit their questions to Owen Archer and Lucie Wilton but were very curious about Kate Clifford. Here we are on the porch afterward.

describing-at-bloomsbury-booksNightingales Inn also hosts a literary salon on Thursday evenings, and afterward a group walked me up to Bloomsbury Books for my evening reading  and talk about my new sleuth Kate Clifford, introduced in The Service of the Dead. Ashland is such a wonderfully literary town.

Huge thanks to my friend Sharan Newman for her hospitality and bloomsbury-books-audiencewonderful cooking, as well as not only setting up all the book events, but also scoring tickets to the sold-out Richard II and to The Winter’s Tale in the outdoor theater (magical).

Tea and Book Talk at the Bellevue Library: Mysterious England (and more)


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I cannot believe it’s September already! A busy month for me. Coming up in a week mysteriour england flyer sep16(10 September), Alice Boatwright, Marty Wingate and I will be at the Bellevue Library, 2-3:30 pm, to talk about our books, our love of England, and serve tea. Check out the poster in a larger format here!

Shortly after that I take off to New Orleans for Bouchercon (World Mystery Convention). Going to be there? My panel is on Thursday, 15 September, 1:30-2:20pm–Does Anyone Really Know What Time It Is? with Larry Sweazy, Dana Chamblee Carpenter, Eleanor Kuhns, Laura Joh Rowland, and Verena Rose (moderator). Book signing immediately afterward!

And then, at month’s end, I’ll be in Ashland, OR, where I’ll be interviewed by Emily Curitan at JPR radio; give a talk at the Ashland Library at 2 pm Tuesday, 27 September, The Enigma of the White Hart: Who Was Richard II?; and chat with readers about The Service of the Dead at Bloomsbury Bookstore on Thursday evening, 29 September, 7-8:00 pm. I’ll also be talking to a book club or two and seeing some wonderful theater, especially Richard II (by you-know-who–I mean, this IS Ashland, after all). This full schedule in Ashland is courtesy of my friend and fellow medievalist-in-crime, Sharan Newman. Thanks, Sharan!


My Unruly Characters


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At first it surprised me that the characters I created in my books chatted and interacted with each other even when I stepped away from my desk. While I weeded the garden, walked with friends, washed dishes, fell asleep, I eavesdropped on Owen Archer, Lucie Wilton, Bess and Tom Merchet, Archbishop Thoresby, Magda Digby… . Occasionally I woke in the morning recalling entire scenes played out in my dreams—some useful, some not. I had never imagined such strangeness when I first tried writing fiction, but I welcomed it with open arms—what writer wouldn’t?! The continuous exposure deepens the characters for me. It’s especially helpful when writing a series in which many characters appear in each book, and some return after long absences. It’s invaluable to me to imagine these people’s lives between their appearances, to glimpse what’s going on behind the scenes.

The Apothecary Rose (Small)As the characters settled in and began to feel as if they were part of my family, they developed autonomy. My first experience with this involved Potter Digby in The Apothecary Rose. He was a fishy smelling weasel of a character in the outline; but Owen listened to him, giving him the chance to reveal his individual moral code. This wasn’t planned. Owen Archer, my creation, took the time to talk to Potter, allowing him to reveal his humanity. I wound up deeply regretting how things were going to turn out for him.

Brother Michaelo, definitely not one of the good guys in The Apothecary Rose, alsoA Gift of Sanctuary (Small) changed my mind. John Thoresby, Archbishop of York, made him his personal secretary in an act symbolic of donning a hair shirt. But, in the course of ten novels, Michaelo developed a respect for the archbishop and a desire to redeem himself. He was a good friend to Lucie Wilton’s father, Sir Robert D’Arby, in his last days (A Gift of Sanctuary). By the tenth book, A Vigil of Spies, Brother Michaelo became a tragic figure—deeply flawed, but honorable and admirable. Just this week a reader messaged me on Facebook urging me to stop Michaelo from leaving York and returning to Normandy.

How does this happen? How did Geoffrey Chaucer, a man who annoys Owen, become his friend? How is it that Owen deeply mourns—well, best not say who, in case you’ve not reached book 10.

A Trust Betrayed (Small) - CopyThis isn’t just about flawed characters becoming lovable. Many of my characters aren’t planned, but arise in a scene and take on an unexpected significance. In A Trust Betrayed, when Margaret Kerr met her uncle’s groom, Hal, he was meant to be part of the scenery, needed for a few scenes but expendable. But Maggie and Hal formed a bond, and he kept stepping up to help her. In A Triple Knot (one of my non-series novels), Joan revised Triple Knot_cvrof Kent’s childhood nurse, Efa, was meant to appear only in memory; but she was just the person to step back into Joan’s life and help her cope with her unhappiness.

Most recently, Sir Elric, a knight in the service of Ralph Neville, Earl of Westmoreland, popped up in a scene in The Service of the Dead. Kate Clifford was meeting her loathsome brother-in-law Lionel Neville and found he was not alone—not planned, Service of the Dead KD2b REVbut I found myself adding that detail. It occurred to me that it would be fun if Lionel were accompanied by someone who sees right through him, someone he’s desperate to impress. Sir Elric’s was to be brief walk-on role. But the chemistry between Elric and Kate—well, I couldn’t waste that. He’s back in the second book, and the third.

The eeriest one of all happened late one afternoon, just around quitting time. In the midst of an action scene late in The Service of the Dead, Kate pauses at the edge of the road, uncertain which way to go, and a little hand takes hers. I remember lifting my own hands off the keyboard and looking around my office asking, Who is this? It didn’t take me long to figure it out, but, as with Efa, this character was to be someone mentioned, but never met. Now I cannot imagine the series without her.

This is one of the joys of the writing life—I never know who will stride into the scene, or defy me.

Down the Rabbit Hole: interview on The Big Thrill


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I’m interviewed in the July issue of The Big Thrill, the monthly publication of International Thriller Writers. George Ebey fed me questions and let me run with them–and I did, dear readers, I did. I talk about how I wound up in Seattle, why I left grad school, and how those choices led to Owen Archer, Lucie Wilton, Margaret Kerr, Kate Clifford, and my life in crime…writing. Come join me down the rabbit hole!

I also talk shop, of course. You know how I love to talk shop. A sample from the interview:

George Ebey: What elements do you feel are essential for a good suspense story?

Me: It is a cruel game we play. We create a sense of danger for characters about whom we’ve made our readers care, then pepper the narrative with life-threatening events and potential antagonists with plausible reasons for doing them harm, all while withholding information until the plot requires it be revealed. If we do our work well, the readers are hopelessly hooked.

NB: The title of Kate Clifford book 2 has changed, so forget what I cited at the end of the interview as the “working title.” I have a much better one.

Point of View: Whiplash!


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Service of the Dead KD2b REVI’ve neglected my blog while caught up in completing Kate Clifford #2 and promoting Kate Clifford #1 (The Service of the Dead) at independent bookstores. The manuscript of #2 is now with my agent and a few careful readers, so I’m distracting myself from the nail biting wait for feedback by dusting off this post, begun months ago, and sharing with you some shop talk.

In my essay, “Embodying Medieval Women,” I began with a discussion of point of view. It was on my mind, having had cause to write some notes about the ins and outs of point of view just days before. I wrote in the essay:

I write my novels in the third person subjective point-of-view, which means that I present the narrative from within the minds of several chosen characters, telling the story from their perspectives. I embody them. I become my point-of-view characters as thoroughly as an actor becomes the character she’s portraying.

9780393300505_198I believe it was a literary agent I worked with for a brief time before I was published who urged me to get William Sloane’s The Craft of Writing Fiction and read what he had to say in the chapter “Fiction and the Means of Perception.” Essentially, Sloane says that a reader needs to identify with a character in order to enter the world of the book, and the easiest way for a writer to make this happen is through first person narration—but that’s limiting. He suggests that third person can be just as effective as long as the writer remembers this rule: 1 point of view per book or chapter or scene. “The question one must always ask is, who is the reader being as he reads?…The reader must always understand on any page in any sentence at any word…the nature of his relationship to the story.” That is, from what point of view she is viewing the action. He expands on this point: “With rare and tricky exceptions, there is in successful fiction one and only one means of perception to a scene. This singleness is tremendously important in dialogue, especially when a number of characters are on stage. It is a temptation for the writer to hop into one mind after another as his characters talk. To write successful dialogue the author must have access to the mind of all his characters, but the reader must not perceive any more than he would in real life.” Again, the reader must experience the conversation from the perspective of the point of view character in that scene.

I have found this of tremendous help in my writing, and in helping others polish theirs. It surprises me when I reread some of my earliest books and discover that every now and then I shifted into another point of view at the end of a scene. But maybe that’s all right. I’ve noticed other authors doing that, a bit of a fade out to check another perspective. Rules are helpful, but rigidity can kill creativity.

Being so aware of consistent point of view does cause problems for me when I’m reading for pleasure. The moment a writer begins bouncing around in the heads of the various characters as a scene develops—whiplash!—I’m no longer in the world of the book but wondering whether there’s a reason for inflicting such pain. And once I begin analyzing the writing, the author has lost me. An occupational hazard.

By the way, I highly recommend Sloane’s book.

Shaping the Foundation for the Kate Clifford Mysteries

Patricia Bracewell, author of Shadow on the Crown and The Price of Blood, two marvelous novels about Emma of Normandy (she’s at work on completing her planned trilogy), invited me to write a guest post for her blog, and here it is–I hope you enjoy it!

I’ll be expanding on these topics Tuesday evening, 24 May, 7-8 pm, at Third Place Books in Lake Forest Park (Seattle area), and again at Powell’s Bookstore in Portland on 8 June, 7:30-8:30 pm. Come join me!


The Launch of the Kate Clifford Mysteries…the Video


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For the launch of The Service of the Dead, the first book in my new Kate Clifford Mysteries, I approached a member of Seattle’s Medieval Women’s Choir about performing at the event. Happily, they loved the idea, and the collaboration with them was a dream come true.  As if that weren’t wonderful enough, the University Bookstore created a You Tube video of the event!

And here it is– Enjoy!  Then read the book!

Celebrating the Launch of the Kate Clifford Mysteries


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May–what a glorious month in which to launch my new sleuth, Kate Clifford. On Tuesday, publication day, I’ll be signing books at noon at Seattle Mystery Bookshop.  Wednesday evening, the Medieval Women’s Choir will help me launch the series with glorious medieval music at University Bookstore in the U District (Seattle). An exciting few days!

Service of the Dead KD2b REVKate has collected wonderful prepublication reviews.
“…what Robb really excels at are action scenes, and there are several sprinkled throughout the narrative. They really make this a rocket powered read. … The story of Kate’s brother’s death, threaded through the story, is especially horrific…. It’s wonderful to have a new novel and character to cherish from this talented writer.” Robin Agnew, owner of Aunt Agatha’s Bookstore

“The Service of the Dead by Candace Robb is a strikingly well crafted novel that is a compelling page-turner from beginning to end. Very highly recommended…” Midwest Book Review

“Robb’s deft hand creates a realistic political and commercial climate as King Richard II’s reign draws to a close in 1399…a satisfying historical read…with … its strong political setting and multiple plot strands.”  Booklist

“It is a winner!… The story has many surprises, betrayals, intrigue, danger, and death. All are expertly spliced into the main thread of the story, drawing historical facts and historical fiction into a tapestry well worth reading. I give the book five stars…” Raven’s Reviews

“…the novel resonates with its compelling portrayal of an England on the brink of crisis.” Publishers Weekly

Heady stuff!

The collaboration with the choir is a dream come true. Women’s voices—that’s been the theme of my writing of late, with the novels The King’s Mistress and A Triple Knot. After working with Alice Perrers and Joan of Kent, strong women trapped in the gilded cage of the royal court, I felt the need to return to the women of York—and Kate Clifford took shape in my imagination. From the first she refused to be a secondary character. So I gave her a history, a reason to be skilled in weaponry, ever vigilant, pragmatic about the dangers of being a woman determined to choose her future, scarred emotionally, and liable to have skeletons in her closet resurrecting in her life.

I also gave her an otherness, like Owen Archer. Like him, she’s an integral part of the city without being completely at home there, which I believe works well for a sleuth. Kate feels out of place in the city. She was brought up in the country, the far North of England, the border country with Scotland, with feuding, Scots raids, and the defense of the family manor a constant in her childhood. Her parents brought her to York for her safety. But, as my readers already know, York of the late medieval period is not a place of safety. Kate is a bit wild, with her Irish wolfhounds, her weaponry, the way she’s chosen her household help. But she’s determined to make the best of her life in York.

I hope you’ll enjoy her adventures!

(Rest easy. This does not spell the end of the Owen Archer series. This is yet another set of characters who, I hope, will capture your hearts.)


The Bone Jar and The Cross-Legged Knight in E-books


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At long last, the 8th Owen Archer mystery, The Cross-Legged Knight, is out in The Cross-Legged Knight_cover KNIGHTe-book formats on 12 April! This was the one book not reissued in e-book and trade paperback in the US and Canada last summer because the rights were still held by the original publisher. But they’ve just reverted the rights back to me, and I gave Diversion Books the go-ahead to start the process of preparing it for publication in e-books (all platforms) and trade paperback. They amazed me by accomplishing the e-book conversion and cover design in the course of precisely ONE WEEK. An incredibly efficient team and a pleasure to work with. The trade paperback will be available shortly. As ever, this will likely show up on amazon first, then spread out to all e-book platforms by mid-week.

TheBoneJar_coverLARGEAnd, in case you missed it, last week we published an e-book version of an Owen Archer and Magda Digby short story, The Bone Jar. Chronologically it fits between The Nun’s Tale and The King’s Bishop, as Owen is awaiting the birth of his first child. I was invited to write it for an anthology marking the Nottingham Bouchercon, and it’s a joy to make it available to a wider audience. All English-language rights, so it should be available to all of you who read my books in English.


And, soon, the debut of the Kate Clifford mysteries!

In the Stillness of the Storm



On the 13th of March a windstorm came up the lake, ravaging my beautiful wooded neighborhood. It’s been a fall and winter of record rainfall, the ground saturated. The high winds uprooted majestic firs and junipers. We lost power 45 minutes into the storm. damage

At first the silence was eerie. My cat, Ariel, walked round warily, then decided to hide in the windowless bathroom. We know the drill, bring out all the battery-operated lights, assemble the camp stove to make hot tea (no heat–the house gets cold–hot tea warms the hands), put on fingerless gloves.

tree across roadHours later we needed a few items for a dinner we could make in one pot. That’s when we discovered the felled tree blocking our main access road. Our alternative, a winding one lane road through thick woods, was gridlocked by people discovering the blockage up above and trying to turn around. We improvised.

It was a dry storm, all wind and no rain except for a brief squall late in the afternoon. Neighbors shared information as they walked their dogs up and down our little cul-de-sac (with the gridlock and no sidewalks it was too dangerous to venture farther). We caught up on the news of the street. As I talked to one neighbor, her mother called out and waved from a few houses away. It was like a block party.

At nightfall, Ariel was spooked by the darkness, coming to get me to light her way to the litterbox–a cat! But a cat accustomed to some light at all times. Our neighbor’s lamppost lights our upstairs hallway at night in a soft glow. She did not trust the darkness. Or was it the silence plus the dark? The moving lights?

We read by camp lanterns, listening to a battery-operated radio. We talked a lot, laughed a lot.

In the morning we walked up to view the damage. We stopped to talk to the neighbor whose closeup of treehouse was just missed, asking if there was anything we could pick up for him at the grocery. He was trimming some of the large branches just brushing his garage. He was worried that the power company might jostle the fallen giant and crush his garage after all. While talking to him we realized the miracle that had him saying, “Close call, close call.” His own huge firs showed the scars of the branches clipped by the falling tree; they’d deflected the tree’s trajectory just enough so that it landed beside his house and garage. (The eventual removal was done with great care. His garage is fine.) We walked on up to the grocer, enjoyed the warmth in the store.

Twenty-eight hours without power (most importantly, without heat), grew old. And yet… Neighbors took turns going up the street to see whether City Light had arrived to clear the tree and work on the wires. They’d call out the news on their return.

When it was my turn, I was hailed by a neighbor who was recently widowed. He stopped in the middle of the street, in his car, and took out his laptop to show me photos of when he and his late wife first met. I leaned through the opened driver’s side window to see them. Neighbors good-naturedly skirted around us (the one-lane road was open–someone had the sense to put a sign down below about the blockage), teasing us about being the neighborhood wifi hotspot. His memories of their first dates, how smitten he was at once, the hurdles they jumped to make it work–all so vivid. Would we have taken the time on an ordinary day?

One man stood at the tape barrier glowering at the City Light workers. They’d arrived with their equipment and someone to work on the tree, but were waiting for the all clear, no power in the lines. The man was furious. He’d gone up to the tree earlier, in his truck, ready to use his chain saw on the tree. They’d warned him off. Fire danger. Disaster. He was fuming about it. “Of course there’s no power, the lazy idiots. Did any of us have power? Our taxes paying their overtime. What a racket.” Actually…trees were down all over the area, and as the streets around us were reconnected there was danger in a surge according to my widowed neighbor, an engineer, and my husband, ditto. He was a lucky man to have been warned away. I thought of the neighbor with the tree so close to his house, how careful he’d been to stay away from the lines as he trimmed those branches. Had the angry one cut through the trunk and dislodged the wires… His anger was so noticeable because he was the only one I encountered in the 28 hours who expressed any anger at all. Imagine that.