"Some time, man or woman, traveler,
afterward when I am not alive,
look here, look for me here
between the stones and the ocean,
in the light storming
in the foam.
Look here, look for me here,
for here is where I shall come, saying nothing,
no voice, no mouth, pure,
here I shall be again the movement
of the water, of
its wild heart,
here I shall be both lost and found --
here I shall be perhaps both stone and silence."
Pablo Neruda
Well, I'm home again. Barely. Still jet-lagged and going through the usual cultural shock.
The last few days, melting in the heat of Athens, broke, exhausted, having seen everything and everyone I had come to see, I was anxious to move on homeward. But by the time I arrived in Amsterdam, the reality hit me and felt sad at having to leave, wished I could have stayed on and on...
It's always like that with me and Greece. I am torn. It is my other home. I have friends and family there I love as much as my friends and family in Canada. Once I get there, I never want to leave, but know that eventually I have to. Just as I know I must always return there once I come back here.
I love the life there. I love the bright blue of the sky, the quality of light, the smell of the air, yes...even the heat. Most of all I love being in the ancient places, relishing the memories of when I resided on Vironos Street in Plaka, walking the well-trodden paths, running into people who knew me back then. It's a 'returning' when I go there, just as it's a 'returning' when I come back home to Canada.
The thing is, when I get back here, I go through weeks of culture shock. And this is why:
Athens has become even more beautiful than it ever was; I love the sea, the still-quaint villages, the people and their culture. I love being able to ride air-conditioned buses and not have to put up with drunks and ugliness; I love listening to the Greek language, the elegant way the Greeks speak, not having my ears bombarded with cheap filth. (Why do people here constantly bastardize the English language, swear so often -- use those awful words?) Why are so many people here so angry, so desperate? Why is there is much violence in North America?
A day after I returned, there was a story on the front page of the Vancouver newspapers: "Vancouver a scarred paradise, UN says." Our beautiful city is blighted by a two-kilometre square stretch of urban misery. "A grim analysis of the city's drug-drenched Downtown Eastside was included in a report released around the world by the UN Population Fund, which warns of huge social and environmental costs as urbanpopulations skyrocket over the next two decades." It describes Vancouver as a "breathakingly gorgeous" city with a sizzling economy. "But", states the UN, "nowhere is it more evident than in the Downtown Estide - a stretch of dcaying rooming houses, seedy strip bars and shady pawnshops. Worst of all, it is home to a hepatities C (HCV) rate of just below 70 per cent and an HIV prevelance rate of an estimated 30 per cent -- the same as Botswana's." Imagine that! "The same as Botswana's"
I was only home an hour or so, sitting on the Drive having tapas with my girlfriends, when the pan-handlers appeared. And the next day, as I rode through town, I saw people begging and sleeping on the streets. A friend told me he was in the DES the other day going to his radio station, and saw several women sleeping on the sidewalk. Two tour buses came by, the horrified tourists, gawking out the bus window. Can you imagine the impression they got of our 'beautiful' city?
It's disgusting. It's a disgrace, that while the fat-cat politicians spend billions of dollars on the 2010 Olympics, the poverty level here increase and along with it the crime rate. People are desperate. No wonder there is so much discontent, anger and unhappiness!
So, you can understand my dismay on returning. The whole time I was away in the city of Athens (more than 6 million population) I rarely saw a beggar (only the occasion old gypsy woman or terribly disfigured or disabled man. Yes, even the gypsies seem to have made themselves scarce.) I know there's crime there that didn't used to exist -- a lot of it blamed on people from the northern Balkans -- but it was a pleasure to not have it 'in your face', to read a newspaper and not be bombarded with horrible violent stories. (Yes, and not have to see a certain Bush-boy's stupid face staring at me from every TV screen or newspaper!)
OK, I'll get over it. Within another week or so I'll become innured to what is going on around me and learn to ignore it. I'll take cabs home at night and watch over my shoulder when I'm walking down the street. I'll remember to keep an eye on my belongings. (While I was away, my friend had her purse rifled while she ate dinner at a very high-end dining room in a classy hotel downtown. You're not safe anywhere here, it seems!)
In addition to adjusting to the 'life' here -- the weather is impossibly horrible. I left Athens sizzling in record high temperatures (which were, yes, 'unbearable'). When I arrived at Amsterdam, with an 8-hr lay-over during which I'd hoped to explore the city, there was a storm with high winds and freezing rain. I lasted an hour in the town before I was soaked and frozen and had to return to Schipol to wait for my flight home, which was delayed an hour because of the weather. Arrived home to the same. It's apparantly been raining most of the time I was gone. There have only been a few rare glimpses of sunshine since I arrived back. Help! my tan is fading (or is it being washed away?)
No wonder I want to go back! And if I had the finances you can bet I would. I'd like to be able to afford to spend six months every year in Greece like I used to. Meanwhile, I'll have to make do with the occasional vacation there. But in my heart, that's where I really want to be and I shall return.
So...now that I have returned home...I must get over the jet-lag which makes my brain all mushy, and try to resume work on my novel. Maybe if I bury myself in Alexander's world it will help to distract me from what is going on around me.
"To rejoice in life, to find the world beautiful and delightful to live in, was a mark of the Greek spirit which distinguished it from all that had gone before. It is a vital distinction."
Edith Hamilton 1867 -1963 "The Greek Way" 1930. Ch. 1
Saturday, June 30, 2007
Sunday, June 17, 2007
NOTES IN THE COURTYARD
"Ordinary men hate solitude
But the Master makes use of it,
embraces his aloneness,
realizing he is one with the whole universe."
Tao te Ching 42
An important reason why I come to Greece year after year is not only because of the friends I've made here, and that it is a part of my life. It's because of my writing. a good part of my historical novel "Shadow of the Lion" was written while I stayed here during the '90'
s and mostly all of the research for it was done here at the Gennadius Library, the British School Library, at archaeological sites or with the help and encouragement of the Finnish Institutes and the classical scholar friends I've met here from Finland,Norway and Denmark. I hve, to this point,never had any help or encouragement for this project from Canada (other than the critiquing of my Scribblers writing group who have kept me on track)
My travel writing career started in the '80's when an article I wrote about Leros Greece wa published. And from the time I came here to live in 1983, every article I submitted to the Globe and Mail, typed on my portable Brother typewriter set on the bottom of a drawer on the floor f my sparsley furnished room on Iannatakis Street, or when I lived on Vironos St (Byron's Street), was pubished. In 1993, the Greek consul in Vancouver became aware of my studies and writing of Macedonian history (Alexander the Great had been my hero since I was 16). They offered me a ticket to Greece so I could do my research. This was also an opportunity to bail out of a very unsavory daycare job that was sapping my energy and health. This trip opened new doors for me and resulted in an interview in Thessaloniki with the secretary for Macedonian studies, and eventually led to me meeting my group of classical scholar friends at the To Kati Allo in Athens.
So Greece has bgecome an imortant part of my writing career. If I could afford it, I'd be coming here for six month stints like I used to, just to write. As it is, I'm fortunate to have found my niche at home, living the writer's life, teaching writing classes and making connections with local writers. I'm dismayed though, by the current situation with freelance travel writing and recently have had some unpleasnt experiences in this respect which have left me feeling as if I should give up, back off, like I don't 'belong' with the 'in' group. I won two trip prizes fair and square at the BCATW gala but took a lot of flack becauser of it and was told at the last gala that if I won again I should give the prize away. (some of this was joking but there were so many comments made I felt uneasy and unhappy about it). There were even insinuations that I had not produced articles to cover those trips, even though I'd already had one published and three more out to market at the time. I don't qualify for the FAM trips that other travel writers get because unlike them, I don't have an 'in' with an editor and do everything on my own. All my trips such as this one have been funded by ME and the majority of my published stories are from these trips which I write about 'from the heart' and not because I'm 'expected' to. (Even the Greeks didn't 'expect' me to write the feature article that was published in the Montreal Gazette on "Searching for Alexander" after they had generously paid for my journey to Greece.)
Recently I submitted several previously published stories to a populare on-line travel publication which does not pay for your submissions. The editor of this publication hs high expectations as to how these 'free' articles should be sumbitted. I sumbitted one which was published, then she requested more which I sent. Unfortunatly I made some errors in the required format, and received back a couple of nasty scathing emails as if she was addressing an idiot. this woman makes her career off of other writers free submissions. I have never been addressed so disrespectfully by an editor in my entire freelance career, and told her so. Needless to say, I don't think I'll give her any more of my work. On the other hand, I do published on other on-line/print sites with no problems (and usually pay). If you check on
http://www.cstn.org/ site (under Greece and Turkey) you will find recent and past articles by me about these destinations. I have always been treated courteously by these editors and these are publications I will continue to submit to. And I will, as usual, pay for my own trips with no 'expectations' from anyone.
So, here I sit in the courtyard musing and writing. I haven't made any new notes of "shadow" so far on this trip and I missed out on the trip to Sappho's Leap to get new inspiration for my play "House of the Muses". But I have been inspired by the time spent with my friendshere, and just 'bing' back in Greece. I have tried to focus on writing travel articles though,and have garnared more material for this. (another reason for my disappointment about the amorgos trip was that I had really made an effort to connect with the tourism people there and thought I had been successful in impressing them on my reasons for being there. Instead I felt as if we were treated like just another tourist.) Well, in the end, I've been doing this on my ownnow for over 25 years, quite successfully, so I don't really need a 'group' to do it. I guess I just need more experience inpromoting myself. Maybe what I shall do in future is start my own travel website, and if I do, I shall remember not to be nasty to my contributors and try to pay them at least a little stipend for their effort.
"Don't allow something or someone to cast a shadow over your life - this shadow seems to block your source of illumination andhappiness. these shadows -- experiences or attitudes -- have no control over y ou. You can release negativity and the cloud of darkness is lifted."
the Daily World
But the Master makes use of it,
embraces his aloneness,
realizing he is one with the whole universe."
Tao te Ching 42
An important reason why I come to Greece year after year is not only because of the friends I've made here, and that it is a part of my life. It's because of my writing. a good part of my historical novel "Shadow of the Lion" was written while I stayed here during the '90'
s and mostly all of the research for it was done here at the Gennadius Library, the British School Library, at archaeological sites or with the help and encouragement of the Finnish Institutes and the classical scholar friends I've met here from Finland,Norway and Denmark. I hve, to this point,never had any help or encouragement for this project from Canada (other than the critiquing of my Scribblers writing group who have kept me on track)
My travel writing career started in the '80's when an article I wrote about Leros Greece wa published. And from the time I came here to live in 1983, every article I submitted to the Globe and Mail, typed on my portable Brother typewriter set on the bottom of a drawer on the floor f my sparsley furnished room on Iannatakis Street, or when I lived on Vironos St (Byron's Street), was pubished. In 1993, the Greek consul in Vancouver became aware of my studies and writing of Macedonian history (Alexander the Great had been my hero since I was 16). They offered me a ticket to Greece so I could do my research. This was also an opportunity to bail out of a very unsavory daycare job that was sapping my energy and health. This trip opened new doors for me and resulted in an interview in Thessaloniki with the secretary for Macedonian studies, and eventually led to me meeting my group of classical scholar friends at the To Kati Allo in Athens.
So Greece has bgecome an imortant part of my writing career. If I could afford it, I'd be coming here for six month stints like I used to, just to write. As it is, I'm fortunate to have found my niche at home, living the writer's life, teaching writing classes and making connections with local writers. I'm dismayed though, by the current situation with freelance travel writing and recently have had some unpleasnt experiences in this respect which have left me feeling as if I should give up, back off, like I don't 'belong' with the 'in' group. I won two trip prizes fair and square at the BCATW gala but took a lot of flack becauser of it and was told at the last gala that if I won again I should give the prize away. (some of this was joking but there were so many comments made I felt uneasy and unhappy about it). There were even insinuations that I had not produced articles to cover those trips, even though I'd already had one published and three more out to market at the time. I don't qualify for the FAM trips that other travel writers get because unlike them, I don't have an 'in' with an editor and do everything on my own. All my trips such as this one have been funded by ME and the majority of my published stories are from these trips which I write about 'from the heart' and not because I'm 'expected' to. (Even the Greeks didn't 'expect' me to write the feature article that was published in the Montreal Gazette on "Searching for Alexander" after they had generously paid for my journey to Greece.)
Recently I submitted several previously published stories to a populare on-line travel publication which does not pay for your submissions. The editor of this publication hs high expectations as to how these 'free' articles should be sumbitted. I sumbitted one which was published, then she requested more which I sent. Unfortunatly I made some errors in the required format, and received back a couple of nasty scathing emails as if she was addressing an idiot. this woman makes her career off of other writers free submissions. I have never been addressed so disrespectfully by an editor in my entire freelance career, and told her so. Needless to say, I don't think I'll give her any more of my work. On the other hand, I do published on other on-line/print sites with no problems (and usually pay). If you check on
http://www.cstn.org/ site (under Greece and Turkey) you will find recent and past articles by me about these destinations. I have always been treated courteously by these editors and these are publications I will continue to submit to. And I will, as usual, pay for my own trips with no 'expectations' from anyone.
So, here I sit in the courtyard musing and writing. I haven't made any new notes of "shadow" so far on this trip and I missed out on the trip to Sappho's Leap to get new inspiration for my play "House of the Muses". But I have been inspired by the time spent with my friendshere, and just 'bing' back in Greece. I have tried to focus on writing travel articles though,and have garnared more material for this. (another reason for my disappointment about the amorgos trip was that I had really made an effort to connect with the tourism people there and thought I had been successful in impressing them on my reasons for being there. Instead I felt as if we were treated like just another tourist.) Well, in the end, I've been doing this on my ownnow for over 25 years, quite successfully, so I don't really need a 'group' to do it. I guess I just need more experience inpromoting myself. Maybe what I shall do in future is start my own travel website, and if I do, I shall remember not to be nasty to my contributors and try to pay them at least a little stipend for their effort.
"Don't allow something or someone to cast a shadow over your life - this shadow seems to block your source of illumination andhappiness. these shadows -- experiences or attitudes -- have no control over y ou. You can release negativity and the cloud of darkness is lifted."
the Daily World
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
PILGRIMAGE TO DELPHI
JUNE 5
We set off on a morning when Zeus was tossing about his thunder bolts and a torrential rain was filling the gutters with gushing streams ankle deep. We didn't let that deter us and boarded the 10.30 bus for Delphi, a four hour trip north into the mountains. Vesa and Joonas were supposed to meet Ingrid, Deb and me at the bus depot but didn't show (apparantly were driven to the wrong bus depot and missed us by minutes!)
The rain subsided by the time we reached Delphi although throughout the day there weree scattered shoers. Our first goal on entering the hallowed area was to hike down the mountain to the Tholos and the Temple of Athens. Ingrid had missed this part of the sanctuary the last time we were there and wanted more than anything to see it.
Delphi was the most sacred sanctuary of ancient Greece the "naval' of the earth and hoome of Apollo, god of light. In his sanctuary, the fabled Pythia sat on a tripod inhaling hallucenogenic vapours and interpreted the fates of the supplicants. No important decisions were made politically or personally without first cosulting the Delphic Oracle.
First the pilgrims would bathe to cleanse themselves in the Castalian Spring below the sanctuary. The area has been fenced off now due to rock falls, but y ou can still refresh y uself from the same mountain spring water that gushes from a fountain nearby. Below the Spring, several hundred meters down the mountain is the site of the gymnasium and down the road below that is the beauitufl Tholos and Temple of Athena.
Fortunately the rain had refreshed and cooled the air and there weren't the usual hordes of tourists at the site, making it a pleasant though energetic hike on the mountain. Ingrid was thrilled to finally arrive at the holy Tholos. Deb and I left her there to contemplate the beauty and snap lots of photos while we hiked back up the long raod to the Sanctuary.
Just as we reached the pillars of the Temple of Apollo,the sun broke through the clouds and lit up the temple. I'm sureif the Pythia had been there she'd have protended good fortune for us!
The new museum at Delphi is a wonder, so artistically constructed and the treasures tastefully displayed. My most favourite pieces of sculputre are there: the bronze figure of the charioteer which commemorated a victory at the Pythian Games of 478 BC and the remarkably life-like marble sculpture of Antinous, beloed of Hadrian who drowned in the Nile and wa later deified.
It is here too that a copy of the "omphalos" a sculpted cone representing the spot where the two eagles released by Zeus met - the cnte of the world; and there is an impressive marble sphinx dating from 500 BC, a gift from the Naxians.
We had four hours to tour the sites and managed it with time to spare, treating ourselves to a most delicious pizza and jug of red wine while we waited for the fus to return to Athens.
Another excellent day, and you can't help but feel you are in touch with the gods while at Delphi, so we returned to the bustle of the city feeling tired but blessed.
NEXT: LIVING THE LIFE: A Day in Athens
We set off on a morning when Zeus was tossing about his thunder bolts and a torrential rain was filling the gutters with gushing streams ankle deep. We didn't let that deter us and boarded the 10.30 bus for Delphi, a four hour trip north into the mountains. Vesa and Joonas were supposed to meet Ingrid, Deb and me at the bus depot but didn't show (apparantly were driven to the wrong bus depot and missed us by minutes!)
The rain subsided by the time we reached Delphi although throughout the day there weree scattered shoers. Our first goal on entering the hallowed area was to hike down the mountain to the Tholos and the Temple of Athens. Ingrid had missed this part of the sanctuary the last time we were there and wanted more than anything to see it.
Delphi was the most sacred sanctuary of ancient Greece the "naval' of the earth and hoome of Apollo, god of light. In his sanctuary, the fabled Pythia sat on a tripod inhaling hallucenogenic vapours and interpreted the fates of the supplicants. No important decisions were made politically or personally without first cosulting the Delphic Oracle.
First the pilgrims would bathe to cleanse themselves in the Castalian Spring below the sanctuary. The area has been fenced off now due to rock falls, but y ou can still refresh y uself from the same mountain spring water that gushes from a fountain nearby. Below the Spring, several hundred meters down the mountain is the site of the gymnasium and down the road below that is the beauitufl Tholos and Temple of Athena.
Fortunately the rain had refreshed and cooled the air and there weren't the usual hordes of tourists at the site, making it a pleasant though energetic hike on the mountain. Ingrid was thrilled to finally arrive at the holy Tholos. Deb and I left her there to contemplate the beauty and snap lots of photos while we hiked back up the long raod to the Sanctuary.
Just as we reached the pillars of the Temple of Apollo,the sun broke through the clouds and lit up the temple. I'm sureif the Pythia had been there she'd have protended good fortune for us!
The new museum at Delphi is a wonder, so artistically constructed and the treasures tastefully displayed. My most favourite pieces of sculputre are there: the bronze figure of the charioteer which commemorated a victory at the Pythian Games of 478 BC and the remarkably life-like marble sculpture of Antinous, beloed of Hadrian who drowned in the Nile and wa later deified.
It is here too that a copy of the "omphalos" a sculpted cone representing the spot where the two eagles released by Zeus met - the cnte of the world; and there is an impressive marble sphinx dating from 500 BC, a gift from the Naxians.
We had four hours to tour the sites and managed it with time to spare, treating ourselves to a most delicious pizza and jug of red wine while we waited for the fus to return to Athens.
Another excellent day, and you can't help but feel you are in touch with the gods while at Delphi, so we returned to the bustle of the city feeling tired but blessed.
NEXT: LIVING THE LIFE: A Day in Athens
THE REUNION & THE SUNSET PICNIC
JUNE 2 THE ASSEMBLY OF 2007
The To Kati Allo Taverna on Xatsichristou street has been a meeting place for me and my friends for the last twenty years. The proprietors, Anna and Leonides and their son Dino are gypsy people from Sparta. You never know who you'll meet at the TKA although many of the old 'regulars' are gone: moved away, returned to their places of origin, or passed on, in particular my soul-brother Roberto and pal Graham and Kay, a Greek American woman who was ry often tart of the TKA scene. Yesterday I ran into Kay's daughter Maria. She's moved ack from Rhodos and is living in Kay's old flat. Also met up with two other women who have been regulars there for years. And of course last night (Saturday) the TKA was the scene of the big reunion of the Assembly of 2007.
At 10 pm a group of us gathered to reminisce and recreate what used to e a daily gathering of locals and visiting scholars from the Norwegian, Swedish and Finnish Institutes located nearby. I first met Vesa ten years ago when he was here studying Classical architectures. He is an architect in Finland. He arrived with his twelve year old son Joonus, a delightful young fellow who has been good-naturedly tagging along with us crazy adults all week now. Unfortunately Vesa's wife was supposed to come, but took ill the day of departure from Helsinki and couldn't travel. Patrick arrived from Germany that day and Anna Britt sailed in from Santorini where she's been staying at a monastic retreat. My local friends Caroloa and Christina joined us.
A.B of course arrived fashioned late looking very glamourous. I had met her the same summer I met Vesa when she was here studying classical theatre and staying at the Norwegian Institute. We were all part of that amazing group of scholars, artists, writers, musicians and vagabonds that gathered at the TKA almost every night to discuss, drink wine and have a few laughs. Nowadays the scene here has changed. For one thing, the whole row of apartments across the street where Graham lived, and Waverly (John Steinbeck's stepdaughter) lived, to make way for the monstrosity they are building to house the new Acropolis artifacts. And there used to be a little souvlaki place there with rickety tables where we used to gather too, and tease the little bald-headed proprietor who we called Mr Souvlaki. Around the corner, also torn down was our favorite taverna, Socrtates Prison. So the whole ambience of the street has changed now, especially with those people who are also missing. This made the reunion an extra special event, just like old times. But we all missed Robbie and Graham and dranks some toasts in their memory.
The TKA has changed too, looking more upscale, and the owners are learning to speak English.
No matter what we have decided it is the best meeting place for us, for now and in future.
And we consider the owners as part of our 'family' so would never abandon them.
It was a lovely gathering of old friends and what a wonderful surprise right in the midst of the merriment to get a phone call from one of my L.Q. friends in Vancouver.
That made the evening even more special and I know lots of other people were thinking of me that night and will be present 'in spirit' for the sunset birthday picnic on the Pnyx.
JUNE 3 THE SUNSET PICNIC
Early this afternoon Ingrid and I made a reconnaisance trip to check the party location on the Hill below the pnxy. A lot of new excavating has been done and information posted on various sites around Philopappos, the Pnyx and the Hill of the Nymphs. The place where the party would be held is actually the old Deme of Milite, sort of the "British Properties" of ancient Athens where politicians and generals such as Themostocles and Miltiades had their homes. It was also used as an Assembly area.
So the Assembly of 2007 met at the TKA that evening and trooped over to the Hill toting enough food to feed the multitudes (as well as the stray dogs). The spot is spectacular for picnics and although the sunset wasn't at it's blazing best, it was still beautiful. From the rocks there's a panoramic view over Athens to Pireaus and a specacular view of the Parthenon lit byu golden lights, and the monument at the crest of Philoppapou Hill. It was truly a memorable birthday psent with my good friends. I certainly won't ever forget it, and took some movie snippets so I can share the event with friends at home.
The next day (Sunday) we met again, this time including Deborah who had arrived a bit too late for the party Saturday. We made a group excursio to the Theatre of Dionysus where AB gave her private theatre lecture, and then to the Acropolis. Afterwards we had lunch at an excellent taverna, the Attalos, with an amazing view of the Agora and Acropolis. Later we browsed through Monastiraki, then said goodbye to Patrick who had to fly back to Germany that evening.
It's been a wonderful but very busy and somewhat exhausting few days, but we're all having fun!
NEXT: A PILGRIMAGE TO DELPHI
The To Kati Allo Taverna on Xatsichristou street has been a meeting place for me and my friends for the last twenty years. The proprietors, Anna and Leonides and their son Dino are gypsy people from Sparta. You never know who you'll meet at the TKA although many of the old 'regulars' are gone: moved away, returned to their places of origin, or passed on, in particular my soul-brother Roberto and pal Graham and Kay, a Greek American woman who was ry often tart of the TKA scene. Yesterday I ran into Kay's daughter Maria. She's moved ack from Rhodos and is living in Kay's old flat. Also met up with two other women who have been regulars there for years. And of course last night (Saturday) the TKA was the scene of the big reunion of the Assembly of 2007.
At 10 pm a group of us gathered to reminisce and recreate what used to e a daily gathering of locals and visiting scholars from the Norwegian, Swedish and Finnish Institutes located nearby. I first met Vesa ten years ago when he was here studying Classical architectures. He is an architect in Finland. He arrived with his twelve year old son Joonus, a delightful young fellow who has been good-naturedly tagging along with us crazy adults all week now. Unfortunately Vesa's wife was supposed to come, but took ill the day of departure from Helsinki and couldn't travel. Patrick arrived from Germany that day and Anna Britt sailed in from Santorini where she's been staying at a monastic retreat. My local friends Caroloa and Christina joined us.
A.B of course arrived fashioned late looking very glamourous. I had met her the same summer I met Vesa when she was here studying classical theatre and staying at the Norwegian Institute. We were all part of that amazing group of scholars, artists, writers, musicians and vagabonds that gathered at the TKA almost every night to discuss, drink wine and have a few laughs. Nowadays the scene here has changed. For one thing, the whole row of apartments across the street where Graham lived, and Waverly (John Steinbeck's stepdaughter) lived, to make way for the monstrosity they are building to house the new Acropolis artifacts. And there used to be a little souvlaki place there with rickety tables where we used to gather too, and tease the little bald-headed proprietor who we called Mr Souvlaki. Around the corner, also torn down was our favorite taverna, Socrtates Prison. So the whole ambience of the street has changed now, especially with those people who are also missing. This made the reunion an extra special event, just like old times. But we all missed Robbie and Graham and dranks some toasts in their memory.
The TKA has changed too, looking more upscale, and the owners are learning to speak English.
No matter what we have decided it is the best meeting place for us, for now and in future.
And we consider the owners as part of our 'family' so would never abandon them.
It was a lovely gathering of old friends and what a wonderful surprise right in the midst of the merriment to get a phone call from one of my L.Q. friends in Vancouver.
That made the evening even more special and I know lots of other people were thinking of me that night and will be present 'in spirit' for the sunset birthday picnic on the Pnyx.
JUNE 3 THE SUNSET PICNIC
Early this afternoon Ingrid and I made a reconnaisance trip to check the party location on the Hill below the pnxy. A lot of new excavating has been done and information posted on various sites around Philopappos, the Pnyx and the Hill of the Nymphs. The place where the party would be held is actually the old Deme of Milite, sort of the "British Properties" of ancient Athens where politicians and generals such as Themostocles and Miltiades had their homes. It was also used as an Assembly area.
So the Assembly of 2007 met at the TKA that evening and trooped over to the Hill toting enough food to feed the multitudes (as well as the stray dogs). The spot is spectacular for picnics and although the sunset wasn't at it's blazing best, it was still beautiful. From the rocks there's a panoramic view over Athens to Pireaus and a specacular view of the Parthenon lit byu golden lights, and the monument at the crest of Philoppapou Hill. It was truly a memorable birthday psent with my good friends. I certainly won't ever forget it, and took some movie snippets so I can share the event with friends at home.
The next day (Sunday) we met again, this time including Deborah who had arrived a bit too late for the party Saturday. We made a group excursio to the Theatre of Dionysus where AB gave her private theatre lecture, and then to the Acropolis. Afterwards we had lunch at an excellent taverna, the Attalos, with an amazing view of the Agora and Acropolis. Later we browsed through Monastiraki, then said goodbye to Patrick who had to fly back to Germany that evening.
It's been a wonderful but very busy and somewhat exhausting few days, but we're all having fun!
NEXT: A PILGRIMAGE TO DELPHI
Saturday, May 12, 2007
MY NOT-SO SECRET LIFE
"Some writers take to drink, others take to audiences."
Gore Vidal "Interview in Paris Review" 1981
Sam has tagged me for this latest meme. So here I go spilling the beans about my not-so secret life.
Eight things about 'Ego'! (that's 'me' in Greek)
1. Wynn is not my real name but I like it enough to keep it. It is a derivative (Welsh) which I chose from my first name Winifred. Bexton is my mother's maiden name (Saxon, I think) and her first name was Winifred. My other name is Ruth, but my Greek friends call me Ruthaki and my Latino friends call me Ruthita.
2. I'm a Gemini - that means I have more than one persona. Gemini is the twins (Castor and Pollux in the Greek myths) But actually I have perhaps three sides. I'm a Gemini (twins) with an Aquarius rising and moon in Cancer. I usually read both the horoscopes for Gemini and Aquarius. But sometimes I can behave like a Cancer too.
3. I'm the Chinese sign of the Dog. I happen to be very fond of dogs and used to breed and show Yorkshire Terriers as well as own a number of other breeds. One of my favorite dogs after the Yorkies passed on was a little black poodle-terrier cross named Sappho. When I moved to Greece in 1983 I wanted to bring Saffy with me but fortunately my Auntie's little dog died and I let her take custody of mine. Good job I did. Saffy would have had a terrible life and it wouldn't have been fair to her at all. As it was, she had an excellent life of dog luxury living with my dear Auntie. And speaking of Chinese: I enjoy throwing the I Ching coins and recording the hexagrams which I find are useful guidelines to my sometimes hectic life. I once practiced Tai Chi regularly for 2 years (sorry I gave it up) and I love reading poetry of China and Japan.
4. I enjoy hiking, walking, sometimes riding my bike, going to the gym and especially swimming although I'm not an expert swimmer. I love going to the beach and floating around in the sea -- especially the Aegean or Mediterranean Sea. And I love walking by the beach here on the Pacific Coast. I am also very fond of dancing. Used to love disco dancing but now my favorite is salsa. I like Latin American and Cuban music because it's got such a happy sound. I also enjoy listening to classical music and especially jazz.
5. The thing I like to do more than anything is write. I am a historical fiction novelist and travel journalist. I have also started writing a few memoirs. And I teach writing classes both for the school board and privately at home. Lately I'm doing a bit of editing on the side too. I started writing when I was very young, worked in a newspaper editorial office after high school until I got married, and now I am writing full time. It's hard to make a living free-lancing travel stories so teaching classes at Night School validates my writer's life. (so does the gov't pensions!)
6. I am a gypsy. I'd love to be on the road 95% of the time. If I hadn't got evicted from my old apartment and had the good fortune to be offered this really beautiful place to live, I'd be packing my stuff in storage and going to Greece for the next six months. But I will settle for six weeks, five of those days will be in Venice and the rest of the time I'll be in Greece, visiting my old friends and haunts in Athens and cruising around the islands.
7. I love hanging out in my favorite bistro on The Drive which is called The Latin Quarter. I've been going there regularly for over 15 years and have made a lot of friends there including the owners and staff. It's a safe, pleasant place for a single woman to hang out and what makes it excellent is the Latin music on the weekends. Another place I like going to on The Drive is the Libra Room where I usually go on Wednesday to hear a fine trio of young musicians playing jazz. My friends and I also sometimes go to the LQ on Wed. to hear the jazz singer there.
8. I need to be more disciplined with my exercise regime. I have been attending Weight Watchers (more or less) for over a year and frankly haven't made any significant headway with the weight loss even though for the most part I am very good about sticking to my required points. What I need more of is exercise, such as the fitness centre and swimming and bike riding. The weather has been so poor this winter, and now I have to take an extra bus to get to the gym, so I have been very negligent an attending to my regime. However now the nice weather has come and I can walk over there I will try harder to make it more than a once-a-week visit. I also need to start doing more stretches at home and would like to find a yoga class. Sitting at a computer for hours on end has wrecked my back!
Speaking of diets, I do like good food and rarely eat junk food. I am not so inclined to have a sweet tooth as I enjoy savory stuff like popcorn with lots of butter on it. I like cooking and having dinner parties but even when I'm dining alone I try to make interesting meals. I've been using the Atkins, South Beach and Weight Watchers menus now for quite awhile and find they are tasty and appealing. One of my favorite dishes is lamb cooked Greek style; I like ethnic foods, especially Greek, Moroccan and sometimes Indian. (Italian too, of course!)
I tag: Scott, Gabrielle, Daisey, Adrian, Megumi, Marie, Deb, and Martha
"Round up the usual suspects"
"Casablanca" spoken by Claude Raines.
"The pen is mightier than the sword, and considerably easier to write with."
Marty Feldman
OK, this is my last blog before departing. Think of me next weekend as I float down a canal on a gondola. Tralalala... And keep track of my adventures on my travel blog http://travelthroughhistory.blogspot.com
Gore Vidal "Interview in Paris Review" 1981
Sam has tagged me for this latest meme. So here I go spilling the beans about my not-so secret life.
Eight things about 'Ego'! (that's 'me' in Greek)
1. Wynn is not my real name but I like it enough to keep it. It is a derivative (Welsh) which I chose from my first name Winifred. Bexton is my mother's maiden name (Saxon, I think) and her first name was Winifred. My other name is Ruth, but my Greek friends call me Ruthaki and my Latino friends call me Ruthita.
2. I'm a Gemini - that means I have more than one persona. Gemini is the twins (Castor and Pollux in the Greek myths) But actually I have perhaps three sides. I'm a Gemini (twins) with an Aquarius rising and moon in Cancer. I usually read both the horoscopes for Gemini and Aquarius. But sometimes I can behave like a Cancer too.
3. I'm the Chinese sign of the Dog. I happen to be very fond of dogs and used to breed and show Yorkshire Terriers as well as own a number of other breeds. One of my favorite dogs after the Yorkies passed on was a little black poodle-terrier cross named Sappho. When I moved to Greece in 1983 I wanted to bring Saffy with me but fortunately my Auntie's little dog died and I let her take custody of mine. Good job I did. Saffy would have had a terrible life and it wouldn't have been fair to her at all. As it was, she had an excellent life of dog luxury living with my dear Auntie. And speaking of Chinese: I enjoy throwing the I Ching coins and recording the hexagrams which I find are useful guidelines to my sometimes hectic life. I once practiced Tai Chi regularly for 2 years (sorry I gave it up) and I love reading poetry of China and Japan.
4. I enjoy hiking, walking, sometimes riding my bike, going to the gym and especially swimming although I'm not an expert swimmer. I love going to the beach and floating around in the sea -- especially the Aegean or Mediterranean Sea. And I love walking by the beach here on the Pacific Coast. I am also very fond of dancing. Used to love disco dancing but now my favorite is salsa. I like Latin American and Cuban music because it's got such a happy sound. I also enjoy listening to classical music and especially jazz.
5. The thing I like to do more than anything is write. I am a historical fiction novelist and travel journalist. I have also started writing a few memoirs. And I teach writing classes both for the school board and privately at home. Lately I'm doing a bit of editing on the side too. I started writing when I was very young, worked in a newspaper editorial office after high school until I got married, and now I am writing full time. It's hard to make a living free-lancing travel stories so teaching classes at Night School validates my writer's life. (so does the gov't pensions!)
6. I am a gypsy. I'd love to be on the road 95% of the time. If I hadn't got evicted from my old apartment and had the good fortune to be offered this really beautiful place to live, I'd be packing my stuff in storage and going to Greece for the next six months. But I will settle for six weeks, five of those days will be in Venice and the rest of the time I'll be in Greece, visiting my old friends and haunts in Athens and cruising around the islands.
7. I love hanging out in my favorite bistro on The Drive which is called The Latin Quarter. I've been going there regularly for over 15 years and have made a lot of friends there including the owners and staff. It's a safe, pleasant place for a single woman to hang out and what makes it excellent is the Latin music on the weekends. Another place I like going to on The Drive is the Libra Room where I usually go on Wednesday to hear a fine trio of young musicians playing jazz. My friends and I also sometimes go to the LQ on Wed. to hear the jazz singer there.
8. I need to be more disciplined with my exercise regime. I have been attending Weight Watchers (more or less) for over a year and frankly haven't made any significant headway with the weight loss even though for the most part I am very good about sticking to my required points. What I need more of is exercise, such as the fitness centre and swimming and bike riding. The weather has been so poor this winter, and now I have to take an extra bus to get to the gym, so I have been very negligent an attending to my regime. However now the nice weather has come and I can walk over there I will try harder to make it more than a once-a-week visit. I also need to start doing more stretches at home and would like to find a yoga class. Sitting at a computer for hours on end has wrecked my back!
Speaking of diets, I do like good food and rarely eat junk food. I am not so inclined to have a sweet tooth as I enjoy savory stuff like popcorn with lots of butter on it. I like cooking and having dinner parties but even when I'm dining alone I try to make interesting meals. I've been using the Atkins, South Beach and Weight Watchers menus now for quite awhile and find they are tasty and appealing. One of my favorite dishes is lamb cooked Greek style; I like ethnic foods, especially Greek, Moroccan and sometimes Indian. (Italian too, of course!)
I tag: Scott, Gabrielle, Daisey, Adrian, Megumi, Marie, Deb, and Martha
"Round up the usual suspects"
"Casablanca" spoken by Claude Raines.
"The pen is mightier than the sword, and considerably easier to write with."
Marty Feldman
OK, this is my last blog before departing. Think of me next weekend as I float down a canal on a gondola. Tralalala... And keep track of my adventures on my travel blog http://travelthroughhistory.blogspot.com
Thursday, May 10, 2007
FITNESS TIPS FOR WRITERS
"Those who aim at great deeds must also suffer greatly."
Marcus Licinius Crassus 70 BC from Plutarch, Lives, Crassus ch.
I've been lucky to attend a couple of excellent writer's events over the past two weeks. The first was a weekend in Victoria on Vancouver Island where I attended the Federation of B.C. Writer's A.G.M. and a workshop on writing memoirs.
The keynote speaker at the A.G.M. UVic professor and author Lynne Van Luven, presented an interesting lecture titled "Hints for Heavy Lifting: How to Maintain Writerly Stamina." She likened writing a "a cerebral gymnasium" and gave some very useful "fitness" tips for writers. Just as a work-out at the gym increases strength and stamina, so too does daily practice in the craft of writing.
SHOW UP. SWEAT. REPEAT. INCREASE LIFT LOAD AS YOU PROGRESS.
She used weight lifting as a metaphor for writing: As in weight training, self discipline and willing to 'show up' day after day is important. DISCIPLINE. REPETITION and FOCUS are important for a writer. Put your work first and don't give up. Eventually your passion and persistence will pay off.
The second day of the FED weekend I went to a workshop for memoir writing hosted by Pauline Holdstock, author of a collection of literary and reflective essays Mortal Distractions and a novel Beyond Measure which was short-listed for the Giller Prize in 2004.
As I am planning to begin assembling the memoirs of my life and travels in Greece, I found this workshop very informative and useful. Memoirs are different from autobiographies. They are like a photo album of life, stories told and shaped around a theme or event. Memoirs deal with emotion and truth. One thing to remember when writing a memoir is to give yourself license to play around and alter the truth. Don't stick rigidly to facts. She suggested reading Inventing the Truth: The Art and Craft of Memoir Writing by William Linsser.
As I instruct a memoir writing group I found this workshop extremely useful and motivating.
Last weekend was another enriched writer's event, the annual B.C. Association of Travel Writers' Gala. I helped with some of the planning and set-up for this and it was a very enjoyable day spent with many travel writers, even a few who attend my classes. The keynote speaker was Daniel Wood, a renown travel writer who teaches travel writing at Simon Fraser University. His lecture was titled:How to Look a Rhinoceros in the Eye: A survival guide for the wayward travel writer.
I learned a lot and took careful notes of the highlights of his talk. Some of the main points were : Get involved, get inside the story, take risks and go to the edge.
As I set off on my next grand adventure (six more sleeps!) I am well prepared for the new discoveries that await me. Going to Venice has been a long-time dream of mine. I have done my research, know what I want to see and what stories I want to pursue, and I'm ready to discover and experience whatever comes my way.
"Put your shoulder to the wheel."
Aesop 550 BC "Hercules and the Wagoner"
Marcus Licinius Crassus 70 BC from Plutarch, Lives, Crassus ch.
I've been lucky to attend a couple of excellent writer's events over the past two weeks. The first was a weekend in Victoria on Vancouver Island where I attended the Federation of B.C. Writer's A.G.M. and a workshop on writing memoirs.
The keynote speaker at the A.G.M. UVic professor and author Lynne Van Luven, presented an interesting lecture titled "Hints for Heavy Lifting: How to Maintain Writerly Stamina." She likened writing a "a cerebral gymnasium" and gave some very useful "fitness" tips for writers. Just as a work-out at the gym increases strength and stamina, so too does daily practice in the craft of writing.
SHOW UP. SWEAT. REPEAT. INCREASE LIFT LOAD AS YOU PROGRESS.
She used weight lifting as a metaphor for writing: As in weight training, self discipline and willing to 'show up' day after day is important. DISCIPLINE. REPETITION and FOCUS are important for a writer. Put your work first and don't give up. Eventually your passion and persistence will pay off.
The second day of the FED weekend I went to a workshop for memoir writing hosted by Pauline Holdstock, author of a collection of literary and reflective essays Mortal Distractions and a novel Beyond Measure which was short-listed for the Giller Prize in 2004.
As I am planning to begin assembling the memoirs of my life and travels in Greece, I found this workshop very informative and useful. Memoirs are different from autobiographies. They are like a photo album of life, stories told and shaped around a theme or event. Memoirs deal with emotion and truth. One thing to remember when writing a memoir is to give yourself license to play around and alter the truth. Don't stick rigidly to facts. She suggested reading Inventing the Truth: The Art and Craft of Memoir Writing by William Linsser.
As I instruct a memoir writing group I found this workshop extremely useful and motivating.
Last weekend was another enriched writer's event, the annual B.C. Association of Travel Writers' Gala. I helped with some of the planning and set-up for this and it was a very enjoyable day spent with many travel writers, even a few who attend my classes. The keynote speaker was Daniel Wood, a renown travel writer who teaches travel writing at Simon Fraser University. His lecture was titled:How to Look a Rhinoceros in the Eye: A survival guide for the wayward travel writer.
I learned a lot and took careful notes of the highlights of his talk. Some of the main points were : Get involved, get inside the story, take risks and go to the edge.
As I set off on my next grand adventure (six more sleeps!) I am well prepared for the new discoveries that await me. Going to Venice has been a long-time dream of mine. I have done my research, know what I want to see and what stories I want to pursue, and I'm ready to discover and experience whatever comes my way.
"Put your shoulder to the wheel."
Aesop 550 BC "Hercules and the Wagoner"
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
A WRITER'S BUSY LIFE
"How doth the little busy bee
Improve each shining hour,
And gather honey all the day
From every operning flower!"
Isaac Watts 1674-1748 "Against Idleness nd Mischief."
I've been so busy lately there's not been much time left over to work on my novel. It seems that every once in awhile I get bogged down with the 'busy stuff' of living a writer's life. For one thing, I'm teaching writing classes two nights a week for the School Board, one night at home in a private workshop and one morning a week with my Memoir's group. This is my 'bread and butter', my 'employment' as a writer. Aside from that I only have my pensions to live on or the occasional (rare) sale of a travel article (peanuts these days!) or the bonus of being invited to do special workshops. (I did a travel writing day at a college which paid super well and I'll be doing a travel writing workshop at the Summer Dreams Festival this summer.) I have also started to do editing on the side as a supplement to my income. Of course, all these tasks, which are necessary to keep the bread on the table (and the wine on the shelf) take up some of your writing time.
Living the writer's life means you do not make very much money and have to be constantly out there looking for ways and means. (Sam has a very good blog right now about how much money writers make on their book sales http://samanthawinston.blogspot.com and questions whether writers should post their work as self promotion. I can tell you travel journalism is paying very poorly right now and a lot of publications expect you to give away your literary treasures which you've toiled hours over. Writers have to promote themselves and for some of us, that's hard to do. And often posting their work on web sites or blogs is a handy tool of reference for potential 'buyers'.) I do make quite a bit on tax refunds every year -- enough to pay for a ticket to my next exotic destination. But in order to collect back tax you have to also pay into it and show you are trying to make a living at your self-employment as a writer.
It's important also for writers to keep in contact with others of like mind, and to be involved in organizations that might help forward your career or at least allow you more contact with people in the 'trade'. I'm on the boards of the Pandora's Poetry Collective, the Theatre in the Raw, and the B.C. Travel Writer's Association. I'm also a member of the Federation of B.C. Writers. The Poetry Collective puts on the Summer Dreams Festival. The BCATW is hosting a gala in May. The FED is having their annual general meeting this weekend so I'm going over to Victoria to attend it. As well, they are offering workshops so I'm taking one on Memoir Writing. You can never learn too much! It's also an opportunity for me to visit my cousins. And a weekend away on the Island is always a treat. (I may even find enough time to visit the Titanic Exhibit at the museum.)
In addition, I attend my weekly critique group, the Scribblers. And this is what keeps me on track with my own writing. When I know I'm up to read, it helps me focus on getting on with my writing. Without this valuable input and influence I'd perhaps never gotten as far as I have with my novel (which is coming close to being finished.) I think it's important for writers to keep in close contact with other writers for support and encouragement. That includes keeping a blog and/or website. I've made valuable contacts with other writers right here on blogspot.
So goes my week these days. Busy as a bee. But it's all for a worthy cause -- money to live on and travel with, camaraderie with other writers and involvement in the arts and media events.
What do you do for your 'busy work'?
A business with an income at its heels
Furnishes always oil for its own wheels."
William Cowper 1731 - 1800 "Retirement" (1782) l 615
Improve each shining hour,
And gather honey all the day
From every operning flower!"
Isaac Watts 1674-1748 "Against Idleness nd Mischief."
I've been so busy lately there's not been much time left over to work on my novel. It seems that every once in awhile I get bogged down with the 'busy stuff' of living a writer's life. For one thing, I'm teaching writing classes two nights a week for the School Board, one night at home in a private workshop and one morning a week with my Memoir's group. This is my 'bread and butter', my 'employment' as a writer. Aside from that I only have my pensions to live on or the occasional (rare) sale of a travel article (peanuts these days!) or the bonus of being invited to do special workshops. (I did a travel writing day at a college which paid super well and I'll be doing a travel writing workshop at the Summer Dreams Festival this summer.) I have also started to do editing on the side as a supplement to my income. Of course, all these tasks, which are necessary to keep the bread on the table (and the wine on the shelf) take up some of your writing time.
Living the writer's life means you do not make very much money and have to be constantly out there looking for ways and means. (Sam has a very good blog right now about how much money writers make on their book sales http://samanthawinston.blogspot.com and questions whether writers should post their work as self promotion. I can tell you travel journalism is paying very poorly right now and a lot of publications expect you to give away your literary treasures which you've toiled hours over. Writers have to promote themselves and for some of us, that's hard to do. And often posting their work on web sites or blogs is a handy tool of reference for potential 'buyers'.) I do make quite a bit on tax refunds every year -- enough to pay for a ticket to my next exotic destination. But in order to collect back tax you have to also pay into it and show you are trying to make a living at your self-employment as a writer.
It's important also for writers to keep in contact with others of like mind, and to be involved in organizations that might help forward your career or at least allow you more contact with people in the 'trade'. I'm on the boards of the Pandora's Poetry Collective, the Theatre in the Raw, and the B.C. Travel Writer's Association. I'm also a member of the Federation of B.C. Writers. The Poetry Collective puts on the Summer Dreams Festival. The BCATW is hosting a gala in May. The FED is having their annual general meeting this weekend so I'm going over to Victoria to attend it. As well, they are offering workshops so I'm taking one on Memoir Writing. You can never learn too much! It's also an opportunity for me to visit my cousins. And a weekend away on the Island is always a treat. (I may even find enough time to visit the Titanic Exhibit at the museum.)
In addition, I attend my weekly critique group, the Scribblers. And this is what keeps me on track with my own writing. When I know I'm up to read, it helps me focus on getting on with my writing. Without this valuable input and influence I'd perhaps never gotten as far as I have with my novel (which is coming close to being finished.) I think it's important for writers to keep in close contact with other writers for support and encouragement. That includes keeping a blog and/or website. I've made valuable contacts with other writers right here on blogspot.
So goes my week these days. Busy as a bee. But it's all for a worthy cause -- money to live on and travel with, camaraderie with other writers and involvement in the arts and media events.
What do you do for your 'busy work'?
A business with an income at its heels
Furnishes always oil for its own wheels."
William Cowper 1731 - 1800 "Retirement" (1782) l 615
Monday, April 16, 2007
MEET THE WOMEN
"Who knows what women can do when they are finally free to become themselves? Who knows what women's intelligence will contribute when it can be nourished without denying love?....The time is at hand when the voices of the feminine mystique can no longer drown out the inner voice that is driving women on to become complete."
Betty Naomi Friedan "The Feminine Mystique" (1963)
One month from today my friend Ingrid and I will be on our way to Venezia and from there, we'll be heading for Greece to meet up with several of my other women friends. One of the stops we'll make is at Parga, to visit the Rock of Zalonga where the Souliote women lept to the deaths to avoid being captured by the Ali Pasha's men. The other is to Cape Doukas on the island of Lefkda where the poet Sappho lept to her death after being rejected by a young lover.
My visit to Athens this time is going to be extra-special. My friend Anna Britt is coming down from Norway for a reunion with me and our Finnish friend Vesa and his wife and son. Anna Britt is a classical scholar, writing her doctorate on Aristophanes.
Vesa is an architect. I met them both in Athens in 1996 when they were studying there. At that time there was a group of us who used to hang out at the To Kati Allo taverna. Some were classical scholars from the Norwegian and Finnish Institutes, some were artists and writers and musicologists. This will be a special reunion and we have named it The Assembly of 2007, as in the ancient Assembly. And the big event will be my birthday party June 3 to be held just behind the Pnyx Hill where the ancient Assembly used to meet.
Another friend, Deborah, is arriving from Canada that weekend too. Patrick is coming from Germany. And of course there are my Athens friends: Dinaz, the Persian princess, and Christina, my good friend from Sweden and her daughter Dani who I used to babysit when she was very small. There are others too, who I am really looking forward to meeting once again. It's going to be quite an exciting time. We plan on making a few trips around together to see the sights and share the fun. I'm lucky to have such great friends, and to have kept the friendships I made all those years I've spent in Greece.
I was hoping to celebrate finishing my novel Shadow of the Lion by the time I got there, but there's still a lot to do although I'm close to the end now. Part of this trip will be to get more ideas for travel writing. But I'm really looking forward to the rich, inspiring talks I will have with my scholar friends and the others who are always so encouraging and know the history that I'm writing so well. Just being back in Greece is sure to give me the inspiration I need to finish.
I've just been writing about the meeting between two other remarkable women. Olympias and Roxana. Alexander the Great's mother and Soghdian wife. These were two very powerful individuals, and dangerous too, both of them capable of murderous deeds and viciously protective of their sons. What happens in this meeting is my ficitional version, but having studied as much as I could about them, I think I know them well. So here's an introduction:
Olympias’ room was on the ground floor, in a suite that had once been occupied by her brother, the deceased king. The door stood open and a gust of perfumed air wafted out to greet Roxana as she entered. The scent of myrrh, lotus and unnameable essences was overpowering and made her feel dizzy. An air of sinister magic imbued the room. It was well known that Alexander's mother knew magic, dark magic that could sap will and spirit. In the small alcove above the bed a votive lamp flickered. Beside it, a gold statue of Osiris stared with agate eyes. A cabinet, full of oddities stood against one wall full of clay tablets and seal stones of sandy chalcedony incised with peculiar signs. She remembered the inscribed scarab she had found wedged in the stones of the Queen's chamber in Aigai.
Olympias was lounging on her sleeping couch, banked in cushions of silk. She was wearing a robe the colour of purple cyclamen, its hems trimmed with a geometric pattern of gold.
For a moment the two women eyed warily each other like two bright serpents.
Olympias raised a hand inviting her to come closer. When she hestitated, Olympias’ brows drew together in a scowl and she clucked her tongue.
“Come child, are you afraid of me? What have they told you about me? That I murder my rivals?”
She moved cautiously to the bedside and bent to kiss Olympias’ cheek “My mother, how happy and honoured we are to be here in Dodona.” Now she was closer, she
could see that Olympias’ lustrous chestnut hair was streaked with grey. She was thin, her face lined and gaunt. Her pale skin exuded translucent glow, like a lamp in a dim room.
She must have been beautiful before she got old, Roxana thought.
“Sit, sit!” Olympias commanded, motioning to the tall carved chair near her bedside.
Roxana obeyed and settled herself. Her eyes strayed around the room taking in the elaborately carved furnishings of gilded olive wood, the painted walls with nymphs dancing about Aphrodite, the floor patterned with a mosaic of vine leaves and clusters of grapes surrounding Dionysos astride a leopard wielding his rod of ivy. She knew she was in the presence of a mystai who ran wild with the Bacchants through the forest to celebrate the rites of the god of wine and debauchery.Polyperchon had told her that Olympias was a priestess of the cult and held Dionysos in as much esteem as she did her god-gifted son.
“I trust you have recovered from your arduous journey.” Olympias’ painted mouth curved into a slight smile. “Washed and rested. Good. It is my wish that you are made comfortable here.”
“We appreciate your generosity, my mother.“ Roxana was aware of the
tremor in her voice and felt her cheeks flush. Olympias must see her as bold and self-assured. In truth, she was in a state of terror.
There was a rustling sound. On the floor beside her was a winnowing basket containing a tangle of burnished copper cords. Something stirred and she heard a faint hissing. The bronze cord unfolded and a snake lifted its narrow head, swaying slightly, its tongue flickered like a tiny flame.
Roxana let out a gasp and cringed with revulsion.
Olympias gave a throaty chuckled. “Don’t be frightened, my dear. It’s only the house snake.” She reached out her arm and let the serpent coil around it. “His name is Wadjet, after the Egyptian protector of the divine Isis and her son Horus.”
Roxana’s eyes opened wide. She could scarcely breathe she felt so frightened.
“Why are you afraid? He will not hurt you.” Olympias stroked the back of the creature's
scaly head. “Perhaps you have heard the story? How the golden snake of Ammon visited me the night I conceived my son? Yes. It’s true. My son Alexander was Ammon’s gift to me.” The snake wriggled free and poured itself down to the floor, slithering away into the shadows. “Its from the old religion, snake worship,” Olympias said. “I worship Zeus-Ammon. Snakes are my luck daimons.”
"There is no animal more invincible than a woman, nor fire either, nor any wildcat so ruthless." Aristophanes 450-385 BC "Lysistrata" 411 BC
"A woman always has her revenge ready."
Moliere 1622 - 1673 "Tartuffe" 1664 Act II, ii.
Betty Naomi Friedan "The Feminine Mystique" (1963)
One month from today my friend Ingrid and I will be on our way to Venezia and from there, we'll be heading for Greece to meet up with several of my other women friends. One of the stops we'll make is at Parga, to visit the Rock of Zalonga where the Souliote women lept to the deaths to avoid being captured by the Ali Pasha's men. The other is to Cape Doukas on the island of Lefkda where the poet Sappho lept to her death after being rejected by a young lover.
My visit to Athens this time is going to be extra-special. My friend Anna Britt is coming down from Norway for a reunion with me and our Finnish friend Vesa and his wife and son. Anna Britt is a classical scholar, writing her doctorate on Aristophanes.
Vesa is an architect. I met them both in Athens in 1996 when they were studying there. At that time there was a group of us who used to hang out at the To Kati Allo taverna. Some were classical scholars from the Norwegian and Finnish Institutes, some were artists and writers and musicologists. This will be a special reunion and we have named it The Assembly of 2007, as in the ancient Assembly. And the big event will be my birthday party June 3 to be held just behind the Pnyx Hill where the ancient Assembly used to meet.
Another friend, Deborah, is arriving from Canada that weekend too. Patrick is coming from Germany. And of course there are my Athens friends: Dinaz, the Persian princess, and Christina, my good friend from Sweden and her daughter Dani who I used to babysit when she was very small. There are others too, who I am really looking forward to meeting once again. It's going to be quite an exciting time. We plan on making a few trips around together to see the sights and share the fun. I'm lucky to have such great friends, and to have kept the friendships I made all those years I've spent in Greece.
I was hoping to celebrate finishing my novel Shadow of the Lion by the time I got there, but there's still a lot to do although I'm close to the end now. Part of this trip will be to get more ideas for travel writing. But I'm really looking forward to the rich, inspiring talks I will have with my scholar friends and the others who are always so encouraging and know the history that I'm writing so well. Just being back in Greece is sure to give me the inspiration I need to finish.
I've just been writing about the meeting between two other remarkable women. Olympias and Roxana. Alexander the Great's mother and Soghdian wife. These were two very powerful individuals, and dangerous too, both of them capable of murderous deeds and viciously protective of their sons. What happens in this meeting is my ficitional version, but having studied as much as I could about them, I think I know them well. So here's an introduction:
Olympias’ room was on the ground floor, in a suite that had once been occupied by her brother, the deceased king. The door stood open and a gust of perfumed air wafted out to greet Roxana as she entered. The scent of myrrh, lotus and unnameable essences was overpowering and made her feel dizzy. An air of sinister magic imbued the room. It was well known that Alexander's mother knew magic, dark magic that could sap will and spirit. In the small alcove above the bed a votive lamp flickered. Beside it, a gold statue of Osiris stared with agate eyes. A cabinet, full of oddities stood against one wall full of clay tablets and seal stones of sandy chalcedony incised with peculiar signs. She remembered the inscribed scarab she had found wedged in the stones of the Queen's chamber in Aigai.
Olympias was lounging on her sleeping couch, banked in cushions of silk. She was wearing a robe the colour of purple cyclamen, its hems trimmed with a geometric pattern of gold.
For a moment the two women eyed warily each other like two bright serpents.
Olympias raised a hand inviting her to come closer. When she hestitated, Olympias’ brows drew together in a scowl and she clucked her tongue.
“Come child, are you afraid of me? What have they told you about me? That I murder my rivals?”
She moved cautiously to the bedside and bent to kiss Olympias’ cheek “My mother, how happy and honoured we are to be here in Dodona.” Now she was closer, she
could see that Olympias’ lustrous chestnut hair was streaked with grey. She was thin, her face lined and gaunt. Her pale skin exuded translucent glow, like a lamp in a dim room.
She must have been beautiful before she got old, Roxana thought.
“Sit, sit!” Olympias commanded, motioning to the tall carved chair near her bedside.
Roxana obeyed and settled herself. Her eyes strayed around the room taking in the elaborately carved furnishings of gilded olive wood, the painted walls with nymphs dancing about Aphrodite, the floor patterned with a mosaic of vine leaves and clusters of grapes surrounding Dionysos astride a leopard wielding his rod of ivy. She knew she was in the presence of a mystai who ran wild with the Bacchants through the forest to celebrate the rites of the god of wine and debauchery.Polyperchon had told her that Olympias was a priestess of the cult and held Dionysos in as much esteem as she did her god-gifted son.
“I trust you have recovered from your arduous journey.” Olympias’ painted mouth curved into a slight smile. “Washed and rested. Good. It is my wish that you are made comfortable here.”
“We appreciate your generosity, my mother.“ Roxana was aware of the
tremor in her voice and felt her cheeks flush. Olympias must see her as bold and self-assured. In truth, she was in a state of terror.
There was a rustling sound. On the floor beside her was a winnowing basket containing a tangle of burnished copper cords. Something stirred and she heard a faint hissing. The bronze cord unfolded and a snake lifted its narrow head, swaying slightly, its tongue flickered like a tiny flame.
Roxana let out a gasp and cringed with revulsion.
Olympias gave a throaty chuckled. “Don’t be frightened, my dear. It’s only the house snake.” She reached out her arm and let the serpent coil around it. “His name is Wadjet, after the Egyptian protector of the divine Isis and her son Horus.”
Roxana’s eyes opened wide. She could scarcely breathe she felt so frightened.
“Why are you afraid? He will not hurt you.” Olympias stroked the back of the creature's
scaly head. “Perhaps you have heard the story? How the golden snake of Ammon visited me the night I conceived my son? Yes. It’s true. My son Alexander was Ammon’s gift to me.” The snake wriggled free and poured itself down to the floor, slithering away into the shadows. “Its from the old religion, snake worship,” Olympias said. “I worship Zeus-Ammon. Snakes are my luck daimons.”
"There is no animal more invincible than a woman, nor fire either, nor any wildcat so ruthless." Aristophanes 450-385 BC "Lysistrata" 411 BC
"A woman always has her revenge ready."
Moliere 1622 - 1673 "Tartuffe" 1664 Act II, ii.
Sunday, April 15, 2007
PERSEVERANCE AND SOME GOOD FORTUNE
"'Tis a lesson you should heed,
Try, try again.
If at first you don't succeed
Try, try again."
Thomas H. Palmer 1782-1861 Teacher's Manual 1840
I was pleased to learn earlier this week that some of my hard work researching and marketing travel articles had started to pay off. Two stories have been accepted by one publication (a paying one!) and a couple of others are being considered and/or read. Then the other night I was approached by a writer friend who has a website devoted to new on the Drive and he asked if I'd like to contribute some travel stories for that. I obliged by sending him several of my already published pieces. This isn't a paying gig as yet but it could be and it's a way of keeping my work circulating at least.
One thing I have noticed with a lot of writers or would-be writers, is that they get discouraged early on and quit trying to send out their stuff because they can't handle the rejections. Every writer goes though the rejection syndrome and you just have to keep trying, no matter what. Eventually you'll get the right 'lottery' winner and see your name in print. But sometimes it takes a long time and this can be very discouraging. As the old saying goes, you just have to 'Try, try again'.
I haven't begun to think about marketing my novel yet because frankly I find the prospects daunting. I did some research on agents and publishers quite some time ago and I'm always keeping my eye open for prospects. So when the time comes I have some leads on where I should send out the queries. I didn't want to jump the gun and start sending out queries too early, before I was completely finished this monumental work. But soon it will be time and I want to be ready to pitch to the right places with a professional approach and a completed book.
In the meantime, I am sending out travel stories and in spite of the discouraging finds (most of them don't want to pay much if anything at all) I won't give up because eventually someone accepts them. I'm writing to become rich. That's a fantasy. I'm writing because I love to do it and I must do it. If you think you're going to get rich and famous, that's not likely to happen.
And that's not a good reason to be a writer. You just have to love words, love telling stories, and sharing those words and stories with the world (or anyone who will read them, even if it's just your mother or your best friend.) I think I get some of my best rewards sharing my expertise as a writer with others who also want to writer. It's a rewarding learning experience.
So...keep on writing, no matter what...and keep on sending stuff out into the big wide (sometimes cruel) publishing world. Sooner or later you'll see your name in print and even make a few coins for all your hard word. Best thing of all is the satisfaction of seeing your name in print!
"Give us grace and strength to forbear and to persevere...
Give us courage and gaiety and the quiet mind,
spare to us our friends, soften to us our enemies."
Robert Louis Stevenson 1850 - 1894 Prayer (on the bronze memorial at his grave site.)
Try, try again.
If at first you don't succeed
Try, try again."
Thomas H. Palmer 1782-1861 Teacher's Manual 1840
I was pleased to learn earlier this week that some of my hard work researching and marketing travel articles had started to pay off. Two stories have been accepted by one publication (a paying one!) and a couple of others are being considered and/or read. Then the other night I was approached by a writer friend who has a website devoted to new on the Drive and he asked if I'd like to contribute some travel stories for that. I obliged by sending him several of my already published pieces. This isn't a paying gig as yet but it could be and it's a way of keeping my work circulating at least.
One thing I have noticed with a lot of writers or would-be writers, is that they get discouraged early on and quit trying to send out their stuff because they can't handle the rejections. Every writer goes though the rejection syndrome and you just have to keep trying, no matter what. Eventually you'll get the right 'lottery' winner and see your name in print. But sometimes it takes a long time and this can be very discouraging. As the old saying goes, you just have to 'Try, try again'.
I haven't begun to think about marketing my novel yet because frankly I find the prospects daunting. I did some research on agents and publishers quite some time ago and I'm always keeping my eye open for prospects. So when the time comes I have some leads on where I should send out the queries. I didn't want to jump the gun and start sending out queries too early, before I was completely finished this monumental work. But soon it will be time and I want to be ready to pitch to the right places with a professional approach and a completed book.
In the meantime, I am sending out travel stories and in spite of the discouraging finds (most of them don't want to pay much if anything at all) I won't give up because eventually someone accepts them. I'm writing to become rich. That's a fantasy. I'm writing because I love to do it and I must do it. If you think you're going to get rich and famous, that's not likely to happen.
And that's not a good reason to be a writer. You just have to love words, love telling stories, and sharing those words and stories with the world (or anyone who will read them, even if it's just your mother or your best friend.) I think I get some of my best rewards sharing my expertise as a writer with others who also want to writer. It's a rewarding learning experience.
So...keep on writing, no matter what...and keep on sending stuff out into the big wide (sometimes cruel) publishing world. Sooner or later you'll see your name in print and even make a few coins for all your hard word. Best thing of all is the satisfaction of seeing your name in print!
"Give us grace and strength to forbear and to persevere...
Give us courage and gaiety and the quiet mind,
spare to us our friends, soften to us our enemies."
Robert Louis Stevenson 1850 - 1894 Prayer (on the bronze memorial at his grave site.)
Friday, April 06, 2007
MY FANTASTIC FANTASY LIFE
"Pleasure is the beginning and the end of living happily."
Epicurus 341-270 BC from DIOGENES LAERTIUS, Lives of Eminent Philosophers bkX, sec 125
"I am giddy, expectation whirls me round,
The imaginary relish is so sweet
That it enchants my sense."
William Shakespeare 1564-1616 Troilus and Cressida (1601-1602) III, ii 17
I was reading on some other writers' blogs how we writers often tend to be off in Lala land, especially when coming down from an intense date with the Muse. And some of us recount having been like that from childhood. Daydreamers. Gypsies. Eccentrics. I've even been told once that I was "weird". True. That's the way it is with us writers who spend half our time in fantasy worlds and astro-travelling to other places. Frankly I'm only half-here most of the time.
I even decided, a long while back, that so long as I was having an 'affair' with Alexander, trying to write the story of his dynasty's tragic end, that I had no time for any 'real' man in my life.
Well, being the romantic that I am, I have on occasions, strayed off and two-timed Alexander, but frankly having a real living man (as in 'relationship") take up all my time (the amount of time Alexander has in the past years) I'd never have gotten any writing done at all. So that was my choice. And I like my half-fantasy world.
A friend said the other night, "You know so many interesting and unique people." And that's true, because I am drawn to exciting, exotic and like-minded people and enjoy filling my space with them. Some of them are even the living versions of characters in my novels. Others might be traveller friends, gypsies like myself who are not afraid to take risks and leaps of faith into the wild unknown, others are friends who share common interests like music, art, writing.
I've been spending the last few day sorting through old photo albums because tonight two of my women pals are coming over to discuss our up-and-coming Greek adventures. It was a nostalgic trip down memory lane going through those photos. Sad that a great many of the old Plaka crowd are now gone, especially the dear ones like Roberto and Graham. Roberto and I always celebrated our birthdays together and I have lots of photos of our parties, several of them on the rocks behind the Pnyx where I'm planning to have this year's sunset birthday celebration. Of course we'll drink some toasts and pour some libations for the departed and their spirits will be with us. How often since he passed in 2001 have I sat at the To Kati Allo taverna and 'seen' Roberto come round the corner, his slow, ambling walk (those last years he used a cane) and that gruff rumbling chuckle of his, those blue, blue eyes -- the colour of the Argentine sky. Boy, how I miss him! He was not just a friend but my Gemini soul-brother. And Graham, who lived across from the TKA, was one of my favorite drinking buddies. We'd sit long at the taverna over carafes of krasi discussing jazz (he was an aficionado and had a great collection. Used to play sax himself when he lived in England.) Sadly, he died quite unexpectedly just before I got to Athens two years ago.
They are only a couple of the many people who had touched my life, those special people -- artists, writers, explorers, gypsies like myself (Roberto was a painter.) There are still friends in Athens who I will be spending time with. And each time I launch out on another adventure I gather more of these precious sheep into my fold. Speaking of 'sheep', one of my main focuses this time is to get back to the village up on the mountain in Evvia. I know it's not the same now that the shepherd is no longer there, but his spirit is there and that was my Garden of Eden for such a long time I simply can't neglect a visit this year, an afternoon of musing in the shade by the water-fall, a time to put some myrtle on my shepherd's grave, a little visit with the village folk. (Mitso, another of my unique relationships, was my mountain man...a Greek Clint Eastwood. Who would have thought he'd be gone so soon!)
I'm thinking seriously now of beginning my travel memoirs -- my extraordinary life -- my fantastic fantasy life. There's just so much to write about it -- and many of the memories are captured in those photographs. So, as soon as I can get the end of the novel written, I shall begin! (How am I doing with the novel? Well, forging ahead as quickly as I can and the end is definitely in sight!)
"The poet is in command of his fantasy, while it is exactly the mark of the neurotic that he is possessed by his fantasy."
Lionel Trilling 1905- 1976 The Liberal Imagination (1950) Freud and Literature.
"Ever let the fancy roam,
Pleasure never is at home."
John Keats 1795 - 1821 "Ode to Psyche" (Fancy, l. 1)
Epicurus 341-270 BC from DIOGENES LAERTIUS, Lives of Eminent Philosophers bkX, sec 125
"I am giddy, expectation whirls me round,
The imaginary relish is so sweet
That it enchants my sense."
William Shakespeare 1564-1616 Troilus and Cressida (1601-1602) III, ii 17
I was reading on some other writers' blogs how we writers often tend to be off in Lala land, especially when coming down from an intense date with the Muse. And some of us recount having been like that from childhood. Daydreamers. Gypsies. Eccentrics. I've even been told once that I was "weird". True. That's the way it is with us writers who spend half our time in fantasy worlds and astro-travelling to other places. Frankly I'm only half-here most of the time.
I even decided, a long while back, that so long as I was having an 'affair' with Alexander, trying to write the story of his dynasty's tragic end, that I had no time for any 'real' man in my life.
Well, being the romantic that I am, I have on occasions, strayed off and two-timed Alexander, but frankly having a real living man (as in 'relationship") take up all my time (the amount of time Alexander has in the past years) I'd never have gotten any writing done at all. So that was my choice. And I like my half-fantasy world.
A friend said the other night, "You know so many interesting and unique people." And that's true, because I am drawn to exciting, exotic and like-minded people and enjoy filling my space with them. Some of them are even the living versions of characters in my novels. Others might be traveller friends, gypsies like myself who are not afraid to take risks and leaps of faith into the wild unknown, others are friends who share common interests like music, art, writing.
I've been spending the last few day sorting through old photo albums because tonight two of my women pals are coming over to discuss our up-and-coming Greek adventures. It was a nostalgic trip down memory lane going through those photos. Sad that a great many of the old Plaka crowd are now gone, especially the dear ones like Roberto and Graham. Roberto and I always celebrated our birthdays together and I have lots of photos of our parties, several of them on the rocks behind the Pnyx where I'm planning to have this year's sunset birthday celebration. Of course we'll drink some toasts and pour some libations for the departed and their spirits will be with us. How often since he passed in 2001 have I sat at the To Kati Allo taverna and 'seen' Roberto come round the corner, his slow, ambling walk (those last years he used a cane) and that gruff rumbling chuckle of his, those blue, blue eyes -- the colour of the Argentine sky. Boy, how I miss him! He was not just a friend but my Gemini soul-brother. And Graham, who lived across from the TKA, was one of my favorite drinking buddies. We'd sit long at the taverna over carafes of krasi discussing jazz (he was an aficionado and had a great collection. Used to play sax himself when he lived in England.) Sadly, he died quite unexpectedly just before I got to Athens two years ago.
They are only a couple of the many people who had touched my life, those special people -- artists, writers, explorers, gypsies like myself (Roberto was a painter.) There are still friends in Athens who I will be spending time with. And each time I launch out on another adventure I gather more of these precious sheep into my fold. Speaking of 'sheep', one of my main focuses this time is to get back to the village up on the mountain in Evvia. I know it's not the same now that the shepherd is no longer there, but his spirit is there and that was my Garden of Eden for such a long time I simply can't neglect a visit this year, an afternoon of musing in the shade by the water-fall, a time to put some myrtle on my shepherd's grave, a little visit with the village folk. (Mitso, another of my unique relationships, was my mountain man...a Greek Clint Eastwood. Who would have thought he'd be gone so soon!)
I'm thinking seriously now of beginning my travel memoirs -- my extraordinary life -- my fantastic fantasy life. There's just so much to write about it -- and many of the memories are captured in those photographs. So, as soon as I can get the end of the novel written, I shall begin! (How am I doing with the novel? Well, forging ahead as quickly as I can and the end is definitely in sight!)
"The poet is in command of his fantasy, while it is exactly the mark of the neurotic that he is possessed by his fantasy."
Lionel Trilling 1905- 1976 The Liberal Imagination (1950) Freud and Literature.
"Ever let the fancy roam,
Pleasure never is at home."
John Keats 1795 - 1821 "Ode to Psyche" (Fancy, l. 1)
Thursday, March 29, 2007
TODAY I BOUGHT HYACINTHS
"If you have two loaves of bread, sell one and buy a hyacinth." Persian saying.
Spring is here, at last, after more than 20 days straight of rain. The sun is shining and it's finally warming up. And today, I bought hyacinths.
I love the fragrance and the colour of these flowers. To me, along with daffodils and tulips, they are a real sign of Spring and new life. I love their name, and the story that tells how the flower originated.
Each year the ancient Greeks celebrated the festival of Hyacinthus, which lasted throughout the tranquil night. In a contest with Apollo Hyacinthus was slain. They had been competing in discus throwing, and the god's swift cast sped beyond the goal and struck Hyacinthus full in the forehead. He had been Apollo's dearest companion. There was no rivalry between them when they tried to see who could throw the discus the farthest; they were only playing a game. The god was horror struck to see the blood gush forth from the terrible wound and Hyacinthus fall to the ground. Hyacinthus was dead and Apollo knelt beside him weeping. "Oh, if only I could give my life for yours or die with you!"
As Hyacinthus' blood stained the grass there blossomed a wondrous flower that was to make the boy's name known forever. Apollo himself inscribed the petals with Hyacinthus' intial -- or as others say, the two letters of the Greek word that means "Alas" -- a memorial to the god's great sorrow.
When I was living in Greece, and tutoring English to the children of a dentist's family, I wanted to bring the mother a gift. So I bought a pot of beautiful purple hyacinths. I was quite suprised and puzzled to find that instead of keeping them on her window sill so she could enjoy their sweet fragrance and lovely blooms, she had stuck them outside on the porch. It wasn't until later that I found out that Greeks consider hyacinths a funeral flower -- ( I guess the way we think of lilies as funeral flowers).
Hyacinths do remind of Greece in other ways too. When I lived in Plaka, I was talked into co-writing a mystery novel for a fellow in our group who we called Gary Hollywood, a wanna-be writer/painter. He handed me an 80 page badly written outline of a story and thought he could publish it as is. I needed some money, so I offered to co-write it for him and in fact developed it into a 400 page pretty good first draft. One of the eccentric characters in the story, a gay guy on the island of Mykonos, was named Hyacinthos. I was just thinking about this book the other day when I saw some hyacinths that reminded me of it. Mr. Hollywood asked to see the manuscript, then he refused to return it but sent it off to a publishers. Naturally it wasn't accepted because it was only a first draft. Little did he know, I had the copy (and still do). And I was thinking the other day, if I ever find the time, perhaps I should drag it out of the archives and see what I can do with it.
Ah...so many stories...so little time to work on everything!
I've been sticking really well to my schedule lately of writing. I've finished marketing most of the travel stories. Still have to write the Chile story. But now I'm mainly working on my novel as I want to try and finish as much as possible before I leave on my trip mid May.
The travel marketing has been rather discouraging and the other night I was out having beers with some travel writing peers and began to feel really like a 'failure' when it comes to selling stuff. One of the writers present started out in one of my travel writing classes and has since become very successful with loads of publications and free trips thrown in. The other woman present also has numerous publications and is good at pitching ideas. I'm just plugging along hoping for the best but finding out that most of the markets don't want to pay a coin for all your hard work and nowadays the newspapers are taking very little freelance. To get into any of the top travel writer's organizations, you have to have at least 10 paid publications a year. For me, at this rate, that ain't gonna happen. And sometimes I have to wonder if it's all worth it.
But...like so many others...I write because I have to write, and want to write, and for that reason won't stop. Now here I am going off to Greece again (and Venice) with a list of story ideas to research while I'm there. So I guess I'll just keep on trying and hope that I find another editor who likes my works and keeps the door open. (It's been awhile, but it has happened to me in the past.) And as for the novel...If I don't quite wind it up by mid May at least I know it's closer to the finish and what I am writing is good. I'm satisfied it's going to be a success, something I can really be proud of. And then...maybe I'll have another look at that old Icon novel and see if I can resurrect Hyacinthos.
"On desperate seas long wont to roam,
Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face,
Thy Naiad airs have brought me home
To the glory that was Greece,
And the grandeur that was Rome."
Edgar Allan Poe 18009- 1848 "To Helen" (1831) st.2
Spring is here, at last, after more than 20 days straight of rain. The sun is shining and it's finally warming up. And today, I bought hyacinths.
I love the fragrance and the colour of these flowers. To me, along with daffodils and tulips, they are a real sign of Spring and new life. I love their name, and the story that tells how the flower originated.
Each year the ancient Greeks celebrated the festival of Hyacinthus, which lasted throughout the tranquil night. In a contest with Apollo Hyacinthus was slain. They had been competing in discus throwing, and the god's swift cast sped beyond the goal and struck Hyacinthus full in the forehead. He had been Apollo's dearest companion. There was no rivalry between them when they tried to see who could throw the discus the farthest; they were only playing a game. The god was horror struck to see the blood gush forth from the terrible wound and Hyacinthus fall to the ground. Hyacinthus was dead and Apollo knelt beside him weeping. "Oh, if only I could give my life for yours or die with you!"
As Hyacinthus' blood stained the grass there blossomed a wondrous flower that was to make the boy's name known forever. Apollo himself inscribed the petals with Hyacinthus' intial -- or as others say, the two letters of the Greek word that means "Alas" -- a memorial to the god's great sorrow.
When I was living in Greece, and tutoring English to the children of a dentist's family, I wanted to bring the mother a gift. So I bought a pot of beautiful purple hyacinths. I was quite suprised and puzzled to find that instead of keeping them on her window sill so she could enjoy their sweet fragrance and lovely blooms, she had stuck them outside on the porch. It wasn't until later that I found out that Greeks consider hyacinths a funeral flower -- ( I guess the way we think of lilies as funeral flowers).
Hyacinths do remind of Greece in other ways too. When I lived in Plaka, I was talked into co-writing a mystery novel for a fellow in our group who we called Gary Hollywood, a wanna-be writer/painter. He handed me an 80 page badly written outline of a story and thought he could publish it as is. I needed some money, so I offered to co-write it for him and in fact developed it into a 400 page pretty good first draft. One of the eccentric characters in the story, a gay guy on the island of Mykonos, was named Hyacinthos. I was just thinking about this book the other day when I saw some hyacinths that reminded me of it. Mr. Hollywood asked to see the manuscript, then he refused to return it but sent it off to a publishers. Naturally it wasn't accepted because it was only a first draft. Little did he know, I had the copy (and still do). And I was thinking the other day, if I ever find the time, perhaps I should drag it out of the archives and see what I can do with it.
Ah...so many stories...so little time to work on everything!
I've been sticking really well to my schedule lately of writing. I've finished marketing most of the travel stories. Still have to write the Chile story. But now I'm mainly working on my novel as I want to try and finish as much as possible before I leave on my trip mid May.
The travel marketing has been rather discouraging and the other night I was out having beers with some travel writing peers and began to feel really like a 'failure' when it comes to selling stuff. One of the writers present started out in one of my travel writing classes and has since become very successful with loads of publications and free trips thrown in. The other woman present also has numerous publications and is good at pitching ideas. I'm just plugging along hoping for the best but finding out that most of the markets don't want to pay a coin for all your hard work and nowadays the newspapers are taking very little freelance. To get into any of the top travel writer's organizations, you have to have at least 10 paid publications a year. For me, at this rate, that ain't gonna happen. And sometimes I have to wonder if it's all worth it.
But...like so many others...I write because I have to write, and want to write, and for that reason won't stop. Now here I am going off to Greece again (and Venice) with a list of story ideas to research while I'm there. So I guess I'll just keep on trying and hope that I find another editor who likes my works and keeps the door open. (It's been awhile, but it has happened to me in the past.) And as for the novel...If I don't quite wind it up by mid May at least I know it's closer to the finish and what I am writing is good. I'm satisfied it's going to be a success, something I can really be proud of. And then...maybe I'll have another look at that old Icon novel and see if I can resurrect Hyacinthos.
"On desperate seas long wont to roam,
Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face,
Thy Naiad airs have brought me home
To the glory that was Greece,
And the grandeur that was Rome."
Edgar Allan Poe 18009- 1848 "To Helen" (1831) st.2
Thursday, March 22, 2007
AN ODYSSEY IN THE IONIAN ISLANDS
Note: this was intended for my travel blog but wouldn't post there.
Two months from now my friend and I will be aboard a ferry sailing down the Dalmation Coast from Venice to Igoumenitsa, Greece. From there we stop at the pretty little port of Parga and then head for Lefkada for a return visit to lovely Egremeni Beach, at the foot of the high cliffs where the poet Sappho lept to her death (6th c. B.C.) It was there that I conceived the idea for my w.i.p. play "House of the Muses" and I hope this return visit will inspire me to finish writing it. I've visted the Ionian islands several times in the past, and the following is an article I wrote about one of those visits.
SWIMMING WITH THE RICH AND FAMOUS
The Ionian Islands of Greece’s west coast, have inspired poets like Homer, Sappho, Cavafy and Lord Byron. The sea here is so transparent you can see straight into the depths. The wind has eroded the shoreline to form sheer cliffs and extraordinary caves where once pirates lurked and often hid their treasures. The pale, platinum clear water, still as enamel one moment, can turn into a raging tempest when the wind shifts.
Kefalonia is the largest and most mountainous of the islands. Its coast forms steep cliffs and small bays with magnificent, wind-protected beaches. Pretty villages of pastel stone houses cluster around the curves of sandy bays. Little coves that used to shelter pirate galleons and Venetian merchant ships are harbours for yachts from all over the world. Resort hotels dot the shoreline, especially near the gold sand beaches of Platia Gialos and Poros.
Kefalonia has often been visited by famous people, most notably the poet Lord Byron, who often came here to enjoy the scenery. In the village of Metaxata, there’s a plaque on the house where he stayed just before he went off to Messolonghi to fight the Turks, and later died of pneumonia.
More recently, British author Louis de Bernieres, made the island of Kefalonia famous with his best selling novel “Captain Corelli’s Mandolin”, about a young Italian officer posted to the island as one of the occupying forces during W.W.II.
As I watched the glorious sunset from the Venetian-style lighthouse, Fenari, I contemplated the many tragedies that have befallen this beautiful island.
In 1953 Kefalonia was devastated by an earthquake, which ruined most of its villages. Almost all the architecture on the island is post-earthquake. The elegant opera house and Venetian-style mansions of Argostoli and Lixouri no longer exist. Here and there on the island lie ruins of destroyed houses, a reminder of the disaster.
From Kefalonia, it’s only a short cruise by ferry over to Ithaka, the small island featured in Homer’s “Odyssey” as the kingdom of the extreme adventurer Odysseus.
A brisk breeze ruffled the water as I watched the dark mountains of Ithaka draw near across the narrows. The boat pulled into one of Ithaka’s secret coves. The port is shaped like a horseshoe. In the centre is a tiny island where a charming seaman’s chapel is surrounded by cypresses. Lord Byron, who often visited Ithaka, used to row out to it each morning to swim.
The harbour of Vathi is surrounded by houses with red-tiled roofs. Cafes animate the waterfront. The summer evening is scented with the smoke of grilling kebabs and fresh-caught fish grilling over charcoal coals.
There is a curious atmosphere here. Ithaka’s hillsides are scented with wild sage and oregano, dotted with vibrant wild-flowers and silvery olive groves. Surrounding the tranquil orchards and vineyards are the high menacing mountains.
The mayor of Vathi invited me to visit the Cave of the Nymphs where a team of American archaeologists and students are busy sifting and sorting through rubble brought up from a ten-meter pit. This cave is believed to be the one where Odysseus hid the gifts given to him by the Phaecians when he returned home after his long, arduous voyage. Later, on our way to the town of Stavros, he drives past the rock-strewn remains of what is believed to be the Bronze Age city.
It’s an Odyssey in itself just getting off Ithaka. The taxi picked me up as scheduled in order to make the sailing to Lefkada. I enjoyed the scenic drive and arrive in plenty of time, but fifteen minutes before the ferry was due to arrive, I discovered that the ferry that had broken down, and we must leave from a different port. After a hair-raising wild race by taxi on a twisting road with hairpin curves and precipices, I arrived at the port just minutes before the ferry sailed.
A school of dolphins frolicked in the surf alongside the ferry as we sailed toward the high sandstone cliffs of Lefkada’s south coast. I disembarked at the pleasant little port
of Vassiliki, a popular centre for wind-surfers. Hundreds of brightly coloured sails skimmed like butterflies over the surface of the Bay. Wind surfers come here from all over Europe.
The next day, I went on a boat cruise around the Cape known as “Sappho’s Leap” where the poet Sappho committed suicide back in 600 BC.
Sailing past Cape Doukas, the towering white cliffs rise from a sea that is as blue as a robin’s egg. The Cape looks like a gigantic wedge of cake with a lighthouse on top for a candle.
The boat anchored at idyllic Egremeni Beach and we scrambled down steep ladders to the shore. I had brought a picnic lunch and a book of Sappho’s love poems and lay on the beach listening to the waves crackle on the pebble shore. As I looked up at those high cliffs from where she plunged, I read her haunting words: “About the cool water, the wind sounds through sprays...”
I extended my visit to Lefkada when I saw an advertisement for another excursion. “Islands Panorama” promised to include Onassis’ island, Skorpios, the island of Madouri, home of Greek national poet Valaortes, and Meganissi, an island famous for its sea caves.
Our first stop was the Cave of Papanikolis. The boat navigated carefully around submerged rocks and entered the mysterious blue cavern. I was surprised to see that there was already another boat inside. I imagined the cave as a pirate’s hideaway.
On the way to the next island stop, we chased a school of dolphins around in circles in the Bay. Dolphins are a rare sight because the fishers, who claim they damage their nets, are killing them. But here in the Ionian Sea there seems to be an abundance, and they are a joy to watch as they splash and dive through the boat’s wake.
The boat circled the island of Skorpios, a small island, densely wooded with cypress and pine trees. The red-tiled roofs of the Onassis’ villas are half-hidden behind the trees. In each little cover there are piers, each with a palm tree planted at the end. Around the dock areas, the grounds are landscaped and showers of magenta bougainvillea spill over the stone fences. One of these villas was a gift to opera singer Maria Callas in the days before Onassis abandoned her in favour of Jacqueline Kennedy.
We were allowed to disembark to swim at a small pebble beach secluded by a thick stand of myrtle bushes. Cicadas trill in the pine trees. As I paddled in the clear, turquoise water, I thought of how not long ago, Jackie O and her children had swam there. So did Maria Callas. And once Princess Diana and her lover Dodi Fayez cruised and frolicked in those same waters.
Skorpios is a symbol of the Rich and Famous, Onassis’ private Garden of Eden. Yet it’s a strange, tragic paradise, with nobody left to enjoy it but Onassis’ granddaughter, Athena, said to be the richest girl in the world.
We cruised away from Skorpios and skirted around the smaller islands, with a stop for a swim at Agiofili Beach. The whole day was a delightful island experience. I even went swimming where the rich and famous once swam.
THE END
Two months from now my friend and I will be aboard a ferry sailing down the Dalmation Coast from Venice to Igoumenitsa, Greece. From there we stop at the pretty little port of Parga and then head for Lefkada for a return visit to lovely Egremeni Beach, at the foot of the high cliffs where the poet Sappho lept to her death (6th c. B.C.) It was there that I conceived the idea for my w.i.p. play "House of the Muses" and I hope this return visit will inspire me to finish writing it. I've visted the Ionian islands several times in the past, and the following is an article I wrote about one of those visits.
SWIMMING WITH THE RICH AND FAMOUS
The Ionian Islands of Greece’s west coast, have inspired poets like Homer, Sappho, Cavafy and Lord Byron. The sea here is so transparent you can see straight into the depths. The wind has eroded the shoreline to form sheer cliffs and extraordinary caves where once pirates lurked and often hid their treasures. The pale, platinum clear water, still as enamel one moment, can turn into a raging tempest when the wind shifts.
Kefalonia is the largest and most mountainous of the islands. Its coast forms steep cliffs and small bays with magnificent, wind-protected beaches. Pretty villages of pastel stone houses cluster around the curves of sandy bays. Little coves that used to shelter pirate galleons and Venetian merchant ships are harbours for yachts from all over the world. Resort hotels dot the shoreline, especially near the gold sand beaches of Platia Gialos and Poros.
Kefalonia has often been visited by famous people, most notably the poet Lord Byron, who often came here to enjoy the scenery. In the village of Metaxata, there’s a plaque on the house where he stayed just before he went off to Messolonghi to fight the Turks, and later died of pneumonia.
More recently, British author Louis de Bernieres, made the island of Kefalonia famous with his best selling novel “Captain Corelli’s Mandolin”, about a young Italian officer posted to the island as one of the occupying forces during W.W.II.
As I watched the glorious sunset from the Venetian-style lighthouse, Fenari, I contemplated the many tragedies that have befallen this beautiful island.
In 1953 Kefalonia was devastated by an earthquake, which ruined most of its villages. Almost all the architecture on the island is post-earthquake. The elegant opera house and Venetian-style mansions of Argostoli and Lixouri no longer exist. Here and there on the island lie ruins of destroyed houses, a reminder of the disaster.
From Kefalonia, it’s only a short cruise by ferry over to Ithaka, the small island featured in Homer’s “Odyssey” as the kingdom of the extreme adventurer Odysseus.
A brisk breeze ruffled the water as I watched the dark mountains of Ithaka draw near across the narrows. The boat pulled into one of Ithaka’s secret coves. The port is shaped like a horseshoe. In the centre is a tiny island where a charming seaman’s chapel is surrounded by cypresses. Lord Byron, who often visited Ithaka, used to row out to it each morning to swim.
The harbour of Vathi is surrounded by houses with red-tiled roofs. Cafes animate the waterfront. The summer evening is scented with the smoke of grilling kebabs and fresh-caught fish grilling over charcoal coals.
There is a curious atmosphere here. Ithaka’s hillsides are scented with wild sage and oregano, dotted with vibrant wild-flowers and silvery olive groves. Surrounding the tranquil orchards and vineyards are the high menacing mountains.
The mayor of Vathi invited me to visit the Cave of the Nymphs where a team of American archaeologists and students are busy sifting and sorting through rubble brought up from a ten-meter pit. This cave is believed to be the one where Odysseus hid the gifts given to him by the Phaecians when he returned home after his long, arduous voyage. Later, on our way to the town of Stavros, he drives past the rock-strewn remains of what is believed to be the Bronze Age city.
It’s an Odyssey in itself just getting off Ithaka. The taxi picked me up as scheduled in order to make the sailing to Lefkada. I enjoyed the scenic drive and arrive in plenty of time, but fifteen minutes before the ferry was due to arrive, I discovered that the ferry that had broken down, and we must leave from a different port. After a hair-raising wild race by taxi on a twisting road with hairpin curves and precipices, I arrived at the port just minutes before the ferry sailed.
A school of dolphins frolicked in the surf alongside the ferry as we sailed toward the high sandstone cliffs of Lefkada’s south coast. I disembarked at the pleasant little port
of Vassiliki, a popular centre for wind-surfers. Hundreds of brightly coloured sails skimmed like butterflies over the surface of the Bay. Wind surfers come here from all over Europe.
The next day, I went on a boat cruise around the Cape known as “Sappho’s Leap” where the poet Sappho committed suicide back in 600 BC.
Sailing past Cape Doukas, the towering white cliffs rise from a sea that is as blue as a robin’s egg. The Cape looks like a gigantic wedge of cake with a lighthouse on top for a candle.
The boat anchored at idyllic Egremeni Beach and we scrambled down steep ladders to the shore. I had brought a picnic lunch and a book of Sappho’s love poems and lay on the beach listening to the waves crackle on the pebble shore. As I looked up at those high cliffs from where she plunged, I read her haunting words: “About the cool water, the wind sounds through sprays...”
I extended my visit to Lefkada when I saw an advertisement for another excursion. “Islands Panorama” promised to include Onassis’ island, Skorpios, the island of Madouri, home of Greek national poet Valaortes, and Meganissi, an island famous for its sea caves.
Our first stop was the Cave of Papanikolis. The boat navigated carefully around submerged rocks and entered the mysterious blue cavern. I was surprised to see that there was already another boat inside. I imagined the cave as a pirate’s hideaway.
On the way to the next island stop, we chased a school of dolphins around in circles in the Bay. Dolphins are a rare sight because the fishers, who claim they damage their nets, are killing them. But here in the Ionian Sea there seems to be an abundance, and they are a joy to watch as they splash and dive through the boat’s wake.
The boat circled the island of Skorpios, a small island, densely wooded with cypress and pine trees. The red-tiled roofs of the Onassis’ villas are half-hidden behind the trees. In each little cover there are piers, each with a palm tree planted at the end. Around the dock areas, the grounds are landscaped and showers of magenta bougainvillea spill over the stone fences. One of these villas was a gift to opera singer Maria Callas in the days before Onassis abandoned her in favour of Jacqueline Kennedy.
We were allowed to disembark to swim at a small pebble beach secluded by a thick stand of myrtle bushes. Cicadas trill in the pine trees. As I paddled in the clear, turquoise water, I thought of how not long ago, Jackie O and her children had swam there. So did Maria Callas. And once Princess Diana and her lover Dodi Fayez cruised and frolicked in those same waters.
Skorpios is a symbol of the Rich and Famous, Onassis’ private Garden of Eden. Yet it’s a strange, tragic paradise, with nobody left to enjoy it but Onassis’ granddaughter, Athena, said to be the richest girl in the world.
We cruised away from Skorpios and skirted around the smaller islands, with a stop for a swim at Agiofili Beach. The whole day was a delightful island experience. I even went swimming where the rich and famous once swam.
THE END
Sunday, March 18, 2007
SOME HOT STUFF ON A COLD, WET DAY
"Love-quarrels oft in pleasing concord end;
Not wedlock-treachery." John Milton 1608-1674 "Paradise Lost" l 1008
It's cold and wet out there again today. Is there no end to this winter? In spite of Spring flowers in bloom and the lovely cherry blossoms budding on the trees, it's still so bleak and wintry. I can only dream, that just two months from now I'll be in Venice, and soon after that heading for sunny Greece.
To break the tedium of the ghastly weather, I thought I'd post some 'hot stuff' to warm things up a little. So here's a chapter segment from my novel Shadow of the Lion. This novel is mainly concerned with the squabbles between the Successors in the years following Alexander the Great's death which will utlimately end in disaster for the dynasty. There's not many parts of the novel where I can include tender love scenes, sex and desire, so I make the most of it when the opportunity arises.
In this scene, someone has attempted to poison Alexander's young son. Iskander and his mother Roxana have been staying in seclusion at the old palace of Aigai in the mountains where the Regent, Polyperchon, thought they'd be safe while he was away dealing with uprisings in Athens. Macedon is on the brink of civil war. Now this has happened, and Polyperchon realizes he must send the boy and his mother away to Epiros for safe-keeping in the care of Alexander's mother Olympias. He and Roxana have been carrying on a clandestine affair, both for their own self-satisfying reasons. Here is a scene between them culminating a series of events that almost ended in the murder of the child.
It was late by the time Polyerchon went to Roxana’s chamber. He knew she would be waiting for him and he steeled himself against the scene he imagined would take place when he told her he was sending her away again. He expected resistance, tears to which she had always been prone.
The guard at her door admitted him without hesitation and he entered into the lamp-lit room. She was waiting for him, pacing the room. Hands on hips she turned to face him. Under the thin fabric of her sleeping robe her naked breasts rose and fell as she caught her breath. He saw the fear in her eyes more clearly than before.
“What news do you bring, my Lord? Have you caught the murderous wretch?” She scanned his face anxiously for an answer.
“He was dead before they got a confession out of him. They’d slit his throat, cut out his tongue.”
She let out a gasp. “Who? Tell me his name so I can put a curse on his grave.”
“His name is Drakon. He was one of the King‘s bodyguards.”
She stiffened and drew back. “Drakon? The one who is Lanike’s grandson?” Her face contorted with rage. “I was certain that horrid old woman had a hand in this!”
“I have questioned Lanike,“ Polyperchon said. “She swore an oath she did not do it. She begged me for clemency.” He spoke quietly trying to calm her. “Lanike is not capable of murder. She has always been a trusted member of the royal households. I believe that the orders came from Kassandros.”
“Isn’t it customary to put to death those family members who’s kinfolk are guilty of murder and treason? This was an act of treason. They clearly meant to kill my child!”
“The sentence of death for the kinfolk is only when it is proven without a doubt and decreed by the Assembly. I believe that Lanike is innocent. I have banished her. She has already left Aigai,”
Roxana blinked, obviously astonished. “You let her go?"
“Undoubtedly the boy was an agent sent by Kassandros. We must be cautious because there may be others.”
“When you find these evil-doers let me be the one to mete out the punishment.”
“You? Such things are not your concern,” he rebuked her. “Leave Macedon’s affairs to me.”
She turned to him with a defiant look on her face. “This is my affair! Someone tried to kill my child! I will avenge this. I am quite capable of seeing to an execution. I have done it before.”
He peered at her through narrowed eyes. “Murder, my Lady?” Her knew her passion for control, recalled the tales that had gone round the camps of her angry tirades and verbal battles with Alexander but he had not, until then, thought she was capable of killing.
“We Soghdians are taught the art of revenge while we are young,” she
responded bluntly
Taking her chin, he forced her to look at him. “Who were your victims?”
Her expression was sullen, her eyes veiled. She turned away imperiously. “There have been several,” she stated bluntly.
His heart chilled at her words. He thought of Medea, the murderous queen of the old legends. Like Medea, Roxana was a foreigner, and just as Jason had been smitten
by Medea, he had loved Roxana since he’d first laid eyes on her on the Soghdian Rock. Now,
for the first time he saw how dangerous she could be.
She stood before him, implacable and splendidly daunting, her face a stony mask.
He saw the cold glimmer in her eyes. Her intensity appalled him.
“You must promise me that you will not meddle in the affairs of the country. Do not exact revenge on Lanike or anyone else you might suppose was responsible for attempting to harm your child. It is my concern, as Regent, and I will see that those who are guilty are brought to justice.
I am sending you to Epiros straightaway,” he said quietly. “Olympias refuses to come to us, so we will go to her. I have sent a dispatch to Commander Kronos. His men will meet you in the mountain pass. You and the child will leave in the morning with an escort of my most trusted guards.”
She stared at him with a look of cold suspicion. “You’re sending me away again? For how long? What if...gods forbid...you don’t come back?” She clung to him fiercely. “My Lord, I have waited in vain for you every day. And now you are here -- only to leave again.” Her voice was husky, thickened by the tears that had welled in her eyes.
He brushed her cheek with his finger. “You will be safe in Epiros. None of your enemies will dare trespass in Olympia’s realm. It is to our benefit to have an ally such as Alexander’s mother. It will only be for a little while, then I’ll be home again. Fear not. I will win this war with Kassandros and settle the disputes with Athens. Then all will be well again.” He took her hand and squeezed it. “Let us enjoy one last private night together,” he suggested, hoping to appease her.
Her face softened as he reached out to her. “May the Gods grant you a victory, my Lord, so that you may return soon.”
He took her face in his hands. “You and the child are precious to me, Little Star. I promise I will not forsake you.”
“Your continuous loyalty to me and my son will not be forgotten,” she said.
She touched her fingers to his lips. “When we both return to Pella, promise we
will be united forever.”
He broke away from her. “I have spent much time pondering this,” he said. “We
must keep this affair secret. Olympias did not take another consort after Philip. She dedicated her life to her son and to denouncing his rivals and enemies. She will expect the same from you.”
She spun to face him, her cheeks flushed. “I am not Olympias!”
“True. But she is. And it will be best for both of us that she does not know of this. Not yet...At least, not until little Alexander ascends the throne. Then we will be able to live together freely.“ He knew, even as he spoke, that his words had a hollow ring to them. He saw how she was stabbed with disappointment. He had promised her marriage vows. Now she would see it was all a guise, designed to satisfy his own lust and ambition.
She whirled away from him, trembling with indignant rage. “I will be no man’s concubine, languishing the long hours away waiting for someone who might never return. Am I no more to you than a campaign prize, easily cast off and just as inconsequential?” she demanded.
He felt regret for himself as well as for her. “It would be foolish for us to wed now,” he said. “We must wait.”
She spun to face him. Her voice was deadly cold. “With or without you I will see my son on the throne of Macedon.”
“For now, I can only promise my loyalty to you and your son -- that I will do my utmost to protect you.”
She shot him a dark glance and opened her mouth to protest. He caught her by the wrist and stopped her words with a kiss. She struggled to free herself from his embrace
but his arms tightened around her pulling her body close against his own. He yearned to possess her. How long had it been since he had last touched her? Weeks? Months?
“Leave me!” The flat of her hand struck his cheek in a sudden stinging blow. “I
won’t lay with you again unless you promise me more than that.”
He stood swaying, shocked by the suddenness of her attack,
but her irrational anger, her wildness, excited him as much as when he faced an adversary in battle. His body ached for her, unleashing a fierce torrent of lust. He felt
intoxicated , as though he had drunk an aphrodisiac. He dug his fingers into her shoulders, felt the searing warmth of her flesh.
Like a rabid vixen, she fought him violently with teeth and nails. He could feel her body convulse with rage as she thrashed about and tried to free herself from his grasp.
“How dare you!” she panted, her voice rising to a shriek.
“Be silent!” he growled. “You‘ll alert the guards.”
He flung her over the bed and mounted her and with one quick movement ripped away the gauzy fabric of her gown. He tasted blood, aware that he was bruising her lips with his teeth as he brought his mouth down on hers. Her breath came in gasps and she let out a ragged cry as he kneaded her breasts and fought him more, her nails grazing his flesh. He straddled her and grasped her wrists, pinning both her arms down. She cursed and spat at him. Her fury only excited him more. He forced his tongue into her mouth until finally with a muffled cry, she surrendered, returning his kiss with equal fervour, pressing against him in an urgency that only excited him more. He took her as he would take any barracks whore -- rough and savage, thrusting into her, his breath coming hard. A stab of pleasure pierced him and he groaned and collapsed on her trembling as his seed exploded into her.
When he came to his senses he was lying beside her, panting. They lay side by side in a tangle of sheets, bathed in sweat. She neither spoke nor moved. Her flesh felt hot against his though the room had grown cold. He drew the covers up over her naked body. Lying on his back in the dimness, he felt her warm breath against his neck.
It was growing light when he got up, belted on his tunic, and started across the room. At the door he lingered, and glanced back at her as she lay sleeping. He watched the slow rise and fall of her breathing. In repose, her face was serene. She looked as young as a maiden, and just as vulnerable. His battle with her had been an easy one to win. That which lay ahead would be more difficult. ““Farewell, my Little Star,” he whispered, “May the gods grant us a victory.” Then he went out.
"Who lives without folly is not so wise as he thinks."
Francois, Duc de La Rouchefoucauld 1613 - 1680 "Reflections: or, Sentences and Moral Maxims" 1678 (l 209)
"As the ancients
Say wisely, have a care o' th' main chance,
And look before you ere you leap,
For as you sow, ye are like to reap."
Samuel Butler 1612- 1680 "Hudibras" 1663 pt 1, l 501
Not wedlock-treachery." John Milton 1608-1674 "Paradise Lost" l 1008
It's cold and wet out there again today. Is there no end to this winter? In spite of Spring flowers in bloom and the lovely cherry blossoms budding on the trees, it's still so bleak and wintry. I can only dream, that just two months from now I'll be in Venice, and soon after that heading for sunny Greece.
To break the tedium of the ghastly weather, I thought I'd post some 'hot stuff' to warm things up a little. So here's a chapter segment from my novel Shadow of the Lion. This novel is mainly concerned with the squabbles between the Successors in the years following Alexander the Great's death which will utlimately end in disaster for the dynasty. There's not many parts of the novel where I can include tender love scenes, sex and desire, so I make the most of it when the opportunity arises.
In this scene, someone has attempted to poison Alexander's young son. Iskander and his mother Roxana have been staying in seclusion at the old palace of Aigai in the mountains where the Regent, Polyperchon, thought they'd be safe while he was away dealing with uprisings in Athens. Macedon is on the brink of civil war. Now this has happened, and Polyperchon realizes he must send the boy and his mother away to Epiros for safe-keeping in the care of Alexander's mother Olympias. He and Roxana have been carrying on a clandestine affair, both for their own self-satisfying reasons. Here is a scene between them culminating a series of events that almost ended in the murder of the child.
It was late by the time Polyerchon went to Roxana’s chamber. He knew she would be waiting for him and he steeled himself against the scene he imagined would take place when he told her he was sending her away again. He expected resistance, tears to which she had always been prone.
The guard at her door admitted him without hesitation and he entered into the lamp-lit room. She was waiting for him, pacing the room. Hands on hips she turned to face him. Under the thin fabric of her sleeping robe her naked breasts rose and fell as she caught her breath. He saw the fear in her eyes more clearly than before.
“What news do you bring, my Lord? Have you caught the murderous wretch?” She scanned his face anxiously for an answer.
“He was dead before they got a confession out of him. They’d slit his throat, cut out his tongue.”
She let out a gasp. “Who? Tell me his name so I can put a curse on his grave.”
“His name is Drakon. He was one of the King‘s bodyguards.”
She stiffened and drew back. “Drakon? The one who is Lanike’s grandson?” Her face contorted with rage. “I was certain that horrid old woman had a hand in this!”
“I have questioned Lanike,“ Polyperchon said. “She swore an oath she did not do it. She begged me for clemency.” He spoke quietly trying to calm her. “Lanike is not capable of murder. She has always been a trusted member of the royal households. I believe that the orders came from Kassandros.”
“Isn’t it customary to put to death those family members who’s kinfolk are guilty of murder and treason? This was an act of treason. They clearly meant to kill my child!”
“The sentence of death for the kinfolk is only when it is proven without a doubt and decreed by the Assembly. I believe that Lanike is innocent. I have banished her. She has already left Aigai,”
Roxana blinked, obviously astonished. “You let her go?"
“Undoubtedly the boy was an agent sent by Kassandros. We must be cautious because there may be others.”
“When you find these evil-doers let me be the one to mete out the punishment.”
“You? Such things are not your concern,” he rebuked her. “Leave Macedon’s affairs to me.”
She turned to him with a defiant look on her face. “This is my affair! Someone tried to kill my child! I will avenge this. I am quite capable of seeing to an execution. I have done it before.”
He peered at her through narrowed eyes. “Murder, my Lady?” Her knew her passion for control, recalled the tales that had gone round the camps of her angry tirades and verbal battles with Alexander but he had not, until then, thought she was capable of killing.
“We Soghdians are taught the art of revenge while we are young,” she
responded bluntly
Taking her chin, he forced her to look at him. “Who were your victims?”
Her expression was sullen, her eyes veiled. She turned away imperiously. “There have been several,” she stated bluntly.
His heart chilled at her words. He thought of Medea, the murderous queen of the old legends. Like Medea, Roxana was a foreigner, and just as Jason had been smitten
by Medea, he had loved Roxana since he’d first laid eyes on her on the Soghdian Rock. Now,
for the first time he saw how dangerous she could be.
She stood before him, implacable and splendidly daunting, her face a stony mask.
He saw the cold glimmer in her eyes. Her intensity appalled him.
“You must promise me that you will not meddle in the affairs of the country. Do not exact revenge on Lanike or anyone else you might suppose was responsible for attempting to harm your child. It is my concern, as Regent, and I will see that those who are guilty are brought to justice.
I am sending you to Epiros straightaway,” he said quietly. “Olympias refuses to come to us, so we will go to her. I have sent a dispatch to Commander Kronos. His men will meet you in the mountain pass. You and the child will leave in the morning with an escort of my most trusted guards.”
She stared at him with a look of cold suspicion. “You’re sending me away again? For how long? What if...gods forbid...you don’t come back?” She clung to him fiercely. “My Lord, I have waited in vain for you every day. And now you are here -- only to leave again.” Her voice was husky, thickened by the tears that had welled in her eyes.
He brushed her cheek with his finger. “You will be safe in Epiros. None of your enemies will dare trespass in Olympia’s realm. It is to our benefit to have an ally such as Alexander’s mother. It will only be for a little while, then I’ll be home again. Fear not. I will win this war with Kassandros and settle the disputes with Athens. Then all will be well again.” He took her hand and squeezed it. “Let us enjoy one last private night together,” he suggested, hoping to appease her.
Her face softened as he reached out to her. “May the Gods grant you a victory, my Lord, so that you may return soon.”
He took her face in his hands. “You and the child are precious to me, Little Star. I promise I will not forsake you.”
“Your continuous loyalty to me and my son will not be forgotten,” she said.
She touched her fingers to his lips. “When we both return to Pella, promise we
will be united forever.”
He broke away from her. “I have spent much time pondering this,” he said. “We
must keep this affair secret. Olympias did not take another consort after Philip. She dedicated her life to her son and to denouncing his rivals and enemies. She will expect the same from you.”
She spun to face him, her cheeks flushed. “I am not Olympias!”
“True. But she is. And it will be best for both of us that she does not know of this. Not yet...At least, not until little Alexander ascends the throne. Then we will be able to live together freely.“ He knew, even as he spoke, that his words had a hollow ring to them. He saw how she was stabbed with disappointment. He had promised her marriage vows. Now she would see it was all a guise, designed to satisfy his own lust and ambition.
She whirled away from him, trembling with indignant rage. “I will be no man’s concubine, languishing the long hours away waiting for someone who might never return. Am I no more to you than a campaign prize, easily cast off and just as inconsequential?” she demanded.
He felt regret for himself as well as for her. “It would be foolish for us to wed now,” he said. “We must wait.”
She spun to face him. Her voice was deadly cold. “With or without you I will see my son on the throne of Macedon.”
“For now, I can only promise my loyalty to you and your son -- that I will do my utmost to protect you.”
She shot him a dark glance and opened her mouth to protest. He caught her by the wrist and stopped her words with a kiss. She struggled to free herself from his embrace
but his arms tightened around her pulling her body close against his own. He yearned to possess her. How long had it been since he had last touched her? Weeks? Months?
“Leave me!” The flat of her hand struck his cheek in a sudden stinging blow. “I
won’t lay with you again unless you promise me more than that.”
He stood swaying, shocked by the suddenness of her attack,
but her irrational anger, her wildness, excited him as much as when he faced an adversary in battle. His body ached for her, unleashing a fierce torrent of lust. He felt
intoxicated , as though he had drunk an aphrodisiac. He dug his fingers into her shoulders, felt the searing warmth of her flesh.
Like a rabid vixen, she fought him violently with teeth and nails. He could feel her body convulse with rage as she thrashed about and tried to free herself from his grasp.
“How dare you!” she panted, her voice rising to a shriek.
“Be silent!” he growled. “You‘ll alert the guards.”
He flung her over the bed and mounted her and with one quick movement ripped away the gauzy fabric of her gown. He tasted blood, aware that he was bruising her lips with his teeth as he brought his mouth down on hers. Her breath came in gasps and she let out a ragged cry as he kneaded her breasts and fought him more, her nails grazing his flesh. He straddled her and grasped her wrists, pinning both her arms down. She cursed and spat at him. Her fury only excited him more. He forced his tongue into her mouth until finally with a muffled cry, she surrendered, returning his kiss with equal fervour, pressing against him in an urgency that only excited him more. He took her as he would take any barracks whore -- rough and savage, thrusting into her, his breath coming hard. A stab of pleasure pierced him and he groaned and collapsed on her trembling as his seed exploded into her.
When he came to his senses he was lying beside her, panting. They lay side by side in a tangle of sheets, bathed in sweat. She neither spoke nor moved. Her flesh felt hot against his though the room had grown cold. He drew the covers up over her naked body. Lying on his back in the dimness, he felt her warm breath against his neck.
It was growing light when he got up, belted on his tunic, and started across the room. At the door he lingered, and glanced back at her as she lay sleeping. He watched the slow rise and fall of her breathing. In repose, her face was serene. She looked as young as a maiden, and just as vulnerable. His battle with her had been an easy one to win. That which lay ahead would be more difficult. ““Farewell, my Little Star,” he whispered, “May the gods grant us a victory.” Then he went out.
"Who lives without folly is not so wise as he thinks."
Francois, Duc de La Rouchefoucauld 1613 - 1680 "Reflections: or, Sentences and Moral Maxims" 1678 (l 209)
"As the ancients
Say wisely, have a care o' th' main chance,
And look before you ere you leap,
For as you sow, ye are like to reap."
Samuel Butler 1612- 1680 "Hudibras" 1663 pt 1, l 501
Monday, March 12, 2007
WHAT ARE YOUR AIMS?
"Writers, like teeth, are divided into incisors and molars."
Walter Bagehot 1826-1877 "Estimates of Some Englishmen and Scotchemn" 1858 (The First Edinburgh Review)
Every once in a while one needs to sit down and take stock of the progress in whatever it is your goals are and if you are achieving any of them. This not only goes for writing, but in other aspects of life as well. For me I'm not only checking myself to see if I'm wasting time when I should be writing, but also if I'm fooling around and not paying attention to my diet. So far, after nearly a year on the Weight Watchers program I am a serious failure. Sure, I'm trying to tally 'points' and watch what I eat, but not watching carefully enough. And I certainly try to get enough exercise, and for awhile I even got into the routine of doing daily stretches at home, but once I get off track that's it. And here I am again back at Square One, sitting around too much and not getting the cardio and stretching exercise I need to do in order to tone up and lose weight.
So this weekend I gave myself a serious talking-to about my diet/exercise program. I had an appointment with the trainer at the gym yesterday and found out how to use the big machines (still have to go back to set up a new regime of exercises for toning). And in making out my weekly menus I was a lot more careful to try and choose W.W. recipes and low calorie foods so that I won't over-do it. (I am careful not to keep 'forbidden' foods in my fridge or cupboards and have to remind myself to buy appropriate snacks.) I haven't been going out to party with my friends so much but when I do I need to keep it in mind that over-doing it isn't good.
I decided to assess my writing goals as well. Am I staying on track? So far, in the last two months I've done a lot of writing -- completed 7 travel stories and started a new chapter of my novel. But since I got my new scanner last week I've spent far too many hours trying to scan photos the proper resolution for publications. Now I've got that figured out, this week I have to start marketing the new writing and then I still have the Chile stories to write. What I really want to do though, is get back to the novel because I had h oped to get it finished before the middle of May and at the rate I'm going that's highly unlikely. One good thing, my night school classes end this week so that will allow me more time to relax and get more work done. (What's been in my in my favour is the non-stop rainy weather which made it easier for me to stay home -- also to avoid going out to the gym.)
I noticed a Meme on Marie's blog the other day and thought I'd try it just to see if it helps me focus on what I really want to accomplish in the short/long term. (This includes not only my physical fitness regime but my writing aims.) So here goes...
What are your short term AIMS (6 - 8 wks)
Writing: Send out all the new travel articles to paying publishers. Write Chile stories. Finish another chapter of Shadow.
Physical fitness/diet: Count points BEFORE eating. Get to the gym at least twice a week and waterfit twice a week. Start doing stretches and sit-ups at home every day!
Medium term Aims ( 6 - 8 months)
Writing: Finish "Shadow of the Lion" up to final draft ; rework Sappho play; do more travel stories (and market them) (Travel plans include Venice and Greece and I have already planned what I want to write about.)
Physical fitness/diet: Lose at least 10 pounds and keep active (more swimming and cardio)
Long term aims (6 - 8 years)
Writing: Have my novel out to market and rework my other w.i.p. "Dragons in the Sky". Complete it and the Sappho play and start a new novel (one already planned) Keep travelling so I have lots of travel article material to work from.
Physical Fitness: Stay active and keep on target with the diet!
What do you need to do to realize these aims?
Short term:
Writing: Don't waste time with unimportant tasks and procrastinations.
Physical Fitness: plan menus carefully. Don't make excuses for not exercising.
Medium term:
Writing: Revamp my writing class program, get more editing jobs, keep writing every day no matter what.
Physical fitness: Increase exercise reps at gym, walk every day, do more swimming. Be aware of what I'm eating and try to keep it healthy.
Long term:
Writing: No matter what, don't give up til you get your book published. Try to get more travel articles published and aim for more of those FAM trips. (I deserve it!)
Physical Fitness: Keep my weight down to a comfortable size and stay healthy and active.
WHAT ARE YOUR AIMS?
"The road to resolution lies by doubt:
The next way home's the farthest way about."
Francis Quarles 1592- 1644 "Epigrams"
"The longest way round is the shortest way home." Proverb.
YOU CAN DO IT IF YOU REALLY TRY!
Walter Bagehot 1826-1877 "Estimates of Some Englishmen and Scotchemn" 1858 (The First Edinburgh Review)
Every once in a while one needs to sit down and take stock of the progress in whatever it is your goals are and if you are achieving any of them. This not only goes for writing, but in other aspects of life as well. For me I'm not only checking myself to see if I'm wasting time when I should be writing, but also if I'm fooling around and not paying attention to my diet. So far, after nearly a year on the Weight Watchers program I am a serious failure. Sure, I'm trying to tally 'points' and watch what I eat, but not watching carefully enough. And I certainly try to get enough exercise, and for awhile I even got into the routine of doing daily stretches at home, but once I get off track that's it. And here I am again back at Square One, sitting around too much and not getting the cardio and stretching exercise I need to do in order to tone up and lose weight.
So this weekend I gave myself a serious talking-to about my diet/exercise program. I had an appointment with the trainer at the gym yesterday and found out how to use the big machines (still have to go back to set up a new regime of exercises for toning). And in making out my weekly menus I was a lot more careful to try and choose W.W. recipes and low calorie foods so that I won't over-do it. (I am careful not to keep 'forbidden' foods in my fridge or cupboards and have to remind myself to buy appropriate snacks.) I haven't been going out to party with my friends so much but when I do I need to keep it in mind that over-doing it isn't good.
I decided to assess my writing goals as well. Am I staying on track? So far, in the last two months I've done a lot of writing -- completed 7 travel stories and started a new chapter of my novel. But since I got my new scanner last week I've spent far too many hours trying to scan photos the proper resolution for publications. Now I've got that figured out, this week I have to start marketing the new writing and then I still have the Chile stories to write. What I really want to do though, is get back to the novel because I had h oped to get it finished before the middle of May and at the rate I'm going that's highly unlikely. One good thing, my night school classes end this week so that will allow me more time to relax and get more work done. (What's been in my in my favour is the non-stop rainy weather which made it easier for me to stay home -- also to avoid going out to the gym.)
I noticed a Meme on Marie's blog the other day and thought I'd try it just to see if it helps me focus on what I really want to accomplish in the short/long term. (This includes not only my physical fitness regime but my writing aims.) So here goes...
What are your short term AIMS (6 - 8 wks)
Writing: Send out all the new travel articles to paying publishers. Write Chile stories. Finish another chapter of Shadow.
Physical fitness/diet: Count points BEFORE eating. Get to the gym at least twice a week and waterfit twice a week. Start doing stretches and sit-ups at home every day!
Medium term Aims ( 6 - 8 months)
Writing: Finish "Shadow of the Lion" up to final draft ; rework Sappho play; do more travel stories (and market them) (Travel plans include Venice and Greece and I have already planned what I want to write about.)
Physical fitness/diet: Lose at least 10 pounds and keep active (more swimming and cardio)
Long term aims (6 - 8 years)
Writing: Have my novel out to market and rework my other w.i.p. "Dragons in the Sky". Complete it and the Sappho play and start a new novel (one already planned) Keep travelling so I have lots of travel article material to work from.
Physical Fitness: Stay active and keep on target with the diet!
What do you need to do to realize these aims?
Short term:
Writing: Don't waste time with unimportant tasks and procrastinations.
Physical Fitness: plan menus carefully. Don't make excuses for not exercising.
Medium term:
Writing: Revamp my writing class program, get more editing jobs, keep writing every day no matter what.
Physical fitness: Increase exercise reps at gym, walk every day, do more swimming. Be aware of what I'm eating and try to keep it healthy.
Long term:
Writing: No matter what, don't give up til you get your book published. Try to get more travel articles published and aim for more of those FAM trips. (I deserve it!)
Physical Fitness: Keep my weight down to a comfortable size and stay healthy and active.
WHAT ARE YOUR AIMS?
"The road to resolution lies by doubt:
The next way home's the farthest way about."
Francis Quarles 1592- 1644 "Epigrams"
"The longest way round is the shortest way home." Proverb.
YOU CAN DO IT IF YOU REALLY TRY!
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
ARE YOU ADDICTED TO THE INTERNET?
ADDICTION (n 1599) 1. the quality or state of being addicted (tor reading) 2. compulsive psychological need for a habit-forming drug (as heroin)
JUNKIE (1940) "One that derives inordinate pleaasure from or that is dependant on something."
I was reading some articles and saw some discussions on TV recently about people who are addicted to the internet, in particular, addicted to their email and text-message contacts.
The other morning I had to unplug my old printer to make ready for installing my new one. Because of my cramped work space I had to guess which plugs to unplug from the power bar so I had to try all 3 before I got the right one for the printer. But afterwards, when I turned on my PC, it wouldn't boot up to open and kept on beeping like an alarm clock. I checked and rechecked all the plugs and still it wouldn't work.
I went off to have breakfast with my friend but was in a bit of a stew all morning wondering what was wrong with my hard-drive. Why couldn't I open my computer? I was having withdrawals like a junkie who can't find drugs!!
On my way up the Drive I stopped in to the computer shop and asked what to do. He said it was likely a loose plug for the video connection. ( Are computer techies like pushers?) Afterwards I stopped in at the library to kill a few minute before my gym appointment. I found myself loitering around the computers wondering if I could get a space to check my emails. But all the computers were occupied. I began to feel anxious, desperate for my fix.
I went for my gym appointment but someone had erased my name from the book and put someone else's so I couldn't get to meet with the trainer. So I walked up the Drive on my way home. Came to a web cafe. And absolutely couldn't resist going in to use one of their computers. What a waste of $1. as there weren't any emails for me. And how crazy was that? Couldn't I go a day without my internet connection. Am I addicted?
I know that I can't be far away from home (as when I'm travelling) without immediately wanting to locate the local web cafes. I'm good at it too and I have to admit they are a bit of a life-saver when you're traveling -- that connection with home, a chance to post blogs about all your daily adventures or just to email friends. But what about all those years they didn't have web cafes? (It's only been the last few years that Greece, for instance, got caught up with the cyber world. Before that I can recall spending long hours waiting at the phone company to make calls home. Now everyone there has a cell glued to their ear. I even noticed that in Chile. (No, I am not addicted to text-messaging as I don't have a mobile phone. Thank god for that. One addiction is hard enough to deal with! )
I notice in the paper the other day that China refuses to open any more new cybercafes. This is an attempt for the communist government to restrict the rising influence of the Internet. They are also cracking down on gambling and on-line games. There are currently about 113,000 Internet bars in China. Analysts expect the number of Chinese web surfers could overtake taht of the U.S. which now stands at around 210 million. The curbs on new cyber-cafes was part of the government's campaign to combat the rising problem of Internet addiction.
When I got home that day I took out all the handbooks, fiddled around, and eventually found the problem. The keyboard connection was loose. Duh! I was all upset by now because what if my hard-drive was broken? What if I couldn't use my computer? What if...???? But I switched it on and the darling thing perked up immediately and co-operated. So in no time I was back on line. Phew! I had my 'fix' for the morning. I could enjoy the rest of the day.
I wrote this little essay first on my rememory.com journal and this is the reply I got from one of the readers:
I'm coming to Van to start 6mo mandatory (locked doors) seminar on authors getting back to their roots.: Plenty of pens and notebooks...PERIOD....no phones, typewriters, computers, palm pilots ......maybe alphabet soup after few months., its the only way to save yourselves.Attendance is free and MANDATORY
I like the idea of the alphabet soup. Any other ideas for rehabilitating computer junkies?
"How use doth breed a habit in a man..."
William Shakespeare 1564- 1616 "The Two Gentlemen of Verona"
HAVE YOU HAD YOUR FIX TODAY?
JUNKIE (1940) "One that derives inordinate pleaasure from or that is dependant on something."
I was reading some articles and saw some discussions on TV recently about people who are addicted to the internet, in particular, addicted to their email and text-message contacts.
The other morning I had to unplug my old printer to make ready for installing my new one. Because of my cramped work space I had to guess which plugs to unplug from the power bar so I had to try all 3 before I got the right one for the printer. But afterwards, when I turned on my PC, it wouldn't boot up to open and kept on beeping like an alarm clock. I checked and rechecked all the plugs and still it wouldn't work.
I went off to have breakfast with my friend but was in a bit of a stew all morning wondering what was wrong with my hard-drive. Why couldn't I open my computer? I was having withdrawals like a junkie who can't find drugs!!
On my way up the Drive I stopped in to the computer shop and asked what to do. He said it was likely a loose plug for the video connection. ( Are computer techies like pushers?) Afterwards I stopped in at the library to kill a few minute before my gym appointment. I found myself loitering around the computers wondering if I could get a space to check my emails. But all the computers were occupied. I began to feel anxious, desperate for my fix.
I went for my gym appointment but someone had erased my name from the book and put someone else's so I couldn't get to meet with the trainer. So I walked up the Drive on my way home. Came to a web cafe. And absolutely couldn't resist going in to use one of their computers. What a waste of $1. as there weren't any emails for me. And how crazy was that? Couldn't I go a day without my internet connection. Am I addicted?
I know that I can't be far away from home (as when I'm travelling) without immediately wanting to locate the local web cafes. I'm good at it too and I have to admit they are a bit of a life-saver when you're traveling -- that connection with home, a chance to post blogs about all your daily adventures or just to email friends. But what about all those years they didn't have web cafes? (It's only been the last few years that Greece, for instance, got caught up with the cyber world. Before that I can recall spending long hours waiting at the phone company to make calls home. Now everyone there has a cell glued to their ear. I even noticed that in Chile. (No, I am not addicted to text-messaging as I don't have a mobile phone. Thank god for that. One addiction is hard enough to deal with! )
I notice in the paper the other day that China refuses to open any more new cybercafes. This is an attempt for the communist government to restrict the rising influence of the Internet. They are also cracking down on gambling and on-line games. There are currently about 113,000 Internet bars in China. Analysts expect the number of Chinese web surfers could overtake taht of the U.S. which now stands at around 210 million. The curbs on new cyber-cafes was part of the government's campaign to combat the rising problem of Internet addiction.
When I got home that day I took out all the handbooks, fiddled around, and eventually found the problem. The keyboard connection was loose. Duh! I was all upset by now because what if my hard-drive was broken? What if I couldn't use my computer? What if...???? But I switched it on and the darling thing perked up immediately and co-operated. So in no time I was back on line. Phew! I had my 'fix' for the morning. I could enjoy the rest of the day.
I wrote this little essay first on my rememory.com journal and this is the reply I got from one of the readers:
I'm coming to Van to start 6mo mandatory (locked doors) seminar on authors getting back to their roots.: Plenty of pens and notebooks...PERIOD....no phones, typewriters, computers, palm pilots ......maybe alphabet soup after few months., its the only way to save yourselves.Attendance is free and MANDATORY
I like the idea of the alphabet soup. Any other ideas for rehabilitating computer junkies?
"How use doth breed a habit in a man..."
William Shakespeare 1564- 1616 "The Two Gentlemen of Verona"
HAVE YOU HAD YOUR FIX TODAY?
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