THE CALABRIA ON A WINTER DAY
Outside, the rain has turned the snow to slush
but in here where
plump fruit-filled cakes hang from the rafters
I am surrounded by works of art
Aphrodite rises from her sea-shell, Caesar holds court,
painted walls are bright with Michaelangelo’s murals,
A curly-haired Adonis serves frothy latte in tall glass mugs,
while a blonde, beautiful Eros waits on tables.
Andreas Boccelli’s sweet tenor soars
above the cacophony of clattering crockery
and the mix of Italian and English voices.
The warmth of the Mediterranean fills the room.
It could be a cafe in Venice or Rome,
but outside the steamy windows of the Calabria
on this wintry day,
the west coast drizzle
has melted the snow
and bright-coloured umbrellas bob on the crowded sidewalk.
Written at the Calabria Coffee Shop, December, 2003
There has been some disccusion by other bloggers lately about favourite locations in which to compose and create, namely writing in cafes and/or coffee shops. Perhaps this idea has been made popular by the fact that J.P. Rowlings wrote her first highly successful Harry Potter book while hanging out in a coffee shop. However, writers have long been known to choose taverns, pubs and cafes as venues where they either write, generate ideas for their literary work, or perform (as in the case of many well-known poets). Writes such as Anais Nin, Henry Miller, Lawrence Durell, and Ernest Hemingway once hung out at the side-walk cafes of Paris imbibing wine while discussing (or writing) their latest literary work. In London there are various pubs where writers (especially poets) loved to congregate.
Last summer I visited the famous Fitzroy Tavern in Fitzrovia where Dylan Thomas and Brendan Behan notoriously swilled pints of Guiness and recited their poetry. It's a veritable writers' den of a pub, with pictures on the walls of the various literarai who hung out there. ( Virginia Woolf and George B. Shaw lived right around the corner.) That entire area of London, spilling over into Bloomsbury, was the haunt of writers and there are other pubs in the area that were popular with writers.
It seems nowdays there is a revival of coffee houses where poetry and prose readings are held. At least, in my city there are several excellent venues where you can take advantage of the open mike and rub shoulders with the local literary crowd. It has become a popular occupation these days to hang out with a notebook or a lap-top at a small (smoke free) cafe and even if it's crowded somehow you can feel like you're an island unto yurself as you write. (Perhaps the non-writers are in in awe of us?)
Usually when I'm working on new writing, I prefer the solitude of my apartment. Sometimes I don't even want background music, and certainly no interruptions by conversation or other noises. But often if I'm working out new ideas I'll write at the coffee shop.
My favorite place on the Drive is the Calabria. It has the ambience that seems condusive to conjuring the Muse. It's run by an Italian family - the handsome father and his 3 attractive sons. (One of them has been in the movies and there are photos of Italian movie stars and entertainers on the wall). The place is decorated with Italian kitch: plaster models of David and Aphrodite, copies of Michaelangelo's murals on ceilings and walls, larger than life Roman centurians in full armour, one jousting on horse-back. (These were purchased from Caesar's Palace in Los Vegas!) Only Italian music is played, often the language is spoken and they serve the best Italian sandwiches, biscotti and lattes on the Drive.
At any time of day or night you'll find people lounging at the tables, occupied intently with laptops or, like me, scribbling notes or editing scripts. It's a favourite haunt of screen-play writers. One of my friends has written most of her novel on her palm pilot while relaxing in the friendly cameraderie there. It's a place where writers congregate.
Usually I drop in to drink a latte and relax or visit with friends, but sometimes I go there to write. When I was working on the script for my play "The Street" I wrote pages and pages of dialogue while at the Calabria. It was a perfect atmosphere for this play, which is about an Italian immigrant family in the '50's.
Once in awhile I've had the spontaneous urge to write poetry there. And last week I spent part of the afternoon brainstorming the next few chapters of my novel. Often I've jotted down memoirs, journal notes, story ideas, lines of narrative for my works-in-progress.
A lot of writer's critique groups like to meet a cafes these days. Members of the Travel Writer's Association which I belong to sometimes get together at the art gallery restaurant downtown to workshop new stories. There's a group of literatis called The Shebeen Club who meet monthly at an Irish pub in Gastown for literary evenings. Sometimes writing (or hanging out with) the company of like minds is a good alternative to the solitude most of us writers experience , alone in our rooms staring at a computer screen. And there's something about writing in coffee shops that adds to the mystique of the lone writer. Where do you like to write?
"Some writers take to drink, others take to audiences."
Gore Vidal, 1925 - Interview in Paris Review 1981
Thursday, December 08, 2005
Sunday, December 04, 2005
IN THE COMPANY OF FRIENDS
"The endearing elegance of female friendship."
Samuel Johnson 1709-1784 "Rasselas" 1759 ibid 46
It's been a busy week, much of it spent in the company of good friends, mainly women friends and a good many of them writers like myself.
Thursday there was lunch at a Mexican restaurant with my lovely Memoir ladies. Thursday evening, an Italian dinner with a some women who used to have a little writer's group. We always meet for dinner during the Festive season, about the only time we see each other.
Last night, Friday, was the gala sixth annual Christmas Blues Party. I had given up my quest to find the red blouse, instead, I searched through my closet and found the scarlet embroidered Chinese jacket I had bought a few years ago to wear when attending the performances of my play. As the playwright I had to be present and on stage after every show for the panel discussions they held. So I had a different costume each night. Nothing like living it up for my moment of fame!
I don't think I've worn the Chinese jacket more than a couple of times since then, and almost forgot I had it. Anyway, I wore my black silky slacks and a black silky high-neck shirt under the jacket and dug out a pair of gold dragon earrings with fake jade beads that I hadn't worn for years. Put all together it made quite an elegant outfit. And with the copper streaked hairdo I fetched a lot of compliments.
There was a long table reserved for my friends. The interesting thing was, they were nearly all writers. There were also a couple of my very long-time girlfriends there which made it even cozier. We had a grand time. The music, provided by my son's excellent Blues band, kept us dancing all night. They served delicious food at the Bistro too, so there was plenty to eat and drink. We writers (and musicians) sure know how to party!
It was good to be in the company of my friends. For the first time in weeks, I managed not to sink into a sad mood or dwell on missing A. I actually had fun, dancing and laughing and enjoying great conversation with people I hadn't seen in awhile. (There were even a couple of my son's long-time buddies who used to hang at our house when the kids were in high school.)
Today I had another delightful day with my women friends. Ingrid and MJ and I went to see that wonderful Indian movie "Water" which was so touchingly beautiful. Then we had a fantastic dinner at a Greek restaurant. (Oh ,so good hearing that Greek music! That always lifts my spirits.) The only time today I felt sad was when we walked by the hospital -- remembering all those weeks that I visited A. in Palliative Care.
I stayed home tonight and did very little, but Sunday I am determined to start work on the novel again. I have a few days without anything written on my calendar and then the merriment starts and there's lots to look forward to, even decorating my apartment.
And plans are already underway for the annual Christmas Eve dinner at my place.
"I fall back dazzled at beholding myself all rosy red."
Edmond Rostand 1868-1918 "Chantecler" 1910 - Act II, scene iii
"Keep your sunny side up." Buddy De Sylva (George Gard) 1895-1950
"Sunny Side Up" 1929 - title song
Samuel Johnson 1709-1784 "Rasselas" 1759 ibid 46
It's been a busy week, much of it spent in the company of good friends, mainly women friends and a good many of them writers like myself.
Thursday there was lunch at a Mexican restaurant with my lovely Memoir ladies. Thursday evening, an Italian dinner with a some women who used to have a little writer's group. We always meet for dinner during the Festive season, about the only time we see each other.
Last night, Friday, was the gala sixth annual Christmas Blues Party. I had given up my quest to find the red blouse, instead, I searched through my closet and found the scarlet embroidered Chinese jacket I had bought a few years ago to wear when attending the performances of my play. As the playwright I had to be present and on stage after every show for the panel discussions they held. So I had a different costume each night. Nothing like living it up for my moment of fame!
I don't think I've worn the Chinese jacket more than a couple of times since then, and almost forgot I had it. Anyway, I wore my black silky slacks and a black silky high-neck shirt under the jacket and dug out a pair of gold dragon earrings with fake jade beads that I hadn't worn for years. Put all together it made quite an elegant outfit. And with the copper streaked hairdo I fetched a lot of compliments.
There was a long table reserved for my friends. The interesting thing was, they were nearly all writers. There were also a couple of my very long-time girlfriends there which made it even cozier. We had a grand time. The music, provided by my son's excellent Blues band, kept us dancing all night. They served delicious food at the Bistro too, so there was plenty to eat and drink. We writers (and musicians) sure know how to party!
It was good to be in the company of my friends. For the first time in weeks, I managed not to sink into a sad mood or dwell on missing A. I actually had fun, dancing and laughing and enjoying great conversation with people I hadn't seen in awhile. (There were even a couple of my son's long-time buddies who used to hang at our house when the kids were in high school.)
Today I had another delightful day with my women friends. Ingrid and MJ and I went to see that wonderful Indian movie "Water" which was so touchingly beautiful. Then we had a fantastic dinner at a Greek restaurant. (Oh ,so good hearing that Greek music! That always lifts my spirits.) The only time today I felt sad was when we walked by the hospital -- remembering all those weeks that I visited A. in Palliative Care.
I stayed home tonight and did very little, but Sunday I am determined to start work on the novel again. I have a few days without anything written on my calendar and then the merriment starts and there's lots to look forward to, even decorating my apartment.
And plans are already underway for the annual Christmas Eve dinner at my place.
"I fall back dazzled at beholding myself all rosy red."
Edmond Rostand 1868-1918 "Chantecler" 1910 - Act II, scene iii
"Keep your sunny side up." Buddy De Sylva (George Gard) 1895-1950
"Sunny Side Up" 1929 - title song
Thursday, December 01, 2005
'TIS THE SEASON TO BE JOLLY
"At Christmas play and make good cheer,
For Christmas comes but once a year."
Thomas Tusser 1524-1580 "A Hundred Good Points of Husbandry" 1557
"The Farmer's Daily Diet."
Well, here it is December. Kala Mena, as the Greeks say at the first day of a new month.
"Good Month!" What do writers do when they aren't writing? Well, now that the holiday season seems rapidly upon us, my social calendar is quickly filling up with all sorts of
luncheons, dinners, parties and other festivities. I have been spending some time at home these days, between shopping sprees and visits with friends, so I didn't do a lot of writing this week other than in blogs and journals. I felt I needed a bit of time to 'regroup'. It's time for some changes.
So...today I went to my stylist's in the suburbs (a long sky-train and bus journey) and had my hair done -- a new style, something more 'gamin' and a new colour, bright and attractive for the festive season -- had some copper (red) streaks put in the blonde, so now my hair has a definite apricot glow which looks quite nice, a change from the platinum of the summer.
On my way home I decided to go Mall shopping. I haven't been to this particular Mall for several months and since my last visit they've renovated and changed things so it was a bit overwhelming. I was wandering around trying to relocate the Food Fair (because I was starving!) and who should I bump into my my son. What a nice surprise! He pointed me in the right direction for some souvlaki and Greek salad, and then I started my quest to find a new top for my Christmas wardrobe.
I'd had my eye on a red India-type shirt I'd seen at a small shop on the Drive, but when I'd gone back to look at it yesterday, decided it was a bit cheesy looking and too expensive. So I started to search at the Mall and I believe I went into every clothing store in the place, all three shopping tiers. Couldn't find anything that I liked. Saw a lot of ugly stuff and weird colours and found the music annoying in the shops -- talk about retail hype!!! -- and eventually gave up. Didn't spend a coin! And when I came out of the Mall it was already dark.
I'm in the mood for a total make-over and that includes wardrobe. But I don't want to spend money needlessly. So tonight I excavated my closet and found a couple of very nice tops that I'd totally forgotten I had. Trouble is, I have a lot of black stuff and I really have my heart set on red for the holidays. I guess partly because the last few months have been a very sad time for me, and I really want to get out of the doldrums and cheer up. RED to go with my RED streaked hair.
By the time I got home tonight the bird was beside himself with loneliness and flew right out into the hall way in his excitement to greet me. He then proceeded to act crazy for awhile, flying around the whole apartment from room-to-room. Later he settled down on my shoulder. He did make one attempt to nest in my new hair-do but I discouraged that pretty fast.
I was supposed to go and meet some writers from my Prompts class tonight, but as it was very late, and it appeared they might have decided to cancel, I decided not to go across town and instead stayed home and had an enjoyable evening doing absolutely nothing. Do I feel guilty for not writing the last couple of days? Not really, because I do write in my journals/blogs and I have been thinking over things about my novel. It's good to take a break now and then, regroup, and revitalize.
By the end of this week I should have some fresh ideas for the next chapter segment, and a good grip on my diet, hopefully my exercise program, and try to get myself in better shape for the festive season. Friday night is the sixth annual Christmas Blues Bash that my son, his wife and I always have at the Cottage Bistro. That sort of kicks off the holiday season and gets us in the mood for Christmas cheer. After that I'll think about hauling out the decorations. I've already almost finished the Christmas shopping. Now, if only I could find that red blouse I want!
"Haste thee, Nymph, and bring with thee
Jest, and y outhful jollity,
Quips and cranks and wanton wiles,
Nods and becks and wreathed smiles."
John Milton 1608-1674 "L'Allegro" (1631) 1.25
For Christmas comes but once a year."
Thomas Tusser 1524-1580 "A Hundred Good Points of Husbandry" 1557
"The Farmer's Daily Diet."
Well, here it is December. Kala Mena, as the Greeks say at the first day of a new month.
"Good Month!" What do writers do when they aren't writing? Well, now that the holiday season seems rapidly upon us, my social calendar is quickly filling up with all sorts of
luncheons, dinners, parties and other festivities. I have been spending some time at home these days, between shopping sprees and visits with friends, so I didn't do a lot of writing this week other than in blogs and journals. I felt I needed a bit of time to 'regroup'. It's time for some changes.
So...today I went to my stylist's in the suburbs (a long sky-train and bus journey) and had my hair done -- a new style, something more 'gamin' and a new colour, bright and attractive for the festive season -- had some copper (red) streaks put in the blonde, so now my hair has a definite apricot glow which looks quite nice, a change from the platinum of the summer.
On my way home I decided to go Mall shopping. I haven't been to this particular Mall for several months and since my last visit they've renovated and changed things so it was a bit overwhelming. I was wandering around trying to relocate the Food Fair (because I was starving!) and who should I bump into my my son. What a nice surprise! He pointed me in the right direction for some souvlaki and Greek salad, and then I started my quest to find a new top for my Christmas wardrobe.
I'd had my eye on a red India-type shirt I'd seen at a small shop on the Drive, but when I'd gone back to look at it yesterday, decided it was a bit cheesy looking and too expensive. So I started to search at the Mall and I believe I went into every clothing store in the place, all three shopping tiers. Couldn't find anything that I liked. Saw a lot of ugly stuff and weird colours and found the music annoying in the shops -- talk about retail hype!!! -- and eventually gave up. Didn't spend a coin! And when I came out of the Mall it was already dark.
I'm in the mood for a total make-over and that includes wardrobe. But I don't want to spend money needlessly. So tonight I excavated my closet and found a couple of very nice tops that I'd totally forgotten I had. Trouble is, I have a lot of black stuff and I really have my heart set on red for the holidays. I guess partly because the last few months have been a very sad time for me, and I really want to get out of the doldrums and cheer up. RED to go with my RED streaked hair.
By the time I got home tonight the bird was beside himself with loneliness and flew right out into the hall way in his excitement to greet me. He then proceeded to act crazy for awhile, flying around the whole apartment from room-to-room. Later he settled down on my shoulder. He did make one attempt to nest in my new hair-do but I discouraged that pretty fast.
I was supposed to go and meet some writers from my Prompts class tonight, but as it was very late, and it appeared they might have decided to cancel, I decided not to go across town and instead stayed home and had an enjoyable evening doing absolutely nothing. Do I feel guilty for not writing the last couple of days? Not really, because I do write in my journals/blogs and I have been thinking over things about my novel. It's good to take a break now and then, regroup, and revitalize.
By the end of this week I should have some fresh ideas for the next chapter segment, and a good grip on my diet, hopefully my exercise program, and try to get myself in better shape for the festive season. Friday night is the sixth annual Christmas Blues Bash that my son, his wife and I always have at the Cottage Bistro. That sort of kicks off the holiday season and gets us in the mood for Christmas cheer. After that I'll think about hauling out the decorations. I've already almost finished the Christmas shopping. Now, if only I could find that red blouse I want!
"Haste thee, Nymph, and bring with thee
Jest, and y outhful jollity,
Quips and cranks and wanton wiles,
Nods and becks and wreathed smiles."
John Milton 1608-1674 "L'Allegro" (1631) 1.25
Sunday, November 27, 2005
MY LITTLE WRITING BUDDY
"The palm at the end of the mind,
Beyond the last thought, rises...
A gold feathered bird
sings in the palm." Wallace Stevesn 1879-1955 "Of Mere Being." 1957 st 1, 2
The last few days have been rather productive and now we're at the beginning of a new week I am ready to launch into more of the novel. I finished revisions on a Literary Travel piece, sent it off as requested. And wrote two travel bits for www.pothos.org travelling to Alexander sites.
Then I went over part of the new chapter for Shadow where I'd done some revision as suggested by my writer's workshop last week. Tomorrow I should finish that and get on with a new chapter segment.
I have a lot of friends who are writers, and this weekend spent quite a bit of time with various people, starting on Thursday when I had lunch downtown with M. one of the women from my Memoirs and critiquing group. I stayed in all day Friday writing, invited G. for dinner and had a pleasant evening talking (mostly he wanted to know the story of A.) Saturday I had a nice surprise when a Peruvian writer I know invited me for lunch. Over a bottle of Chilean wine, home-made ministrone, accompanied by excellent classical music, we talked the afternoon away, mostly discussing writing and life. And again today, I was invited to my friend M.J.'s for a little wine & sandwich soiree to meet her folks from the U.S. and mostly all the women there were from my writer's groups. An inspiring lot to hang out with!
In addition to the real live writers I know, I seem to have acquired a new writing buddy at home. His name is Cheeky. He's a grey and white cockateil with a yellow crested head and rosy cheeks. He can say a couple of words, but mostly he loves hanging out with me, follows me everywhere I go or perches on my shoulder. I adopted this feathered scamp a couple of weeks ago from the Grayhaven Exotic Bird Sanctuary. I'd had a cockateil for a couple of years but he unfortunately died last year. He was the same colour and exactly the same name "Cheeky", but he wasn't hand-tamed and we communcated mostly with whistles. This little guy, Cheeky #2 actually seems to think he's a person. Friday night when G and I were having dinner, he dived right into my wine glass and had a few gulps, then waddled around the table pecking samples of the dinner (he loves potoates and even tried the chicken livers --- tsk! what a cannibal!)
He can be a pest, and that particular night got very hyper, like a naughty three-year old on a sugar high. I had quite a time getting him into his cage and boy, was he mad! He puts on his fierce eagle scowl, spreads his winds and hisses at me. Tough little guy!
Mostly, he loves sitting on my shoulder, nesting in my hair or observing me from the top of my computer when I'm working. I think he want's to be a writer. At best, I'm trying to teach him a bit more vocabulary. We once had a budgie who's favorite expression was "Wanna beer, Bert?"
I expect Cheeky to take up the refrain 'Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum!" (Especially with the Christmas season coming up.)
He is a kind of small parrot, indiginous to Australia, and a very adept flier even though his flight feathers are clipped. He zoofs around my apartment and finds me no matter where I am.
At least I know what costume to wear next Hallowe'en. I always did like pirates and now I have my very own little parrot to perch on my shoulder!
"Keep a green bough in your heart
and a singing bird will come." Chinese proverb.
Beyond the last thought, rises...
A gold feathered bird
sings in the palm." Wallace Stevesn 1879-1955 "Of Mere Being." 1957 st 1, 2
The last few days have been rather productive and now we're at the beginning of a new week I am ready to launch into more of the novel. I finished revisions on a Literary Travel piece, sent it off as requested. And wrote two travel bits for www.pothos.org travelling to Alexander sites.
Then I went over part of the new chapter for Shadow where I'd done some revision as suggested by my writer's workshop last week. Tomorrow I should finish that and get on with a new chapter segment.
I have a lot of friends who are writers, and this weekend spent quite a bit of time with various people, starting on Thursday when I had lunch downtown with M. one of the women from my Memoirs and critiquing group. I stayed in all day Friday writing, invited G. for dinner and had a pleasant evening talking (mostly he wanted to know the story of A.) Saturday I had a nice surprise when a Peruvian writer I know invited me for lunch. Over a bottle of Chilean wine, home-made ministrone, accompanied by excellent classical music, we talked the afternoon away, mostly discussing writing and life. And again today, I was invited to my friend M.J.'s for a little wine & sandwich soiree to meet her folks from the U.S. and mostly all the women there were from my writer's groups. An inspiring lot to hang out with!
In addition to the real live writers I know, I seem to have acquired a new writing buddy at home. His name is Cheeky. He's a grey and white cockateil with a yellow crested head and rosy cheeks. He can say a couple of words, but mostly he loves hanging out with me, follows me everywhere I go or perches on my shoulder. I adopted this feathered scamp a couple of weeks ago from the Grayhaven Exotic Bird Sanctuary. I'd had a cockateil for a couple of years but he unfortunately died last year. He was the same colour and exactly the same name "Cheeky", but he wasn't hand-tamed and we communcated mostly with whistles. This little guy, Cheeky #2 actually seems to think he's a person. Friday night when G and I were having dinner, he dived right into my wine glass and had a few gulps, then waddled around the table pecking samples of the dinner (he loves potoates and even tried the chicken livers --- tsk! what a cannibal!)
He can be a pest, and that particular night got very hyper, like a naughty three-year old on a sugar high. I had quite a time getting him into his cage and boy, was he mad! He puts on his fierce eagle scowl, spreads his winds and hisses at me. Tough little guy!
Mostly, he loves sitting on my shoulder, nesting in my hair or observing me from the top of my computer when I'm working. I think he want's to be a writer. At best, I'm trying to teach him a bit more vocabulary. We once had a budgie who's favorite expression was "Wanna beer, Bert?"
I expect Cheeky to take up the refrain 'Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum!" (Especially with the Christmas season coming up.)
He is a kind of small parrot, indiginous to Australia, and a very adept flier even though his flight feathers are clipped. He zoofs around my apartment and finds me no matter where I am.
At least I know what costume to wear next Hallowe'en. I always did like pirates and now I have my very own little parrot to perch on my shoulder!
"Keep a green bough in your heart
and a singing bird will come." Chinese proverb.
Thursday, November 24, 2005
OVER THE RAINBOW (and other Happy Endings)
"Somewhere over the rainbow
Way up high,
There's a land that I dreamed of
Once in a Lullaby.
Somewhere over the rainbow
Bluebirds fly
Birds fly over the rainbow -
Why then, oh why can't I?"
Edgar Y. Harburg 1898-1981 "The Wizard of Oz (1939) "Over the Rainbow"
As I was recently writing about Luck, Fate and Fortune, it seems appropriate that today something very significant happened -- an omen of 'luck' appeared out of the fog and rain and gloomy skies.
Actually the good fortune started yesterday although there have been a number of things happening since last week that for me were very fortunate. But yesterday was special. I was invited to lunch with A's wife and daughter and for me this was a significant occasion. C. is returning to Chile this weekend. We exchanged addresses and I promised to write to her -- in Spanish --(I really must make an effort to review what I learned last year and gave up on, much to A's chagrin!) And...C. has invited me to come to Chile to visit her. This would not only be a sentimental journey of great importance, but an excellent opportunity for me, the travel journalist to see Chile through A's eyes (guided by C.) This is a beautiful 'gift' I have had bestowed on me -- that I have come to know his family -- and somewhere up there, I can just see him smiling that bright smile of his. Who could have imagined that all this would have happened? I certainly never did!
Today, I was invited for lunch with my friend M. and we went for Persian food, then coffee and dessert. It had been foggy all morning, then raining, but M. and I decided to go for a walk in the park anyway. We had lots to talk about and as she's been away in Europe, and we were enjoying our time together. The rain didn't dampen our good spirits, and by the time we came out of the Park, the sun was trying to shine though the rain was still falling. I remarked that perhaps there would be a rainbow, though in November this might be unusual.
Well, by the time we reached the bus stop there was a magnificent rainbow arcing overhead. And a few minutes later, second rainbow appeared, arcing faintly above it. Double rainbows!
Double Luck! I took it as a good omen. There are things to look forward to : Christmas time; my trip to Malaysia in March. Meanwhile, I'm writing again. And I have been so fortunate to have such a team of loving, generous friends around me through these difficult weeks. Truly, I feel blessed!
"My heart leaps up when I behold
A rainbow in the sky..."
William Wordsworth 1770- 1850 "My Heart Leaps Up." 1807
I used to wear a rainbow-colour cap from Guatemala. My friends called me
"Ruthie Rainbow" ( Remember that, *Sparkle*? )
Way up high,
There's a land that I dreamed of
Once in a Lullaby.
Somewhere over the rainbow
Bluebirds fly
Birds fly over the rainbow -
Why then, oh why can't I?"
Edgar Y. Harburg 1898-1981 "The Wizard of Oz (1939) "Over the Rainbow"
As I was recently writing about Luck, Fate and Fortune, it seems appropriate that today something very significant happened -- an omen of 'luck' appeared out of the fog and rain and gloomy skies.
Actually the good fortune started yesterday although there have been a number of things happening since last week that for me were very fortunate. But yesterday was special. I was invited to lunch with A's wife and daughter and for me this was a significant occasion. C. is returning to Chile this weekend. We exchanged addresses and I promised to write to her -- in Spanish --(I really must make an effort to review what I learned last year and gave up on, much to A's chagrin!) And...C. has invited me to come to Chile to visit her. This would not only be a sentimental journey of great importance, but an excellent opportunity for me, the travel journalist to see Chile through A's eyes (guided by C.) This is a beautiful 'gift' I have had bestowed on me -- that I have come to know his family -- and somewhere up there, I can just see him smiling that bright smile of his. Who could have imagined that all this would have happened? I certainly never did!
Today, I was invited for lunch with my friend M. and we went for Persian food, then coffee and dessert. It had been foggy all morning, then raining, but M. and I decided to go for a walk in the park anyway. We had lots to talk about and as she's been away in Europe, and we were enjoying our time together. The rain didn't dampen our good spirits, and by the time we came out of the Park, the sun was trying to shine though the rain was still falling. I remarked that perhaps there would be a rainbow, though in November this might be unusual.
Well, by the time we reached the bus stop there was a magnificent rainbow arcing overhead. And a few minutes later, second rainbow appeared, arcing faintly above it. Double rainbows!
Double Luck! I took it as a good omen. There are things to look forward to : Christmas time; my trip to Malaysia in March. Meanwhile, I'm writing again. And I have been so fortunate to have such a team of loving, generous friends around me through these difficult weeks. Truly, I feel blessed!
"My heart leaps up when I behold
A rainbow in the sky..."
William Wordsworth 1770- 1850 "My Heart Leaps Up." 1807
I used to wear a rainbow-colour cap from Guatemala. My friends called me
"Ruthie Rainbow" ( Remember that, *Sparkle*? )
Saturday, November 19, 2005
WRITING THROUGH THE STORM
"Fortunately psychoanalysis is not the only way to resolve inner conflicts. Life itself still remains a very effective therapist." Karen Horney 1883-1952 "Our Inner Conflicts" 1945
It has not been so easy for me to write these past weeks, at least not the serious new chapter segments of my novel which required psyching myself into Alexander's world and focusing on the characters and plot. Yet writing really is my therapy, so I concentrated instead on revisions and did editing for my writing class students. Mostly, I wrote in my blogs or journals (on-line and written.) I've kept a written journal for at least 25 years though I don't necessarily write in it every day. However for the past few months I've tried to record everything that happened, snippets of conversations and events that took place between A. and me at the hospital or his home, before he died. And since he died, I've tried to write some of my thoughts on my on-line journal and blogs as well. Writing things down definitely seems to have a therapeutic effect. I know for my hand written journals which contain mainly private thoughts, when I look back over the months or years and read about the events in my life, I see how I weathered storms and how various experiences had their affects on my life, or in changing my life.
I had not realized how much grief I would feel over A's death. Ours was a rather unusual relationship, based mainly on the fact we were both writers. I found him fascinating and mentally stimulating and now that he's no longer here, I realize what a profound experience it was knowing him. I also know that life must go on...
So I have been trying the weather the storm (which has included things like smashed windows resulting in a draughty bedroom, resulting in an ear infection and assorted other ills. Not to speak of my usual state of pennilessness.)
I have skirted around the serious writing lately, but now it's time to buckle down again. And one thing I know is that when I immerse myself in Alexander's world, I am far, far away from this one and so it's a good distraction from those thoughts of sadness and regret. In preparation for a new week to begin, one in which I hope I will be able to get more writing done (not only on my novel but I must start preparing some articles to market), I have tried to keep myself occupied with pleasant events which has included spending time with good friends. Lucky me to have such a wonderful network of guardian angels!! It began Thursday, when care-packages of groceries started to arrive, and friends dropped by to spend time with me, to provide hugs and consolling conversations. I went last night to listen to the Latin music, still so aware of that vacant spot in the band. I got feeling very tearful when they played his favorite songs, and others there did too. But I knew I had to stick it out, stop dwelling on the sad stuff.
Today again there was music when I went with a girlfriend to hear my son's Blues band. Sunday I've been invited to the Santa Claus breakfast with another friend's family, then to watch the Santa parade along with their two little boys. Time to be a kid again and get into the festive spirit.
My hope is that by Monday I'll be feeling better both in body and spirit and can return to work on my novel. As my night school classes are all finished this week I'll have plenty more time to spend on my own writing. I know it's going to take awhile to get over the tragedy. There's still a lot of tears left to shed and many things to think about. Already I have learned some valuable things about myself. In the meantime I know I have to keep on writing!
"No coward soul is mine
No trembler in the world's storm troubled sphere:
I see Heaven's glories shine,
And faith shines equal, arming me from fear."
Emily Bronte 1818-1848 "Last Lines" 1846 st. 1
It has not been so easy for me to write these past weeks, at least not the serious new chapter segments of my novel which required psyching myself into Alexander's world and focusing on the characters and plot. Yet writing really is my therapy, so I concentrated instead on revisions and did editing for my writing class students. Mostly, I wrote in my blogs or journals (on-line and written.) I've kept a written journal for at least 25 years though I don't necessarily write in it every day. However for the past few months I've tried to record everything that happened, snippets of conversations and events that took place between A. and me at the hospital or his home, before he died. And since he died, I've tried to write some of my thoughts on my on-line journal and blogs as well. Writing things down definitely seems to have a therapeutic effect. I know for my hand written journals which contain mainly private thoughts, when I look back over the months or years and read about the events in my life, I see how I weathered storms and how various experiences had their affects on my life, or in changing my life.
I had not realized how much grief I would feel over A's death. Ours was a rather unusual relationship, based mainly on the fact we were both writers. I found him fascinating and mentally stimulating and now that he's no longer here, I realize what a profound experience it was knowing him. I also know that life must go on...
So I have been trying the weather the storm (which has included things like smashed windows resulting in a draughty bedroom, resulting in an ear infection and assorted other ills. Not to speak of my usual state of pennilessness.)
I have skirted around the serious writing lately, but now it's time to buckle down again. And one thing I know is that when I immerse myself in Alexander's world, I am far, far away from this one and so it's a good distraction from those thoughts of sadness and regret. In preparation for a new week to begin, one in which I hope I will be able to get more writing done (not only on my novel but I must start preparing some articles to market), I have tried to keep myself occupied with pleasant events which has included spending time with good friends. Lucky me to have such a wonderful network of guardian angels!! It began Thursday, when care-packages of groceries started to arrive, and friends dropped by to spend time with me, to provide hugs and consolling conversations. I went last night to listen to the Latin music, still so aware of that vacant spot in the band. I got feeling very tearful when they played his favorite songs, and others there did too. But I knew I had to stick it out, stop dwelling on the sad stuff.
Today again there was music when I went with a girlfriend to hear my son's Blues band. Sunday I've been invited to the Santa Claus breakfast with another friend's family, then to watch the Santa parade along with their two little boys. Time to be a kid again and get into the festive spirit.
My hope is that by Monday I'll be feeling better both in body and spirit and can return to work on my novel. As my night school classes are all finished this week I'll have plenty more time to spend on my own writing. I know it's going to take awhile to get over the tragedy. There's still a lot of tears left to shed and many things to think about. Already I have learned some valuable things about myself. In the meantime I know I have to keep on writing!
"No coward soul is mine
No trembler in the world's storm troubled sphere:
I see Heaven's glories shine,
And faith shines equal, arming me from fear."
Emily Bronte 1818-1848 "Last Lines" 1846 st. 1
Monday, November 14, 2005
LUCK, FORTUNE AND FATE
"This is the third time; I hope good luck lies in odd numbers...
There is divinity in odd numbers, either in nativity, chance or death."
William Shakespeare 1564 - 1616 "The Merry Wives of Windsor" Viii,10
Last week at my Memoirs group, we had an interesting discussion on habits and 'old wives tales'. One of the members who is of Greek descent, brought in a list of the beliefs the Greeks have, many of them going right back to ancient times. One was the discussion about how things happen in threes. For instance, the Greeks with 'spit' (Ptoo, ptoo, ptoo) three times to ward off evil.
"Our concern be peace of mind: some old crone let us seek,
To spit on us for luck and keep unlovely things afar." Theocritus 310-250 BC "Idylls" VII
The "mati", or "eye" is a charm worn to ward of the Evil Eye. I have several of these charms and wear them often.
The 'things come in threes' theory was proven once again on the weekend when I got a phone call early Saturday morning from the Greek Man on the Bus who is an aquaintance I knew when I lived in Athens, and happens to be a friend of the taverna owners where I hang out there. I hadn't heard from Dimitris for awhile and suddenly he called, inviting me to join him one day for coffee. This call was followed by one from my favorite nephew who I also had not heard from for several months. He also invited me for coffee. Then, a third call from a cousin back East who almost never phones except perhaps at Christmas. Was this simply a coincidence or is it true: Things happen in threes?
As far as luck is concerned, I feel fairly lucky, and fortunate too. Because just when I feel at my wits end about things, someone or something happens to help out or change things. I was lucky the other week when a brick came through my window in the middle of the night as I sat at my computer chair. If I'd been in my bed I'd have been showered with shards of glass. And when I found the brick right behind my computer chair I realize how lucky I was not to have been conked on the head! (I actually thought the 'explosion' I heard was a gunshot. Lucky me!)
The ancient Greeks were great believers in Fate and Fortune. It was called "Moira" . The Persians called it "Qismet". So the characters in my novel often talk about fate and fortune, piously appealing to the gods for 'signs' and guidance, just as we do in our modern lives.
In this scene from Part II of "Shadow of the Lion" Alexander the Great's little son questions his Uncle Ptolemy:
The child looked intently at Ptolemy. "What is moira?"
"That is your destiny," Ptolemy explained. "The path the god has chosen for you. It is why your father took his army to Persia. He was following his moira. While he lived, he always walked with the gods and went where they led him. His death was ordained by the gods. The seers foretold his coming to Babylon. They also foretold his death. Alexander was like the fire that falls from heaven. He burned so brightly he lit the sky more brilliantly than the sun. All the world marveled at his deeds and will speak of them fo years to come."
"Leave all else to the gods - "
"Cease to ask what the morrow will bring forth,
and set down as gain each day that Fortune grants."
Horace (Quintus Horatius Flaccus) 65-8 BC "Odes" 1:13
Sometimes the characters in Shadow seized opportunities to improve their good fortune, as did Alexander's half-sister Thessaloniki. (You'll recognize her name. She had a city named after her. But how did that come about?) Kassandros, son of the recently deceased Regent Antiipater, and a long-time rival and enemy of Alexander, plots to seize the Regency by engaging himself to a daughter of the Royal House.
"Let me help you," insisted Kassandros. "Marry me and I will not only put you on the throne, but name a city after you!"
Thessaloniki's eyes narrowed. "Is this a brbie, Sir?"
"I beseech you,Madam," he said in a tone of conciliation. "Do not entrust your kinsman's throne to a foreign child of dubious birthright, who is under the control of a has-been soldier of fortune who cares nothing for your well-being. Give consideration to what I have offered you."
She looked at him silently. "Leave now!" she commanded. Then her voice softened. "I am not prepared to give you my answer now, but I will consider it."
Kassandros bowed with exaggerated deference. "As you desire, Princess. May you prosper."
Thessaloniki turned quickly back to her loom. She knew Kassandros had gone only by the sound of the door closing. She realized her head was aching and her hands trembled so her fingers snagged the threads. Had she insulted him by refusing to answer immediately?
For a long time she sat, until the lamps had burned so low the wicks spluttered in the oil. Kassandros' proposal both startled and confused her and bred in her mind curious thoughts. She needed wise counsel, but who was there to turn to? She was alone and friendless in the palace. Kassandros had offered her protection and a name. A city named in her honour! What other Macedonian princess could claim that? The Regent's son and the King's daughter. Such a combination might well suit both their purposes. How could she turn him down?
She allowed herself to smile. "To prosperity!" she thought.
"Do you wish to roam farther and farther?
See! The Good lies so near.
Only learn to seize good fortune,
For fortune's always here."
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe 1749 - 1832 "Remembrance"
But will the new Regent, Polyperchon, be so fortunate when he appeals to the god for counsel in bringing peace to the Greek city states and appeasing the Athenians?
The shrine was in a grove of sacred oaks. The clearing trilled with birdsong. Polyperchon was alone in the grove yet, even in the stillness, he could feel a Presence and his nape prickled. In the midst of the wood was the most sacred spot, a small-roofed colonnaded temple adorned with paintings and statues of bronze and marble. Here the holy altar stood, guarded by Zeus' eagle, its wings spread wide. A curl of smoke rose from the alter stones and the semll of burnt offering hung in the air.
He stpped forward. Last year's oak leaves rustled under his feet. He bowed and made the proskynesis, bringing his right hand to his lips to kiss the tips of his fingers. He burned an offering of frankincense on the altar and spread his hands to invoke the god with the proper praises and epithets.
"Oh Zeus, much honoured, Zeus supremely great, to Thee these holy rites I consecrate, my prayers and expectations. King Divine, be favourable to me, Father Zeus, and what I shall undertake, according to my prayers."
He prayed that he would receive the God's guidance in all that must be done to save the peace. He knew he was holding the destiny of Athens in his hands. What if the Athenians rejected his edict? He recalled the battle at Chaironeia after Thebes and Athens had refused Philip's treaty. General Phokion had urged them to heed the oracles at Delphi and accept it, but he had been laughed down by Demosthenes who derided Philip and said that everyone knew Philip had bribed the Pythia. The resulting slaughter and defeat had been a complete victory for Macedon, acknowledging Philip as Grand Hegamon, supreme war-leader of Greece. But could he, Polyperhcon, lead his country to victory again if the city states rebelled?
He was not a pious man, but he calle ddown Zeus' power, invoking the god for wisdom in his actions and success in his conquest.
"Father Zeus, Send me a sign now, and I will follow your command."
He felt the great carved eyes of Zeus' eagle bore into him. A chill draught brushed by him and the breeze ruffled the leaves of the sacred oaks. He thought of the fleet he must raise, and the army he must deploy to bring order to Athens. He wondered what Antipater would have done and what he should do in Antipater's place. And Alexander? And Philip? Their legacy was too great for him, but he must do his best for Macedon.
And so we too face our "Fortunes" and our "Fate". And are we the masters of the way things turn out? Why is it that someone who is passionate with life is suddenly snatched away by accident or terminal illness? Is it fate? Why do things happen, good or bad? Is it just a matter of 'luck' like winning the lottery? (Or me, winning a trip to Malaysia?) How much is simply coincidence like the three phone calls I got on Saturday morning, or escaping injury from a flying brick and exploding window?
"Lead me, Zeus, and you, Fate, wherever you have assigned me.
I shall follow without hesitation; but even if I am disobedient and do not wish to,
I shall follow no less surely."
Cleanthes 3300-232 BC from "EPICTETUS, Enchiridion." sec. 53
There is divinity in odd numbers, either in nativity, chance or death."
William Shakespeare 1564 - 1616 "The Merry Wives of Windsor" Viii,10
Last week at my Memoirs group, we had an interesting discussion on habits and 'old wives tales'. One of the members who is of Greek descent, brought in a list of the beliefs the Greeks have, many of them going right back to ancient times. One was the discussion about how things happen in threes. For instance, the Greeks with 'spit' (Ptoo, ptoo, ptoo) three times to ward off evil.
"Our concern be peace of mind: some old crone let us seek,
To spit on us for luck and keep unlovely things afar." Theocritus 310-250 BC "Idylls" VII
The "mati", or "eye" is a charm worn to ward of the Evil Eye. I have several of these charms and wear them often.
The 'things come in threes' theory was proven once again on the weekend when I got a phone call early Saturday morning from the Greek Man on the Bus who is an aquaintance I knew when I lived in Athens, and happens to be a friend of the taverna owners where I hang out there. I hadn't heard from Dimitris for awhile and suddenly he called, inviting me to join him one day for coffee. This call was followed by one from my favorite nephew who I also had not heard from for several months. He also invited me for coffee. Then, a third call from a cousin back East who almost never phones except perhaps at Christmas. Was this simply a coincidence or is it true: Things happen in threes?
As far as luck is concerned, I feel fairly lucky, and fortunate too. Because just when I feel at my wits end about things, someone or something happens to help out or change things. I was lucky the other week when a brick came through my window in the middle of the night as I sat at my computer chair. If I'd been in my bed I'd have been showered with shards of glass. And when I found the brick right behind my computer chair I realize how lucky I was not to have been conked on the head! (I actually thought the 'explosion' I heard was a gunshot. Lucky me!)
The ancient Greeks were great believers in Fate and Fortune. It was called "Moira" . The Persians called it "Qismet". So the characters in my novel often talk about fate and fortune, piously appealing to the gods for 'signs' and guidance, just as we do in our modern lives.
In this scene from Part II of "Shadow of the Lion" Alexander the Great's little son questions his Uncle Ptolemy:
The child looked intently at Ptolemy. "What is moira?"
"That is your destiny," Ptolemy explained. "The path the god has chosen for you. It is why your father took his army to Persia. He was following his moira. While he lived, he always walked with the gods and went where they led him. His death was ordained by the gods. The seers foretold his coming to Babylon. They also foretold his death. Alexander was like the fire that falls from heaven. He burned so brightly he lit the sky more brilliantly than the sun. All the world marveled at his deeds and will speak of them fo years to come."
"Leave all else to the gods - "
"Cease to ask what the morrow will bring forth,
and set down as gain each day that Fortune grants."
Horace (Quintus Horatius Flaccus) 65-8 BC "Odes" 1:13
Sometimes the characters in Shadow seized opportunities to improve their good fortune, as did Alexander's half-sister Thessaloniki. (You'll recognize her name. She had a city named after her. But how did that come about?) Kassandros, son of the recently deceased Regent Antiipater, and a long-time rival and enemy of Alexander, plots to seize the Regency by engaging himself to a daughter of the Royal House.
"Let me help you," insisted Kassandros. "Marry me and I will not only put you on the throne, but name a city after you!"
Thessaloniki's eyes narrowed. "Is this a brbie, Sir?"
"I beseech you,Madam," he said in a tone of conciliation. "Do not entrust your kinsman's throne to a foreign child of dubious birthright, who is under the control of a has-been soldier of fortune who cares nothing for your well-being. Give consideration to what I have offered you."
She looked at him silently. "Leave now!" she commanded. Then her voice softened. "I am not prepared to give you my answer now, but I will consider it."
Kassandros bowed with exaggerated deference. "As you desire, Princess. May you prosper."
Thessaloniki turned quickly back to her loom. She knew Kassandros had gone only by the sound of the door closing. She realized her head was aching and her hands trembled so her fingers snagged the threads. Had she insulted him by refusing to answer immediately?
For a long time she sat, until the lamps had burned so low the wicks spluttered in the oil. Kassandros' proposal both startled and confused her and bred in her mind curious thoughts. She needed wise counsel, but who was there to turn to? She was alone and friendless in the palace. Kassandros had offered her protection and a name. A city named in her honour! What other Macedonian princess could claim that? The Regent's son and the King's daughter. Such a combination might well suit both their purposes. How could she turn him down?
She allowed herself to smile. "To prosperity!" she thought.
"Do you wish to roam farther and farther?
See! The Good lies so near.
Only learn to seize good fortune,
For fortune's always here."
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe 1749 - 1832 "Remembrance"
But will the new Regent, Polyperchon, be so fortunate when he appeals to the god for counsel in bringing peace to the Greek city states and appeasing the Athenians?
The shrine was in a grove of sacred oaks. The clearing trilled with birdsong. Polyperchon was alone in the grove yet, even in the stillness, he could feel a Presence and his nape prickled. In the midst of the wood was the most sacred spot, a small-roofed colonnaded temple adorned with paintings and statues of bronze and marble. Here the holy altar stood, guarded by Zeus' eagle, its wings spread wide. A curl of smoke rose from the alter stones and the semll of burnt offering hung in the air.
He stpped forward. Last year's oak leaves rustled under his feet. He bowed and made the proskynesis, bringing his right hand to his lips to kiss the tips of his fingers. He burned an offering of frankincense on the altar and spread his hands to invoke the god with the proper praises and epithets.
"Oh Zeus, much honoured, Zeus supremely great, to Thee these holy rites I consecrate, my prayers and expectations. King Divine, be favourable to me, Father Zeus, and what I shall undertake, according to my prayers."
He prayed that he would receive the God's guidance in all that must be done to save the peace. He knew he was holding the destiny of Athens in his hands. What if the Athenians rejected his edict? He recalled the battle at Chaironeia after Thebes and Athens had refused Philip's treaty. General Phokion had urged them to heed the oracles at Delphi and accept it, but he had been laughed down by Demosthenes who derided Philip and said that everyone knew Philip had bribed the Pythia. The resulting slaughter and defeat had been a complete victory for Macedon, acknowledging Philip as Grand Hegamon, supreme war-leader of Greece. But could he, Polyperhcon, lead his country to victory again if the city states rebelled?
He was not a pious man, but he calle ddown Zeus' power, invoking the god for wisdom in his actions and success in his conquest.
"Father Zeus, Send me a sign now, and I will follow your command."
He felt the great carved eyes of Zeus' eagle bore into him. A chill draught brushed by him and the breeze ruffled the leaves of the sacred oaks. He thought of the fleet he must raise, and the army he must deploy to bring order to Athens. He wondered what Antipater would have done and what he should do in Antipater's place. And Alexander? And Philip? Their legacy was too great for him, but he must do his best for Macedon.
And so we too face our "Fortunes" and our "Fate". And are we the masters of the way things turn out? Why is it that someone who is passionate with life is suddenly snatched away by accident or terminal illness? Is it fate? Why do things happen, good or bad? Is it just a matter of 'luck' like winning the lottery? (Or me, winning a trip to Malaysia?) How much is simply coincidence like the three phone calls I got on Saturday morning, or escaping injury from a flying brick and exploding window?
"Lead me, Zeus, and you, Fate, wherever you have assigned me.
I shall follow without hesitation; but even if I am disobedient and do not wish to,
I shall follow no less surely."
Cleanthes 3300-232 BC from "EPICTETUS, Enchiridion." sec. 53
Tuesday, November 08, 2005
PSYCHIC CONNECTIONS
DEJA VU: (F. deja vu - ad.) literal: 'already seen"
PARANMESIA: something overly or unpleasantly familiar. The illusion of remembering scenes and events experienced for the first time = deja vu
EXTRASENSORY PERCEPTION: residing beyond or outside the ordinary senses.
"The fancy is indeed no other than a mode of memory emancipated from the order of time and space." Sameul Taylor Coleridge 1772 - 1834
I've always experienced a sense of feeling connections with something or someone outside the ordinary, as in ESP. It goes back to my childhood, when I was convinced there were spirits (ghosts). Perhaps it was just part of the early development of my writer's imagination. But I do know these feelings have carried over into my adult life, and I have many examples of this. Most recently, there were the dreams, the psychic connections I had related to very close friends who have passed. One distinct event happened five years ago when my close friend and soul-brother Roberto was dying in a hospice in Athens.
I was in the bathroom getting ready to go out for the evening but my thoughts were focused entirely on Roberto, and I stopped what I was doing to project myself to his bedside, praying that he would know I was 'with' him. At that moment something squeezed my hand so tightly that my ring was crushed onto my finger and bent out of shape with the force. It startled me, of course. I had to pry the ring off my finger and was amazed at how it had bent that way. But I knew somehow that Roberto had transfered psychic thoughts to me at that moment and had squeezed my hand tightly. What I didn't know was that was around the time he died.
Late last July, when I had lost track of my friend Anibal but knew something was wrong as people had reported seeing him and said he looked unwell, I had a dream that I was in a community centre where there had been entertainment and people were sitting around at tables eating. I spotted him and his friend H. and went to speak to them. Anibal looked thin and gray and was sitting staring down at his plate, unsmiling. I spoke to them and H. grinned at me in his boyish way. When I greeted Anibal he looked up and held out his hand. When I took his hand in mine it was ice cold. This startled me as he always had a warm touch. A few days later I found out he was in the hospital with terminal cancer. When I went to see him, he held out his hand to take mine, and his hand was ice cold, and he looked thin and gray just like in the dream.
Last week, I woke suddenly at 8.15, looked at the clock and went back to sleep. I had a troubling dream about being in a house in a place called White Rock. There was a lot of noice, tv blaring, music and people talking and I was distressed because I couldn't concentrate to do my writing. I woke, relieved to be in my own apartment. An hour later I got the call from his daughter to say Anibal had died at 8.15. And later, when I told her about the dream, she said her Dad and Mother had once had a house in White Rock.
How can we explain these eerie psychic connections? I knew from the start there was some kind of mental connection between A. and myself. That was what drew us together as friends, and in the same way my friend Roberto and I were very connected, almost like brother and sister - Gemini twins.
There are been many other incidents in my life, and in particular some vividly connected with deja vu or "Paramnesia" in which I have been somewhere that seemed uncannily familiar, as if I have been there before. A lot of these incidents have been connected to my historical fiction writing and travel experiences.
I first began to write about Alexander the Great's world when I was seventeen. At that time I had never been to Greece and only read about it in library books but the characters and places became familiar to me. People used to ask if I thought perhaps I'd 'been there' -- lived in that time in a past life. Perhaps. Because the first time I went to Greece, many years later, then referred back to that original manuscript, the descriptions of the land and other details were uncannily as they were. In fact, the first time I walked into the ancient Agora in Athens, I stopped dead in my tracks and burst into tears, because the whole scene unfolded as if I was back in time and could see it all exactly as it had been. I've had that happen a few places in Greece.
When I began my second novel (a w.i.p.) "Dragons in the Sky: A Celtic Tale" in which I narrate the story in the voice of "Olwen" a girl who has been raised by the Druids, there is also an Alexander connection. Olwen is very much like my alter-ego. She speaks through me to tell her amazing story. When I first went to visit Stonehenge which is part of the setting, I was waiting in the bus depot at Salisbury and learned of an Iron Age hillfort nearby. I walked out to the site, and as I approached the grassy, tree-covered mound, I could suddenly visualize it exactly as it had been. I turned down a path through the fields to explore. But something held me back. I tried a couple of times to pass by, but couldn't, and realized that something foreboding had happened there. Later, Olwen would reveal this incident to me. She had witnessed a murder there!
Another interesting psychic connection with this story was my inclusion of some details about a Druid holy place, Senghenydd, in Wales. When I showed my father the early draft of the MSS to get his opinion on the cadence of the Welsh speakers, he remarked that my great grandfather had been killed in a mining explosion in Senghendd. A couple of years ago, I actually visited there.
While I was researching on site for my current novel "Shadow of the Lion" I was hiking up the road toward Amphipolis, the hill fort where Alexander's son was murdered. As I approached, the sky grew dark, and a bolt of lightening struck right above the place where the citadel was located. I took this as a very eerie omen, and that day I didn't reach the site. But on a second visit a year or so later, I went all the way up to where the fortress ruins were, then climbed down the embankment under the remains of the walls, on a quest to retrace the path the boy (Alexander's son) and his friend might have taken in their attempt to escape. When you put yourself right into the scene, and let your imagination loose, it's surprising what psychic connections you can conjur!
How much of this is imagination and how much is 'real'? I suppose it depends on what you believe in and how you react to incidents -- if you are open and sensitive to accept these paranormal and psychic experiences. I do believe that we are sent signs and messages from the loved ones who have departed, and I have had enough deja vu experiences (especially in Greece) to firmly believe I might have lived there in another time. What do you think?
"And those who have insight will shine brightly like the brighteness of the expanse of Heaven, and those who lead the many to righteousness, like the stars forever and ever." Daniel 12:3
"The earth's about five m illion years old, at least,
Who can afford to live in the past?" Harold Ppinter 1930 - "The Homecoming" 1965 act iii
PARANMESIA: something overly or unpleasantly familiar. The illusion of remembering scenes and events experienced for the first time = deja vu
EXTRASENSORY PERCEPTION: residing beyond or outside the ordinary senses.
"The fancy is indeed no other than a mode of memory emancipated from the order of time and space." Sameul Taylor Coleridge 1772 - 1834
I've always experienced a sense of feeling connections with something or someone outside the ordinary, as in ESP. It goes back to my childhood, when I was convinced there were spirits (ghosts). Perhaps it was just part of the early development of my writer's imagination. But I do know these feelings have carried over into my adult life, and I have many examples of this. Most recently, there were the dreams, the psychic connections I had related to very close friends who have passed. One distinct event happened five years ago when my close friend and soul-brother Roberto was dying in a hospice in Athens.
I was in the bathroom getting ready to go out for the evening but my thoughts were focused entirely on Roberto, and I stopped what I was doing to project myself to his bedside, praying that he would know I was 'with' him. At that moment something squeezed my hand so tightly that my ring was crushed onto my finger and bent out of shape with the force. It startled me, of course. I had to pry the ring off my finger and was amazed at how it had bent that way. But I knew somehow that Roberto had transfered psychic thoughts to me at that moment and had squeezed my hand tightly. What I didn't know was that was around the time he died.
Late last July, when I had lost track of my friend Anibal but knew something was wrong as people had reported seeing him and said he looked unwell, I had a dream that I was in a community centre where there had been entertainment and people were sitting around at tables eating. I spotted him and his friend H. and went to speak to them. Anibal looked thin and gray and was sitting staring down at his plate, unsmiling. I spoke to them and H. grinned at me in his boyish way. When I greeted Anibal he looked up and held out his hand. When I took his hand in mine it was ice cold. This startled me as he always had a warm touch. A few days later I found out he was in the hospital with terminal cancer. When I went to see him, he held out his hand to take mine, and his hand was ice cold, and he looked thin and gray just like in the dream.
Last week, I woke suddenly at 8.15, looked at the clock and went back to sleep. I had a troubling dream about being in a house in a place called White Rock. There was a lot of noice, tv blaring, music and people talking and I was distressed because I couldn't concentrate to do my writing. I woke, relieved to be in my own apartment. An hour later I got the call from his daughter to say Anibal had died at 8.15. And later, when I told her about the dream, she said her Dad and Mother had once had a house in White Rock.
How can we explain these eerie psychic connections? I knew from the start there was some kind of mental connection between A. and myself. That was what drew us together as friends, and in the same way my friend Roberto and I were very connected, almost like brother and sister - Gemini twins.
There are been many other incidents in my life, and in particular some vividly connected with deja vu or "Paramnesia" in which I have been somewhere that seemed uncannily familiar, as if I have been there before. A lot of these incidents have been connected to my historical fiction writing and travel experiences.
I first began to write about Alexander the Great's world when I was seventeen. At that time I had never been to Greece and only read about it in library books but the characters and places became familiar to me. People used to ask if I thought perhaps I'd 'been there' -- lived in that time in a past life. Perhaps. Because the first time I went to Greece, many years later, then referred back to that original manuscript, the descriptions of the land and other details were uncannily as they were. In fact, the first time I walked into the ancient Agora in Athens, I stopped dead in my tracks and burst into tears, because the whole scene unfolded as if I was back in time and could see it all exactly as it had been. I've had that happen a few places in Greece.
When I began my second novel (a w.i.p.) "Dragons in the Sky: A Celtic Tale" in which I narrate the story in the voice of "Olwen" a girl who has been raised by the Druids, there is also an Alexander connection. Olwen is very much like my alter-ego. She speaks through me to tell her amazing story. When I first went to visit Stonehenge which is part of the setting, I was waiting in the bus depot at Salisbury and learned of an Iron Age hillfort nearby. I walked out to the site, and as I approached the grassy, tree-covered mound, I could suddenly visualize it exactly as it had been. I turned down a path through the fields to explore. But something held me back. I tried a couple of times to pass by, but couldn't, and realized that something foreboding had happened there. Later, Olwen would reveal this incident to me. She had witnessed a murder there!
Another interesting psychic connection with this story was my inclusion of some details about a Druid holy place, Senghenydd, in Wales. When I showed my father the early draft of the MSS to get his opinion on the cadence of the Welsh speakers, he remarked that my great grandfather had been killed in a mining explosion in Senghendd. A couple of years ago, I actually visited there.
While I was researching on site for my current novel "Shadow of the Lion" I was hiking up the road toward Amphipolis, the hill fort where Alexander's son was murdered. As I approached, the sky grew dark, and a bolt of lightening struck right above the place where the citadel was located. I took this as a very eerie omen, and that day I didn't reach the site. But on a second visit a year or so later, I went all the way up to where the fortress ruins were, then climbed down the embankment under the remains of the walls, on a quest to retrace the path the boy (Alexander's son) and his friend might have taken in their attempt to escape. When you put yourself right into the scene, and let your imagination loose, it's surprising what psychic connections you can conjur!
How much of this is imagination and how much is 'real'? I suppose it depends on what you believe in and how you react to incidents -- if you are open and sensitive to accept these paranormal and psychic experiences. I do believe that we are sent signs and messages from the loved ones who have departed, and I have had enough deja vu experiences (especially in Greece) to firmly believe I might have lived there in another time. What do you think?
"And those who have insight will shine brightly like the brighteness of the expanse of Heaven, and those who lead the many to righteousness, like the stars forever and ever." Daniel 12:3
"The earth's about five m illion years old, at least,
Who can afford to live in the past?" Harold Ppinter 1930 - "The Homecoming" 1965 act iii
Tuesday, November 01, 2005
REQUIEM FOR A HERO
Please don't mourn as I depart, for that is when my life will start.
No longer will I be facing death, I'll be breathing Heaven's breath.
Please don't weep, don't weep for me,
I'll be home in Eternity." Bob Gotti 1957 from "Don't Weep for Me."
F. Scott Fitzgerald wrote "Show me a hero, and I'll write you a tragedy."
Somehow, for me, a writer, I always seem to be writing tragedies. My play "The Street: A Modern Tragedy" was partly autobiographical, based on the unfortunate demise of my first love who had become a heroin addict. My second play House of the Muses (work in progress) is about the poet Sappho who committed suicide because of unrequited love. The protagonist, Olwen, of my first-person w.i.p. novel Dragons in the Sky: A Celtic Tale is a somewhat tragic heroine too. And my current w.i.p. Shadow of the Lion about the fall of Alexander the Great's dynasty, is a classic Greek tragedy.
And once again, today, I am writing a tragedy -- one that is true. That is, the unfortunate death of my friend Anibal who passed away last Friday.
He was a man who loved life, who was a champion for social justice, working for the poor and oppressed, a hero in his own country, Chile, who was forced to flee Pinochet's military junta and lived here in exile. He was a scholar, a philosopher, a writer, a poet, a musician -- a man who lived passionately in everything he did. He was my mentor, in a way, as well as my friend. He encouraged me to read more, learn more about philosophy and educated me about the politics of his country. He spoke often of "nostalgia" and "melancholy". He longed for his homeland. He read voraciously -- almost always had a book with him -- and it was he who introduced me to his favorite poet, Pablo Neruda.
You are taken in the net of my music, my love,
and my nets of music are wide as the sky.
My soul is born on the shore of your eyes of mourning,
In your eyes of mourning the land of dreams begin.
Pablo Neruda "In My Sky at Twilight."
It was truly a tragedy that Anibal had to die. He said to me several times during his weeks of intense suffering "What have I done that was bad?" Of course, he had done nothing. His illness, cancer, was one of the great misfortunes that can happen to any of us. He had lived his life well, taken care of himself, so who can say why these things happen? Truly, his death is a tragedy, a great loss for everyone -- his family, his many friends. He said to me once, "We will be friends til the end of time." And yes, we will be, Anibal, because I will never forget you. Nor will I forget all the wonderful things you taught me in our long talks and discussions. Especially, when I hear the music, I will remember you and your brilliant smile. But now you are going home, where you always wanted to be. And we who loved you will never forget you.
The hour of departure has arrived, and we go our ways -
I to die, and you to live. Which is better, God only knows.
Plato 428-348 BC Apology (ibid 42)
Now cracks a noble heart. Good night, sweet prince,
And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest!
William Shakespeare 1564-1616 Hamlet Vii, 373
No longer will I be facing death, I'll be breathing Heaven's breath.
Please don't weep, don't weep for me,
I'll be home in Eternity." Bob Gotti 1957 from "Don't Weep for Me."
F. Scott Fitzgerald wrote "Show me a hero, and I'll write you a tragedy."
Somehow, for me, a writer, I always seem to be writing tragedies. My play "The Street: A Modern Tragedy" was partly autobiographical, based on the unfortunate demise of my first love who had become a heroin addict. My second play House of the Muses (work in progress) is about the poet Sappho who committed suicide because of unrequited love. The protagonist, Olwen, of my first-person w.i.p. novel Dragons in the Sky: A Celtic Tale is a somewhat tragic heroine too. And my current w.i.p. Shadow of the Lion about the fall of Alexander the Great's dynasty, is a classic Greek tragedy.
And once again, today, I am writing a tragedy -- one that is true. That is, the unfortunate death of my friend Anibal who passed away last Friday.
He was a man who loved life, who was a champion for social justice, working for the poor and oppressed, a hero in his own country, Chile, who was forced to flee Pinochet's military junta and lived here in exile. He was a scholar, a philosopher, a writer, a poet, a musician -- a man who lived passionately in everything he did. He was my mentor, in a way, as well as my friend. He encouraged me to read more, learn more about philosophy and educated me about the politics of his country. He spoke often of "nostalgia" and "melancholy". He longed for his homeland. He read voraciously -- almost always had a book with him -- and it was he who introduced me to his favorite poet, Pablo Neruda.
You are taken in the net of my music, my love,
and my nets of music are wide as the sky.
My soul is born on the shore of your eyes of mourning,
In your eyes of mourning the land of dreams begin.
Pablo Neruda "In My Sky at Twilight."
It was truly a tragedy that Anibal had to die. He said to me several times during his weeks of intense suffering "What have I done that was bad?" Of course, he had done nothing. His illness, cancer, was one of the great misfortunes that can happen to any of us. He had lived his life well, taken care of himself, so who can say why these things happen? Truly, his death is a tragedy, a great loss for everyone -- his family, his many friends. He said to me once, "We will be friends til the end of time." And yes, we will be, Anibal, because I will never forget you. Nor will I forget all the wonderful things you taught me in our long talks and discussions. Especially, when I hear the music, I will remember you and your brilliant smile. But now you are going home, where you always wanted to be. And we who loved you will never forget you.
The hour of departure has arrived, and we go our ways -
I to die, and you to live. Which is better, God only knows.
Plato 428-348 BC Apology (ibid 42)
Now cracks a noble heart. Good night, sweet prince,
And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest!
William Shakespeare 1564-1616 Hamlet Vii, 373
Monday, October 24, 2005
A WEEKEND IN LITERARY LAND
"You can declare at the very start that it's impossible to write a novel nowadays, but then, behind your back so to speak, give birth to a whopper, a novel to end all novels."
Gunter Grass (1927 -) The Tin Drum (1959) bk 7 "The Wide Skirt"
This weekend was the Surrey International Writer's Conference (www.siwc.com) and I was a volunteer (mainly because, being a poor full-time writer I can never afford to attend it otherwise.) I was thrilled with the jobs I was given: to introduce several of the authors and agents for their workshops. I was also able to attend a few of the workshops where I was either a door monitor or just sitting in. I made a lot of notes, and will include them here to share the information with you other writers who sometimes visit my blog site.
I introduced Deirdre Knight of the Knight Agency. This is what she had to say about the Author/Agent Relationship:
There will be several good agents, so start with the right person. Keep a good personality fit. You want someone who likes the full scope of what you are doing. Agents are the managers of your careers. Regarding blogs: Blogs help you equip yourself better.
I monitored and sat in on an exception lecture by Michael Slade, crime/suspense writer. Interestingly, this is his pen name. He also co-writes with his daughter. He used to be a lawyer and is a dynamic speaker as well as a high-impact writer!
Suspense - How to Avoid the Mistakes that Break It:
Keep the reader on the edge of their seat. Start with action, explain later. Hook the reader with the first line. Every chapter ends with a hook too. Write the last sentence in the book before you write the first one. Then you know where the payoff goes and the plot will all move to this point.Make it tough for your hero. Give him a worthy villain.
I introduced a B.C. author who writes Memoirs. This is what Luanne Armstrong had to say:
Memoirs are a best-selling genre these days. You can make a brilliant story out of ordinary life. ("Pilgrim at Tinker Creek" by Annie Dillard was an example of this.Attention to details is important in a memoir. Involve the reader. Turn the focus on to ordinary things. The memorist's job is to get under the story: What happened? Why? Ask yourself "What is the story beneath your story?"
At the workshop for "Why Anne Boleyn is the Poster Girl for Historical Fiction" I introduced agent Irene Goodman. She told us:
The story must capture the imagination of the reader. Write with authenticity. Write what comes from the deepest part of you.The time for historical fiction has never been better than now. Her agency looks for stories with strong, interesting women heroines drawn from real historical characters. (The agency also handles other genres.)
It was quite a thrill for me to be chosen as the introducers for three best-selling authors:
Jean Auel, Diana Gabaldon and Terry Brooks for the workshop: "Worlds that Were and Worlds that Used to Be" This was a panel discussion with a lot of input from the audience. Here's some of the comments the authors made:
Terry Brooks, author of the best-selling Magic Kingdom series -- "The Sword of Shannara" etc.On World-building: It has to resonate in a way to make sense. There must be a level of believablity - a willing suspension of disbelief. He says he outlines everything but doesn't necessarily do a lot of research.
Jean Auel ("The Earth's Children" series, most notably "Clan of the Cave Bear") says she starts with a story idea, researching and makes lots of notes, and then makes a bare outline. She is still using the origianal draft of "Clan of the Cave Bear" to build on her newest novel in the series (book six).
Diana Gabaldon, author of the best-selling "Outlander" series, warns that researching can be a pitfall for historical writers. (Be careful you aren't just researching and not writing!) Research and writing feed off each other. Interesting pieces of information can trigger plot ideas. She writes in bits and pieces (randomly) rather than in a linear way.
They all said: Keep working at something! You need to keep writing! Trust your instincts!
Both Diana Gabaldon and Jack Whyte, a B.C. writer, are very popular presenters at the Surrey Conference. I was pleased to be able to introduce Jack Whyte for his interesting workshop on
Description.
Jack Whyte has a series of books about the Arthurian legends and Roman Britain and is currently writing a series on the Knights Templar. One thing he emphasized was: Don't over-describe. Description is crucially important. Set the scene and describe what is visually relevant. In "telling" you have to "show" Don't use complicated words. Keep it simple. Don't give too much detail. Leave something to the reader's own imagination.
I also attended a workshop on Blogging: A Writer's Tool by Teresa Nielsen Hayden, an editor.
Blogging helps you break out of writer's block. It keeps you in touch with other writers and puts your words out there. She says she always replies to comments on her blog site!
I sat in on two workshops with author Jessica Morrell. One was "Nail the Ending" in which she pointed out:
The final lines are important. Make your ending satisfying to the reader. Spectacular endings may seem false. Keep your work true to itself.
In the lecture : "Bullies, Bastards, and Bitches -- Bad Guys in Fiction" she suggested:
Work on the back story of the antagonist or villain. Create a plot so the secrets of the back story come up toward the end of the story. She went over the various types of antagonists and their personality flaws, traits etc. She said an unlikeable antagonist is difficult to pull off and has to have an extreme personality. (such as Don Corlioni). Anti Heros are somewhere between villain and protagonist and often seen as an outsider. (Willie Loman). Is he redeemable?Multiple point of view works best when you have unlikable protagonists in your story. The come-uppance in your story can't be contrived. Usually the unlikable character brings himself /herself down. Show your characters are like us, not unlike us, by presenting their back-story. Where did they go wrong? What made them into the kind of person they are now?
I found this workshop relevant to my own novel in that I have a multiple point of view with many of the historical characters portrayed as anti-heros - and one distinct villain! In fact, I created a couple of fictional 'heros' for my novel because so many of the key players in the fall of Alexander's dynasty were anti-heros or antagonists. This particular lecture also gave me some good insights and ideas for strengthening the real heros of my novel. I have also built up the characters of several of the women involved because historians gave them bad press and in researching their lives I realized what strong women they really were. In fact, there's a couple of them who deserve books of their own!
It was a great conference and I was so glad I was able to participate, although it would have been even more excellent had we been invited into the lunches (especially the genre lunch) and dinners. We did manage to schmooze a ticket for the Saturday dinner with the keynote speaker award winning author Jennifer Cruisie. And on Sunday we sat in on the keynote address by Diana Gabaldon who is a delightful person. I came home yesterday (Sunday) totally exhausted, my head full of ideas, burning with inspiration. So this week I am determine to focus entirely on my novel writing, although I'm happy to learn the teacher's strike is over so my night-school classes will resume this week too. Lots to write. So little time! Better get to work right now!
"Really, the writer doesn't want success. He knows he has a short span of life, that the day will come when he must pass through the wall of oblivion, and he wants to leave a scratch on that wall - 'Kilroy Was Here' - that somebody a hundred, or a thousand years later will see."
William Faulkner (1897-1962) From "Faulkner in the University (1959) session 8
Gunter Grass (1927 -) The Tin Drum (1959) bk 7 "The Wide Skirt"
This weekend was the Surrey International Writer's Conference (www.siwc.com) and I was a volunteer (mainly because, being a poor full-time writer I can never afford to attend it otherwise.) I was thrilled with the jobs I was given: to introduce several of the authors and agents for their workshops. I was also able to attend a few of the workshops where I was either a door monitor or just sitting in. I made a lot of notes, and will include them here to share the information with you other writers who sometimes visit my blog site.
I introduced Deirdre Knight of the Knight Agency. This is what she had to say about the Author/Agent Relationship:
There will be several good agents, so start with the right person. Keep a good personality fit. You want someone who likes the full scope of what you are doing. Agents are the managers of your careers. Regarding blogs: Blogs help you equip yourself better.
I monitored and sat in on an exception lecture by Michael Slade, crime/suspense writer. Interestingly, this is his pen name. He also co-writes with his daughter. He used to be a lawyer and is a dynamic speaker as well as a high-impact writer!
Suspense - How to Avoid the Mistakes that Break It:
Keep the reader on the edge of their seat. Start with action, explain later. Hook the reader with the first line. Every chapter ends with a hook too. Write the last sentence in the book before you write the first one. Then you know where the payoff goes and the plot will all move to this point.Make it tough for your hero. Give him a worthy villain.
I introduced a B.C. author who writes Memoirs. This is what Luanne Armstrong had to say:
Memoirs are a best-selling genre these days. You can make a brilliant story out of ordinary life. ("Pilgrim at Tinker Creek" by Annie Dillard was an example of this.Attention to details is important in a memoir. Involve the reader. Turn the focus on to ordinary things. The memorist's job is to get under the story: What happened? Why? Ask yourself "What is the story beneath your story?"
At the workshop for "Why Anne Boleyn is the Poster Girl for Historical Fiction" I introduced agent Irene Goodman. She told us:
The story must capture the imagination of the reader. Write with authenticity. Write what comes from the deepest part of you.The time for historical fiction has never been better than now. Her agency looks for stories with strong, interesting women heroines drawn from real historical characters. (The agency also handles other genres.)
It was quite a thrill for me to be chosen as the introducers for three best-selling authors:
Jean Auel, Diana Gabaldon and Terry Brooks for the workshop: "Worlds that Were and Worlds that Used to Be" This was a panel discussion with a lot of input from the audience. Here's some of the comments the authors made:
Terry Brooks, author of the best-selling Magic Kingdom series -- "The Sword of Shannara" etc.On World-building: It has to resonate in a way to make sense. There must be a level of believablity - a willing suspension of disbelief. He says he outlines everything but doesn't necessarily do a lot of research.
Jean Auel ("The Earth's Children" series, most notably "Clan of the Cave Bear") says she starts with a story idea, researching and makes lots of notes, and then makes a bare outline. She is still using the origianal draft of "Clan of the Cave Bear" to build on her newest novel in the series (book six).
Diana Gabaldon, author of the best-selling "Outlander" series, warns that researching can be a pitfall for historical writers. (Be careful you aren't just researching and not writing!) Research and writing feed off each other. Interesting pieces of information can trigger plot ideas. She writes in bits and pieces (randomly) rather than in a linear way.
They all said: Keep working at something! You need to keep writing! Trust your instincts!
Both Diana Gabaldon and Jack Whyte, a B.C. writer, are very popular presenters at the Surrey Conference. I was pleased to be able to introduce Jack Whyte for his interesting workshop on
Description.
Jack Whyte has a series of books about the Arthurian legends and Roman Britain and is currently writing a series on the Knights Templar. One thing he emphasized was: Don't over-describe. Description is crucially important. Set the scene and describe what is visually relevant. In "telling" you have to "show" Don't use complicated words. Keep it simple. Don't give too much detail. Leave something to the reader's own imagination.
I also attended a workshop on Blogging: A Writer's Tool by Teresa Nielsen Hayden, an editor.
Blogging helps you break out of writer's block. It keeps you in touch with other writers and puts your words out there. She says she always replies to comments on her blog site!
I sat in on two workshops with author Jessica Morrell. One was "Nail the Ending" in which she pointed out:
The final lines are important. Make your ending satisfying to the reader. Spectacular endings may seem false. Keep your work true to itself.
In the lecture : "Bullies, Bastards, and Bitches -- Bad Guys in Fiction" she suggested:
Work on the back story of the antagonist or villain. Create a plot so the secrets of the back story come up toward the end of the story. She went over the various types of antagonists and their personality flaws, traits etc. She said an unlikeable antagonist is difficult to pull off and has to have an extreme personality. (such as Don Corlioni). Anti Heros are somewhere between villain and protagonist and often seen as an outsider. (Willie Loman). Is he redeemable?Multiple point of view works best when you have unlikable protagonists in your story. The come-uppance in your story can't be contrived. Usually the unlikable character brings himself /herself down. Show your characters are like us, not unlike us, by presenting their back-story. Where did they go wrong? What made them into the kind of person they are now?
I found this workshop relevant to my own novel in that I have a multiple point of view with many of the historical characters portrayed as anti-heros - and one distinct villain! In fact, I created a couple of fictional 'heros' for my novel because so many of the key players in the fall of Alexander's dynasty were anti-heros or antagonists. This particular lecture also gave me some good insights and ideas for strengthening the real heros of my novel. I have also built up the characters of several of the women involved because historians gave them bad press and in researching their lives I realized what strong women they really were. In fact, there's a couple of them who deserve books of their own!
It was a great conference and I was so glad I was able to participate, although it would have been even more excellent had we been invited into the lunches (especially the genre lunch) and dinners. We did manage to schmooze a ticket for the Saturday dinner with the keynote speaker award winning author Jennifer Cruisie. And on Sunday we sat in on the keynote address by Diana Gabaldon who is a delightful person. I came home yesterday (Sunday) totally exhausted, my head full of ideas, burning with inspiration. So this week I am determine to focus entirely on my novel writing, although I'm happy to learn the teacher's strike is over so my night-school classes will resume this week too. Lots to write. So little time! Better get to work right now!
"Really, the writer doesn't want success. He knows he has a short span of life, that the day will come when he must pass through the wall of oblivion, and he wants to leave a scratch on that wall - 'Kilroy Was Here' - that somebody a hundred, or a thousand years later will see."
William Faulkner (1897-1962) From "Faulkner in the University (1959) session 8
Wednesday, October 19, 2005
TIME TRAVELLING
"I felt once more the strange equivocal power of the city -- its flat alluvial landscape and exhausted airs...Alexandria, which is neither Greek, Syrian nor Egyptian, but a hybrid: a joint."
Lawrence George Durrell (1912-1990) "Justine" (1957) pt.1
It was April 331 BC when Alexander founded the city still named after him. It is said that he wanted the city he built to be a port and one night he dreamed that he saw a grey-haired man standing reciting those lines from 'The Odyssey': "Out of the tossing sea, where it breaks on the Egyptian beaches, Rises an island from the water and the name men give it is Pharos.'
Alexander woke the next morning and went to the lighthouse known as Pharos and saw the perfect site for his city. "Mark it out," he ordered the architects. They had no chalk so they took barley meal, marked out a semi-circle on the dark earth and also marked the outlines of the city and the plan of the street in grids. The street plan of Alexandria is much the same today." Nick McCarty "Alexander the Great"
Lawrence George Durrell (1912-1990) "Justine" (1957) pt.1
It was April 331 BC when Alexander founded the city still named after him. It is said that he wanted the city he built to be a port and one night he dreamed that he saw a grey-haired man standing reciting those lines from 'The Odyssey': "Out of the tossing sea, where it breaks on the Egyptian beaches, Rises an island from the water and the name men give it is Pharos.'
Alexander woke the next morning and went to the lighthouse known as Pharos and saw the perfect site for his city. "Mark it out," he ordered the architects. They had no chalk so they took barley meal, marked out a semi-circle on the dark earth and also marked the outlines of the city and the plan of the street in grids. The street plan of Alexandria is much the same today." Nick McCarty "Alexander the Great"
Of all the places where I have visited while researching my novel "Shadow of the Lion", I have never visited Alexandria Egypt. It definitely ranks high on my 'to go' list, but I've not been able to afford the trip although ten years or so ago when I did have a windfall of money I probably should have gone, but didn't. I've visited Alexandria (the ancient city) several times in my mind though. And this past week I've been there again, with Ptolemy, founder of the Ptolemaic dynasty, and so I'll take you there with me, dear readers, on a time-travel to that magnificent jewel of the Nile that was built from Alexander's dream.
Our first visit is in 322 BC not long after Alexander's death.
From the terrace of his elegant house in Alexandria, Ptolemy surveyed the long lines of straight streets and public buildings, their gilded pastel facades gleaming with new paint. A thermal sirocco dragged across the red desert sands to fan the arid afternoon air. Without it, the Egyptian summer would be unbearable.
Beyond the terra-cotta rooftops, the aquamarine sea curdled with froth. In the harbour, where a fleet of sleek, curve-prowed merchants ships unloaded grain and produce from the north, Ptolemy sighted a crew of workmen hauling stones to build the causeway that would connect the off-shore island to the main city.
He thought of Homer's words as Alexander had quoted them when his feet first touched Egytpian soil. "An island lies within sounding surf--an island Pharos, on the Egyptian shore."
Ten years had passed since they had strode this site together planning with the architects and engineers where Alexander would build his new city. Now it was prospering, just as the prophets had predicted it would.
The torrid breath of the sirocco shifted through the palm trees in the courtyard. In the distance, over the delta, green with life drawn fro the ceaslessly flowing Nile, the gulls soared, wheeling against the wind.
It was Alexander's wish to be buried here in Egypt, he thought. They had discussed it some time after their visit to Siwah, where Alexander had met with the priests of Ammon-Ra. Something they had said convinced him of his divinity.
Ptolemy turned into the refreshing sanctuary of his study and took a page of papyrus to his writing table. He must record everything now, w hile his memory of it was still keen, the details vivid in his mind.
We return to Alexandria again in the Spring of 320 BC. Acting on Alexander's wishes, Ptolemy had hijacked the funeral carriage that was taking Alexander's body from Babylon to be interred in the royal tombs at Aigai in Macedonia. Now Perdikkas, commander-in-chief of the Macedonian army, has chased him back to Egypt and declared war in the attempt to retrieve the body.
The windows of Ptolemy's study faced a view of the sea where he could watch ships enter the wide curve of Alexandria's harbour. Today a fleet of triremes was anchored off the mole, their bright standards fluttering from the masts, oars resting high out of the water. He could just make out the stevedores who scrambled among the bales of cargo, and the bright glint of soldier's armour. The triremes were warships which he had inherited from Alexander's fleet. He had called them to Alexandria when the mounted scouts informed him that Perdikkas' army was advancing toward the Nile Delta.
He turned from the window and went to stand beside his huge writing-desk which was piled high with scorlls and papyrus -- petitions and state documents from his day's work. That morning, before coming to his study, he had spent some time at the sea flats supervising the drills of his new cavalry squadrons. When he left Babylonia two years ago, Perdikkas had only allowed him two thousand men, and with the threat of an encounter looming he had been forced to appeal for new conscripts. The response had astonished him. Not only did young men willingly answer his call, but thousands of retired veterans came, leaving their comfortable new homes, begging to reenlist and resume their former commissions. Within weeks, the army had swelled to ten thousand, adequate in numbers to meet the troops of the Grand Chiliarch. Ptolemy's ships too, far outnumbered those of Perdikkas' fleet.
He sat at his desk on the big chair with the sphynx-headed arms and began to sift through the tablets and scrolls. He must study the plans fo the new library that Dinocrates, the architect, had brought him that afternoon. As the foundations were already laid, it would be unfortunate to halt its construction. Dinocrates had suggested they should keep the Egyptian workmen busy erecting the lime-stone walls, even though all the able-bodied Greeks, Macedonians, Libyans and Kyrenians had been conscripted into the army. The confrontation with Perdikkas must be solved quickly so as not to hinder progress of the building of Alexander's new city.
Now it is Winter, 319 BC. Ptolemy has received a request from Kassandros, commander of the Macedonian army, to send him some ships. He claims that Polyperchon, the Regent of Macedon is planning to march on Greece. Kassandros wants to overthrow Polyperchon. Ptolemy respects the Regent, but knows that Polyperchon is incomeptant. He is also bound by his marriage to Kassandros' sister, to honour the request. Faced with this difficult dilemma he visits Alexander's tomb.
As was his daily habit, he left the palace, escorted by his personal guard, and walked down the broad avenue of the Canopic Way that led to Alexander's tomb where he would offer prayers and sacrifices. He usually visited the tomb early each morning, but today the arrival of Kassandros' letter had upset his routine. He walked briskly despite the mid-afternoon heat. In the morning, the street was usually bustling with crowds but at this time of day it was deserted.
The street was bordered with wide colonnades of gleaming white marble. It ran the length of the city to the sacred site where Alexander's body was enshrined in the temple he'd had built for Hephaestion. The tomb sat at the crossroads of Canopic Way and the Soma that ran from the south shore of Lake Mareotis to the sea. Spread out around it, Alexander's city sparkled, a pristine vision of white against the brilliant turquoise of the Mediterranean.
Ahead, Ptolemy could see the beacon that burned on the temple roof, sacred fire brought from Persia signifying the immortality of the king. In front of the entrance the golden flagstaffs with their starburst emblems of Macedon stirred in the light breeze. Everyone who came to Alexandria stopped to pay obeisance at Alexander's tomb and he noted, with a sense of relief, the absence of pilgrims at the sacred site this day.
Ptolemy offers incense and invokes the power of the gods: Oserapis, protector of Alexandria; Zeus, God the Father; Ammon-Ra the All-Powerful; and Alexander, born of the horned serpent, beloved of Ammon, son of Ra. Then he goes inside the cold, silent crypt.
Around the alabaster sarcophagus lighted candles burned flickering like tiny stars. Under it's shield of transparent blown glass, the body of Alexander lay, dressed in a polished breastplate, his hands crossed over his breast. The flesh of his face was sunken and taut over the strong bones, the familiar features rigid as a statue, no longer animated. Yet his lion's mane of hair was still crisp and bright as gold. The embalmers had preserved him well. Death had made him immortal.
Ptolemy placed both his hands on the sarcophagus. Leaning over it, he spoke directly to Alexander as he would have in life.
"You were invincible, Alexander, so you made us feel invincible," he said. "You had the knack of making everything seem possible, so we did the imposslbe. When you died, Alexander, so did that magic that had so captivated us and we became ordinary men, with unexceptional limits. Look down on us now, Alexander. We are the survivors of your Empire. Help us. Do not let your accomplishments be destroyed by corruption and greed. Show me what I must do or your kingdom will be devoured by the vultures who once called you friend and supreme leader. Give me your strength, Alexander."
He had risked everything, even his own life, when he had waylaid Alexander's funeral bier and brought Alexander's corpse to Alexandria. He had meant to take it to the bural place at Siwah, but it had proved impossible to make the arduous journey across the desert, so he had kept it here in Hephaestion's temple. The ransomed body was the symbol of almighty power. How long would it be before one of the Successors would try to steal it away?
I'll be returning to Alexandria a few more times in the future. Ptolemy is the lynch-pin of my novel, beginning with the Prologue and ending with the Epilogue. So perhaps you'll meet him again and together we'll take you on an other visit to his Alexandria.
"His (the poet's) function is to make his imagination theirs (the people's) and he fulfills himself only as he sees his imagination become the light in the mind of others."
Wallace Stevens (1879-1955) "The Necessary Angel" (1951)
Friday, October 14, 2005
RIDING LIFE'S ROLLERCOASTER: The Ups and Downs of This Writer's Life
"Into each life some rain must fall,
Some days must be dark and dreary."
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882) The Rainy Day (1842) st. 3
It's true. Life isn't always a bed of roses, though mostly I try to keep my little garden blooming and gay. However lately there have been some ups and downs and a few set-backs. And some days I simply haven't had the heart to write. In fact, this week, on top of other things, I came down with a bad flu and was laid up for a couple of days, an usual thing for me.
It seems just when things get back on track, something happens to throw a wrench into the works. In this case, it's the teacher's strike which has caused my night school classes to be cancelled. Of course, because I was sick this week I would have had to cancel anyway, but I'm worried now that this strike will go on and next week's classes will be cancelled too, thereby totally screwing up my finances once again. I'm already on poverty rations for the next week and it's likely to get worse. You just can't win! (The strike, I must add, is totally justified, and although our totalitarian provincial government has declared the strike 'illegal', the teachers are determined to stay out. ) I know things will even out in the end as they'll extend the classes to cover the full 8 weeks, but who knows when this will be settled? Frustrating, indeed!
The other thing weighing heavily on my mind these days is my friend's illness. Since he came home last weekend he seemed on a steady decline into despair. I realize now he likely had the flu virus too and fortunately today when I passed by I was informed he was much better. There have been some positive doctor's reports, he's been up and around and at last, friends are starting to drop by to see him. Still, it has been such a sad thing to see this man who is an intellectual with such a passion for life being so brought down by this cancer and, in the past week reduced to sitting zombie-like in front of the TV depressed, sick and bewildered by all that is going on.
I went out today, the first time since earlier in the week, and met up with a couple of nice guy friends, had some pleasant chats, sat awhile my favorite Italian coffee shop listening to uplifting Italian music. On the way home I stopped by to see A. and was so pleased to hear the news. That certainly brightened what has been a rather bleak week.
Still, there are events coming up that will make up for these periods of 'down'. Yesterday I got the program for volunteers for the Surrey International Writer's Conference that will take place here next week. (check the website at www.siwc.com ) I was thrilled to find out I've been chosen to introduce some of the authors who are presenting workshops. These include well-known best-selling authors Diana Gabaldon, Jean Auel, Terry Brooks, and Jack Whyte, a couple of agents and a local author specializing in Memoirs. Wow! I was quite taken aback by this assignment. I spent some time yesterday writing up my intros. It happens I can't usually afford to attend the Conference so this year I volunteered for all three days and this is a special bonus and certainly an honour.
I've found the best way to cope with the down side of things is to have lots of 'ups' to balance the 'downs' and tomorrow night is a big Libra Bash with three bands, including my son's Westcoast Blues Review (see their website at http://members.shaw.ca/westcoastblues )
My Havana Buddy and I got on the guest list, he because he's a radio guy and plays the band's music on his shows and me because I'm Steve's mom, the band's main groupie.
Tonight I'm heading for my favorite bistro for a bit of salsa dancing. I'm also on mission to alert some of A's friends that he really needs some music therapy and cheering up. And I just had a call from another of my good friends who wants to drop by Sunday eve to watch some videos.
That takes care of the weekend. Now, if only that strike would end!
"What's the use? Yesterday an egg, tomorrow a feather duster."
Mark Fenderson (1873-1944) Caption for cartoon "The Dejected Rooster."
but remember:
"Keep your sunny side up."
Buddy (George Gard) De Sylva (1895-1950) "Sunny Side Up" (1929) title song.
Some days must be dark and dreary."
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882) The Rainy Day (1842) st. 3
It's true. Life isn't always a bed of roses, though mostly I try to keep my little garden blooming and gay. However lately there have been some ups and downs and a few set-backs. And some days I simply haven't had the heart to write. In fact, this week, on top of other things, I came down with a bad flu and was laid up for a couple of days, an usual thing for me.
It seems just when things get back on track, something happens to throw a wrench into the works. In this case, it's the teacher's strike which has caused my night school classes to be cancelled. Of course, because I was sick this week I would have had to cancel anyway, but I'm worried now that this strike will go on and next week's classes will be cancelled too, thereby totally screwing up my finances once again. I'm already on poverty rations for the next week and it's likely to get worse. You just can't win! (The strike, I must add, is totally justified, and although our totalitarian provincial government has declared the strike 'illegal', the teachers are determined to stay out. ) I know things will even out in the end as they'll extend the classes to cover the full 8 weeks, but who knows when this will be settled? Frustrating, indeed!
The other thing weighing heavily on my mind these days is my friend's illness. Since he came home last weekend he seemed on a steady decline into despair. I realize now he likely had the flu virus too and fortunately today when I passed by I was informed he was much better. There have been some positive doctor's reports, he's been up and around and at last, friends are starting to drop by to see him. Still, it has been such a sad thing to see this man who is an intellectual with such a passion for life being so brought down by this cancer and, in the past week reduced to sitting zombie-like in front of the TV depressed, sick and bewildered by all that is going on.
I went out today, the first time since earlier in the week, and met up with a couple of nice guy friends, had some pleasant chats, sat awhile my favorite Italian coffee shop listening to uplifting Italian music. On the way home I stopped by to see A. and was so pleased to hear the news. That certainly brightened what has been a rather bleak week.
Still, there are events coming up that will make up for these periods of 'down'. Yesterday I got the program for volunteers for the Surrey International Writer's Conference that will take place here next week. (check the website at www.siwc.com ) I was thrilled to find out I've been chosen to introduce some of the authors who are presenting workshops. These include well-known best-selling authors Diana Gabaldon, Jean Auel, Terry Brooks, and Jack Whyte, a couple of agents and a local author specializing in Memoirs. Wow! I was quite taken aback by this assignment. I spent some time yesterday writing up my intros. It happens I can't usually afford to attend the Conference so this year I volunteered for all three days and this is a special bonus and certainly an honour.
I've found the best way to cope with the down side of things is to have lots of 'ups' to balance the 'downs' and tomorrow night is a big Libra Bash with three bands, including my son's Westcoast Blues Review (see their website at http://members.shaw.ca/westcoastblues )
My Havana Buddy and I got on the guest list, he because he's a radio guy and plays the band's music on his shows and me because I'm Steve's mom, the band's main groupie.
Tonight I'm heading for my favorite bistro for a bit of salsa dancing. I'm also on mission to alert some of A's friends that he really needs some music therapy and cheering up. And I just had a call from another of my good friends who wants to drop by Sunday eve to watch some videos.
That takes care of the weekend. Now, if only that strike would end!
"What's the use? Yesterday an egg, tomorrow a feather duster."
Mark Fenderson (1873-1944) Caption for cartoon "The Dejected Rooster."
but remember:
"Keep your sunny side up."
Buddy (George Gard) De Sylva (1895-1950) "Sunny Side Up" (1929) title song.
Monday, October 10, 2005
CAN YOU GO HOME?
"Home is where one starts from. As we grow older
The world becomes stranger, the pattern more
complicated
Of dead and living. Not the intense moment
Insolated, with no before and after,
But a lifetime burning in every moment
And not the lifetime of one man only
But of old stories that cannot be deciphered."
Thomas Stearns Eliot 1888-1965 "Four Quartets. East Cober" 1940 stanza V
Last week my Memoir group had an assignment to write a piece titled "Can You Go Home?"
It was interesting to hear what people wrote and since then I've been giving a great deal of thought to this subject. I began to review all the 'homes' that I have lived in, considering which one I thought of as really 'home'. As I've moved around a great deal, it was a difficult choice.
My earliest memories of 'home' are from when I was five. We lived in a little railway town at the border of Alberta/Saskachewan called Lloyminster. During the early '60's when my husband and I moved to Alberta, when my Dad came to visit we drove to Lloyminster, the first time Dad and I had ever returned there. His old church was still there, as was the house next door where we lived. But everything seemed much smaller to me than what I'd remembered as a kid.
The next real 'home' I often think of was in Stratford Ontario when we lived at Grandpa's house during the war when my Dad was serving overseas as a chaplain in an army field hospital. Grandpa had bought that house when it was 100 years old and renovated it, and when Mom and my little sister and I moved in he'd made the upstairs into a private suite for us. I loved that old house and went back there in the early 60's for a visit. My little Grandma (Grandpa's second wife) was still living in the house and it was exactly as I remembered it. But I wonder if it's still standing. Doubtful, as it was already such an old house and I would think it has been torn down to make way for something modern.
After we moved from Stratford, we came here to the West Coast where my Dad was pastor of a church that happens to be in the district I live in now. We didn't live close to the church but our lovely old house is near enough that sometimes I go by there to take a look. It's still the same as it was then and I feel sure my parent's spirits are there. It was a two-story white frame house and I had a bedroom upstairs where I spent many hours at my desk typing stories on an old Underwood typewriter. I guess that is the house where my dreams of becoming a writer really took shape.
Later, when I was married, my family and I moved to Edmonton Alberta. Those days in our brand new house in suburbia have unhappy memories for me so I've only gone back once and haven't had a desire to return. In between then and now have been a couple of other houses, one was my dream home which I lost due to the tragedy of my husband's alcholism. The next was a marvelous old house known as "The Opium Palace" where I learned to survive on a shoe-string with my two kids and house full of free spirits who included my best friend Suzaki, a couple of American army deserters and several hippies. I have enough stories to write a book about that house as well as the infamous Hazel Street House where we lived for several years.
Next I moved to a wonderful old Victorian house which happened to be one of the first houses built in the city. During the late 60's and early 70's it had been known as "The Acid Kool-Aid House". By the time I moved in to the top floor it was due for demolition. I fixed it all up and it was by far one of the best places I've ever lived. I stayed there for a couple of years until I decided to move to Greece. After that the house was torn down to make way for a rather ugly condo.
In Greece, which is also my home, I shared a courtyard and lived in a basement suite on Odos Vironos (Byron's Street). I still pass by there every time I'm Athens, and stop to look through the gate into the courtyard. That home also is full of stories waiting to be told.
Besides the house on Vironos St., I had a little shepherd's cottage up on the mountain in Evvia in a tiny hamlet called Lala. This was my Garden of Eden, the place I dream about and astral-travel to. But since my shepherd died three years ago, some of the magic has left the village so it is painful to return. For sure, this year I found I couldn't go home to Lala. I wonder if I ever will again.
At the present time I'm living in an apartment in a building where I've lived (except for 1 year) since 1993. I've had various suites in the building and the one I have now is probably the best one. For that one year, when I chose to move to a larger apartment to share with a friend, I was so homesick for this building that as soon as I was able I came back here to live. So I guess you can say I did come 'home' and this is where I hope to stay for awhile.
My friend A. is home from the hospital now. It's a difficult adjustment for him but hopefully he will soon feel better about being home in his own apartment, with his family and friends around him. The wish is that he will recover enough to make a journey to Chile to see his family. He has lived here as an exile for many years and I know he longs to return home.
Home really is where your heart is.
"Breathes there the man with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,
This is my own, my native land!
Whose heart hath ne'er within him burn'd
As home his footsepts he hath turn'd"
Sir Walter Scott 1771-1832 "The Lay of the Last Minstrel" V1, st1
The world becomes stranger, the pattern more
complicated
Of dead and living. Not the intense moment
Insolated, with no before and after,
But a lifetime burning in every moment
And not the lifetime of one man only
But of old stories that cannot be deciphered."
Thomas Stearns Eliot 1888-1965 "Four Quartets. East Cober" 1940 stanza V
Last week my Memoir group had an assignment to write a piece titled "Can You Go Home?"
It was interesting to hear what people wrote and since then I've been giving a great deal of thought to this subject. I began to review all the 'homes' that I have lived in, considering which one I thought of as really 'home'. As I've moved around a great deal, it was a difficult choice.
My earliest memories of 'home' are from when I was five. We lived in a little railway town at the border of Alberta/Saskachewan called Lloyminster. During the early '60's when my husband and I moved to Alberta, when my Dad came to visit we drove to Lloyminster, the first time Dad and I had ever returned there. His old church was still there, as was the house next door where we lived. But everything seemed much smaller to me than what I'd remembered as a kid.
The next real 'home' I often think of was in Stratford Ontario when we lived at Grandpa's house during the war when my Dad was serving overseas as a chaplain in an army field hospital. Grandpa had bought that house when it was 100 years old and renovated it, and when Mom and my little sister and I moved in he'd made the upstairs into a private suite for us. I loved that old house and went back there in the early 60's for a visit. My little Grandma (Grandpa's second wife) was still living in the house and it was exactly as I remembered it. But I wonder if it's still standing. Doubtful, as it was already such an old house and I would think it has been torn down to make way for something modern.
After we moved from Stratford, we came here to the West Coast where my Dad was pastor of a church that happens to be in the district I live in now. We didn't live close to the church but our lovely old house is near enough that sometimes I go by there to take a look. It's still the same as it was then and I feel sure my parent's spirits are there. It was a two-story white frame house and I had a bedroom upstairs where I spent many hours at my desk typing stories on an old Underwood typewriter. I guess that is the house where my dreams of becoming a writer really took shape.
Later, when I was married, my family and I moved to Edmonton Alberta. Those days in our brand new house in suburbia have unhappy memories for me so I've only gone back once and haven't had a desire to return. In between then and now have been a couple of other houses, one was my dream home which I lost due to the tragedy of my husband's alcholism. The next was a marvelous old house known as "The Opium Palace" where I learned to survive on a shoe-string with my two kids and house full of free spirits who included my best friend Suzaki, a couple of American army deserters and several hippies. I have enough stories to write a book about that house as well as the infamous Hazel Street House where we lived for several years.
Next I moved to a wonderful old Victorian house which happened to be one of the first houses built in the city. During the late 60's and early 70's it had been known as "The Acid Kool-Aid House". By the time I moved in to the top floor it was due for demolition. I fixed it all up and it was by far one of the best places I've ever lived. I stayed there for a couple of years until I decided to move to Greece. After that the house was torn down to make way for a rather ugly condo.
In Greece, which is also my home, I shared a courtyard and lived in a basement suite on Odos Vironos (Byron's Street). I still pass by there every time I'm Athens, and stop to look through the gate into the courtyard. That home also is full of stories waiting to be told.
Besides the house on Vironos St., I had a little shepherd's cottage up on the mountain in Evvia in a tiny hamlet called Lala. This was my Garden of Eden, the place I dream about and astral-travel to. But since my shepherd died three years ago, some of the magic has left the village so it is painful to return. For sure, this year I found I couldn't go home to Lala. I wonder if I ever will again.
At the present time I'm living in an apartment in a building where I've lived (except for 1 year) since 1993. I've had various suites in the building and the one I have now is probably the best one. For that one year, when I chose to move to a larger apartment to share with a friend, I was so homesick for this building that as soon as I was able I came back here to live. So I guess you can say I did come 'home' and this is where I hope to stay for awhile.
My friend A. is home from the hospital now. It's a difficult adjustment for him but hopefully he will soon feel better about being home in his own apartment, with his family and friends around him. The wish is that he will recover enough to make a journey to Chile to see his family. He has lived here as an exile for many years and I know he longs to return home.
Home really is where your heart is.
"Breathes there the man with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,
This is my own, my native land!
Whose heart hath ne'er within him burn'd
As home his footsepts he hath turn'd"
Sir Walter Scott 1771-1832 "The Lay of the Last Minstrel" V1, st1
Monday, October 03, 2005
CLEANING HOUSE
"It never occurred to her that if the drainpipes of the house are clogged, the rain may collect in pools on the roof; and she suspected no danger until suddenly she discovered a crack in the wall."
Gustave Flaubert 1821 - 1880 "Madame Bovary" 1857 pt. ll ch.5
Although I desperately wanted to get back to my writing yesterday, I found myself instead cleaning up the clutter that has gathered this past week in my apartment. I find it difficult to concentrate when there is a lot of junk lying around. In this case it was the suitcases I keep my winter clothes in. Time to sort out the closets and chuck out the stuff I'm not using. This always creates a dilemma for me. Why do I feel inclined to hang on to those old souvenier T-shirts that I bought long ago in Greece? Or the clothes that are too small or so very old. Yet at the moment, if I throw away too many things my closets will be empty and I will be naked. I can't afford to toss everything away until I buy some new replacements. At any rate, by the time I sorted things out my room is a lot tidier and so are my drawers and closets.
Same thing somehow with my writing. Last night I took out my whole manuscript and started checking through it to see which pages and chapters my character PTOLEMY is actively participating in or at least mentioned. As he's a 'thread' thoughout the story, it's important to keep him woven into the text. Lo and behold! I discovered that though he is featured a lot in Part I and some of Part II, he is only mentioned in one place in Part III, which means I need to write in at least one scene with him actively involved in the plot. No big deal, because while thumbing through this massive piece of work, I realize there are many passages that will have to go. Just like cleaning the closet you have to go through the unnecessary scenes in a novel to tighten it up and make it sparkling and fresh. So I'm not too dismayed about writing more of Ptolemy into the story. After all, he's a major character in Alexander's life and as he begins and ends the novel (Prologue and Epilogue) he deserves a larger role in the whole picture.
At the moment I've been working on an "Epitasis" (Interlude) chapter for Part IV in which I return to Alexandria, Egypt and Ptolemy. This is why I decided to look through the manuscript to find the places where he is featured. This included a couple of scenes also set in Alexandria, so it was rather fun returning there. And I happen to be rather fond of Ptolemy as a character too, so it's nice to get reaquainted with him.
Hopefully by tomorrow, between hospital visits and writer's meetings and other things I have in my daily life, I will get back to the novel. And when I do, I'll take you there with me, on a little visit to Alexandria, as it was back in 318 BC when Ptolemy was overseeing the building of the new city, as Alexander had wanted it. See you there...soon!
"Today we have naming of parts. Yesterday
We had daily cleaning..." Henry Reed 1914 -
Gustave Flaubert 1821 - 1880 "Madame Bovary" 1857 pt. ll ch.5
Although I desperately wanted to get back to my writing yesterday, I found myself instead cleaning up the clutter that has gathered this past week in my apartment. I find it difficult to concentrate when there is a lot of junk lying around. In this case it was the suitcases I keep my winter clothes in. Time to sort out the closets and chuck out the stuff I'm not using. This always creates a dilemma for me. Why do I feel inclined to hang on to those old souvenier T-shirts that I bought long ago in Greece? Or the clothes that are too small or so very old. Yet at the moment, if I throw away too many things my closets will be empty and I will be naked. I can't afford to toss everything away until I buy some new replacements. At any rate, by the time I sorted things out my room is a lot tidier and so are my drawers and closets.
Same thing somehow with my writing. Last night I took out my whole manuscript and started checking through it to see which pages and chapters my character PTOLEMY is actively participating in or at least mentioned. As he's a 'thread' thoughout the story, it's important to keep him woven into the text. Lo and behold! I discovered that though he is featured a lot in Part I and some of Part II, he is only mentioned in one place in Part III, which means I need to write in at least one scene with him actively involved in the plot. No big deal, because while thumbing through this massive piece of work, I realize there are many passages that will have to go. Just like cleaning the closet you have to go through the unnecessary scenes in a novel to tighten it up and make it sparkling and fresh. So I'm not too dismayed about writing more of Ptolemy into the story. After all, he's a major character in Alexander's life and as he begins and ends the novel (Prologue and Epilogue) he deserves a larger role in the whole picture.
At the moment I've been working on an "Epitasis" (Interlude) chapter for Part IV in which I return to Alexandria, Egypt and Ptolemy. This is why I decided to look through the manuscript to find the places where he is featured. This included a couple of scenes also set in Alexandria, so it was rather fun returning there. And I happen to be rather fond of Ptolemy as a character too, so it's nice to get reaquainted with him.
Hopefully by tomorrow, between hospital visits and writer's meetings and other things I have in my daily life, I will get back to the novel. And when I do, I'll take you there with me, on a little visit to Alexandria, as it was back in 318 BC when Ptolemy was overseeing the building of the new city, as Alexander had wanted it. See you there...soon!
"Today we have naming of parts. Yesterday
We had daily cleaning..." Henry Reed 1914 -
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