WORDS ON THE STREET

"Copy your forefathers, for work is carried out through knowledge; see, their words endure in writing..."
The Teaching for Merikare Par. 4 2135 - 2040 BC
(a treatise on kingship addressed by a king of Heracleopolis whose name is lost, to his son and successor, Merikare.)

Yesterday was the annual "Words on the Street" festival of written and spoken word presented by the Public Library. Tents are set up around Library Square and there are booths with various writer's organizations and magazine/book publishers as well as indoor lectures. It's all free and a wonderful opportunity to hear from the experts, listen to poetry and readings from published fiction or non-fiction works and attend lectures. As well, it's a good day for schmoozing with other local writers and for this it becomes a pleasant Sunday afternoon social event.

The day was bright with sunshine and very warm. I headed down a little late so missed some events I'd have otherwise attended. But I did sit in on a very informative lecture by an agent who gave some excellent tips for submitting queries etc. And later I sat in on a workshop for "Writing for the Stage" which provided a little inspiration for me to once again tackle my Sappho play. In the tents on the street, a number of people I know were reading poetry and some well-known published authors were presenting their work along with short discussion. I wish I had paid attention to the program and got there early enough to sit in on the historical fiction writer's performances as I need some inspiration now to get back into my own writing.

I'm pretty well all settled in my new apartment, and let me tell you that this is heaven! On these bright Autumn days the sun streams through the skylights and I have no need to use the electric lights until early evening. From my balcony is a panoramic view of the sunset and twinkling city sky-line. I can visualize myself sitting on the balcony writing once I get a table and umbrella for shade. And now I have my work space set up, though it's a bit crowded, I am all set to get back to writing.(There wasn't as much floor space here with the built-ins, so it was tricky fitting my furniture in, but I'd done it and it is very cozy!)

My classes started last week too, and it looks like a successful season has begun. That in itself is an inspiration. To be among writers, and even the wanna-be-writers is stimulating to me. So I plan to start work back on the novel this week after this little break. Between the packing/moving and trip to New York it hasn't been possible for me to concentrate on the complex political goings on of Alexander's world. But things are calmer now and I am ready to start.

One last little bit of sticky business with the old landlords, and then my life should resume its serenity. (Yes, of course those nasty people intend to gyp me out of my damage deposit but I won't let them get away with it. So it looks like another trip to arbitration. Then I'll be rid of them!) I will post my rants about these sleaze-artists on my "Conversations with Myself" blog at http://ruthakik.blogspot.com)

In spite of the move, I've managed to do a little bit of writing the past two weeks, posting all the blogs about my short, sweet vacation in the Big Apple. You can see these on my travel blog site:
http://travelthroughhistory.blogspot.com

I note by reading some other writers' blogs that sometimes it's necessary to abandon one's projects, sad as it is. I know this well as I had to abandon my Celtic story and have also abandoned my Sappho play -- temporarily of course -- though it's been a number of years since I revisited Olwen's world, "Dragons in the Sky". Sometimes it's necessary to take a break just to let the idea brew for a longer time. Scott, do not despair because Medjay will speak to you again when he's ready. I have already heard Olwen's voice whispering to me -- and Sappho's too -- but they know they have to wait awhile longer before I can 'speak' for them.

So here's to Autumn! And for me, a new beginning. Alexander and his friends are waiting and I must focus, and get their story finished!

"In the world of words, the imagination is one of the forces of nature."
Wallace Stevens 1879-1955 "Opus Postumous - 1957 - Adagio"

TRAVELING AND WRITING

"The use of traveling is to regulate imagination by reality and instead of thinking how things may be, to see them as they are."
Samuel Johnson 1709- 1784 from "Mrs Prozzi - anecdotes of Samuel Johnson" 1986

'Way back in the late '70's, after taking a long break from writing, I began taking Creative Writing Classes. Up until that time all my writing had been in the form of short historical novels and plays, although when I first started my writing 'career', fresh out of high-school as a copy-runner for a newspaper, I had aspirations of becoming a journalist, specifically a crime reporter. That never came to be, and I ended up as a news librarian instead. But this basic knowledge of journalism never left me, and when I began to realize that to get a large piece of work published, such as a novel, I should first try to get some publishing experience, I decided to try my hand at travel writing.

At that time I was making some interesting trips abroad as well as to Central America and Mexico. I knew I had plans to eventually move to Europe, mainly Greece, so I decided to try my hand at travel writing. The very first piece I sent out in 1981 was published, and that was the beginning of my 'career' as a travel journalist. When I moved to Greece in 1983, I had already established a contact with a travel editor of the Globe and Mail newspaper and he was happy to accept any stories I mailed to him. Meanwhile, I was also working on my Celtic novel, Dragons in the Sky.

At that time I was writing on a little portable red Brother typewriter. I had it set up on an upturned drawer on the floor of my apartment in Athens. I wrote about all my journies around my new country, and I sent home hundreds of letters about my adventures, which fortunately my friends saved for me. Eventually I will compile stories from those letters to write a memoir about Life Under the Acropolis.

When I came back to Canada to live (regretfully) in 1987, I decided to start on a new novel, which was to be a short juvenile historical. This project grew into the Homeric saga Shadow of the Lion a story about the fall of Alexander the Great's dynasty, which has kept me occupied all the years since including researching in libraries and at sites in northern Greece. This is when I began combining research trips with travel journalism, and because of my love of history, most of my travel stories have a strong slant toward the history of the places I visit.

I've been fortunate this past year to make some fantastic journies. Usually my destination choice is Greece, via England. Last year I won the door-prize at the B.C. Travel Writer's Association yearly gala -- a trip to Malaysia. This year, recently returned from Malaysia, I again won the door prize, two plane tickets and City Pass tours to N.Y.C. I was floored by my good fortune as I had just purchased my ticket to visit Chile, a sentimental journey in memory of my friend Anibal, by invitation of his ex-wife. That trip is scheduled for mid November. And plans are already forumlating to visit Greece via Venice next May.

I just returned from the Big Apple, and I'm starting to write my blogs about that short, sweet adventure (see my travel blog at http://travelthroughhistory.blogspot.com )
I've found that by writing the blogs first, and taking the time to do the research about the places I've visited, then I can go back and easily write the travel articles.

Of course the problem these days for a free-lance writer, is finding the markets and because I am also busy writing my novel and teaching writing classes, I'm not as diligent as I should be when it comes to marketing. I don't always get the travel stories written that I've intended to write either. But I'm hoping to mend my ways!

This weekend I'm moving up in the world, out of an apartment building I'd consider my 'home' for some years, into a beautiful new condo apartment. I'm excited about this move. As much as I have loved my current 'home', there have been on-going hassles with the building owners/managers for the last two years and the place is getting run-down and happens to be in a neighbourhood where there are constant distractions like police cars, fire trucks, and noisy folk on the streets not to speak of the infamour Dragon Lady (the landlady) who makes me cringe every time I see her or hear her grating annying voice.

So I anticipate this move with great excitement. I know my new home will be quiet, clean (no more roaches and mice!) and will be far more conducive to conjuring the Muse.
It make take me a week or so to reorganize before I can start seriously writing again, but I know I will be back at the keyboard and in Alexander's world before too long.

I'll sign off here by this Saturday and be back as soon as they come to hook up my internet again. See you all then!

"I've never believed that one chance is all I get. Writing is my way of making other chances."
Anne Taylor

HISTORICAL FICTION BOOKS THAT MADE ME WANT TO WRITE H.F.

"Advice to Persons about to write history - Don't."
John Emerich Edward Dalber-Acton, Lord Acton 1834 - 1902
Letter to Bishop Mandell Creighton April 5, 1887

I'll clarify that statement. If you want to write history, be prepared to spend hours, maybe years, researching your subject. May sure you are avidly keen on the subject and willing to devote yourself to long periods of time immersed in that other world. It will be an adventure that you will never regret taking!

Recently there was a blog about the five historical novels that inspired the writer to write historical fiction. As long as I can remember going to the library most of the books I borrowed or collected for my own use were historical fiction themes. Some of them had a profound affect on me at an early age. Being brought up in a Christian family where the Bible was daily reading material, and my father a Baptist minister, I became keenly interested in the Holy Lands and from there, Greece and Rome. I not only read all the books I could find with those settings, but saw movies as well and was totally drawn into that ancient world. By the time I was sixteen I had already written a few short novels (and plays) with Biblical themes set in Palestine, Rome or Greece. And then, I discovered Alexander the Great and my life was to be changed forever as I grew to know this amazing young man. I wrote my first novel with an Alexander theme the last year of high-school. Almost failed my grades because of it. But I was consumed, intrigued, and totally in love with the character. I spent all my spare time in the library researching. And from that time on Alexander and his World have become a major part of my life.

I also grew up reading about British history and was greatly influenced by Shakespeare when I saw my first Shakespearean play "Richard the Third" when I was 14. Other writers of ancient and medieval and Victorian Britain also influenced me. My second work-in-progress
Dragons in the Sky is a Celtic novel set in Iron Age Britain near Stonehenge.

What did I read (and what do I read?) that inspires me to write in this genre?
Here are some of the writer's and their books that have definitely influenced me.

CHARLES DICKENS I was particularly fond of "Oliver Twist" and, of course,
"A Christmas Carol."

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE All his plays. I can watch them time and time again and never grow tired of them. My favorite, of course, is Richard the Third. But I also love Othello and A Midsummers Night Dream.

SIR WALTER SCOTT: "Ivanhoe"

THOMAS B. COSTAIN I was particularly impressed by "The Black Rose" and always thought it was written by Sir Walter Scott. It turns out that Costain was known as the Canadian Sir Walter Scott. He also write The Silver Chalice . Both of these were made into movies which I loved. I googled the Black Rose which was filmed in 1950. I knew that it had starred Tyrone Power, but was amazed to find that the cast also included such notables as Orson Wells, Michael Rennie, Laurence Harvey, and get this: Robert Blake of "In Cold Blood" fame. The other film , The Silver Chalice, starred Paul Newman.

HOMER "The Iliad" and "The Odyssey" are my Greek history 'bibles'

SOPHOCLES & EURIPIDES All their plays. I love Greek drama, especially the tragedies.

MARY RENAULT I read her novels over and over and refer to them constantly. I have learned from her how to construct stories from ancient history and make them live. She, in a way, has been my historical fiction 'mentor'. My favorite is Fire From Heaven but I'm also fond of The Mask of Apollo and the two books about Theseus and the Minoans, The King Must Die and The Bull From the Sea

MARY STUART Her Celtic stories, especially Song for a Dark Queen

MARGUERITE YUCENOR "Memoirs of Hadrian" and "Fires"

MARGARET GEORGE Memoirs of Cleopatra

STEVEN PRESSFIELD He's my current favorite historical writer. "Gates of Fire" is a masterpiece about the Spartans. And his newest novel is "The Afghan Campaign"
(check out the dedication!) I can dream, can't I? Or is it a dream come true?

What books (or writers) have influenced you?

"A few hints as to literary craftsmanship may be useful to budding historians. First and foremost, get writing!"
Samuel Eliot Morison 1887 - 1976 History as a Literary Art, Old South Leaflets 1946

WHERE DO YOU WRITE?

"A man may write at any time if he will set himself doggedly to it."
Samuel Johnson 1709-1784 From James Boswell, Life of Johnson March 1750

We had a discussion the other night of the places where people situate themselves to write. One woman told of an Irish writer (female) who only likes to write in bed. A lot of famous writers like Scott Fitzgerald and Dylan Thomas used to write in pubs. The "Harry Potter" series was created in a coffee shop. Other writers retreat to solitary places. Where do you write?

I generally prefer to write notes by hand before working at the computer. I sit at the kitchen table and go through research and then make notes for my new chapter segments. Then I retire to my bedroom where my computer is set up, surrounded by a lot of memorabalia of Greece that offers me inspiration (pictures, nick-nacks and other stuff). Some of my initial notes are often made spontaneously while I'm walking, perhaps on the sea wall, or at the beach, and once in awhile at my favorite coffee shop on the Drive. When I was working on my play "The Street" because it had Italian characters in it, The Calabria coffee shop was very conducive to setting a mood as they always play Italian music there and the place is decorated with Italian kitch with photos of famous Italians (movie stars, singers, musicians, dancers) on the walls.

When I travel I don't take a lap-top. I do have a palm pilot but when I decided to use it instead of my word processor, I ended up forgetting to keep the battery charged and lost all my work. So the tried-and-true method of notes is the best policy for me. I also keep daily journals, especially when travelling, for these are invaluable reference tools. I have often written copious scenes and notes for my writing while sitting on the beach, or at a sea-side taverna, or just resting by the wayside.

Where to you prefer to write? What environment inspires you? Do you make notes first or just write cold in front of an empty computer screen? Does anyone still use a manual typewriter? (I've saved my red portable Brother for a souvenier of those days I used to have it set up on the wide stone window sill of my shepherd's cottage in Greece when I was writing away in the village. Those were happy times. Productive too. Frankly I find the computer can be quite a distraction even though it's quicker for making edits and changes.)

"True ease in writing comes from art, not chance.
As those move easiest who have learn'd to dance,
'Tis not enough so harshness gives offense
The sound must seem an echo to the sense."
Alexander Pope 1688- 1744

HIDDEN SURPRISES AND DRAGONS IN THE SKY!

"If great help comes from on high, this increased strength must be used to achieve something great for what he might otherwise never have found energy, or readiness to take responsibility. Great good fortune is produced by selflessness, and in bringing about great good fortune you remain free of reproach." Hexegram 42 I Ching "Increase"

Something tells me the Muse is having a hand in this move. I had been longing for the inspiration of my classical scholar friends as I struggle to finish "Shadow of the lion" and now I'm in daily contact with one of them, my friend in Norway who is herself working on her doctorate. This past week I've had so many inspiring things happen, including emails from three historical novelists, one of whom was a sort of mentor of mine several years ago who I had lost contact with. As a result my writing energy is in high gear. And as far as the packing is concerned, because I am thrilled about finding an excellent new place to live, I've been a whirling dervish packing/cleaning/sorting/throwing out and preparing.

Isn't it funny how things happen? This sudden move (an eviction) is day by day revealing surprises and rewards. As I pack and sort I'm uncovering hidden treasures -- some of them almost like 'signposts' to my future. Today, as I was clearing out closets and shelves I found
an assortment of important memorabalia that brought back so many memories and some that were hugely inspiring!

(1) a bag of canvases and water-color paper and paints/brushes etc. Just when I have been considering taking up the brush again!

(2) photo albums and stray bags of pictures from my first trips to Greece in '79/'80. And some more recent albums I haven't looked at in ages. It brought me right back there, among friends (some of whom have passed on now). Such a lot of reminiscing.

(3) The special journal notes I kept '799-'80 when I made those first trips first to England and then to Greece. I was in the process of developing my Celtic novel "Dragons in the Sky" at the time, and paid a visit to Stonhenge and later the iron-age hill fort near Salisbury. It was there I had my first significant deja-vus experiences regarding this story and heard Olwen's voice loud and clear. And again, when I arrived in Athens and walked into the agora, I had another significant deja-vus moment. Later at Delphi too. I had carefully recorded it all. There are poems I'd written too, and lots of observations connected to my planned novel.

I made many notes, spontaneous writing all of which are recorded in this journal. In it I am planning how to write the story and getting in touch with the characters. It's a valuable find for me as in the future I want to go back and finish that novel which I set aside in favour of writing "Shadow of the Lion". It's also a record of my early days in Greece which I want to eventually incorporate into a memoir. "Life Below the Acropolis."

In the journal I had written: "I was reading Mary Renault's "Fire from Heaven" as I was travelling (in Greece) and up til I was almost to Athens, and oddly it was approximately covering territory (geography etc) in proper sequence to my own journey. But she's such a magnificent writer and I'm intimidated to even think I could write a novel dealing with that period of time (Alexander's world). I don't know if I can do it."

Now, here it is all these years later and I am actually doing it!

Here's more notes from that journal:

"Turn to the ancient sources of whatever spiritual path you have chosen..."

"In the words and deeds of the past there lies hidden a treasure that men may use to strengthen and elevate their own characters, the way to study the past is not to confine oneself to mere knowledge of history, but through application of this knowlege, to give actuality to the past."
Hexegram 26 I Ching

I used to throw the I Ching coins and read the hexegrams regularly back then. This weekend I realized I hadn't done so for some time. It's an interesting way to find a focus and to meditate on whatever fortune the coins predict. This is the reading I got on Sunday. Once again,
"dragons" and "good fortune" .

Hexegram 1 "Ch'ien" The Creative Principle (***this hexegram is all about dragons)
1. The concealed dragon avoids action
2. The dragon is percieved in an open space
3. The superior man busies himself the whole day through and evening finds him thoroughly alert. Disaster threatens - no error!
4. Leaping about on the brink of a chasm -- no error.
5. The dragon wings across the sky. It is advantageous to visit a great man.
6. A willful dragon -- cause for regret

Nine in all six places: A brood of headless dragons -- good fortune.

(In China dragons have been regarded as a highly admirable creature of celestial origin.
Interesting, because the infamous Dragon Lady -- my current landlord -- fits more the description of the European dragon, one to be feared! -- rather ironic considering she's Chinese!)

DIALOGUES

"There studious let me sit, and hold high converse with the mighty dead."
James Thomson 1700-1748 "The Seaons: Winter" 1726 l 431

Dialogue has always been a strong forte of mine. Rarely do you find me speechless. I must have inherited the gift of the gab from my father who loved to get into long conversations. I recall how often he'd fail to come home when scheduled and it was usually because he was wrapped up in conversation with someone he'd met along the way.

I started writing plays when I was about 10, maybe sooner. So dialogues have always come easy to me. I'm not often shy about regaling my friends with discussions and stories, nor am I usually shy about striking up conversations with strangers on buses, trains or planes. There's always something interesting to talk about.

When writing, it's important to have your characters talk, and more importantly, to speak in their own particular voice, a distinct level of diction unique to themselves. So far in my writing I've managed this well, but occasionally it daunts me, especially when writing dialogue suitable for men's voices, and in particular the voices of Macedonian generals and Athenian senators. Most of the time I think I've 'nailed' it. At least, when men have read or listened to my novel excerpts they haven't criticised the way the men speak. So I assume that the characters are coming over as themselves, not in my own voice, but theirs. There's nothing worse than 'wooden' dialogue.

"Like a strutting player, whose conceit
Lies in his hamstring, and doth think it rich
To hear the wooden dialogue and sound
"Twixt his stretch'd footing and the scaffoldage."
William Shakespeare 1564-1616 "Troilus and Cressida" 1601-1602

I was bogged down for awhile recently writing a specific chapter segment of "Shadow of the Lion". I'm dealing with some intricate political stuff that is important as the final part of the novel hinges on these events. So I've had to read over a lot of research notes, and pay attention to the way other historical fiction authers present their character's dialogues in order to peg the exact way these men would speak when addressing Assemblies or friends. I always start a new scene by making lots of notes, and as this process unfolds, bits of dialogue come to me and paragraphs of action, setting details, descriptions etc. Then I let it gel for a few days, settle my mind, try to listen to their voices in my head. Finally, I go to work writing the scene.

The first time I wrote this new segment it was written too flat. There wasn't enough action and definitely not enough dialogue. So I've been struggling a bit with it, reviewing research and making further notes. Finally, yesterday, it all came to me and I wrote for several hours straight, seven pages in all, and when I went back later to do my edits, I was pleased to find that there was little editing to do. Here's a sample of the kind of dialogue I was writing.

The setting is an Assembly in which the Macedonian Regent, Polyperchon, is conducting a 'trial' for the military governor of Athens, Phokion, who is accused of treason. Polyperchon's rival, the second in command, Kassandros, is plotting to overturn Polyperchon and seize the Regency and control of the Greek city states. Phokion has ignored a royal edict sent to Athens by Polyperchon, allowed Nikanor the garrison commander to escape when the Athenians wanted to arrest him, and thus put himself in jeopardy, accused by his own citizens of siding with Kassandros and supporting the aristocrats who have fared well under the oligarchies imposed by the old regent Antipater. Here is a scene from the 'trial'.

The atmosphere in the Hall was hushed and solemn. The audience pressed forward eagerly, waiting for him to address them. He glanced across at Phokion who sat with his supporters in front of the dais flanked by Deinarchos and Solon. Neither of the men were visibly armed but he did not doubt that beneath their cloaks were hidden daggers. They claimed to have come ‘out of regard’ for Phokion, but undoubtedly they had been sent by Kassandros to protect him.
When questioned earlier, Deinarchos had apologized for their delay in arriving, saying he had fallen ill. Polyperchon felt certain this was a ploy to delay the Assembly. Was Kassandros sailing into Athens on this very day? He’d had no word from his son Alexandros and had to rely solely on what the delegations told him.

His feelings of unease overcame him and before anything else transpired, he ordered both men forward.
“What is your purpose here?” he commanded.

Solon, a thin man with a narrow face and thick brows that shaded his small dark eyes,
shuffled nervously. “In truth, Sir, I have come as a friend of Phokion.”
“And you?” Polyperchon scowled down at Deinarchos, a short, stout man who seemed dwarf-like beside his own height and girth.
“I too, Sir,” Deinarchos stammered. His ruddy face flushed deep crimson. “We are here to speak on Phokion‘s behalf, my Lord.”

Polyperchon asserted his disapproval of them fiercely. “You two men have been Antipater’s agents and thus owe allegiance to his son. If in truth you are lying, and have come here as spies for Kassandros, I will have you put to death as traitors!” He turned to his guards. “Take these men out and torture the truth out of them. And if they prove, as I believe is so, to be Kassandros‘ men , put them to the sword!”

There was a gasp of disbelief from the members of Phokion’s party and from Phokion himself came a cry of protest. The two men stood in frozen silence as the guards came forward to seize them. Solon’s face had gone white. Deinarchos glanced nervously around at Phokion
“They have come in good faith and friendship,” cried Phokion. “You are wrong to accuse them. They are no more traitors than I am!”

Until then he had remained aloof and silent but now, summonsed by Polyperchon to speak in his own defence, he drew himself up to his full height and stepped up to the dais like a general ready to address his troops. Instead, he was greeted by boos and cat-calls.

“Macedonians, fellow Greeks, “ he shouted. His crisp, soldier’s voice cut through those of the dissenters. “These men are loyal friends of mine. They did not coerce me to support Kassandros, but came here in good faith to show their trust in me. I appeal for justice. I need no representative to plea for my own cause. The good have no need of an advocate! These charges that are raised against me are false. I was relieved of my command by the same foreigners and rabble rousers that you allowed to return to Athens. This, Polyperchon, is one reason why I hesitated to obey the decree. I knew it would
irreparably divide the city. Because you ordered the exiles to return to claim their land, Athens would, as it is now, be plunged into civil strife. I have, as you know, been a friend of Macedon. Have I not allowed the garrison to remain at Munychia?”

His strong voice carried to the rafters. There were murmurs of admiration from his supporters which were soon overruled by jeers from the opposing democrats.
Polyperchon shouted a call to order and silenced them. He turned to the old general and gave him an accusatory stare. “You betrayed your citizens by collaborating with Nikanor, allowing him to escape.”

“I counted Nikanor as trustworthy, taking into account his family association with Aristotle,” Phokion retorted. “I had no reason to suspect him of ill-intentions. In any case, I prefer to suffer wrong rather than to inflict it. I did not arrest him because I was afraid of plunging the city into war. I am a man of good faith, sir, and known to deal fairly and I had hoped Nikanor would respect this and do no harm to the Athenians.”

Loud voices broke out among the opposition until Polyperchon’s booming voice reprimanded them. There was a complete silence as he spoke.
“You have endangered your country’s safety by doing so, Phokion, and this violates an important and sacred obligation: that is your duty toward your fellow citizens. It is not a good enough defence that, when Nikanor had betrayed you, you went to my son Alexandros to seek his help. By then Nikanor, who was clearly under Kassandros’ command, had already taken control of Pireaus so that Kassandros might sail in unhindered with his warships. You have thus failed as military commander and chief magistrate of Athens, Sir, and your acts are clearly treasonous against me, the Regent, and my country, Macedon.”

“When I learned that Nikanor had betrayed my trust I was willing to lead out the Athenians...” argued Phokion.
“Your act was too late, Phokion,” Polyperchon shot back. “You ignored the warnings of your fellow citizens and because of this you have put Athens in great peril.”
Then Agonidis, a popular orator Phokion had once saved from exile, stood to speak. He accused Phokion of hoodwinking the Athenians by withholding news at the
time of Antipater’s death; conniving to abort an attempt to seize the Macedonian garrison, and accusing him of ignoring the call to arms by the citizens.

Phokion attempted to shout him down,. He reminded Agonidis how he had negotiated a peace policy between Nikanor and the Macedonians, thus saving the city from an invasion that could have destroyed Athens as Thebes had been destroyed.
An uproar of angry Athenians shouted accusations and derisions at him, their voices raised in condemnation. Phokion stood amid the clamour, stolid as a marble pillar, the barrage of insults and accusations brushing off him like dry leaves. He tried to speak again but Polyperchon interrupted him, so he struck his staff on the floor, clamped his mouth shut, and remained silent.

* * *

"Conversation ...is the art of never appearing a bore,

of knowing how to say everything interestingly,

to entraing with no matter what, to be charming with nothing at all."

Guy de Maupassant 1850-1893 Sur l/Eau (On the Water) 1888

"What is the use of a book," thought Alice "without pictures or conversation?"

Lewis Carroll 1832-1898 "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland" 1865 ch 1

PAINTERS AND POETS

' "Painters and poets," you say, "have always had an equal license in bold invention." We know; we claim the liberty for ourselves and in turn we give it to others." '
Horace (Quintus Horatius Flaccus) 65-8 BC Ibid III (Ars Poetica) c8 BC

I've spent the last few days painting and retouching my furniture, spiffying it up for the move next month into my beautiful new apartment. I spent three days painting my wicker telephone shelf. Why didn't I spray paint? Well I'm using two colours: saffron and blue -- Moroccan colors -- to match several other pieces of my furniture. It was a long, sometimes tedious job, but pleasurable too. It's been awhile since I had a paint brush in my hands and in this case I did a lot of the work with an art brush because of the curlikews and slender woven wicker pieces. I find painting a meditative task. And it reminded me of how long it's been since I held an art brush and actually did a painting (as in picture).

There was a time, when I had stopped writing for awhile, that I focused my attention to art. I 'inherited' a box of oil paints and some canvases (this is an incredible story which must be retold) and started classes at art school. For several years I painted landscapes and still lifes and occasionally painted from a model. I also painted in water-colors and inks. I have several watercolor painting of my village in Greece on my kitchen wall. I gave up painting when I moved into an apartment and found the lack of space for setting up and working was restrictive and the oil paints too much fuss to work with. I've always intended to try working in acrylics instead, but in the end turned my attention back to writing again. Painting word pictures.

"As in painting, so in poetry." Ut pictura poesis
Horace 1.361 (Ars Poetica)

My daughter became a successful painter while she was living in San Diego. She received many commissions and was doing very well as an artist. Now she's living here again she's had no time to pursue her art and it seems such a shame. So I thought of asking her to paint a picture for me for my new apartment. When I told my son this yesterday he said: "Well, Mom, Why don't you paint one yourself?" It made me remember some of my own work, in particular a very good painting of a Guatemalan village which I was quite proud of. I'd taken that painting to Greece with me when I went to live there in the '80's and when I returned to Canada it got left behind. My intention was to collect it on a future trip. But somehow the painting got lost. Remembering that particular painting gave me the idea that yes, perhaps I can do my own painting. I want a Moroccan or Turkish scene so it's a matter of finding a photograph that I could work from. And then, perhaps for my Fall projects I'll take an art course to refresh me.
Painting and writing do somehow go hand-in-hand. A lot of writers I know are also artists.

In my writing classes I always point out, when writing descriptions you are actually painting a picture with words, using all the senses so the reader can visualize being in that scene. I guess because I like to look at things with an artist's eye it makes my descriptive scenes visual and real. Now, if I can reverse that and get my written and mental images down on the canvas, I might come up with something really fantastic!

"Painting is silent poetry, and poetry painting that speaks."
Simonides 556-468 BC From : PLUTARCH, De Gloria Atheniensium iii. (346)

EVICTIONS, CONVICTIONS...WHATEVER, I'M MOVING ON!

"Those opposed to righteousness meet with injury.
Those who do what is right win great success.
Those opposed to righteousness will suffer and have nowhere favorable to go (for without integrity what remains for them?)" I CHING, Hex 25 "Integrity"

I haven't had the time to post here during the past week or so what with all the upsets going on around me. I was no sooner getting over the near-death sudden illness of my son and the almost fatal heart-attack of one of my friends, when my sleazy landlords slapped me with an eviction notice. Not surprising these unscrupulous, dishonest shysters would pull such a stunt...only the timing was, for me, quite upsetting. I didn't waste any time, though, filing for an arbitration hearing as I don't t hink people like this ought to get away with their dirty tricks without the authorities knowing about it. This isn't the first time they've pulled this off. Since they took over the building two years ago, after the first week they evicted a long-term resident who had lived here over 20 years. Then another. Then another. And who knows how many others since then, besides all the dishonest dealings that have been going on here. Anyway, I get my day in tenant's court on Aug. 24 and I will make sure they don't get off too easily.

Meanwhile, though, fortune smiles (on the 'good'?) My son is recovering and so is my friend so that crisis is over. And not a week went by after the eviction notice before I found myself an excellent new apartment, one owned by friends of mine, where I will move in mid September, after my trip to New York. The nasty landlords here will have to give me a month's rent, and I will only give them a short required notice of my move. I'm not sure if the arbitration board will award me more, but I intend to keep an eye on things. They claimed (as always, and probably a lie, as always) that the Dragon Lady wants to move into my suite. If she doesn't, she'll pay, as required by law she has to live in it for six months. And, as I am certain she's evicting me in order to raise the rent, that probably won't happen. In which case, I can sue them for another two months rent back-pay. I don't intend to let these sleazy people get off scott-free.

All this just when I'm about to begin a new chapter in my novel in which the Polyperchon, the Regent is meeting with Phokion, the military governor of Athens, with the intention of banishing him so he can take over the city. The Athenians are accusing Phokion of treason because he refused to insist the Macedonians remove their garrison from Athens, and stop the return of former exiles to the city. They want the death penalty for Phokion. Meanwhile, Kassandros, the villain of our story is about to sail into Pireaus with a fleet of battle-ships and armed troops. The country is on the brink of civil war. Who will win?

Well, at this point, regarding my 'eviction', I know that I'm going to win because these landlords have been pulling off dishonest stunts since the day they took over ownership of the building two years ago. Everything from wrongful evictions to partioning suites and renting them out as 'rooms' (illegal) as well as some accusations of thievery and other dishonest deeds.
I knew from the very first day I laid eyes on Dragon Lady, seeing her greedily eyeing my apartment, observing the shennanigans and dirty-dealings that have been gonig on here, that is was only a matter of time before they'd pick on me. A couple of times I wanted to move out, but dug in, determined not to be 'forced' out of my suite which I happen to like a lot, and out of a building that I have called 'home' for over ten years. In the end, I'm moving on to much better things -- a secure, well-maintained building, an apartment with all the amenities, two new 'landlords' who I know, who are talented, honest, creative, friendly people. Kind people with integrity. Something the people who operate this building certainly don't have!

"The good have no need of an advocate." Phokion, 402-317 BC
from : Plutarch, Apothegms, Phocion sec 10

DREAMS AND JOURNEYS

"The dream is the small hidden door in the deepest and most intimate sanctum of the soul, which opens into that primeval cosmic night which was soul long before there was a conscious ego and will be soul far beyond what a conscious ego could ever reach."
Carl Gustav Jung 1875-1961
Ibid p 45; vol 10 "The Meaning of Psychology for Modern Man." 1934


A few days ago, a friend of mine sent me a web site that has information about a trek in Turkey along the old Lycian Way, which was the route taken by Alexander the Great's army on it's journey to and from Persia. The Lycian Way is a 509 way-marked footpath around the coast of Lycia in southern Turkey, from Fethiye to Antalya.

The modern trail is mainly over footpaths and mule trails with many ascents and descents as it approaches and veers away from the sea. It's suggested to start the trek at Fethiye which is the easiest part of the trail. There are camping places and pensions in village houses along the way.

Lycia is the historical name of the Tekke Peninsula, which juts into the Mediterranean on Turkey's southern Coast. The mountains rise steeply from the wooded shore and tiny bays, giving beautiful views and varied walking. The Lycians were a democratic but independent people who absorbed Greek culture. All along the route are many historical sites.

The mention of this famous route to and from the East in ancient times, reminded me of a dream I had a few years go, a dream that has stayed distinctly in my memory.
In the dream I was travelling with the Macedonian army on a mountain trail, going north up the Asia Minor seacoast (the Lycian Way) toward distant mountains. I can still clearly recall the soldiers who I was with, what they wore, the activity with outriders going up and down the long ranks of cavalry and footsoldiers encouraging them along. The commander pointed out to me the five snow-capped peaks in the distance. He said they were "The Five Sisters" and we were going to ride beyond them to Macedonia.

In August 2003 I had a chance to relive that dream. I was travelling by bus down the coast of Turkey toward Fethiye with my friend Patrick . When I glanced out the bus window, as we passed through the mountains, I immediately felt a sense of dejas-vu. I remembered that dream, and recognized the scenery, the mountain terrain, pine forests, occasional glimpses of the distant sea.

Fethiye was called Telmassos in antiquity and is located on a lovely bay strewn with islands. The town is built up the hillside, just below the famous Lycian rock tombs, but there are many sarcophogi in the town itself. The ruins of a crusader's castle crowns the hill, built by the Knights of Rhodes. The rock tombs dominate the town, representing the facades of Doric-style temples cut into the cliff face. For years I had been looking at pictures of those tombs and longed to see them. On that visit, I climbed the steep hill and the two hundred steps up and stood right in front of the most predominant of these marvels, the Tomb of Amyntas, which dates to the 4th Century B.C.

(To find out more about the trekking route on the Lycian Way go to www.trekkingturkey.com )

It happened that we were having a discussion at my writer's workshop last week about using dreams in or as stories. I have several times used my own dreams as dreams of my characters if they seemed appropriate. One is a dream that Roxana, Alexander's widow, has about a snake. I had that dream myself but knew it was really her reoccuring dream, a kind of omen which foreshadowed the future.

Another time, back in the '70's, I had a vivid dream with an exotic technicolour setting in which I seemed to be a 'captive' in a small stone-built room. I remember the little room clearly, especially the large turquoise urn that stood by the window and the narrow bed covered by a jaguar pelt. The man who I was with seemed to be a royal person. He was brown-skinned, dressed in a kilt and plumed head-dress. His name stayed in my memory, something that sounded like "Cho'oc". I recall his urgent warning. "You must go. I will help you escape."

There was a commotion outside, and I recall looking out over a green jungle-like area with other stone-built buildings. My companion (or captor) was urging me to leave by the back entrance.

The dream stayed with me becuse it seemed to have a special significance, almost as though it were a memory flash-back, very real and yet quite fantastical. A year after that, I was in Mexico, travelling for several months with my boyfriend. We went to Palenque to see the Mayan pyramids. As I climbed the steep steps of Temple XII, I noticed at the base of the pillars, the stucco relief of the Mayan death god. As I entered the small stone room and looked out over Palenque, I immediately had that dejas-vu feeling again as if I had been there before. I instantly recalled the dream that had haunted me before I came to Mexico. And I knew that this was the place. The room was much smaller than I remembered from the dream and yet it was the same room, empty now, but the windows did have a view over the tangled jungle where once there had been lovely gardens. The spirit still remained there. I had an overwhelming feeling of peace at being back there, but it puzzled me, and I wanted to find out more. Who was the young 'prince'? Where did he go? And why was he, in the dream, urging me to leave? I learned that the excavators found the bodies of a prince-priest and a girl near Temple XVIII but the jungle was overgrown too much to locate the path. Palenque has also been called "Na-chan" City of Snakes, so I decided to turn back. Just then somethiing caught my eye: a brilliant irridescent green feather. I remembered then, that "Cho'oc" had worn a fabuloud head-dress of emeral-coloured plumes. Was this an omen? An answer to my questions? Later, when I developed my photos, every picture that I took of the entrance to the room, with the skulls on the base of the pillars, there were strange streaks of purple light reflecting in the corner. Eerie!

Later, I did some research and found that there had been uprisings in Palenque and young men, especially priests, were commonly sacrificed to appease the gods. I found a name "Cho'oc Bahlum" which meant "The Young Jaguar". What had happened that long-ago day in Palenque? For now, the jungle keeps its secrets.

I've had a great many dejas-vu experiences, epecially in Greece, but these were especially profound because they were connected to dreams. So, pay attention when you dream. Write down the details of the significant ones. Who knows? They may be telliing you something about your own past life. Or, perhaps they are telling you something about your character's.

"Of all peoples the Greeks have dreamt the dream of life's best."
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe 1749-1832 "Proverbs in Prose"

STRENGTH IN THE FACE OF GRAVE DANGER

"That fear of Acheron be sent packing which troubles the life of man from its deepest depths, suffuses all with the blackness of death, and leaves no delight clean and pure."
Lucretius (Titus Lucretius Carus) 99-55 BC De Rerum Nalura "On the Nature of Things"

It's been difficult, these past few weeks, staying focused on my writing although so far somehow I've managed to keep a decent schedule and make a wee bit of progress. In addition I started the two writer's workshops at my home twice a week and had preparations to do for them as well as the new set of Memoirs that I teach every Thursday morning downtown.

Three weeks ago my son was rushed to emergency in what turned out to be a serious infection in his colon which required emergency surgery. The facts are all being disclosed now, how close to dying he was, how very serious the infection was (almost flesh-eating disease) and that without the alertness of the doctors he would not be with us now. Yes, it was shocking, so sudden and unexpected, and now he's facing at least 8 months to a year of dealing with a colostomy.

In addition to this crisis, a close friend of mine had back surgery this week. She knew it was 50-50 whether she'd survive due to a serious heart condition. Yesterday she was in critical condition in the ICU and we expected the worst possible outcome. Amazingly today the news is better and it looks like once again this feisty, strong lady has cheated Charon out of a boat trip.

As if all this hasn't been enough to distract me completely, this week I got a call from another very dear friend of mine who says his throat cancer has returned and he stands a chance of losing his voice box. How horrible! The very thought of never being able to speak again must be devastating. And I can't imagine never hearing his voice, that Midland England accent, that sense of humour of his.

By midweek I felt swamped, overwhelmed by all these crises. At best I tried to keep writing, immersed myself in my workshop and Memoir groups which are interesting and inspiring as well as a lot of fun, went out with friends to hear some jazz and drink crantinis and just generally tried to stay focused, not to dwell on the negative possibilities and to keep on praying that good things will happen: that my son will be free of pain and recover, my friend will survive the back surgery and her heart will hold out awhile longer, and that somehow Thomas won't lose his voice-box.

All week I forced myself to work on my novel, spent more hours doing research, sorted out the tangled web of intrigue, edited, revised and at last began to write. Oddly, the part of my novel I am writing just now deals with crisis and strength in the face of grave danger.
It felt cathartic to write the new passages. I was able to transfer some of the intense drama that has been going on around me into the drama of the story. Here's a little bit of what I wrote today:
SCENE: Athens is on the verge of civil war with the Democrats and Aristocrats battling over an edict passed by Polyperchon, the new Regent of Macedon allowing disinfanchised citizens and exiles back into the city so they can claim back their land which had been expropriated by the Aristocrats. The Democrats won't accept the edict unless Macedon agrees to remove their military garrison. The Aristocrats support the oligarchies established by the old Regent, Antipater, and many are friends of Kassandros, the deputy Regent who means to overthrow Polyperchon. The military governor of Athens, PHOKION, is caught in the midst of the turmoil and because of his indecision has been accused of being a traitor. He goes to the Macedonian camp outside the city to appeal to the Commander only to find that, instead of coming to Athens to help establish peace, apparantly Polyperchon means to seize control and fortify the garrison against Kassandros and his faction. He has sent a letter asking Phokion to help him by urging Nikanor, the garrison commander, to ally with him against Kassandros.

Phokion accepted the letter and unsealed it. As he read what Polyperchon had written, his heart raced and anger welled up inside of him. In it, Polyperchon demanded a meeting to discuss the Royal edict and the political unrest in Athens. The Regent offered him protection if he assisted his son, Alexandros, in seizing command of the garrison. Apparantly Polyperchon meant to take control of the city himself.

Polyperchon's letter veils a plot to destroy me, he thought. He seeks to win over Athens by allowing the rabble back in order to overwhelm the government. Clearly Polyperchon means to banish me and if so, the assembly will once again be dominated by demagogues and public informers.

"If the Regent can not guarantee the Athenians their democracy, the Athenians will not obey the edict," he retorted bluntly.

"Phokion!" Alexandros said sternly. "Don't you see your time has come to an end? You're an old man now, and you have served your City well. But Athens is already on the verge of civil war and if you do not cede and obey, you stand to not only lose your poisition as military governor, but your life."

"I will never resign my position nor will I allow my City to be taken over by foreigners," Phokion declared.

"I advise you, Sir, to agree to my father's terms. Phokion, you must negotiate with Nikanor, convince him to meet with me."

"I see," Phokion replied. "Apparantly I have no choice but to appeal to Nikanor on your behalf even though he has already back-stabbed me by blockading the harbour and seizing Pireaus. You have bound me to agree to this just as a prisoner is bound and led to his death. I came here to appeal to Macedon to restore our democracy. Instead it appears that Macedon means to retain a hold on Athens, and though the Regent has offered to abolish the oligarchies, we will be less free than before, ruled instead by a military force."

"If you do not ally yourself with us, and thus chose to return to the city without our protection, you will surely be killed," Alexandros replied tersely.

Phokion's brows furrowed. He knew that if he did not treat with Macedon now, he would face banishment, or worse. "I will never abandon Athens." His jaw set firmly and he leaned forward, glaring fiercely at the Commander. "Tell your father the time is not propitious for me to desert my people."

In truth, he saw his own demise, caught as he was between two opposing forces. The scales were tipped in Polyperchon's favour but he stubbornly refused to relinquish his own position. How could he let his beloved Athens be torn apart again, forced to bow under the military might of these northerners who he had once considered his allies?

"If you refuse to try to convince Nikanor to ally with us, and choose to disregard the Regent's orders," Alexander said, "I can not guarantee your safety."

"If I must sacrifice my life to save my city, I shall count this a happy fate," Phokion replied. He felt a sudden melancholy as he spoke. "I will not accept the choice of banishment, nor will I be offered as a sacrifice, led like an ox to be slain on the Maiden's altar." He raised his fist in a victory salute. "Eleutheria!" he cried. "Freedom!" He stood and drew himself up to his full height, lifting his chin proudly, though he could feel himself trembling. "I have braved the might of Macedon fearlessly and offered to treat with them only to save Athens the same fate as Thebes. If my opponents wish to condemn me, so be it. When I am buried, let my winding sheet be the white one of liberty and may no man ever say that Phokion betrayed his City."

* * *

"If you are very valiant, it is a god, I think, who gave you this gift."
Homer 700 BC "The Iliad" l. 178

EDITING: SLASH AND BURN!

"I might write four lines or I might write twenty.
I subtract and I add until I really hit something.
You don't always whittle down, sometimes you whittle up."
Grace Paley

Editing. Add/subtract. Cut & paste. Revise. Rewrite. Slash and burn!
That's what I've been doing all this week. Now the visitors have left (my young German friend Patrick was here for 3 weeks) and the mini vacation over (you can read about it on my travel blog: http://travelthroughhistory.blogspot.com ) I've committed myself to a summer of writing. Sounds like fun, doesn't it? But really, writing can be such hard work! Perhaps the most difficult part is staying disciplined. So far I've managed to stick to my schedule.
I write in the daytime because at night I have two writer's workshops here with people from my Spring night-school classes. I also intended to take Spanish classes twice a week but the class was full. And today, Thursday morning, I have my summer "Write in the Park" memoir group which looks like it's going to be quite successful and well-attended.

So when do I write? Usually in the morning, allowing myself some leisure time to enjoy what has been some exceptionally warm weather luring me to the beach. I've also had to spare some time this week because my son underwent emergency surgery for a bowel infection so that sent us all for a loop. Freaky and unexpected but it looks like it'll be okay now.

I've managed to spend several hours every day not only on my novel but other writing related things like marketing and preps for my workshops. So far this week I've mostly been retyping passages of the novel into the computer. (When I first started writing it I was using a word-processor which unfortunately wasn't compatible with the computer so I've had to retype the whole first part of the novel. I've still got a bit to do but only work on this when I'm in between the actually writing/editing. It helps me get centred in the story again and I edit as I go along, also marking the passages (lots!) that can be slashed and omitted in the final draft.

Now I'm down to editing the most recent passages before I plunge into the new work. But I've having a hard time getting 'inspired'. I need to talk it out with someone who's familiar with the history and story. I long for those days I lived in Greece and had friends who loved to sit around the taverna chatting about my novel and the characters in it. I wish I was in Greece right now! But I'll just have to do the best I can to get myself stimulated and inspired as I really want to finish this monumental piece of work. However, I'm feeling mired down and discouraged at the moment. I guess it's a matter of serious discipline and focusing all my attention on what has to be done. Having my son's life in a percarious situation earlier this week didn't help my concentration. The hot sun beckoning me outdoors didn't either. But now it's cooled off. I think Steve will be alright. And Shadow of the Lion awaits!

"The most essential gift for a good writer is a built-in, shock-proof, shit detector. This is the writer's radar and all great writers have had it."
Ernest Hemingway 1899-1961 "Interview in Paris Review" Spring 1958

WOUNDED BY EROS

"Love distills desire upon the eyes,
love brings bewitching grace into the heart
of those he would destroy.
I pray that love may never come to me
with murderous intent,
in rhythms, measureless and wild.
Not fire nor stars have stronger bolts
than those of Aphrodite sent
by the hand of Eros, Zeus's child."
Euripides 485-406 BC Hippolytus (428 BC) l. 525

Last night I attended an amazing performance titled "When Eros Wounded Me" a compilation of five monolgues from three plays written by Euripides Alcestes, Hippolytus, Medea and one of Sophocles' plays The Trachiniae Women.

Four talented local actresses performed the monologues beginning with the prologue by Aphrodite from Hippolytus. The performance included Alcestes' monologue from Alcestes in which she reminds her husband that she is dying in his place so that he will live and care for their children; Phaedra's monologue from Hippolytus when she reveals her desire to be near the forbidden subject of her love, her stepson Hippolytus; Deianera's monologue from The Trachiniae Women when she reveals her discovery that the potion given to her as a gift from the Centaur for her to rub on her husband Hercules' cloak in order to make him faithful to her, was actually a poison to kill him. And Medea's monologue from the play Medea when she exposes her murderous plan to kill her husband Jason's second wife-to-be, and the girl's father, and the murder of her children by Jason to avenge her husband's betrayal.

Following this brilliant performance which was accompanied by appropriately exotic music and lovely period costumes, the renown Greek actress Iliana Panagiotouni appeared to perform all five monologues in modern Greek, beginning with Aphrodite which was recited in Classical Greek and finally the monologue segement by Medea ,which was also performed in Classical Greek. It was one of the most amazing performances I have ever seen (and I have attended many plays in the ancient theatres of Greece.)

The most awesome part of the night was when Panagiotouni appeared on stage. For years I've been looking for a living face to put on my character of Olympias, especially now when I am about to write a crucial part of my novel which 'stars' Alexander's mother, a woman of 60 who has been living in exile from Macedonia and is about to return to care for her grandson and oversee his claim to the throne that had been inherited by him from her husband and son. When Panagiotouni stepped onto the stage I couldn't believe it. There she was, Olympias! The exact person I had imagined, even to the red hair! I sat there all the rest of the show, mouth agape, rivetted by her performance. (Thinking about it, how coincidental that I should relate this actress to Olympias, a woman who was truly 'wounded by Eros' in so many ways. Imagine the monologue she might have delivered, so like those spoken by the dramatists' tragic women.

I came away feeling totally inspired and awe-struck. It was an evening I won't soon forget.
Today I made some calls to friends urging them to attend. (I'd go again myself if I could!) And by some other strange coincidence right afterwards I got a phone call from a Greek man I'd never met, phoning from the Hellenic Society to remind me of the play and other events being held this week during Hellenic Cultural Week. I spoke at length with him. He seemed to already know about me and my work-in-progress about Alexander's dynasty, and I told him that most of the travel stories I've had published were about Greek travel. We had an excellent chat and I'm only sorry I will be away during next week so I won't be able to attend more of the events they have planned.

I've been so homesick for Greece lately, and seeing the performance, talking to this man about Greece, has only heightened this longing to be there, immersed in the culture and language again. It was truly a gift last night, sitting in the audience listening to this fine, talented actress recite in that beautiful language. It makes me want to study again, to improve my vocabulary, to speak it more often and more fluently. And most of all, to return to Alexander's world.
Soon...very soon, I hope!

"They are not wise, then, who stand forth to buffet against Love:
for Love rules the gods as he will, and me."
Sophocles 495-406 BC "Trachiniae" l 441

"Would that I were under the cliffs, in the secret hiding-places of the rocks,
that Zeus might change me to a winged bird."
Euripides 485-406 BC "Hippolytus" l 732

WRITING FOR THERAPY

"The excursion is the same when you go looking for your sorrow as when you go looking for your joy." Eudora Welty, 1909- "The Wide Net" 1973

The Memoirs group that I instruct each Thursday morning is called Write from the Heart. From prompts we write our memories. Sometimes these are happy memories, often they dig deep into the depths of our hearts and sad memories emerge. It isn't unusual for tears to flow along with the words. But somehow, once those sad memories are purged from our hearts, it is soothing, and a kind of closure to the troubled thoughts that have been buried deep for so long.

I often find the same thing in my "Prompting the Muse" class which I teach at night school. More often these days I have people joining the class who want to write about their life's experiences and often this is a kind of therapy. In my last session I had a person who is a tsunami survivor. She is undertaking the painful task of writing about this experience as a memorial to those who did not survive. Her own survival was a miracle. So she has become the 'voice' of those who were not so lucky. Others write about unhappy childhood memories, being bullied. shunned by peers, broken families, lost loves. For myself, I've found this very therapeutic too. Putting those dark thoughts down on paper releases them from your subconcious mind. So, in a way, my writing classes are often like 'therapy sessions'.

I think every writer uses some of his/her own experiences in telling their stories, whether fiction or non-fiction. My play The Street, was partly autobiographical. Although it was mostly fictionalized, there were many parts of the story and dialogue that were true. I originally wrote it when I was eighteen and had seen my boyfriend and his pals become addicted to heroin (a drug that none of us knew anything about at that time in the '50's) I wrote it as a cautionary tale for my peers. A few years ago, when I reworked the play for production, I was able to add lots more to it, about the way things were back then including what happened to these young men when they were placed in the prison system. It was a heartwrenching experience, rewriting that play, reliving those by-gone days of my youth. And because of that experience I understand how it feels for people in my classes who are writing about their lives.

Even in my fiction writing I rely on some of my own emotional experiences to express the way characters are feeling in certain situations. I think it's important to get in touch with your characters, understand them to the depths of their souls, what makes them think, feel, act the way the do.

Lately I've been too distracted, too busy to revisit Alexander's world. My classes have finished for the season although I'm going to have private workshops at home during the months of July and August. At the moment I have a house guest from Germany and we're planning a few small trips to visit relatives and friends. After that it's down to business again. I'm feeling anxious about my writing, champing at the bit, eager to return to work on my novel. But for now I must content myself with editing, marketing travel stories and other small tasks that need to be completed and taken care of before I progress. My aim is to spend the entire summer working on my novel...and finishing it! To me, immersing myself in my historical-fiction world is the best 'therapy'. I'm happy when I'm writing. The present world passes by with all it's traumas and dramas and I am there, in the ancient world, riding with the Macedonian army or playing in the courtyard with Alexander's son. I long to return there and I will, soon. To me, it's as good as a holiday away.


"Writing fiction has developed in me an abiding respect for the unknown in a human lifetime and a sense of where to look for the threads, how to follow, how to connect, find in the thick of the tangle what clear line persists. The strands are all there, to the memory nothing is ever really lost." Eurdor Welty, 1909- "One Writer's Beginnings" 1984 "Finding a Voice."

WHERE ARE YOU GOING?

"If you don't know where you're going, you will probably end up somewhere else."
Laurence Johnston Peter 1919-1990 "The Peter Principle" 1969

I'm on the threshold of my new year now, having just celebrated another birthday (a big one!).
This weekend I was away with my writer's group, the Scribblers, to one of the enchanting Gulf Islands off the coast of B.C. We've been going to Mayne for about 10 years or more and I always look forward to these bi-annual retreats.

This time there were only six of us. None of the new members came, which is a pity because the retreats are what make our group unique. We pass the time doing writing exercises, hiking eating good meals prepared by various members, and enjoying the cameraderie.

Usually we have a 'theme' for these retreats, and this time it was 'Alter-egos' in literature and history to go along with the Gemini party (the Twins) which I organized to celebrate my birthday and other Geminis as well. These Gemini birthday parties have become a tradition since the began back in the late '70's. I've celebrated Gemini at home, on the beach, in Greece on Filoppapou and the Pynx Hill, in the Latin Quarter, in various tavernas in Athens, and this year it was special because I was celebrating with my writer friends on Mayne Island.

We had a weiner and marshmallow roast and had party hats and treats, played kid's games like pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey, drop the clothes pegs into a bottle (prizes for all!). The birthday cake was strawberry short-cake (my favorite). Then we did the intros to our alter-egos. Queen Elizabeth was there with a little talk about the royalty (that would be Dora);
Lord Byron (Dee) gave a little talk about his life; Ariel read her poem from "The Tempest" (Susan); and Snow White (Beverly) sang "Some Day My Prince Will Come". We expected an appearance of either Capt. Hook or Tom Sawyer but Allan didn't think of it.
Jack Kerouac was there (he's my writer-hero of the '50's. I used to wish I could write like him.) 'Jack' read a passage from 'Lonesome Road" and some of his poetry. It was another birthday to remember!

So here I am at the beginning of my new year and I must ask myself "Where are you going?"
I know I have several journeys planned including some short jaunts I'll be making in the next few weeks with my friend Patrick who is coming from Germany. Then there's NYC in Sept. and Chile in November.

But where am I going with my writing? I haven't been able to work on the novel for the last two weeks due to one thing or another but I am on the verge of starting again. First, though, I have to find my direction. Let's see...Polyperchon, the Regent of Macedon has been travelling down the coast of Greece to a meeting place where he will confront Phokion, the military governor of Athens who has been charged with treason by his fellow Athenians. The events due to take place are part of the critical political intrigue that propels the plot of my story to it's end.
Following this will be a dog-poisoning (the poison intended for the young son of Alexander), which results in a quick exit of the royal family to the safety of Dodoni where they will meet the formidable Olympias, Alexander's mother.

Everything is carefully plotted from here to the end and it's only a matter of staying with it and not having to stop too many times to do additional research. I have set my goal to finish before the end of summer. The next few weeks I may not get much writing time because of my guest arriving and the short trips around we will take. But July and August ought to allow me lots of writing time. I really have to dedicate myself to this and stay disciplined.

I've still got other travel stories to finish too. But those don't take me so much time. And then there's the marketing...(a writer's work is never done!)

At least I think I have a clear view of the direction in which I am going. I just hope I can stick to the path and don't stray off course. Where are you going?

"If one advances confidently in the direction of his dreams and endeavors to live the life which he has imagined, he will meet with a success unexpected in common hours."
Henry David Thoreau 1817-1862 "Conclusions"

A DREAM OF WRITING

"Writing is nothing more than a guided dream."
Jorge Luis Borges 1899-1986 "Doctor Brodie's Report" 1972 Preface.

"A Dream of Writing" was the keynote address given by Stephen Osborne, editor of Geist Magazine at the Federation of B.C. Writer's AGM Friday night. He read a writer's memoir, how it all began for him as a writer/editor, launching the Pulp Press back in the late 60's/70's which later became so successful he now published Geist a local literary magazine. The topic of his reading reminded me of the day before when I had attended the Youth Writer's Conference and had been reminiscing about my youth, when I had dreamed of being a writer.

I guess all of us have had that dream at some time in our lives, and that's why we still write, some of us very successfully with publications. Who would have dreamed back in my teens that one day I'd actually be instructing writing classes and participating in presentations to kids.

In living the dream though, there are sacrifices to be made. You don't get there without a lot of dedication and discipline (that's the hard part!) and willingness to be poor sometimes, to make do without in order to have the time to write. I never regretted quitting my full time job as a daycare supervisor back in '94 in order to take more time for writing. Sure, sometimes I've been dirt-poor but somehow I've always survived. I haven't had a big piece of work (novel) published yet, but lots of smaller publications (travel articles and a very small amount of short fiction). But the pay-off is there. Two 'free' trips gifted to me by the Travel Writers' Assoc. and at the FED meeting I won a $50 book certificate. Things have definitely been looking up!

I'm still toiling away at the novel and one of these days it WILL be finished. Meanwhile I am doing lots of other writing too, as well as teaching. And the workshop I've been conducting privately has really caught on so it will continue through most of the summer. How do I make a living from my writing? By instructing others. And I love it as it's a learning experience for me as well.

Yes, I grew up dreaming of writing and it eventually became a reality. I can call myself a writer -- full time! And one of these days I will call myself a published historical fiction novelist.
That will be a dream come true!

"He (the writer) must teach himself that the basest of all things is to be afraid; and, teaching himself that, forget it forever, leaving no room in his workshop for anything but the old verities and truths of the heart, the old universal truths lacking which any story is ephemeral and doomed -- love and honour and pity and pride and compassion and sacrifice."
William Faulkner 1897-1962 Speech on receiving the Nobel Prize, Dec. 10, 1950

THE YOUNG WRITERS

"She was quite young -- about twelve or thriteen. Her wide, frightened, blue eyes looked up piteously at the Canadians. Her long braids were the colour of dark honey. She was dressed in a threadbare white blouse and a blue skirt. The shoes she wore were old and ragged, and one of her stockinged toes peeped out from the shoe leather. Her only cloak was thrown over the still form of her companion. She looked up again at the soldiers and then to her brother.
"He is my brother Karl," she said. "He is sick. Maybe you can help?" Then she smiled at the sergeant. It was a cute smile -- the way all girls smiled. Her bottom lip seemed to curl in between her pearly teeth, and two dimples appeared on her ruddy cheeks. The soldiers' hearts were touched."
written by Wynn, age 13. My first publication in the Girls Guides of Canada 1948
from a novelette "The Real Peace" a character study of a Dutch war orphan, Janni.

I started writing things when I was about 8 years old. By the time I was 10, I was writing plays for my classmates. It was during WWII and most of us kids had dads, uncles, grandpas or brothers serving overseas. I wrote little propoganda plays about the war for school and at home I composed fairy tales to entertain my neighbouhood playmates. When I was 12 and the war ended, we travelled by train across Canada to the West Coast. I was enthralled by the vastness of the Prairies (where I was born and lived til I was six) and imagined what the life of Pioneers must have been like. I began writing their stories in little scribbler books in pencil and pen with my own illustrations. By the time I was 14, I had switched my historical interest to Romans and stories set in Palestine (influenced by Bible stories). And in high school I was introduced to Alexander the Great and began my long love-affair with all things Greek.

My first job out of high school was in a newspaper editorial department. I had aspirations of becoming a journalist. I was also a playwright and wrote/produced a play about kids using heroin (something dreadful and unheard of then, but it had happened to my boyfriend and his pals and was so horrifying I had to write about it.) That play was later rewritten, updated and produced successfully in 2000.

All during my school years my only wish was to become a writer. But there was little encouragement. In fact often my mother was called to the principal's office and informed that if I spent more time concentrating on Math and Science and less time off in my own dreamworld or with my nose stuck in books (usually historical fiction or research) then I would be a better student. I barely scraped by with a 'pass' out of High School but I didn't care as long as I got to write and be around writers.

Yesterday all these school-day memories flooded back to me when I spent the day at a Youth Writer's Conference where I had been invited to present as a travel writer. The conference was sponsored by the School Board and organized by a friend of mine, a writer, who teaches elementary school and used to be one of our Scribbler's group. I was thrilled to be invited and be able to speak to kids about writing, remembering how I had longed for such attention when I was their age.

These were kids 10 -13 yrs old from various Vancouver schools, all invited because of their keen interest in literary things. In fact, each of them had contributed to an anthology of student writing which was presented to each of the instructors.

The auditorium was full of kids, teachers and assistants. There were many different presenters including writers of novels, plays, humour, and history. A number of presentations were given: a children's book writer/illustrator; several slam poets; a reading by an actress/playwright; comedy sketches by the comedy writers and the main speaker,
James Delgado, a marine archaeologist. Several students were also chosen to read their work from the anthology.

I had two separate groups of kids who came to learn about travel writing. I spoke to them about my experiences as a writer, from childhood to present. I showed them some of my writing from when I was their age and also some of my travel articles -- the ones I thought that would capture their interest most. They were given a short exercise, to write a lead and start a story about a trip they'd been on or wished to go on. It was amazing how talented these kids were, and how keenly interested.

When the readings were given by the chosen students, I had a flashback to my first experience at reading my own writing in front of an audience in the school auditorium. It was the first time I'd ever been in front of such a large group of my peers and the first time I'd ever been introduced to a microphone. When I stood up to read and got the echo and amplified sound back off the mike, I froze. It was like a hand closed around my throat and I was absolutely speechless. I couldn't read a word, I was so terrified by stage fright. It was one of the most embarassing moments of my youth. These kids who read yesterday were so self-assured and articulate. I was impressed!

When the keynote speaker got up to address them, everyone was enthralled. Mr Delgado told some amazing stories of searching undersea wrecks off the coast of Japan -- a Mongol fleet who had come to invade Japan had been scuttled by the Samurai. The legend was that a wind (the kamakazi) had come up and the storm sank the ship. But when Delgado and his colleagues began searching they found instead that the ships had been set afire. He told how they'd come across the remains of a man who had worn leather armour, and where his outstretched hand had been was a cup with his name on it "Wang". He was identified as the commander of the fleet. To parallel this story, Delgado told about descending to the depths of the Atlantic to explore the wreck of the Titanic. He talked about seeing parts of the ship which he related to stories of that fateful day -- the place where the captain had stood, the broken mast and crowsnest where the bosun had first spotted the iceberg. And how he had seen clothing, left from those who had perished including a pair of leather women's lace-up shoes. The story brought tears to my eyes and there wasn't a sound in that big room, the children were so enraptued by the tale.

It was so inspiring and rewarding participating in such an event, with children who are so passionate about writing just as I had been at that age. I've spent time in classrooms before on the "Off the Page" program that I participate in each year through the Federation of B.C. Writers and it is always a rich experience.

This week has been a particularly dense writing week. Starting last Saturday when I spent the afternoon with two other writers screening entries for a one-page contest (and thrilled to recognized that two of my night-school students had their entries make it to the finals!)
All week I've had my critique groups, workshops, and classes -- yesterday's Youth Conference being the highlight. Tonight is the AGM for the Fed, more writerly activities, speakers, and generally schmoozing with literary folk. I'm feeling super motivated by all this and anxious to get back to my novel again, feeling somewhat empowered.

Listening to Mr. Delgado's talk yesterday made me realize how much I have missed the company of my scholarly friends in Greece, the Classical Scholars and archaeologists I know there who have helped me so much and kept me grounded in Alexander's world. Something has been missing for me for some time now and I recognized it yesterday. Perhaps that's what made me feel so emotional. It's a lonely enough world being a writer but when your mind is way out there in a far distant past world, it makes it seem even lonelier somehow. Thankfully, though, I do have a lot of writer associates. And those discussions I have with my workshop group and classes are like adding fuel to the fire.

"I was never allowed to read the popular American children's books of my day because, as my mother said, the children spoke bad English without the author's knowing it."
Edith Wharton 1862-1937 "A Backward Glance." ch 3