WHERE IS THE MUSE?

MIDNIGHT MUSE

My Muse comes after midnight

nudges me awake.

Whispers urgently,

“Get up! Write!”

I curse her,

stumble across the dark room,

search for matches,

light the candle wick.

Where has she been in the daylight?

How many hours did I wait for her

listening for her voice?

“Where where you?” I ask.

“Was it your voice I heard

while I daydreamed in the sun?

Or was it only the sound of

of sheep bells on the mountain?”

“Write!” she demands. “Write!”

If I wait til morning

the words she whispers to me

will be extinguished

like this candle flame.

Written while living in a shepherd’s cottage , Lala, Euboeia, Greece.

 

I seem to be having a problem connecting with the Muse these days. 

Very frustrating, when there is so much work to do. But I have felt unsatisfied with what I've already written for "Dragons in the Sky" other than those very early chapters written in the beginning. So I am trying to conjure the Muse's help.

 

Meanwhile I'm reading a very good book "Song for Achilles" that seems to be inspiring me. It's written first person narrative and in a very lyrical style, like Dragons. So perhaps I can capture the cadence again and smooth out what I've written which, to me, seems a bit stilted and phony — "made up" instead of flowing in a natural narrative. 

 

I've also go to sort out all the research notes I took which are not in any particular order and slow me down when I'm looking for things. And, I need to learn more about the herbs and spells and magic things so I can add more of those ingredients to my story.

 

So, I call on you Muse, to please come and inspire me! I'm waiting....

 

MY WRITER'S LIFE

Reading poetry at the Heritage Grill

It seems my writing life has taken a new turn these days.  While I am waiting to resume more edits on "Shadow of the Lion", I have been called upon to read some of my poetry.  Last weekend at the Heritage Grill in New Westminster, I read 3 poems that were published in a new anthology "Sudden Thunder" with thanks to Candice James, poet laureate of New Westminster who has become my new poet mentor.  I had not taken myself seriously as poet until Candice heard some of my work and has been encouraging me to read in public.  Not that I haven't produced or read before, but my main genre in travel and historical fiction, and poetry doesn't always 'happen' for me except unexpectedly. 

 Now I am encouraged to enlarge my collection, mainly one I am working on which will be titled "Songs for Erato" (Tragoudia yia Erato)- poems written in or about Greece.  I already have quite a few in the collection including a previously written collection "Songs for Gods and Heroes", written as 'hymns' or hymnos style when I was challenged some years ago by a Greek American poet friend to write a collection about Alexander the Great. There were written for two voices to be accompanied by music (such as a flute) and were presented at a reading some years ago at the Burnaby Art Gallery.  I will also include a couple of lyric poems from my play about Sappho, "House of the Muses", as well as some new poems I wrote the last two times I was in Greece.

I'll be reading on the street in New Westminster next Sunday and I'm one of the feature readers the following week at Poetic Justice at the Heritage Grill. 

While I am waiting to finalize the work (edits) on "Shadow" and retyping my old Celtic novel "Dragons in the Sky", I will rework some of my poems to get them ready for the collection I am hoping to eventually publish.  Who would have thought?  You know that old saying? "You're and poet and you didn't know it!"  Well, that's me.  A new way to express my thoughts.  And I'm enjoying it! Now if only I could get the Muse to co-operate!

Here's a you-tube video of me reading one of the poems: "Socrates Prison"

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v​=7I6HMkp4pyc

www.youtube.com

courtesy of Candice James

PROGRESS REPORT#21: WHEN THE MUSE SPEAKS

"Muse of the round sky, daughter of Zeus,
I sing my poems loud and clear to you."
Alkman


I spent most of yesterday trying to sort out some small errors I'd made in my novel, the sequence of some events that didn't seem right. I'd intended to do a lot of writing but mostly puttered away the day, managing only about an hour of work taken from the notes I'd made the night before.

The day was cold and wet, very bleak. I only went outdoors once and that was just to mail some Christmas cards overseas and pick up a few groceries. I played on the computer, watched some TV, cleaned out the drawers sorting my winter stuff and packing away my summer. The whole day went by and really, I didn't accomplish much as far as my novel writing was concerned.

It was very late when I tucked into bed and whereas I usually fall asleep quickly, this night I tossed and turned and could not get to sleep at all. Then, She spoke to me. The Muse. At first it was just a line or two which I knew I had to get up and write down. Then, when I was settling back into bed again, there was another line...a whole paragraph...and I realized that She was telling me what I'd been trying to figure out all day. So I got up and started writing. I wrote about four pages and then I went back to bed and fell right asleep.

Today I got up really in the writing mood. No more procrastinating. Thanks to the Muse, I had a good start on the day. I managed to solve some of the strategy problems I was having, things became a lot clearer to me, and the notes I'd made during the night had actually brought me right up to a crucial anti-climax of the novel. With a few added scenes in between I should be able to sail quickly through this next part and then I'll be on the homeward stretch, with the end very clearly in view.

It's exciting when that happens and it's been awhile since the Muse spoke so strongly to me. I recall when I used to live in the shepherd's cottage in Lala, Euboeia, that often She would speak to me in the night. I had no electricity there, so I'd have to get up and light the lamps and sit by candlelight to write the words, knowing that if I didn't, I'd have forgotten them by morning.

As far as the progress of Shadow of the Lion, I may not meet my goal of finishing by the last day of Autumn, but I'll be very nearly done by the end of December. I'm already visualizing the 'wrap' party I have planned at a Greek taverna in my neighborhood.
Yesterday I consulted Cecilia Holland in regards to whether or not I should find myself a mentor before I start doing the final draft which will entail a good deal of cutting. I feel I need someone who understands the history as well as the techniques of writing. She suggested that I might find someone at the university, but to make sure it's someone I trust or it might not work out. So I'm still thinking about this. Perhaps I will get just as thorough a reader's critic from my Athens friend, Dinaz, who has requested I send her the MSS when it's done. What do you other writers think of this idea? Have any of you had a mentor to advise you on your final drafts?

MIDNIGHT MUSE
written while living in a shepherd's cottage, Lala, Evvia, Greece

My Muse comes after midnight
Nudges me awake,
Whispers urgently:
"Get up! Write!"
I curse her, stumble across the dark room,
Search for matches, light the candle wick.
Where has she been in the daylight?
How many hours did I want for her
Listening for her voice?
"Where were you?" I ask.
"Was it your voice I heard
While I daydreamed in the sun.
Or was it only the sound
Of sheep bells on the mountain,"
"Write!" she demands. "Write!"
If I wait til morning
The words she whispers to me
Will be extinguished
Like this candle flame
As I snuff it out.

PROGRESS REPORT #19: THE BALANCE OF SHOW AND TELL

"Sing, goddess, the wrath of Peleus' son Achilles, a
destroying wrath which brought upon the Achaeans
myriad woes, and sent forth to Hades many
valiant souls of heroes."
Homer 700 BC The Iliad, Bk. 1 l 1

Gold casket containing the bones of King Philip

Royal Tombs, Aigai.

You know the Muse is back when she nudges you just as you are about to settle down for a long winter's nap, and you have to get up and write down the words she spoke to you. That happened to me last night just as I was ready to drift off. I know from past experience, don't ignore her. Because by morning you won't remember what she told you.

I'd been struggling with a few little transitional parts of this new chapter and til then couldn't figure out what I needed to say. But just those few lines helped me get right back into it and today I pretty well finished another chapter. (There's still a few patches which need work but I know that will come to me, so I must keep forging onward.)

The problem with this chapter was figuring out what to dramatize and what to have as narrative. There is a great deal going on, lots of action and intrigue, but as I already am way over the limit for pages in this novel I know I have to cut down somewhere. So it was a hefty decision trying to decide what parts should be actually 'shown' and what parts I could 'tell' in narrative. Hopefully I've found the right balance here. All through the chapter I have tried to keep an equal amount of both so that the story doesn't bog down, or get off on unnecessary tangents. I haven't workshopped it yet, and there may be a few changes to make later, but for now I'm feeling satisfied with what I have written. You'll see by this snippet, it just a small part of a larger scenario of murder and mayhem.

Charioteer, from a wall fresco, Royal Tombs.

Here's a bit of an intro to this section of the chapter. Alexander's mother, Olympias, who had been exiled from Pella, the royal city of Macedon, for over ten years, had now returned, bringing along with her Alexander's widow and son, the heir to the throne. There has been a coup, in which the wife of the other titular king, Philip Arridaios, tried to seize the throne. Olympias means to wreck vengeance on the usurpers which include Kassandros, son of the late Regent Antipater. Here's just a sample of what happens.

Olympias called a meeting of her commanders. Sitting in a gilded chair at the great table in the old council room, she gazed slowly from man to man. She deigned not to ask them for advice, nor accept any. She already knew what she must do.
She ordered the men to sit and then she delivered her orders.
“I know, like myself, that many of you have long time blood-feuds with the Antipatrids. I order you to rout out every one of their clan and slay them. Show no mercy, as Kassandros and Iollas, the sons of Antipater showed none for my son when they delivered to him the fatal potion. We must rid Macedon of these vermin. Once they are disposed of, we will be a united strength against our enemies.”
Someone whistled softly.
She scanned the room with narrowed eyes. “ I want them put to death. Every one of them!”
A gasp went round the room. Men shook their heads in disbelief and looked warily at one another. Her words, powerful as a curse, were like a death knell.
“Does the Regent know of this?” asked one of the grey-bearded elder generals.
“This is my edict. Yes, Polyperchon will agree.”
“But Madam...This clan is the noblest in Macedon,” he protested.
Kronos, her chief commander, cleared his throat and spoke up. “Madam, none of us question your authority, but do you think this is wise? Antipater was well loved by our people.”
Olympias stiffened and glared at him. He stared back boldly at her. “Should we not wait for Polyperchon to return?”
She fixed a malevolent look on him. “Are you with me or not, Kronos?”
Kronos clamped his mouth shut tight. “As you wish. Your orders will be carried out, Madam.”
“Do not question me, Sir,” Olympias said. “Swear by the stream of Acheron that you will obey my will and stay loyal to our cause.” She swept a dangerous look across
their stunned faces. “Or I will consider you all traitors!” Her face was set in a hard scowl, the lines between her brows etched deep. “This session is over. Go now, and do as I have commanded!”
No one dared contradict her. They all knew the power of her dark magic. The generals stared at her incredulously but none dared speak up again. Under her baleful eye they each agreed, though some reluctantly, and went out to follow her orders, not speaking to anyone.

The news spread quickly throughout Macedon that the titular king Philip Arridiaos had been removed from his wife’s control and was now under guard in the island prison, while his wife, Queen Eurydike was being hunted by Olympias’ men. There were rumours that Adeia-Eurydike had escaped to Euboeia to seek help and wait for Kassandros’ orders. Others claimed she had fled to the garrison at Amphilpolis and would muster a fleet and more troops there.
A reign of terror began across the country. Citizens cowered in their houses afraid to venture forth lest they be mistaken as the enemy and arrested. Search parties torched houses, incinerating dozens of innocents. Arrests went on for days. Anyone who was a kinsman of Antipater or a supporter of the renegade Queen was snatched off the streets or dragged from their homes.
The people of Pella recoiled in horror and panic gripped the city as Olympias’ henchmen went from house to house searching for anyone who might be a friend or relative of the Antipatrids clan. Hundreds fled from the city, making their way furtively by boat or foot southward to join Kassandros in Greece..
Olympias went herself to the necromanteion to watched gleefully as the grave steles of Antipater’s family members were toppled and smashed to bits. She, herself, saw to the defacement and destruction of the tomb of the old Regent’s youngest son, Iollas, who had been Alexander’s cup-bearer, and had served him the poisoned wine.
She pronounced with chilling venom, “Let nothing remain of the murderers! Erase every vestige of their existence.” Her words hung for a moment, then cleaved the air like the swipe of a sword.
After the desecration of the graves, she ordered her fiercest Molossian hill fighters to track down and kill Kassandros’ brother Nikanor who had been tracked to a garrison near the Thracian border where he had taken refuge.
“Show no mercy to him and those who have sheltered him,” she commanded.

All through the country, Olympias’ soldiers kicked down the doors of houses where innocent children played by the hearths and guileful women went about their chores. Taken unawares, the men folk tried to take flight but were cut down ruthlessly by the soldier’s blades and impaled on their spears. There was chaos in Pella and nearby towns, wherever kinfolk of Antipater resided as the queen’s henchmen raided, wrecking vengeance on guilty and innocent alike. Houses were torched, flocks and horses confiscated. Nothing must be left of the Antipatrid’s clan, the Epirote witch had decreed it. Anguished screams of men and neighing horses rent the air as those pursued scrambled to get away only to be caught in the drag-net of Olympias’ men. Dozens of victims were murdered, scores hauled off to prison to be tortured. Nobody dared stop her, lest they meet with reprisals. Her own men, aware of her power, were scared to death of her wrath. Even the toughest soldiers who were inured to killing shrank in horror at the Queen’s bloody rampage. Everyone dreaded her, felt the terror, and recoiled in dismay before the scale of the destruction she had wrought against the noblest clan of Macedon, the wealthy lords and relatives of their once beloved Regent Antipater.
Finally when all was done and they surveyed the scale of the carnage, a hundred victims had fallen to fire or the sword, murdered on the Queen’s orders, left unburied, exposed for the carrion birds to devour their flesh.
The people turned away from Olympias with horror. “Surely the queen is deranged!” they said.

Pella

"There is nothing more dread and more shameless than a woman who plans
such deeds in her heart as the foul deed which she plotted when she contrived
her husband's murder.

In the extravagance of her evil she has brought shame both on herself and
on all women who will come after her, even on one who is virtuous."

Homer, The Iliad XI lines 427/ 432