by Roseanna White | Sep 28, 2015 | Word of the Week
Romance writers are often looked down upon by those who read “serious literature”–and have generally never even picked up anything labeled “romance,” yet judge them anyway. And as much as we romance writers rail against that, it’s a tale as old as–well, as popular fiction.
Back–I’m talking way back–in the day, all “serious” work was written in Latin. That would include medical, scientific, philosophical, religious, and political works. But then people started writing more fun stories. Stories of adventure and love, of chivalrous deeds. (If you’ve read Don Quixote, these are the tales of chivalry that it was mocking.) These stories were meant to be accessible to the common man, so rather than being written in Latin, they were written in the common language.
Now, I daresay everyone has heard the term “romance language.” These are the languages descended from Latin (Roman). French, Italian, Spanish, Portuguese, and Romanian. Back in these middle-ages days, people would refer to things written in the common languages as “romances.”
In many of the romance languages today, some variation of romance still just means “novel.” Not a particular kind of novel, just a novel.
So why did it take on meanings of love in English? Well, we extended the meaning to include the type of story told in common vernacular–a love story. This had become a solid meaning by 1660. By 1800 or so, it could mean “an adventurous quality.” It didn’t actually mean “a love affair” until 1916! And the term “romance novel” as a whole separate genre is quite new indeed–from 1964.
So really, all these genre snobs need to get off their high horse, because they are reading romances…unless, of course, they only read works written in Latin. 😉
by Roseanna White | Sep 24, 2015 | Thoughtful Thursdays, Uncategorized
What does it mean to be made in the image of God?
This is a thought that’s floated to the surface of my mind several times in the last month or so. I look at all the racial tensions . . . I look at all the unrest in the world . . . I look at all the gender issues . . . I look at all the sexual orientation topics . . . I look at all the religions . . .
And it begs the question: how can a species so very diverse, so very discordant, so very dissimilar be made, as a whole, in the image of God?
And then the answer sneaks its way into my heart. Quietly, stealthily, like mist over the mountain.
When God created humanity, He created us with burgeoning potential. In the DNA of those first people was stored the potential for every color of skin. For every variation of hair. For every size, every weight, every look. Beauty and ugliness. Generosity and stinginess. We have the potential for greatness, and for failure.
Some parts of our lives are choices, governed by free will. This is where sin comes in, and that’s a rainbow of topics for another post.
But other parts we’re born with, and–up until modern history, anyway–that means we’re stuck with it. This is where my attention is fixed just now. The rainbow over which we have very little say.
So often we say, “God doesn’t see the outside, only the in.” There’s truth in that . . . and there’s lie. God does see the outside. He created it, after all. When I look at my children, I see their hair, their eyes, the shapes of their noses. It’s silly to say God doesn’t. It’s silly, even, to say, “Fine, He sees it, it just doesn’t matter.”
It does matter. He chose it for us. He chose to make each of us who we are. But here’s the thing. He sees it as beautiful.
God loves that rich brown skin He mixed with Heaven’s pallet. He loves that bright blond hair that catches the sunlight. He loves the way this group tends toward shorter frames, and the way that one stretches upward and upward. God not only sees the beautiful in each trait, He fashioned us just so. He chose those particular traits for each of us.
When I look at my kids, I see their differences. I see their similarities. And I love it all. I adore Rowyn’s dimples. Xoe’s bright blue eyes. I wonder what color their hair will end up, and I know it’ll be lovely. I delight in how tall my little girl is, how short my son still is. I find it infinitely amusing how one of them will curl up in my lap at every opportunity and the other thinks “hugging” is a one-way activity in which one need only stand there passively. They are different. And they are the same.
We are all different. And we are all the same.
What is the color of God? Black, white, brown, red? Being incorporeal, the answer is, “None of these.” He is, in a way, like pure light.
Us? We’re darkness. Every time I hear one people group claiming that they matter more than their neighbors, their rivals, their former-oppressors, their enemies, their friends, their allies . . . something inside me just weeps. We take our differences and we glory in them. Or we hate them. We say they don’t matter. Or we say they’re the most important thing.
We miss the point.
Our differences are. And they are beautiful.
Our differences are. But they’re not all.
What is the color of God? Is He black, white, brown, or red? He is none of these. But He is more than that.
He is all of these. God is, in a way, like pure light. Containing every color, even those beyond what our eyes can see.
And I just pray I can see through His eyes. Not beyond our races or genders. Including them. Because difference is a part of us. And that’s an amazing thing.
by Roseanna White | Sep 23, 2015 | 17th-19th Centuries, 20th Century, Remember When Wednesdays
Gracious, my blogging has been sporadic! Sorry about that, all. I came home from vacation and was completely swamped by work. A good thing, but I kept totally spacing what day of the week it was and what that meant concerning blogs. 😉
But this being me, you can rest assured I spent my vacation being geeky and collecting history books about the Outer Banks. I found myself wondering as we drove along what the islands would have been like before the big bridge was built to connect them to the mainland. Where did they get their fresh water? (Cisterns and desalination shacks.) When did electricity arrive? (The 1940s!!!)
Well, I found so many interesting tales! One of my favorites was from the antebellum days, when the Outer Banks were an oft-forgotten outpost occasionally used, even then, as a resort. One young man told a tale of arriving on the island by boat for a stay at the hotel in Kitty Hawk. He describes with awe the great sand dunes he has to hike over to get to his lodging–the most sand he had ever seen in his life, and it went all the way up to his ankles while he walked.
He and the other guests found charming the laid-back island atmosphere…which wasn’t so laid back when it came to meals. Being a sophisticated fellow, he was accustomed to supper being served at 8 o’clock or even later, but not so on the island. It was served at 6, and if you missed it, sorry ’bout your luck.
Houses on the island never had cellars, but what I hadn’t realized was that early ones didn’t have ceilings either. All the rafters were open, which this guest found lovely and pleasant when it was a matter of the frangrant breezes whispering to him…but when the wind kicked up, it would blow sand straight into the houses, filling beds, bowls, mouths, eyelids…
That’s one part of history I’m happy to leave in the past, LOL.
Most of the gentleman who came to the islands did so for the duck hunting. And most residents of the island made their living from catering to these rich folks, or from hunting and fishing and selling it to New York or Philadelphia. So it was a huge setback to island life when a law was passed in the 1920s that severely restricted hunting. This was also near the time when the government first talked of making it a national park–and so, to preserve it, they constructed beach-side sand dunes to keep the island were it was.
The problem for locals? With the dunes came a law that animals were no longer allowed to run free. As a small, insular community, islanders had to be pretty self-sufficient, which meant keeping chickens, cows, pigs, etc. But it’s not exactly fabulous pasture around there, so everyone let their livestock run free until this point–and were none too happy about this whole “park” idea when it began interfering with even their most basic way of life.
But the idea got derailed anyway. At one point after WWII they even saw oil prospectors arrive…but who found nothing. The park service did eventually turn part of the island into a wildlife preserve, and like people everywhere, the islanders adapted to the times as they changed. Eventually it was rediscovered as a vacation spot, and now, driving through the bustling towns of Nags Head, Kitty Hawk, and Kill Devil Hills, you can’t see so much as a glimpse of the island’s beginnings.
But it’s there, hidden in the more out-of-the-way places. Still whispering on those sea breezes.
by Roseanna White | Sep 16, 2015 | Uncategorized
My big giveaway has ended! Thank you so much to all the many people who entered, and who showed such enthusiasm along the way! The launch of The Lost Heiress has been so incredibly fun, and so rewarding to see it climbing the Amazon ranks. =)
Now, without further ado. The winner of Brook’s Treasures is…
Rebecca Sullivan Dewey!
If you didn’t win, don’t worry! You still have time to enter the Taste of Nobility Giveaway that Bethany House put together.
And if anyone is just desperate for Brook’s necklace, drop me a note at roseannamwhite at gmail dot com and I’ll give you a quote. 😉
Thank you, everyone, for all your support these last two weeks as Brook began her journey into the world! Now, go have a minute of fun with this cool little quiz that Bethany House put together. Find out which of their September heroines you are! Take the Quiz
(I was actually Brook! Kinda surprised me, though my husband insisted I subconsciously skewed the results, LOL)
by Roseanna White | Sep 14, 2015 | Word of the Week
Back from vacation, but not quite ready to let go. 😉 And so, today’s word of the week will bring us a bit of the beach…
Surf began its life as a noun meaning “waves coming ashore” in about 1680, though it was quite likely a variation on suffe, from the 1590s. Where did it come from? No one’s quite sure. But it was originally used to describe the coast of India, so speculation points to it being borrowed from an Indic word. It could also be a variation of sough, which means “a rushing sound,” which is an Old English word.
The verb meaning “to ride the crest of a wave” dates from 1917. Surfing as an activity and surfer both date from 1955. And of course, the internet usage is first recorded from 1993.
Roseanna M. White is a bestselling, Christy Award winning author who has long claimed that words are the air she breathes. Having successfully launched two homeschool grads, she now spends her time writing fiction, designing book covers, and pretending her house will clean itself. Roseanna is the author of a slew of historical novels that span several continents and thousands of years, as well as a fantasy series and contemporary mysteries and romances. Spies and war and mayhem always seem to find their way into her books…to offset her real life, which is blessedly ordinary.