I have ADHD and because of that sitting in a quiet room with nothing going on is very difficult. Nay, impossible. So if I am not out, or even if I am, I listen to music. So, I just wanted to drop this little playlist here for you all to enjoy. It’s almost 2 hours long, but it’s got some lovely and relaxing tunes.

A Mood Playlist

Complete with excerpts from the novel!

These are songs that have played as I wrote., giving me inspiration on a scene or setting the mood for one. (Of course there's Mediaeval Baebes) Each one on their playlist has a little excerpt from the manuscript. (Of course there are Morris Dancers!)

This is the first time anyone has read most of this! Now enjoy a little sneak peek at the general emotional journey of the story I am writing.

  • “What is it?”

    “An opportunity.” 

    She takes out the thick packet. Several loose papers top the pile and a large spiral bound book titled ‘Information and Procedures for the International Time Travelers Association.’

  • "Where - I mean, when are they?" She asks.

  • “And call me Krystal.” She says as she lingers back to walk beside Emma. “With a K, mind you. Though it never really felt like a proper academic name. Considered changing it once, before I was published. Emma is good though, most definitely fit for academia.” Her accent was definitely distinct, elongated o’s and a’s that seemed to turn into u’s.

  • “Krystal and James are just triple checking the equipment. We want to make sure he doesn’t end up stuck in the 15th century or something.”

    Emma’s eyes widen. “Can that happen?”

    “No.” He says with a smile and she swats playfully at his arm.

  • “Seems we’re the lone survivors this evening.” She muses. 

    David looks around as if he, too, hasn’t noticed the party was gone. “Huh, look at that.”

  • Emma closes her eyes as she is instructed and takes one last deep breath in her own century.

  • It was utterly captivating to see it in person, in this time. Up ahead, now seizing her attention was the medieval city of Norwich.

  • Not only was this a strong and powerful woman in the community, she was a Jewish woman in a world that was beginning to resent her. Yet, through it all, she walked with an air of grace and authority unmatched by anyone else present.

  • Something about the endeavor felt illicit, like they should be sneaking about, but Tilla did not bring so many accouterments. She wore a bright mustard yellow wool dress with embroidered flowers and leaves at the hem and cascading down the bell sleeves.

  • A flash of a banner in the breeze sent the crowd into a frenzy. They were not the shouts Emma might expect from such pomp, but calls to friends across the square and down the street, asking about what they see. Responses were shouted back and forth as the retinue came into view. 

  • The ceremony was quick. Richard leaned over to Emma. “Such a quick ceremony.” He whispered in Modern. “Where did we, as a culture, go wrong?”

    Emma whispered back. “As is always the case, blame the Victorians.”

    The couple kissed the priest and it was over. The crowd cheered. The swell began to carry them toward the now open church doors.

  • William led her to the circle of dancers in the center of the room. More people had joined, including Tilla and Basewin. He hooked his first two fingers around hers and found the end of the line. Cheers erupted as they joined. She held up her hem in her right hand to keep from tripping and tried her damndest to keep up.

  • Emma mounted the horse given to her and followed the messenger out of the keep. Tilla gripped her waist tighter as they picked up speed. She did not have a lot of experience riding at a full gallop. Very little, in fact. She tightened her thighs on the saddle and stiffened her back against her passenger. She gripped the reigns within an inch of their lives.

  • The fire was warm and the company pleasant. Emma sipped on her spiced wine as Basewin attempted his first foray into storytelling. He was regaling the group with tales of the birth of Jesus. Thus far there was two chickens, a donkey, a black cat (inspired by the entrance of Choquette, who was now fast asleep in front of the fire), and several eels. William was encouraging his endeavor by contributing details that must have been left out of the bible and Basewin was now beginning to go into, in rather graphic detail, the birth of the Savior. 

  • Emma finished her message to the lab. She then just sat at the table and stared at her tablet. Maybe she should write an actual letter. She wanted to write a letter to David. Heartbreak is so difficult to convey in text. Her hands did not shake, and no tears came to her eyes. She was at a loss of what to do.

  • Emma poured herself some wine and took a seat on the bench. She sipped delicately as Minna read her letter. Her hands began to shake and Emma started forward. She was stopped by the abrupt action of Minna violently crumpling the parchment and throwing it against the shutters.

  • One thing is known, however: What happened has already happened and we cannot change it. We must only accept it as it becomes our present.

    R. Benson. “The Time Traveller’s Paradox”. Journal of the ITTA. Vol, 5, No. 4.

  • Her eyes stared, not at the crucifix altarpiece in front of her, but at the stained glass behind it. They were the only glass windows in the building. The colors were deeply saturated, shining diamonds and patterns on the floor of the small alcove. She followed the lines of the metal between the panes of colored glass, tracing patterns and discovering hidden ones amongst them.

    Her mind quieted and she was able to think clearly for the first time in a while.

  • The person, a man given the heaviness of their steps, climbed the stairs. She heard her name whispered. It was William. It must have been William. Shit. Did he know about Basewin’s little nook? She hid her face in her knees so that her pale skin might not be as noticeable in the dark. Footsteps dislodged dust as the person made their way back down the stairs above her head. She was glad she thought to cover her face or the dust would have made her sneeze, revealing her location.

  • Emma’s heart is racing. She feels the air change around her and knows she was back. Her knees buckle before she can open her eyes. Someone catches her arm to steady her. A muffled voice speaks. 

  • He closes his notebook to give her his undivided attention. “There is nothing either of us did or could have done to make this happen any other way.” His philosophical and roundabout way of speaking is strangely comforting this time. He puts a hand on her shoulder and squeezes gently.

  • The dawn of this new world of historical research is fascinating to all involved. The possibilities abound. As we move forward into this new field of research, missteps will be taken, but then again, maybe they were meant to have been taken.

    R. Benson. “The Time Traveller’s Paradox”. Journal of the ITTA. Vol, 5, No. 4.