A WINDY WALK ON THE BEACH AND WRITING

JERICHO BEACH

I'm lucky because one of my writing groups (The Brock House Writers) is located right by this beach, one of Vancouver's finest recreation areas. So on Wednesday when I had finished my morning group and had lunch with a few of the writers, I went for a refreshing stroll down the beach. It was a brisk, windy morning, still bitterly cold but so clear with the skyline and mountains dazzling in the distance. I like to walk when I am sorting out my thoughts and working on new writing. Over this long, snowy winter I haven't had the daily walks that mean so much to my well-being but the last few days have been bright and sunny. So I took advantage of it, even though a chill wind was blowing that nearly froze my fingers as I took photos along the way. Living on the Coast you learn to take full advantage of the sunny days, and yes, it has started to rain again. Somehow I sense Spring is creeping up on us though, as the next day, while walking in the West End, I spotted the first buds of the cherry blossoms on the trees that line the streets where I have my Thursday morning memoir group.

EBB TIDE AND CITY SKYLINE

I have had a particularly busy Fall and Winter, as I took on a few extra classes in order to make a bit of money toward my planned visit to Wales and Greece at the end of May. Unfortunately it has eaten up some of my personal writing time, so I'm falling a little behind with work on SHADOW. Besides the classes, I also write four pieces a week for the online travel guide Planet Eye (check out my new stories, now with photos, at http://thevancouverguide.planeteye.com ) In addition to all this, I am editing/publishing my on-line travel 'zine. And the new stories will be up by next week so check it out at www.travelthruhistory.com (I'm not making any money on this venture -- so please click the ads so I can ) I have received many inspiring accolades from all corners of the world about the quality of the site. And I am amazed at the many stories that get contributed for the publication.

A lot of my own writing time is spent in research and my table is always piled with papers and books. Before I start each section I must go through and check and I am trying my best to be accurate in spite of the fact a lot of the 'facts' are contradictory. Then I write, then I workshop, then I rewrite -- again and again. (So often what I post here as snippets are early drafts). It's an inspiration (and also sometimes a learning experience) for me when I instruct the classes. In particular the novel-writer's workshop I have been conducting at home once a week -- a new writers who started out in my night school classes. But I find the time races by and I still have so much work to do on SHADOW just to finish the complete story. (And then the final work on the final draft which will happen over the summer. I want to have it ready enough to speak to an agent/editor at next Fall's Surrey Writer's Conference).

Most of my classes are finishing for the Winter sessions but will soon begin again in April. The Brock House group has asked me to continue right through and I'll continue with the novel writing workshop at least until the end of March. In the midst of all this business, one must take time to reflect, relax, and enjoy. So, I grab the opportunity each time we have a bright, sunny day like this one was and I head down to the Park or the beach or even just stroll the neighbourhood. I've always been a 'walking writing' and get some of my most inspiring thoughts while I am strolling along. (And always remember to have that notebook and pen handy!) I recall early drafts of SHADOW written while I was spending time in Greece, and a lot of my ideas came flooding into mind as I walked up and down the mountainside from my shepherd's village on the island of Evvia, or while I basked in the sun and swam in the Aegean Sea.

Last night I went to the theatre with my friends to see a rare production of "Coriolanus" by Shakespeare, a difficult play rarely produced. The director was a friend of mine (he starred in a lead role in my own play "The Street" back in 2000) and the play was staged in modern dress as so often is the case these days. It's an interesting, if not a bit confusing. Strangely, while listening and watching, a flood of ideas and thoughts came to me for SHADOW. Now I feel I can make some progress this week, sort out the tangled threads, and move on to THE END.

SEA GULL SENTINEL

PROGRESS REPORT #52: IN PRAISE OF WOMEN

TEMPLE OF ARTEMIS, EPHESUS

My busy life is getting a little more slowed down (after this week) when classes end and Spring break begins. I need some time on my own now to catch up. It's been difficult trying to get any serious work done on SHADOW OF THE LION because of my busy schedule. But I have started PART VII and haven't too much to do before I am finished.
THE END. What a thrill that will be and it will certain call for a celebration. I finished the first chapter of Part VII and have started the second chapter. When I'm doing new work it means stopping and researching, checking facts etc. as this part (the politics) is somewhat complicating with conflicting notes. Keeping in mind I am writing a 'fiction' book I still have to be as accurate as possible for events that are recorded historically. This first chapter in Part VII begins with one of my fictional characters NABARZANES, the Persian court advisor who was expelled from Pella by Olympias (because she was jealous of the attention he paid to her grandson, little Alexander (Iskander). He had set off to return to Babylonia to seek assistance from either of his friends Peukestes or Seleukos to rescue Alexander's son from the clutches of Kassandros. He has, at this point, reached Ephesus where he has spent the winter with a dear friend of his, BARSINE, who is one of the women in Alexander's histories who doesn't get much exposure -- at least, not as much as she should in my opinion. And who knows what they said about her was all that truthful? After all, she was a Persian, daughter of a prominent Persian ambassador/satrap. And for a time she was Alexander's mistress. So, in honor of INTERNATIONAL WOMEN'S DAY I have decided to post a segment of this chapter that features beautiful Barsine.
And this is especially for any woman who has been abandoned by a man who she loved.

THE AGORA, EPHESUS

Nabarzanes whipped Shaqal into a gallop and sped out of the market square and up the cobbled road to the Hill of Nightingales. A pack of stray dogs ran alongside barking and snapping at the horse’s hooves.

Barsine’s villa was high on the terraced slopes where the wealthy Ephesians had their manors. The fine painted house had belonged to her husband Memnon,. a Greek general who had allied with Shah Darius against Alexander. A garlanded marble bust of Memnon guarded the front entrance.

Nabarzanes turned his horse over to a groom and mounted the steps to the porticoe. A fat, elderly chamberlain let him into the reception hall where the antique Persian-style furniture and faded wall murals showed the signs of the house’s fading opulence.

Barsine was waiting for him. Even in her late forties, she was still a woman of great beauty, with the delicate features of Persian nobility. She was almost as tall as he and her green-gold eyes met his steadily, the expression on her face grave.

“What news do you bring?”

Nabarzanes told her about the declaration of war. “Ptolemy’s navy has invaded all the seaports of Phoenicia. The coalition of Diodochi have declared war against Antigonos. Come summer, torrents of Greek and Macedonian blood will flow.”

Barsine’s face grew pale with shock. She caught in a sharp breath. For a long time she stood silent, as if trying to absorb the news.
“If there is to be a war, perhaps we should move north to Pergamon,” she said finally. “My husband had an estate there --- “
“You will surely be safe here, Barsine,” Nabarzanes said. “Antigonos has
deployed the royal navy in order to protect these northern ports.” He paused,
weighing his thoughts, trying to hide his real concern from her. “The way back to Babylon may be blocked. Seleukos has joined with the others against Antigonos. Now Kassandros has all the Diodachi on his side.”

Barsine looked pensive. It had been years since her husband was killed in battle and she, along with Darius’ royal women, had fallen into Alexander’s hands. “When Memnon was killed and Darius fled, the whole of Persia was there for Alexander’s taking. We all knew that Memnon was the strength and brains behind the Persian army,” she said. . She rarely spoke of her husband, Memnon, but when she did it was without the touch of bitterness that showed whenever she mentioned Alexander.

“Without Memnon’s brilliant leadership Darius was nothing. Darius knew he could not stop Alexander,” she went on. “The Egyptians welcomed him as a pharaoh-god; Babylon hailed him as liberator. Now Alexander, the Lion of Macedon, is dead, and those men who stood shoulder to shoulder with him squabble like a pack of jackals over his remains.”

Nabarzanes knew it pained her to think of Alexander who she had known since childhood when her father was the Persian ambassador to Macedon. When Memnon was killed and Darius fled leaving his harem behind, Alexander had treated her with deep respect, and in fact they had become lovers. Nabarzanes remember the night when he and Barsine had sat together on this same terrace and she had told him of her despair when Alexander abandoned her in favour of Roxana, not knowing she was pregnant with his child.

“Alexander’s fame has not been very well received since the gods received him,” Nabarzanes agreed. “No-one can match his greatness, yet instead of honouring him his Successors defile his memory by fighting to destroy Alexander’s world. It will be a bitter war, one that cannot have a celebration of victory, and it could mean the end of Alexander’s dynasty. It is Alexander’s son and his mother that I am concerned about. I swore allegiance to the child at his birth and promised, when Olympias expelled me, to protect and honour him, to seek counsel from my friends Peukestas and Seluekos for they were not allied with Kassandros then.”


Barsine interrupted, her voice sharp. ““If they kill the Soghdian‘s child, then there
is always my son. Herakles is almost old enough to claim what should be his inheritance, because he too, is Alexander’s son.” She looked at him, her eyes beseeching him. “Nabarzanes, I know you are an honourable man, and Iskander-shah was like a son to you, but...”

“Iskander-shah is more than a son, Barsine. He is the Chosen One, and just as I served his father, Alexander, so I also swore an oath to serve his son.”

“But how can you now?” Her eyes glittered, and her voice grew impatient. “You cannot return to Macedon or Kassandros will have you killed. Seleukos has been driven out of Babylonia and the city is under siege by Antigonos, so it is too dangerous for you to return home. Stay here, with Herakles and me. We need you now as much as Roxana and Iskander do. Who can we trust in these uncertain times but each other? Our world, as we knew it -- Persis, Babylonia, Media - have once again fallen. Alexander may have dreamed of uniting our worlds, but his dreams now lie in ashes.”

Nabarzanes weighed his response carefully. In the months that he had been a guest at her villa his sole concern had been to return to Babylon. Now that he was rested and his horse fit to travel again, he had planned to set out for Syria, and from there follow the Royal Road back to Babylon. Now, with the ships of Egypt ranging the coast and the armies of the other Successors mobilizing on land, he knew it was best to remain here in Ephesos. Looking into Barsine’s eyes, he wanted to explain that he must go, but now he knew he could not.

He leaned forward and kissed Barsine softly on the cheek. She suddenly took his face in her hands and pressed her mouth against his. Startled, he was speechless and felt his cheeks grow hot. In spite of his honourable intentions to devote himself to rescuing Roxana and the child, he found his resolve distracted by her unexpected affection.

They sat side by side on the divan. Barsine’s warmth and the sweet fragrance of her rose to him. He felt deep pleasure in her presence though out of his respect for her he had always kept his feelings in check. He took her hand. It felt like ice. He rubbed it gently between his palms. Her fingers curled tightly around his.

“Are you afraid?” he asked.

“These are dangerous times and I fear for my son, just as you fear for yours.”

“Iskander is not my son. He’s Alexander’s,” Nabarzanes interjected.

“Herakles is Alexander’s first-born son.” Barsine’s bitterness showed in her sharp tone.

“You know that Roxana was Alexander’s legal wife,.” he reminded her gently.

“Campaign wife!” Barsine retorted.

“They were married according to the Soghdian rituals. Under the eye of Ahura, they were truly wed.”

“But Alexander was mine...“Her voice quavered. “He would have wed me if...”

‘If he had known about Herakles?”

“Yes, If only I’d had the courage to tell him.”

“You could not have held Alexander that way, Barsine. Nobody owned Alexander. And if you had tried, perhaps you would have ended up murdered like the princesses. You know the Macedonians considered you nothing more than Alexander‘s war prize.”

She trembled against him. “By our sacred oath to Ahura, we Persians cannot Lie and neither can promises be broken. Alexander said he loved me and promised that we would be together. He broke his promise. Now I want what is due my son.”

He tried to embrace her, to comfort her, but she pushed him away.
”You came to Ephesus because you were seeking help for my son’s rival. Now you want to make love to me? Why, Nabarzanes?”

He looked into her face, puzzled. “I seek no favours from you. If I can do nothing more to help Roxana and Iskander-shah, then at least I can see that you and Herakles are safe.” He pulled her close. “I’ve always thought you a most beautiful woman...a woman of great esteem.”

Barsine raised her eyes to his face. Her tone softened. “Yes, and you were a friend to me when I was abandoned by Alexander.”

Nabarzanes took her by the shoulders. “I want to stay with you, Barsine. But I made a vow, and pledged my loyalty to Iskander-shah and I must keep my promise. However, I will stay here with you at least until this tempest is past.”

HARBOUR STREET, EPHESUS

CATCHING UP

CITY SKYLINE

I've finally got an evening at home so I'm trying to catch up with everything from bill-paying to blogs. It's been a busy time for me, but fortunately it's starting to wind down and my classes will end in a couple of weeks for the Spring break. At this point, although I enjoy doing them, I am looking forward to having lots more time to myself in order to catch up with my own writing.

I am running behind in my schedule for finishing SHADOW OF THE LION, due to the fact I am so busy with classes, spending a lot of time travelling on buses across town a couple of times a day, and when I do get a bit of time off I'm trying to catch up with housework and other mundane chores.

Yesterday I grabbed a bit of time to do some editing and tonight I'll finish that. I'm still not satisfied with the last chapter segement I wrote for SHADOW, but I'll let it go until I workshop it at my critique group in a couple of weeks. I'm anxious to get on with the rest as I actually only have six more chapters and the Epilogue to write and then I am finished!

POINT GREY HIGH SCHOOL

What else have I been doing with my time? Well for the last six weeks I've even been teaching classes on Saturday mornings -- two kid's creative writing classes (ages 11 - 13 and 7 - 10) at this lovely old art-deco school on the west side of town. It's been a challenge and a lot different than doing the adult classes, but I was thrilled to get the job as I know what it's like to be a kid who is dying to be a writer. When I was in school there was no such encouragement. There's some pretty bright, talented youngsters in these classes although there are also a few of them who are there simply because their parents wanted them to improve their English. (This is where the challenge comes in!) However, we've had fun and I've seen a few of them turn in some well written stories. One of the most fun days was our playwriting day when they had to write and perform "The Three Little Pigs". Lots of laughs that day. We also did a day of pretending to be journalists and interviewing each other. Today was writing about other places, travel writing and how to write historicals. Some of these kids are pretty well travelled so they had some interesting tales to share.

Besides this, and my 3 memoir groups and 1 night school travel writing class, I am writing 4 pieces a week for Planet Eye which keeps me busy.
Needless to say, my blogging has been sporadic and I haven't even had much time to read other people's blogs. I do look forward to returning here more often very soon. And probably in a day or so I'll be ready to post another 'Progress Report."

DUCKS LAZING IN A POND

PROGRESS REPORT #51: THE IMPORTANT NOTEBOOK

THIS WAS A PECULIAR CRAFT I DISCOVERED ON A LITTLE POOL ON MY WALK TODAY

I have had some days off over the weekend and tried to get caught up with my writing on "Shadow of the Lion". I was trying to work out the last part of the chapter and having some problems with it. Then on my way to meet my friends on Friday night I had the whole scene including dialogue worked out in my head. Trouble was, I'd forgotten to bring my notebook. I always carry a little notebook for moments like that and there I was without a thing to write on. Of course, by the time I got home later I'd forgotten most of what I'd had in my head, although I do have a gist of what I will write.
One of the things I always tell people in my writing classes is to 'always carry a notebook'. I don't know how many times I'll get a brain wave while waiting for a bus or riding on the bus and especially, like to day, when I go out for a nice long walk.

HMCS CALGARY

I had ships on my mind today. Triremes, sailing into the harbour of Ephesus. War ships, part of Ptolemy's fleet. And strangely, it seemed to turn out to be a day of ships. First I discovered the odd little vessel made of twigs and branches floating on the pond at Crab Tree Park. A most peculiar discovery. Then I walked down to the Convention Centre (which in itself is built like a huge ship with sails) and there was this Canadian warship HMCS Calgary. Another unusual sighting.

I had hoped to get a lot of my novel figured out in my head today and yes, I did have a notebook with me just in case. But I was troubled by some other thoughts that kept getting in my way and was unable to focus on Shadow. Anyway, I did sort something out. I realized that the scene I have already written is lacking in some important ingrediants. So when I got home tonight, I did a few hours of research. Yes, I have made a slight error in what I wrote so now I'm trying to figure out how to fix it but after I sleep on it I'm sure it will come clear to me.

Meanwhile, I have tomorrow off -- no classes til Tuesday -- so I can catch up and at least try to finish this one important scene that leads off Part VII and the finale of the novel.

TRIREME

PROGRESS REPORT #50: KEEPING TO SCHEDULES

MY WORK STATION

It's been tough lately keeping to my writing schedules because of all the other things happening which include my new program of Winter classes.
I spent over a week just preparing for my courses, getting handout materials sorted out and delived to be printed, organizing my class plans etc. I have quite a few new classes this term. The school board asked if I'd like to do two kids classes (ages 7 - 10 and 11-13) I jumped at the chance, it being a new experience and challenge. So that took some time and thought to prepare for. It kind of cuts into my Friday night socializing though as I have to get up so darn early on Saturday morning to get across town to the school. But it's proving to be fun, and the pay is not bad. I also have 3 Memoir groups a week, plus one travel writing class and I am doing a novel writer's workshop at home. Iin addition, I'll be doing a night-school-in-one-day class in Prompting the Muse next weekend. Then there's my own Scribbler's writer's critique group that I attend on Mondays. Where do I get all the time? Consider that some days I am riding buses for long trips, maybe a total of 4 hours a day on the buses. That really takes up time! So when I am at home, like this afternoon and evening, I have to try and stay focused. It ain't easy!

So, I try and work out a plan. This picture below is my "planning board". On it I put down the chapter headings for each part of my novel. In this case, you see I only have a few chapters to write before I reach THE END. Some of the chapters are already partly written as I tend to often write things spontaneously and then piece them together. It's kind of like doing a jig-saw puzzle. I've actually had the end of the story written right from the beginning.

What's slowing me down now, more than my lack of time, is trying to get the right 'lead' for the first chapter of Part VII. I've been making notes and playing with it, but it's still not right. I need some time and these days, that's hard to find. But I'm sure I'll get it and then I'll be on a roll again.

Besides my classes and the novel, I am writing 4 short pieces for PlanetEye.com each week. Although they don't take me long to write, I sometimes have to do a bit of research and make some notes. Usually I try to do these on the weekend and then post them over the first couple of days of the week. It's only 'informative' writing (journalism) so it's not like I'm sweating over character descriptions and setting details or plot. But it is another task that has to be done (because I get paid to do it, so that's good incentive!) Forget about my other travel writing for now, although I should be preparing some things to market. And oh yes, I also edit and publish my travel 'zine TRAVEL THRU HISTORY. And as the January stories are now up that took up several days preparing.

I wonder what other writers do to set their own work schedules? Do you make a plan or an outline so you can see where you are heading? And how much time to you allow yourself to procrastinate before getting down to business? That's another tricky subject. PROCRASTINATION. I'm good at it and can be quite an expert time-waster. But once I start working, I pretty well get right into it and sometimes forget to stop even for something to eat.

One thing I know, and that is I want to finish this novel before I leave for my summer holidays in Greece. I have other projects on the back-burner waiting for me and I just want to see THE END as soon as possible!

PROGRESS REPORT #49: PLANNING THE NEXT MOVE

The Building of Alexandria

I did manage to meet my deadline to complete Part VI of Shadow of the Lion by the end of the year. And by January 1st I began planning my next move: the grand finale of the novel.
Aside from some editing on the previous writing, I haven't had chance to start Part VII as yet but I do have the time-lines figured out and made plans to proceed. Meanwhile, I had to stop and get preps done for my night school and memoir classes. In addition I'll be teaching two kid's writing workshops on Saturday mornings and that required some thought. I am familiar with pre-schoolers and the 11 - 13 age group, but 7 - 10 will be something new. I started writing when I was 8, by the age of 10 I was really hooked on it, so I understand the passion some kids can have. You can't 'teach' them to write. It is a talent you are born with and what I'll be doing is showing them how to develop that talent. Should be interesting and very challenging.

Artist's concept of the interior of the Royal Library, Alexandria

I went looking for books yesterday, in particular writing books. Found a good one for writing memoirs but none that gave tips on workshops for kids. I also saw a couple of the books Barack Obama has written and I want to buy them. And another by a writer from Afghanistan who has won an award. Then I also spotted a little journal for keeping track of your diet/exercise. Something I really need right now as I'm going to try and follow the G.I. Diet plan and see if I can shed some blubber. Unfortunately when I went to buy the books I realized I hadn't brought the gift certificate I got for Christmas, so I'll have to go back later and get them. Meanwhile, my friend brought me the G.I. Diet book so I'm making my plans to get started on that by Monday.
(Cleaning no-no's out of the fridge -- put the chocolate in the freezer. Gotta get rid of the icecream by Sunday night. Etc etc).

My 'resolutions' (which are usually the same every year) are more GOALS this time. I WILL finish Shadow this year and in a very short time. I MUST get back on track with the diet plan and exercise more. So far the nasty weather has kept me housebound far more than normal. First the snow. Now the rain. But yes...by next week the snow, slush and ice will be gone and some sun is predicted. And now I know that the pool that's walking distance from my place has waterfit EVERY day including two nights, I have absolutely no excuses. And I have my wallet full of gym tickets too. So...that's my game plan...and I'll try hard to stick to it!

The Pharos Lighthouse
One of the 7 wonders of the world.

Ptolemy had a game plan too...to build the city of Alexandria Egypt in honor of Alexander. The INTERLUDE (Epitasis) of Part VI takes place in Alexandria. Ptolemy has received a letter from his friend Seleukos that Antigonos One Eye has taken over the satrapies of Asia and forced Seleukos to flee into exile. In the following scene, Ptolemy hears that his friend's ship has arrived in Alexandria.

* * *

Ptolemy felt heavy hearted as he rolled up the papyrus scroll and replaced it in the cedar chest where he kept important documents. He was hot with rage. What megalomaniac madness had taken hold of old One Eye to make him think he could rule Alexander’s entire world?

“Damnation! Is there to be no end of strife?” He banged his fist on the table so violently it toppled the ink pots. Alexandria was a veritable paradise. It had been a relief, after the years of campaigning with Alexander, to retreat here to the Nile delta and oversee the building of this grand metropolis. And now it was being threatened.

He had at first regretted his alliance with Kassandros and Lysimachus against Antigonos One Eye, when the old general had threatened to invade Greece although for some months afterwards there’d been an uneasy peace. Now it seemed the Successors had no choice but to band together against him again. Without question, Ptolemy resolved that he must help his friend regain his satrapy. He knew Seleukos to be a man of great courage and integrity. They had been friends since their youth, served as elite Companions of Alexander, and had fought in all of Alexander’s campaigns. Seleukos had married the daughter of a Persian war-lord and embraced their customs. And when he had been given the satrapy of Babylonia, he’d been well received by the Persian nobility who liked him because he shared his opinions with them.

He folded his arms and rested them on the desk, taking a deep breath as he looked around his study with it’s alabaster lamps and shelves of scrolls and treasures from all over the world. This was his private retreat where he spent hours writing and reading, and planning the building of the city that had been founded by Alexander. The affairs of Egypt were mainly routine, so he had been allowed ample time to construct various buildings such as the royal palace and temples. The workers had already completed the long mole that connected the island of Pharos to the shore and construction had just begun on a monumental lighthouse. At present, he and his architects were developing plans for a Museion and Royal Library.

His reverie was disturbed when the chamberlain rapped at the door. “My lord, the
ship bearing Seleukos, satrap of Babylonia, has arrived and he requests an audience with you.”

“Let him in,” Ptolemy said. “ tell him I have been waiting for his arrival.”

Ptolemy stood to greet his friend, a courtesy he deserved. Seleukos was just as he remembered him. Both of them were now in their forties, and like himself Seleukos was clean shaven, his hair cropped to the nape in the style Alexander had made popular. It had been several years since they’d seen each other and Ptolemy noted that his friend’s thick coppery hair was, like his own, streaked with silver. Seleukos’ strong, tanned face looked haggard, his eyes lined with blue shadows. He was less lean than he had once been, but his body still had an athlete’s firm muscles. Seleukos had always been known for his brawny, wrestler’s physique.

Ptolemy laid his arm across his friend‘s shoulders. “So, you have been chased out of Babylon, have you?” He tried to make his voice light.

Always a man of great self-respect, Seleukos drew himself up and his brows lifted. For a moment Ptolemy glimpsed that same imperious face he had known in his youth. “I have not come running to you like a coward, with nothing to offer in return for your hospitality and companionship. You know me as a man who never threw down his shield in battle.”

Ptolemy smiled, remembering how Seleukos had once killed a bull with his bare hands. They’d had many adventures together and endured the rigors of battle while fighting in Alexander’s campaigns. Seleukos had commanded the prestigious argyraspides, the Silver Shields regiment, while he himself had been appointed somatophylax, one of Alexander’s elite bodyguards and deputies.

“Did you think I intended to forsake Babylon, once Eumenes was killed?” Seleukos said, scowling. “ None of us wanted to leave our satrapies. Antigonos lured Peithon from Media pretending he was offering him support as an ally. Instead he had Peithon executed. Then he ousted Peukestas from Persis -- Peukestas who was so well liked by the Persians.“ Seleukos’ face blazed red with anger. “Antigonos has taken everything for himself -- all the land, control of the satrapies, and the money from the royal treasury, 35,000 talents. I came here to petition you, as my friend and ally, to use your influence and provide your naval strength to help us stop him.”

“Of course, without question I offer you Egyptian hospitality, my friend.” Ptolemy knew Seleukos was a just man, and trustworthy. “Together we will forge a plan to prevent Antigonos from seizing any more of the lands. and force him to give back what he’s taken.” Ptolemy shook his head sadly. “I thought the warring was over. Now I see it is only the beginning. I did not foresee what would happen once Kassandros took control of Greece and Macedon. Now he’s married Thessaloniki and made himself Regent and I fear that little Alexander, the heir to the throne, is in grave jeopardy. At least when Olympias was alive, she protected the child.”

“Olympias had the heart of a viper,” Seleukos commented. “She committed frightful atrocities against the kinsmen of Antipater. She deserved her Fate. But what of the child and his mother?”

“Kassandros claims they are safe in Amphipolis.”

“But how can Kassandros be trusted?” said Seleukos. “You know how he hated Alexander and was eaten up with jealousy. Why would he now pretend to ‘protect’ Alexander’s son? Kassandros is like an adder in the grass. He’ll strike without warning.”

“The boy is eight now, and by all accounts a bright lad, precocious like his father was,” Ptolemy said. “I always regretted that I was not made guardian of the boy. It saddens me to think that little Alexander is fatherless and so often in peril, with nobody to defend of protect him from treachery. Here in Alexandria, my own boys play as children should. There is no treason here, no dangerous plots. I must confess, I am afraid for the child.” He remembered clearly five years before at the camp by the Nile after Perdikkas had been assassinated. He had spent a day with the child (against the Soghdian’s wishes) and taken him to his tent that night. He had sat little Alexander on his knee and told him about his father, read to him from his father’s favorite book, The Iliad. He recalled explaining the meaning of moira to the child. Little Alexander had asked if his father’s death had been his moira. And now he wondered, if the child of Alexander was destined to meet his father’s same fate at the hands of the very man who was suspected in his own untimely death.

“Do you think he’ll be fit to fill his father’s shoes?” Seleukos asked.

“Time will tell. Kassandros claims the boy will be given a proper education... if he lives...”

PROGRESS REPORT #48: MAKING THE DEADLING

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

2009! Imagine that. How quickly the time goes. And this past week it flew by fairly fast because I was trying to meet a deadline. I had first set a goal to completely finish my novel by December 31, 2008, however due to seasonal distractions and various other reasons, I realized this was biting off a bit too much, so I contented myself to at least finish Part VI by that date. It was tough, but I made it -- more or less. I have spent most of the last week indoors at my computer. The weather co-operated by being terrible -- snow, snow and more snow and then some rain and then more snow! So it was a good incentive to stay put and get the writing done. I've tallied up quite a few hours over the last week and managed to at least complete a first draft of that Interlude part of the novel.

To explain the "Interlude" -- or 'Epitasas' which I use at the end of each Part (or Act) of the novel. This is the part of a play (Greek drama) developing the main action and leading to the catastrophe. In Greek, the word means "increased intensity". So at the end of each Part of Shadow of the Lion I have an "interlude"
taking place in a different location than the main setting of the chapter. In this case, the Interlude takes place in Alexandria, Egypt and in Ephesus, Asia Minor.
So, although I haven't been able to join my friends who have gone to warmer climates during the holidays, I have taken myself off on a trip to those other exotic places.

PTOLEMY SOTER

Ptolemy Soter was the alleged illegitimate half-brother of Alexander the Great who chose to return to Egypt and establish the city of Alexandria according to Alexander's plans. He plays an important role in my novel although he isn't always directly involved in the action. I have made him a sympathetic character although I know some historians claim he was self-serving and in his diaries, written later in his life, made himself out to be more heroic than he actually was. I have my own opinions of Ptolemy and his character from the research I've done, and he's one of the generals in this story who I have grown quite fond of. Unfortunately, due to the fact he was a kinsman by marriage of the antagonist Kassandros, he ends up siding with Kassandros in two of the wars of the Successors. But, he'll come through in the end.

SELEUKOS

Seleukos is another of Alexander's important generals and long-time Companion.
He took over the satrapy of Babylonia after Alexander's death. Unfortunately, when the war between the Successors broke out, he was forced to flee into exile and went to Ptolemy for assistance. This is the part I am writing now. These events are happening while Roxana and little Iskander have been sent into a sort of 'house arrest' at the citadel of Amphipolis.

The problem with this section of the story was the complicated political sub-plots that were going on. So once I wrote the first draft, I had to go back and do several hours of research just to sort things out -- what was happening at that point in time and what's coming up for the final part of the novel. Thank god for the internet as I was able to find pretty well all the facts I needed -- getting dates straight and locations of the key players.

So today I stayed in all day long either researching or editing what I'd written yesterday. I still have a bit more editing and rewriting to do, but the Interlude is pretty nearly finished in a satisfactory form. And next week I will be starting the final part of the story. Another deadline looming!

PROGRESS REPORT #47: THE DEADLINE APPROACHES!

View From My Window

This is the exact view I have from where I sit at the computer. These days I've been spending a lot of time here, working to deadline to complete Part VI of SHADOW OF THE LION.
I have reached the "Interlude" of this section and although some of it was previously written, I have to fill in the details before it's complete. Yesterday I spend several hours just making notes. Today I've had a late start, decided to sleep in and cancel my plans to go downtown shopping due to the deluge of rain and slushy streets. And here it is almost 1 p.m. and I haven't started writing yet!

I had projected a goal to finish the whole novel by the end of 2008, however due to seasonal distractions (and my own expert ability to procrastinate and find other things to do instead of writing -- checking my emails a dozen times a day, for instance), I am behind and instead want to finish Part VI before the end of the year. Not much time left. I'd best be getting busy!

So far, this massive manuscript (which I edit and workshop as I am going along, is pretty nearly 'final draft'. I will have a lot of cutting to do though, once it's done, as it is much too long to be accepted. I'm not too worried about that part though, as I find editing quick and fairly easy.
My critique group has been a big help as well, because sometimes you just can't see for yourself what is okay and what needs to be eliminated or improved upon.

Writing a novel doesn't happen by osmosis. Some people think it will only take them months to write, and some types of books do take months. But a complicated historical fiction novel, written from a historic plot , requires a lot of research. And this particular story has been made more complicated by using multiple points of view and trying to stick as close to 'facts' as possible, in the political sense of what was happening at that time in history, and the reasons why it ended of Alexander the Great's dynasty.

It's been a long journey, but an enjoyable and educational one. And I've been lucky enough to have contact with Classical scholars and to see many of the sites I've described in the story.
The characters have become part of my world and it is difficult to say goodbye to them when the time comes. To me, they are real and we have developed a relationship as I grew to know them intimately. Most of the characters in the story actually lived at that time. There are only a few of them who are fictional, and they are just as dear to me as they are my own creations.

The novel will been written in seven parts, although when the final cutting is done I think it will be shortened to just three or four. Each 'part' has an Interlude (which I may change to "Epitasis" (Greek for: "increased intensity"), the part of a play (Greek drama) developing the main action and leading ot the catastrophe (and that's a Greek word too!). I'll then change the "Parts" to "Acts" as in a drama, because this story is very much a Greek tragedy.

So, now I'd better get back to work. The Interlude is set in Alexandria, Egypt and Pergamon, Asia Minor. (I can't be in Chile, Cuba or Mexico with my friends right now, so this is my 'escape' to an exotic place.)

The following is an excerpt from the final chapter of Part VI taking place after Iskander (Alexander's 7 yr old son) his Soghdian mother Roxana and his grandmother, Olympias have been trapped all winter in the sea-coast fortress at Pydna (located on the north east coast of Greece, south of today's Thessaloniki.) Spitama is the half-breed Scythian horse master who is a friend of young Iskander. "Tempest" is Iskander's horse.

Winter Sunset

In the pale light before the dawn Iskander slipped past the dozing guards and made his way out to the barracks yard. The compound was deserted and the low-roofed stables empty save for a few horses. Most of horses had been eaten during that bleak winter; only royal steeds had been left unharmed though they were half-starved. Spitama had kept them groomed and rubbed down, still their coats were dull, their skin stretched over protruding bones.

He found Spitama sprawled on the hay still asleep. Tempest was tethered nearby and neighed when the child approached. “Shh Tempest...” The horse's ears went up at the sound of his voice. “Quiet, boy...You’ll wake the guards...”

Tempest nudged him, the breath from his nostrils warm against the child’s cheek. Iskander stroked the horse’s nuzzle. “I have nothing to give you, boy . There weren’t even crumbs to bring.” Tempest dipped his head so his forelock fell between his limpid dark eyes. Iskander ran his hand along the horse’s neck. He felt safe now that he was in the stable with Spitama and Tempest.

The horse snuffed the child’s hair and gave a soft whinny. Spitama woke to the sound. He sat up, looking surprised to see the child. He sucked in his breath through his lower teeth. “Tsss! Poh poh...little Captain...you should not be here...”

“You must go away now before all the guards are at their posts,” Iskander urged him. “You will die if you stay here.”

Spitama scrambled to his feet. He looked thin and pale, shivering in his tattered cloak and soiled clothing. He peered at the child sharply, “ What do you mean go? I can not leave you. And where would I go even if I could leave?”

“Go to Thessaly to your father‘s people. Take Tempest...”

Spitama studied him, frowning. ‘Leave ? How can I?”

“You must!” Iskander insisted. “Ride away now. Fast! Fly! Fly from here...Or they will kill you. Don’t you know that?”

“Fuck them all,” Spitama burst out. “I’ll not leave you, little Captain.”

Iskander was trembling. His voice shook even though he tried to sound brave. “If I order you to go, then you must.”

From that day long ago when Spitama had rescued him on the path at the sea camp in Thrace, he had counted the Scythian like an uncle or older brother.

“Here” He took off the luck charm he wore around his neck, the cartouche his Uncle Ptolemy had given him that bore the inscription of Alexander’s name. “If anyone tries to stop you, tell them you have been sent by Alexander, son of Alexander.” When he spoke the name of his father, he felt full of pride. Alexander, son of Alexander! No longer was he Iskander, Ashabal, the little Captain.. He was Alexander.

His command struck Spitama speechless. “Well...”Spitama stammered. “So you are! But as the gods are my witness, I will not abandon you willingly. And if I go, I promise it will be only to seek some help. Perhaps I can rally my father’s kinsmen...”

“Just go!” urged the child. “Tell the gate guards you’re going to Pella with a message for Kassandros...Tell them Alexander commanded you...When they see you are riding my horse they will let you pass.”

“I will take you with me.”

“No. You must go alone. I can not leave my mother.” Iskander reached up to stroke Tempest’s neck and felt a sudden pang of anguish. “Gods speed, good friend...”
Tempest’s nostrils flared and his black eye rolled sidelong. He gave a whinny, as if in farewell.

Spitama’s face was sombre. “When you are king, little Captain, you will avenge all these wrongs that have been done here. The base and wicked will die; the brave and just will triumph.” He reached out and drew the child against him. “Your father was a great man and you will be too. Perhaps all that has come to pass was meant to be, your moira, the shape of your Fate that will let you be strong , so that when your appointed time comes, you will be as great a hero and as beloved as your father was. You must not be afraid, or give up hope. For the gods will show you the way and protect you.”

“How will I know my moira?” Iskander asked.

“By an oracle, or some prophecy being fulfilled -- some sign. Then you will know the task that the gods have allotted you. And you will reap the glory.”

Melancholy filled the child, cold as winter snow. He did not speak, but laid his head against Spitama’s breast.

“Don’t forget that, little Al’skander.” Spitama bent to kiss him, then took the reins from the child’s hands and mounted the horse.

“Swear me an oath that you’ll not come back lest it’s with an army.” The child’s voice trembled with emotion though he tried hard not to cry.

“I swear...I will remember you and do what I can to help you. May the gods protect you, little Captain.” Spitama spurred Tempest lightly with his heels and rode out into the barracks yard.

Iskander bit his lip to keep himself from bursting into tears. “Send me word, if you can. May you live long...”

Outside, dawn was breaking touching the snow peaks of Mount Olympus with a pink glow. Iskander stood by the stable door and watched as Spitama rode Tempest toward the citadel gate. He heard the sentry cry out and worried that the guards would not allow him to pass. At the gate, Spitama wheeled Tempest around and looked back, lifting his hand in a salute. The sentries opened the gate. Spitama dug his heels into Tempest’s flank and galloped away.

A flood of tears coursed down the child’s cheeks. He stood awhile trying to compose himself, then crossed the barracks yard, stopping at the fountain to splash water on his face so his mother wouldn’t see he had been crying.

A SALUTE TO THE WINTER SOLSTICE

HAPPY SOLSTICE DAY!

DECEMBER 21, the winter solstice. It's been snowing all day here on the Coast. There must be at least a new foot of the white stuff. I've been hunkered down all day in my apartment with the fireplace blazing and the Christmas lights aglow, listening to Christmas and Hanukah music while I did my housework and later, my writing.

I had an idea that as a salute to the solstice, I should revisit Olwen's story, DRAGONS IN THE SKY: A Celtic Tale, which I began long ago, then shelved in favor of writing Alexander's story. When I started work on SHADOW OF THE LION, I had no idea it was going to take literally years to write. But now I am almost at the end, and recently I was looking in my archives box, and there was the unfinished manuscript of DRAGONS. I am now anxious to get back to work on it, because it is a unique and important tale, one that I have written by channeling the 'voice' of a young girl, Olwen. The story is written in first person and the reason I set it aside was because my writing instructor at the time kept insisting I should be writing it third person. So I tried, and messed it up. And later realized that no, this is Olwen's story, and it has to be told in her voice, in her own words, first person.

Now, in honor of the winter solstice, which was an important time of year for the Celts, I will post some of the first Chapter of DRAGONS. And in doing so, something exciting happened. When I was researching this story, back in the late '70's and during the '80's when I lived in Greece, I didn't have access to a computer. I did go on some field trips to sites in England and researched at libraries, read a lot of books, made lots of notes too. But tonight when I went to find photos to accompany my posting, I was delighted to find so much information, including pictures, so I know when I revisit Olwen's story it will be much easier to access details.

One exciting thing that happened when I was first researching, I visited Stonehenge, and later while I was waiting at the bus stop in Salisbury I noted a brochure that said there was an Iron Age hillfort a few kilometers out of town. Something urged me to go there. And when I did, I had the most fantastic deja-vu experience. I KNEW this was where Olwen's story took place. On another trip to England I went back there and again, I could visualize it exactly as it was back when she lived there (the site has been occupied since the Bronze Age and my story takes place in the 4thC BC

In the story, I mention (because she told me) that her father had come from a holy place in Wales known as Senghenydd. Later on I had my Welsh father read the text to see if I was achieving the lilt of Olwen's voice. He told me that his grandfather had been killed in a mining explosiON in the town of Senghenydd. (In my research it stated that town had been a sacred place during the time of the ancient Celts.)

This is the hillfort of Old Sarum, where Olwen's story takes place.

The following excerpt is from my work-in-progress DRAGONS IN THE SKY, written in "Stanzas" and Bardic verse. This is "Stanza Two", a first person narrative in the voice of Olwen, a 13 year old acolyte of the Raven cult.

The God speaks and says:
Blood red is the snow,
as blood red as the ragged
leaves of the elder trees.

In Ruis, the Elder month, we made sacrifices to the Sun God at the winter solstice. The Druid slaughtered a white roebuck and divined the omens in the blood-splattered snow. But the gods were not appeased, and Boreas, the North Wind, blew down freezing blizzards across the Plain, burying our village in drifts that reached higher than the edges of the roof thatch.

We huddled in our huts around peat fires, wrapped in furs like hibernating animals, until finally some of us tunneled out through the drifts to snare winter hares and track white stag in the forest. Supplies of smoked meat and fish dwindled with each passing storm, and rafters that had been heavy with drying fruit and roots, were bare. While we counted out the last of the bundles of food and herbs, we muttered oaths ot the gods. It seemed that year we were not in their favour.

My guardian, Essylt, was a medicine woman and high priestess of our cult. She was small and bright-eyed, lively as a sparrow; but that winter seemed to tire her, and she began to look grey and care-worn. As the wind howled outside our wattled hut she brooded and I saw her watching the flames of the heart fire, staring silently as though her thoughts had drifted off to other worlds. She kept me busy taking votive offerings to the woodland shrine. The snow as too deep on the trail for her to struggle through, but I made a child's game of it, and kept the pathway trampled clear, carrying offerings of things like dried berries, cups of grain and sometimes a sprig of mistletoe.

The winter's cold took its toll. Almost every day Essylt went out to administer medicines, or to say some words of enchantment against the Raven of Death. We could not wait for the Spring thaw to lay our dead in their barrows, so the bodies were burned on pyres outside the palisade. Most of the victims of the raw weather were the old ones, but once a little child wandered out into a storm and froze, buried in a snowbank. I saw them carrying him home, like a stiff little pup, wrapped in a wolfskin. It grieved me for days, and in spite of the wind and the drifts that reached above my knees, I struggled to the woodland shrine, bringing the last sprigs of vervain to make a supplication to the Mother Goddess.

It was my thirteenth year with the Druids. I had learned all the incantations of magic before I was ten years old. Essylt, being a sorceress and diviner of the auguries, was both my guardian and my teacher. I called her modryh, my Auintie, because she had nursed me in infancy as though she were my natural mother. The Druid said my real mother died in childbirth. I would have been exposed for the wolves if someone had not brought me to the Great Stone Circle on the Plain.

Listen to my song:
I am an honored child.
I am Olwen,
daughter of the Earth Mother,
Child of the Raven.

THE BEST LAID PLANS...

THE PET SITTER

Well, I think I over-shot my mark a bit when I declared that I'd have my novel finished by the end of December. One thing after another has come up to create diversions so there were several days I was unable to write at all and therefore fell far behind my goal and schedule. First, I was doggie-sitting for my friend's cute little toy Pom, Niki, who'd had a leg operation so was a bit of an invalid and took a great deal more care than usual. Cheeky bird tried to help by keeping doggie company (not that doggie was amused!) Meanwhile I also had to sort out files as I got a new filing cabinet, empty boxes of papers and stuff from my storage closet just in case Santa brings the new shelves I asked him for, and had a couple of appointments and pre-Christmas events to attend.

MY WRITER'S GROUP, 'THE SCRIBBLERS'

One event was a Christmas party for my Brock House people and then there was the annual Christmas party for Scribblers that includes writing an anonymous story which we all guess who the author was. We also exchange gifts anonymously too. Always a lot of fun and great food for the pot-luck!

This week there were two more pre-Christmas events. My grad class ladies were invited to a very elegant lunch at the home of one of our group and that same evening I attended a Greek dinner with another group of writer women who only meet at Christmastime.

BLOEDEL CONSERVATORY POINSETTIA DISPLAY

Somewhere in between, I made a little field trip to the Bloedel Conservatory Tropical Gardens one afternoon because it was free. Enjoyed an hour or so walking around under the humid dome, looking at the floral displays, tropical plants and beautiful tropical birds that fly about in there including some amazing parrots who greet you and call out to one another. I was doing a little piece for the Planet Eye website to go along with some other Christmas events I have been posting there as Vancouver Expert. This doesn't take up too much of my writing time and it pays well. Except now we have been told that due to the financial crunch from January we are being cut back and will have to make it up according to how many hits our stories gets. So please, folks, try and read my articles once in awhile as it will help the Poor Writer's Survival Fund.( www.planeteye.com )

At the same time, fortunately, I was offered two new 'jobs' with the school board instructing children's writing programs on Saturday mornings. This is a real bonus and I'm pretty excited about it. They are children from 7 - 12 and I've done a bit of work with these age groups before when I was in the Off the Page program for the Federation of B.C. Writers. So it will really expand my writer's resume. And the fact that I was told I 'came highly recommended' is truly a nice pat on the back. We all need our writer's egos boosted now and then.

Well, as for the novel, now that my place is decorated, most of the Christmas shopping done and pre-Christmas parties over, I am back at work on Shadow of the Lion. I realize I may not reach my goal to finish it to THE END by December 31, but I will at least finish Part VI and get a start on the last part some of which is already written. The bottle of champagne is still chilling in the fridge and the wrap party is all planned.

I'm also very anxious to finish because when I was sorting out boxes I found the unfinished manuscript of my Celtic tale and I'm dying to return to it. As well, I think the time has come to write up the Life Below the Acropolis memoirs. That day when I went through my boxes, I found the old manuscript of a mystery novel I had been paid to write from a badly written but intriguing 80 page plot outline, way back in 1984 when I lived in Greece. The guy took the copy I had given him to check over, (first draft) and wouldn't return it. I told him it was only first draft and needed lots of work. He went and sent it to a publisher, and it was rejected of course. Little did he realize I had the carbon copy of it. So the other day I was researching Christmas in Greece and found an article by this guy (he writes like he is writing off brochures). I decided to google him, and guess what came up? The title of the book that I had written for him which he has published in 2000. I am not sure if he has plagiarized any of my original work, but I have ordered the book from Amazon and intend to go through it and see. Likely he's changed it a bit, maybe even got someone else to write it for him. So that was a surprising and rather bizarre discovery adding to the excitement of the holiday season.

Oh yes, more writer's news. I recently had coffee with an actor friend of mine who asked about my Sappho play and requested the script to read over. He's the second actor friend who made this request (I haven't heard back from the first one yet). Anyway, House of the Muses is out there being critiqued. I know I have to do some major rewrites on it, but I still think it's a brilliant idea. So I will wait with bated breath to hear what the actors have to say.

Looks like my work is cut out for me in 2009. Another reason to finish off the novel as quickly as I can so I can get on with the new projects.

I hope you're all enjoying the holiday season. We are snowed in here at the moment, but that's okay. I'm dreamin' of a white Christmas!

PROGRESS REPORT # 46: PUTTING A FACE ON THE VICTIM

THE RAGE OF ACHILLES

The first two lines of the Iliad read:

μῆνιν ἄειδε θεὰ Πηληϊάδεω Ἀχιλῆος

οὐλομένην, ἣ μυρί' Ἀχαιοῖς ἄλγε' ἔθηκεν,

Sing Goddess of the rage, of Peleus' son Achilles

the accursed rage that brought pain to thousands of the Achaeans.

Achilles is the only mortal to experience consuming rage (menis). His anger is at some times wavering, but at other times he cannot be cooled. The humanization of Achilles by the events of the war is an important theme of the narrative. (courtesy Wikipedia)

In writing fiction it's helpful to be able to impose the persona of a real person onto your character (or a composite of real characters) in order to help 'fix' them in your mind so that when you write character descriptions and action details (body language, interaction between characters etc) you have a more realistic perspective. Most of my characters in Shadow of the Lion have been 'tagged' in this way by real people I've seen or met or visualize as my characters (such as certain movie actors who would play their roles should the book be made into a movie)

I've spent lots of time while in Greece, for instance, taking down notes of people I've observed who are similar to my characters. Once I spent a lot of time and visits to the post office in Asprovalta observing a man who was identical to my character of General Perdikkas. And when I saw the tall, handsome Middle-eastern man walk into the Latin Quarter one night, I knew instantly he was my "Nabarzanes" the Persian, a fictional character in the novel. Sure enough, he wasn't Persian but from Iraq (a "Sumerian" he says) but most importantly he was actually from Baghdad which is the modern location near ancient Babylon. So, "the Babylonian" and I because good friends and my character came alive.

Lately I've been writing some violent scenes and having to dispose of some of the characters who I've grown very attached too. Whether they were particularly lovable or not doesn't matter when you have been following them around for years and writing their lives. So when the moment comes when you have to kill them off, it's a really tough call. But I found a solution of sorts. Put someone's face on them who you have had a bad experience with, then start chucking the stones or flashing the knife. You'll be able to do it with relish, trust me!

A couple of examples here: This past week there's been a serious run-in with a person who has sent extremely rude, insulting messages to me and my friends. This person has been acting the bitch for quite some time now and though we've tried mostly to ignore it, this last barrage of sheer vitriol and poison was more than we could take. Without responding in kind and lowering myself to this obviously bitter, nasty person's level, when it came to the latest "execution" that I'd been avoiding for awhile, I found it much easier to do the deed when I transposed that harpy's face onto that of my character (who, by the way, though she was also an imperious bitch had a great deal more class and grandeur and was in fact quite likeable. A tough cookie!).

I previously used the same tactics when I had to violently kill of a rather likable Athenian senator. At the time I was writing about him I met a Greek man who resembled the character exactly as I'd described him and in fact was also from Athens. I dated this guy a few times and thought he was nice, and then he showed his true colors -- a real jerk, what we'd call in Greece a "kamaki" who ended up treating me disrespectfully and rudely. How to get my revenge? Pretend it was him in the senator's place when I had to commit the murder. It worked. And I might add, it's a good way to get rid of your anger without hurting anyone or causing a scene. In both cases I was able to walk away knowing that these hurtful, mean characters no longer exist in my space and at the same put my characters to rest. I don't know if anyone else has tried this tactic. But it works!

THE TRIUMPH OF ACHILLES

PROGRESS REPORT #45: PROMISES

ME, ON MY WEDDING DAY

What do you remember about your wedding day? Do you remember feeling scared, nervous, excited, overwhelmed? Did you have any questions lurking in your mind whether you were doing the right thing or not? What do you remember about your wedding ceremony and the reception afterwards? I remember mine was beautiful. My father married me which was an honor and thrill. And the reception was at the church, with all the church ladies helping with the catering. My new husband's family planned a reception of their own afterwards. Ukranian style. None of my wedding party were invited and to this day I don't know why and should have insisted they come. It was a party where whiskey flowed freely and it carried on for 3 days. (Not that I was there. We had headed down to the States for a brief honeymoon.)

I've been thinking about this as I worked on this recent segment of Shadow of the Lion. I know what Thessaloniki is getting herself into. What I didn't know, when I was a young bride, all starry-eyed and 'in love', was that my future wouldn't exactly turn out as I'd hoped with a fairy-tale ending. How many people's do? Did yours?

What did I, a preacher's daughter from a Christian home, only a kid and very innocent, know about disfunctional families? What did I know about families from other cultures? Nothing.
Maybe if I had, I'd have been cautious. But back then, girls really were geared into marriage at an early age and my parents were very anxious to have me marry this man who they thought very much of. How could we know what would happen less than 10 years later?

There are so many customs attached to marriage. This was another interesting aspect of writing this short piece about preparations for a wedding in ancient Greece. Today we of the Western culture are aghast at 'arranged' marriages, but they go on in quite a few cultures just as they did back in the old times. And actually, even when I was getting married, if the parents disapproved, no way would permission be given. So in some respects, in a lot of places times haven't changed. Our traditional 'white' weddings only started with Queen Victoria and became part of our British culture after that. In other countries brides don't dress in white. And lately I've seen brides even wearing black!

I wonder if other cultures they have the 'something borrowed, something blue' custom? In ancient Greece the brides wore either yellow or red veils to signify 'fire' (the flame of passion, I guess) and a tear-drop diamond reflected that fire.

My wedding dress was made by my mother. (I still have it!) She very lovely sewed it and stiched on the lacy trim and tiny seed pearls. It was a beautiful dress and still is. I bring it out now and then to admire it. Today it seems brides are spending extravagant amounts of wedding dresses.

The girls were usually married very young (at 18 you'd be a has-been) and the father chose the groom. Poor Thessaloniki got gyped out of that ritual and got to make her own choice. But did she make a good one? I wonder, that day when Thessaloniki was marrying Kassandros if she had any idea of what the future held for her. She was marrying to 'escape', and because she was frightened of Olympias and by then was considered to be an 'old' spinster, overlooked and abused. Her father Philip had been assassinated before he ever found a groom for her; her half-brother Alexander, took off on his quest to conquer the world and never gave her a thought. She was the off-spring of one of Philip's many campaign wives, and because she was a girl, she was inconsequential. Can you blame her for jumping at the chance to marry a man, the son of the deceased Regeant, from the most powerful clan in Macedon. Little did she know what she was in for, or that she had made a bargain with the devil.

A BRIDE PREPARES FOR HER WEDDING

Thessaloniki stood before the tall copper mirror and carefully inspected herself. It was her wedding day, a day of despair for some women, but for her a day of rebirth. Today she would marry Kassandros, a man who had promised her freedom and a name.

Months had gone by since she had last seen him. There had been no formal pledge as tradition dictated because she had no male family member who would swear before the groom to guarantee she would produce children. Nor did she bring to her marriage a dowry other than, as heiress, her family’s estate.

It was a full moon night, not the favorable month of Gamelion, sacred to Hera the marriage guardian. Even so the seers had boded good fortune. The preparations had been made as Kassandros had ordered, the great Hall garlanded and couches set out for a grand feast. On a dais, chairs of honour for the women attendants flanked a flower-decked throne for the bride. She had invited all her courtiers, ladies of high standing, wives of senior officers, ambassadors and envoys. It had been many years since she could remember such a celebration had been held in the palace.

She stood in front of the gilded mirror and drew in a slow breath. She wore a veil of yellow silk and a simple gown of fine white byssus edged with gold threads; on the shoulder was clasped the ornate brooch Kassandros had given her and at her throat a single tear-drop diamond that had once belonged to her mother.

She had never taken pride in her body, but now she saw its usefulness: the full hips well formed and right for child-bearing, the breasts large, voluptuous; she would bear royal children. Critically, she surveyed her face: her straight nose, high brow, large sorrowful dark eyes. She looked always as she were sulking, her face ravaged by grief. Now though, she felt a quiet dignity, a certain triumph. She smiled, and her image softened, her mouth turned up becomingly, her eyes brightened with hope. Her new husband’s prospects would guarantee her a life of ease, free from all the every day concerns that had, in the past, confronted her. Olympias had thought her inconsequential; the Soghdian had scorned and threatened her. She had little recollection of her own mother; even her father, Philip, had paid her little heed. She had always been lost in the shadow of her remarkable half-brother, Alexander, who had not even cared enough to arrange a marriage for her before he left on his conquests. She had been the forgotten princess, but now Kassandros offered her a chance for fame and good fortune. Kassandros promised to protect her and even name a city after her. No other Macedonian princess could claim that honour. He had already begun clearing out the villages along the gulf, laying the plans for the new metropolis, one he said that would outshine Pella. And if things went his way, Kassandros would soon become the Regent and she would help him rule Macedon.

She went to the altar and lit the incense in its censor. Sweet smoke curled up permeating the room with it’s fragrance. She called upon her father’s Shade to ask his blessing, but did not utter the name of Alexander. She poured a libation of costly myrrh from a golden cup into a bejewelled bowl, speaking aloud the name of the godess in reverence as decreed.

“Golden-throned Hera, wife of almighty Zeus, immortal queen, protector of brides, give me a sign!” Motionless, she waited long for the goddess to speak but silence

was her only answer.

Down in the courtyard the torches blazed and she could hear the sound of flutes and kitheras mingled with the joyous cries of the wedding guests.. The wedding processional was gathering. She heard the maidens singing the refrain of the sacred marriage song. “Ho, Hymen! Ho, Hymen! Hymenaeos! Io!” Soon they would come to lead her to the nuptials. She felt her midriff clutch with nervous tension, then she threw back her shoulders and gave a deep sigh of satisfaction. She had waited all her life for this day.

NOTE: Well Kassandros did keep one promise to her. The city of Thessaloniki is named for her and of all the memorials to Alexander's time, it still exists and thrives as the second biggest city in Greece.