"If you don't know where you're going, you will probably end up somewhere else."
Laurence Johnston Peter 1919-1990 "The Peter Principle" 1969
I'm on the threshold of my new year now, having just celebrated another birthday (a big one!).
This weekend I was away with my writer's group, the Scribblers, to one of the enchanting Gulf Islands off the coast of B.C. We've been going to Mayne for about 10 years or more and I always look forward to these bi-annual retreats.
This time there were only six of us. None of the new members came, which is a pity because the retreats are what make our group unique. We pass the time doing writing exercises, hiking eating good meals prepared by various members, and enjoying the cameraderie.
Usually we have a 'theme' for these retreats, and this time it was 'Alter-egos' in literature and history to go along with the Gemini party (the Twins) which I organized to celebrate my birthday and other Geminis as well. These Gemini birthday parties have become a tradition since the began back in the late '70's. I've celebrated Gemini at home, on the beach, in Greece on Filoppapou and the Pynx Hill, in the Latin Quarter, in various tavernas in Athens, and this year it was special because I was celebrating with my writer friends on Mayne Island.
We had a weiner and marshmallow roast and had party hats and treats, played kid's games like pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey, drop the clothes pegs into a bottle (prizes for all!). The birthday cake was strawberry short-cake (my favorite). Then we did the intros to our alter-egos. Queen Elizabeth was there with a little talk about the royalty (that would be Dora);
Lord Byron (Dee) gave a little talk about his life; Ariel read her poem from "The Tempest" (Susan); and Snow White (Beverly) sang "Some Day My Prince Will Come". We expected an appearance of either Capt. Hook or Tom Sawyer but Allan didn't think of it.
Jack Kerouac was there (he's my writer-hero of the '50's. I used to wish I could write like him.) 'Jack' read a passage from 'Lonesome Road" and some of his poetry. It was another birthday to remember!
So here I am at the beginning of my new year and I must ask myself "Where are you going?"
I know I have several journeys planned including some short jaunts I'll be making in the next few weeks with my friend Patrick who is coming from Germany. Then there's NYC in Sept. and Chile in November.
But where am I going with my writing? I haven't been able to work on the novel for the last two weeks due to one thing or another but I am on the verge of starting again. First, though, I have to find my direction. Let's see...Polyperchon, the Regent of Macedon has been travelling down the coast of Greece to a meeting place where he will confront Phokion, the military governor of Athens who has been charged with treason by his fellow Athenians. The events due to take place are part of the critical political intrigue that propels the plot of my story to it's end.
Following this will be a dog-poisoning (the poison intended for the young son of Alexander), which results in a quick exit of the royal family to the safety of Dodoni where they will meet the formidable Olympias, Alexander's mother.
Everything is carefully plotted from here to the end and it's only a matter of staying with it and not having to stop too many times to do additional research. I have set my goal to finish before the end of summer. The next few weeks I may not get much writing time because of my guest arriving and the short trips around we will take. But July and August ought to allow me lots of writing time. I really have to dedicate myself to this and stay disciplined.
I've still got other travel stories to finish too. But those don't take me so much time. And then there's the marketing...(a writer's work is never done!)
At least I think I have a clear view of the direction in which I am going. I just hope I can stick to the path and don't stray off course. Where are you going?
"If one advances confidently in the direction of his dreams and endeavors to live the life which he has imagined, he will meet with a success unexpected in common hours."
Henry David Thoreau 1817-1862 "Conclusions"
Wednesday, June 07, 2006
Sunday, May 28, 2006
A DREAM OF WRITING
"Writing is nothing more than a guided dream."
Jorge Luis Borges 1899-1986 "Doctor Brodie's Report" 1972 Preface.
"A Dream of Writing" was the keynote address given by Stephen Osborne, editor of Geist Magazine at the Federation of B.C. Writer's AGM Friday night. He read a writer's memoir, how it all began for him as a writer/editor, launching the Pulp Press back in the late 60's/70's which later became so successful he now published Geist a local literary magazine. The topic of his reading reminded me of the day before when I had attended the Youth Writer's Conference and had been reminiscing about my youth, when I had dreamed of being a writer.
I guess all of us have had that dream at some time in our lives, and that's why we still write, some of us very successfully with publications. Who would have dreamed back in my teens that one day I'd actually be instructing writing classes and participating in presentations to kids.
In living the dream though, there are sacrifices to be made. You don't get there without a lot of dedication and discipline (that's the hard part!) and willingness to be poor sometimes, to make do without in order to have the time to write. I never regretted quitting my full time job as a daycare supervisor back in '94 in order to take more time for writing. Sure, sometimes I've been dirt-poor but somehow I've always survived. I haven't had a big piece of work (novel) published yet, but lots of smaller publications (travel articles and a very small amount of short fiction). But the pay-off is there. Two 'free' trips gifted to me by the Travel Writers' Assoc. and at the FED meeting I won a $50 book certificate. Things have definitely been looking up!
I'm still toiling away at the novel and one of these days it WILL be finished. Meanwhile I am doing lots of other writing too, as well as teaching. And the workshop I've been conducting privately has really caught on so it will continue through most of the summer. How do I make a living from my writing? By instructing others. And I love it as it's a learning experience for me as well.
Yes, I grew up dreaming of writing and it eventually became a reality. I can call myself a writer -- full time! And one of these days I will call myself a published historical fiction novelist.
That will be a dream come true!
"He (the writer) must teach himself that the basest of all things is to be afraid; and, teaching himself that, forget it forever, leaving no room in his workshop for anything but the old verities and truths of the heart, the old universal truths lacking which any story is ephemeral and doomed -- love and honour and pity and pride and compassion and sacrifice."
William Faulkner 1897-1962 Speech on receiving the Nobel Prize, Dec. 10, 1950
Jorge Luis Borges 1899-1986 "Doctor Brodie's Report" 1972 Preface.
"A Dream of Writing" was the keynote address given by Stephen Osborne, editor of Geist Magazine at the Federation of B.C. Writer's AGM Friday night. He read a writer's memoir, how it all began for him as a writer/editor, launching the Pulp Press back in the late 60's/70's which later became so successful he now published Geist a local literary magazine. The topic of his reading reminded me of the day before when I had attended the Youth Writer's Conference and had been reminiscing about my youth, when I had dreamed of being a writer.
I guess all of us have had that dream at some time in our lives, and that's why we still write, some of us very successfully with publications. Who would have dreamed back in my teens that one day I'd actually be instructing writing classes and participating in presentations to kids.
In living the dream though, there are sacrifices to be made. You don't get there without a lot of dedication and discipline (that's the hard part!) and willingness to be poor sometimes, to make do without in order to have the time to write. I never regretted quitting my full time job as a daycare supervisor back in '94 in order to take more time for writing. Sure, sometimes I've been dirt-poor but somehow I've always survived. I haven't had a big piece of work (novel) published yet, but lots of smaller publications (travel articles and a very small amount of short fiction). But the pay-off is there. Two 'free' trips gifted to me by the Travel Writers' Assoc. and at the FED meeting I won a $50 book certificate. Things have definitely been looking up!
I'm still toiling away at the novel and one of these days it WILL be finished. Meanwhile I am doing lots of other writing too, as well as teaching. And the workshop I've been conducting privately has really caught on so it will continue through most of the summer. How do I make a living from my writing? By instructing others. And I love it as it's a learning experience for me as well.
Yes, I grew up dreaming of writing and it eventually became a reality. I can call myself a writer -- full time! And one of these days I will call myself a published historical fiction novelist.
That will be a dream come true!
"He (the writer) must teach himself that the basest of all things is to be afraid; and, teaching himself that, forget it forever, leaving no room in his workshop for anything but the old verities and truths of the heart, the old universal truths lacking which any story is ephemeral and doomed -- love and honour and pity and pride and compassion and sacrifice."
William Faulkner 1897-1962 Speech on receiving the Nobel Prize, Dec. 10, 1950
Friday, May 26, 2006
THE YOUNG WRITERS
"She was quite young -- about twelve or thriteen. Her wide, frightened, blue eyes looked up piteously at the Canadians. Her long braids were the colour of dark honey. She was dressed in a threadbare white blouse and a blue skirt. The shoes she wore were old and ragged, and one of her stockinged toes peeped out from the shoe leather. Her only cloak was thrown over the still form of her companion. She looked up again at the soldiers and then to her brother.
"He is my brother Karl," she said. "He is sick. Maybe you can help?" Then she smiled at the sergeant. It was a cute smile -- the way all girls smiled. Her bottom lip seemed to curl in between her pearly teeth, and two dimples appeared on her ruddy cheeks. The soldiers' hearts were touched."
written by Wynn, age 13. My first publication in the Girls Guides of Canada 1948
from a novelette "The Real Peace" a character study of a Dutch war orphan, Janni.
I started writing things when I was about 8 years old. By the time I was 10, I was writing plays for my classmates. It was during WWII and most of us kids had dads, uncles, grandpas or brothers serving overseas. I wrote little propoganda plays about the war for school and at home I composed fairy tales to entertain my neighbouhood playmates. When I was 12 and the war ended, we travelled by train across Canada to the West Coast. I was enthralled by the vastness of the Prairies (where I was born and lived til I was six) and imagined what the life of Pioneers must have been like. I began writing their stories in little scribbler books in pencil and pen with my own illustrations. By the time I was 14, I had switched my historical interest to Romans and stories set in Palestine (influenced by Bible stories). And in high school I was introduced to Alexander the Great and began my long love-affair with all things Greek.
My first job out of high school was in a newspaper editorial department. I had aspirations of becoming a journalist. I was also a playwright and wrote/produced a play about kids using heroin (something dreadful and unheard of then, but it had happened to my boyfriend and his pals and was so horrifying I had to write about it.) That play was later rewritten, updated and produced successfully in 2000.
All during my school years my only wish was to become a writer. But there was little encouragement. In fact often my mother was called to the principal's office and informed that if I spent more time concentrating on Math and Science and less time off in my own dreamworld or with my nose stuck in books (usually historical fiction or research) then I would be a better student. I barely scraped by with a 'pass' out of High School but I didn't care as long as I got to write and be around writers.
Yesterday all these school-day memories flooded back to me when I spent the day at a Youth Writer's Conference where I had been invited to present as a travel writer. The conference was sponsored by the School Board and organized by a friend of mine, a writer, who teaches elementary school and used to be one of our Scribbler's group. I was thrilled to be invited and be able to speak to kids about writing, remembering how I had longed for such attention when I was their age.
These were kids 10 -13 yrs old from various Vancouver schools, all invited because of their keen interest in literary things. In fact, each of them had contributed to an anthology of student writing which was presented to each of the instructors.
The auditorium was full of kids, teachers and assistants. There were many different presenters including writers of novels, plays, humour, and history. A number of presentations were given: a children's book writer/illustrator; several slam poets; a reading by an actress/playwright; comedy sketches by the comedy writers and the main speaker,
James Delgado, a marine archaeologist. Several students were also chosen to read their work from the anthology.
I had two separate groups of kids who came to learn about travel writing. I spoke to them about my experiences as a writer, from childhood to present. I showed them some of my writing from when I was their age and also some of my travel articles -- the ones I thought that would capture their interest most. They were given a short exercise, to write a lead and start a story about a trip they'd been on or wished to go on. It was amazing how talented these kids were, and how keenly interested.
When the readings were given by the chosen students, I had a flashback to my first experience at reading my own writing in front of an audience in the school auditorium. It was the first time I'd ever been in front of such a large group of my peers and the first time I'd ever been introduced to a microphone. When I stood up to read and got the echo and amplified sound back off the mike, I froze. It was like a hand closed around my throat and I was absolutely speechless. I couldn't read a word, I was so terrified by stage fright. It was one of the most embarassing moments of my youth. These kids who read yesterday were so self-assured and articulate. I was impressed!
When the keynote speaker got up to address them, everyone was enthralled. Mr Delgado told some amazing stories of searching undersea wrecks off the coast of Japan -- a Mongol fleet who had come to invade Japan had been scuttled by the Samurai. The legend was that a wind (the kamakazi) had come up and the storm sank the ship. But when Delgado and his colleagues began searching they found instead that the ships had been set afire. He told how they'd come across the remains of a man who had worn leather armour, and where his outstretched hand had been was a cup with his name on it "Wang". He was identified as the commander of the fleet. To parallel this story, Delgado told about descending to the depths of the Atlantic to explore the wreck of the Titanic. He talked about seeing parts of the ship which he related to stories of that fateful day -- the place where the captain had stood, the broken mast and crowsnest where the bosun had first spotted the iceberg. And how he had seen clothing, left from those who had perished including a pair of leather women's lace-up shoes. The story brought tears to my eyes and there wasn't a sound in that big room, the children were so enraptued by the tale.
It was so inspiring and rewarding participating in such an event, with children who are so passionate about writing just as I had been at that age. I've spent time in classrooms before on the "Off the Page" program that I participate in each year through the Federation of B.C. Writers and it is always a rich experience.
This week has been a particularly dense writing week. Starting last Saturday when I spent the afternoon with two other writers screening entries for a one-page contest (and thrilled to recognized that two of my night-school students had their entries make it to the finals!)
All week I've had my critique groups, workshops, and classes -- yesterday's Youth Conference being the highlight. Tonight is the AGM for the Fed, more writerly activities, speakers, and generally schmoozing with literary folk. I'm feeling super motivated by all this and anxious to get back to my novel again, feeling somewhat empowered.
Listening to Mr. Delgado's talk yesterday made me realize how much I have missed the company of my scholarly friends in Greece, the Classical Scholars and archaeologists I know there who have helped me so much and kept me grounded in Alexander's world. Something has been missing for me for some time now and I recognized it yesterday. Perhaps that's what made me feel so emotional. It's a lonely enough world being a writer but when your mind is way out there in a far distant past world, it makes it seem even lonelier somehow. Thankfully, though, I do have a lot of writer associates. And those discussions I have with my workshop group and classes are like adding fuel to the fire.
"I was never allowed to read the popular American children's books of my day because, as my mother said, the children spoke bad English without the author's knowing it."
Edith Wharton 1862-1937 "A Backward Glance." ch 3
"He is my brother Karl," she said. "He is sick. Maybe you can help?" Then she smiled at the sergeant. It was a cute smile -- the way all girls smiled. Her bottom lip seemed to curl in between her pearly teeth, and two dimples appeared on her ruddy cheeks. The soldiers' hearts were touched."
written by Wynn, age 13. My first publication in the Girls Guides of Canada 1948
from a novelette "The Real Peace" a character study of a Dutch war orphan, Janni.
I started writing things when I was about 8 years old. By the time I was 10, I was writing plays for my classmates. It was during WWII and most of us kids had dads, uncles, grandpas or brothers serving overseas. I wrote little propoganda plays about the war for school and at home I composed fairy tales to entertain my neighbouhood playmates. When I was 12 and the war ended, we travelled by train across Canada to the West Coast. I was enthralled by the vastness of the Prairies (where I was born and lived til I was six) and imagined what the life of Pioneers must have been like. I began writing their stories in little scribbler books in pencil and pen with my own illustrations. By the time I was 14, I had switched my historical interest to Romans and stories set in Palestine (influenced by Bible stories). And in high school I was introduced to Alexander the Great and began my long love-affair with all things Greek.
My first job out of high school was in a newspaper editorial department. I had aspirations of becoming a journalist. I was also a playwright and wrote/produced a play about kids using heroin (something dreadful and unheard of then, but it had happened to my boyfriend and his pals and was so horrifying I had to write about it.) That play was later rewritten, updated and produced successfully in 2000.
All during my school years my only wish was to become a writer. But there was little encouragement. In fact often my mother was called to the principal's office and informed that if I spent more time concentrating on Math and Science and less time off in my own dreamworld or with my nose stuck in books (usually historical fiction or research) then I would be a better student. I barely scraped by with a 'pass' out of High School but I didn't care as long as I got to write and be around writers.
Yesterday all these school-day memories flooded back to me when I spent the day at a Youth Writer's Conference where I had been invited to present as a travel writer. The conference was sponsored by the School Board and organized by a friend of mine, a writer, who teaches elementary school and used to be one of our Scribbler's group. I was thrilled to be invited and be able to speak to kids about writing, remembering how I had longed for such attention when I was their age.
These were kids 10 -13 yrs old from various Vancouver schools, all invited because of their keen interest in literary things. In fact, each of them had contributed to an anthology of student writing which was presented to each of the instructors.
The auditorium was full of kids, teachers and assistants. There were many different presenters including writers of novels, plays, humour, and history. A number of presentations were given: a children's book writer/illustrator; several slam poets; a reading by an actress/playwright; comedy sketches by the comedy writers and the main speaker,
James Delgado, a marine archaeologist. Several students were also chosen to read their work from the anthology.
I had two separate groups of kids who came to learn about travel writing. I spoke to them about my experiences as a writer, from childhood to present. I showed them some of my writing from when I was their age and also some of my travel articles -- the ones I thought that would capture their interest most. They were given a short exercise, to write a lead and start a story about a trip they'd been on or wished to go on. It was amazing how talented these kids were, and how keenly interested.
When the readings were given by the chosen students, I had a flashback to my first experience at reading my own writing in front of an audience in the school auditorium. It was the first time I'd ever been in front of such a large group of my peers and the first time I'd ever been introduced to a microphone. When I stood up to read and got the echo and amplified sound back off the mike, I froze. It was like a hand closed around my throat and I was absolutely speechless. I couldn't read a word, I was so terrified by stage fright. It was one of the most embarassing moments of my youth. These kids who read yesterday were so self-assured and articulate. I was impressed!
When the keynote speaker got up to address them, everyone was enthralled. Mr Delgado told some amazing stories of searching undersea wrecks off the coast of Japan -- a Mongol fleet who had come to invade Japan had been scuttled by the Samurai. The legend was that a wind (the kamakazi) had come up and the storm sank the ship. But when Delgado and his colleagues began searching they found instead that the ships had been set afire. He told how they'd come across the remains of a man who had worn leather armour, and where his outstretched hand had been was a cup with his name on it "Wang". He was identified as the commander of the fleet. To parallel this story, Delgado told about descending to the depths of the Atlantic to explore the wreck of the Titanic. He talked about seeing parts of the ship which he related to stories of that fateful day -- the place where the captain had stood, the broken mast and crowsnest where the bosun had first spotted the iceberg. And how he had seen clothing, left from those who had perished including a pair of leather women's lace-up shoes. The story brought tears to my eyes and there wasn't a sound in that big room, the children were so enraptued by the tale.
It was so inspiring and rewarding participating in such an event, with children who are so passionate about writing just as I had been at that age. I've spent time in classrooms before on the "Off the Page" program that I participate in each year through the Federation of B.C. Writers and it is always a rich experience.
This week has been a particularly dense writing week. Starting last Saturday when I spent the afternoon with two other writers screening entries for a one-page contest (and thrilled to recognized that two of my night-school students had their entries make it to the finals!)
All week I've had my critique groups, workshops, and classes -- yesterday's Youth Conference being the highlight. Tonight is the AGM for the Fed, more writerly activities, speakers, and generally schmoozing with literary folk. I'm feeling super motivated by all this and anxious to get back to my novel again, feeling somewhat empowered.
Listening to Mr. Delgado's talk yesterday made me realize how much I have missed the company of my scholarly friends in Greece, the Classical Scholars and archaeologists I know there who have helped me so much and kept me grounded in Alexander's world. Something has been missing for me for some time now and I recognized it yesterday. Perhaps that's what made me feel so emotional. It's a lonely enough world being a writer but when your mind is way out there in a far distant past world, it makes it seem even lonelier somehow. Thankfully, though, I do have a lot of writer associates. And those discussions I have with my workshop group and classes are like adding fuel to the fire.
"I was never allowed to read the popular American children's books of my day because, as my mother said, the children spoke bad English without the author's knowing it."
Edith Wharton 1862-1937 "A Backward Glance." ch 3
Sunday, May 21, 2006
I AM OLYMPIAS
I've been tagged by Gabriele to participate in this historical fiction meme "Who Am I?"
Her character "Charlemagne" challenged my character "Olympias". "Who Am I?" you ask?
I am Olympias, widow of Kiing Philip II of Macedon, mother of Alexander, the greatest warrior-king the world has ever known. I was given the name of Myrtale at my birth, but I knew that I deserved a more majestic title. So after I married Philip, I changed my name to Olympias because
"I am one who dwells on the holy mountain Olympus, with the gods."
I want the world to remember me, just as they remember my kinsman Achilles and my invincible son, Alexander. When I was a child, I wanted my mother to dip me in the Styx so I could become immortal just as Thetis had dipped her son Achilles (who unfortunately was left with a vulnerable heel). So I went to the River myself, and dipped my whole body in the sacred stream making certain not one inch of me was left unwashed.
I wish the world would remember me not as an over-possessive, vindictive, murderous witch (or so they have called me!) but as the magnificent powerful woman that I am.
I hate those desipicable men who published slanderous stories about me. I especially detest the Antipides clan, in particular that old goat Antipater who ruled as Regent for my husband and son. Mostly I despise his evil son, that slime, Kassandros, who I hold responsible for my son's death (and later, my own demise and that of my grandson, thus putting an end to our illustrious and powerful dynasty)
I miss my son. I have never recovered from his death, nor for those many yeasr we were separated whle he roamed the world. And I also miss the shady groves of Dodoni where I worshipped in Zeus-Ammon's sacred grove and danced with the maenaeds in the forest.
I fear nothing. I am blessed by the gods and privileged to carry the seed of Ammon. I was visited by His golden snake, which impregnated me and thus I bore my marvelous son Alexander. Zeus Ammon protects me. Even on the day my enemies surrounded me and stoned me to death, I was not afraid. I kept my eyes on the holy mountain because I knew my soul would be recieved by the gods there and I would dewell eternally on Olympus.
I hear many rumours about my life. People claim that my son as not concieved by the God, but by his mortal father Philip. It swear it is not a myth that I was visited by Ammon's golden snake. The deposed shaman Pharoah Nectanabo can verify this because he was there. (Yes, I know there are some nay-sayers who claim the Pharoah gave me magic potions and tricked me into believe my son was conceived of the god. But I know it is not a falsehood to say that Alexander was the son of Ammon and this was proven by his magnificent deeds!). I have heard of the many slanderous stories that are told by writers of histories and other who hate me because they are jealous of my power and my outstanding beauty.
I wonder what would have become of Macedon if Alexander had not died in Babylon. He had so many more worlds to conquor. And after he died his greedy Successors quarreled and divided his Empire until finally it all ended in such extreme tragedy.
I regret that I did not go to Babylon even though Alexander did not invite me there. A foolish slight on his part. He often quarreled with me -- thought I meddled in his affairs -- but if he had allowed me to come there, perhaps he would not have died.
I am not the murderess, the husband-killer, as people have portrayed me to be. I only acted in self defence or in defence of my son, and later on behalf of my grandson. I did not have a hand in Philip's assassination, although I will admit to the world that I had grown to hate my husband for his drunken philandering and for his slights to Alexander and me.
I would dance on the graves of my enemies if I could. I admit that I danced with happiness when my husband died and rewarded his assassin with special homage.
I sing in praise of Zeus-Ammon and in honor of my illustrious son, Alexander.
I cried with indescribable grief over my son's death. And so would I have grieved over the death of my grandson, though by then I had already crossed the River.
I am not always given the honours due me. I was born a princess of Epirus, became the Queen of Macedon and later I ruled the Molossians on behalf my other grandson, Neoptolemos. (That stupid daughter of mine, Kleopatra, abandoned her children in my care and went off to Syria hoping to marry Alexander's first-in-command General Perdikkas. Unfortunately Perdikkas was assassinated in Egypt before the marriage could take place and as a punishment, Kleopatra was exiled there on command of the Regent, Antipater.)
I made a pact with my son that I would not allow anyone to stand in the way of him inheriting what was rightfully his - the throne of Macedon. I kept my word, and saw that anyone who threatened his inheritance was quickly disposed of. That included my husband's new wife and her offspring. After Philip's death how could I allow that young trollop free reign in my rightful place or risk the chance that her brat would claim the throne?
I wrote many letters to Alexander warning him of the Regent's ambitions and complaining of the way Antipater treated me. Later, when that scum Kassandros tried to seize power for himself, I wrote to my son's allies, especially Eumenes who had been the chief secretary, and asked for his help in protecting Alexander's empire. None of the Successors were as capable as Alexander, or strong enough to keep the empire from falling into chaos. Ptolemy was the only one who amounted to anything, really, with his satrapy of Egypt. But he was another one of Philip's illegitmate by-blows and although I know my son admired him, I did not approve and would not ask him for his help. In the end Ptolemy sided with that evil scoundral Kassandros because they were bound by marriage ties. Eumenes was the only one I trusted, though he was a Karian Greek. Unfortunately he, too, was killed.
I confuse some who thought my marriage to Philip was only a political union, designed to help him seize control of Epirus. This is wrong. In the beginning we were passionately in love. We met at the Temple of the Great Gods in Samothraki. He was enchanted with me from the very first moment he laid eyes on me. I was only fifteen and a noted beauty who came from an esteemed royal line. I was also an initiate into the cult there -- as well as other cults (some people have accused me of being a witch). It was later, when Philip put me aside in favour of lesser women (mere sword-brides of no account) that I began to hate him. He was a brilliant commander and strategist, but he was also a brual man, a drunkard and had an insatiable penchant for youths and maidens. Most of all, I could not tolerate the way he treated our son.
I need the world to remember me, because without me Alexander would not have become the King of Macedon and heir of Philip's empire.
I should have followed Alexander to Babylon after he left me but how could I have known that I would never see him again -- that after those ten long years he would die so far from home. Some claim he died of illness -- he had many wounds and suffered from various ailments contracted during his campaigns in those snake and mosquito-infested lands. But I know, will proclaim to all the world, that he died of malice. That Kassandros and his young brother Iollas, who was Alexander's cup-bearer mixed his wine with tainted water and poisoned him.
So, I hold Kassandros accountable for his death, and eventually for the fall of Alexander's dynasty.
I start each day making sacrifices to Zeus Ammon and give tributes in honour of my son.
And after I serve the Gods, I burn magic potions and send curses to my enemies, especially Kassandros. My he die a death of misery, eaten alive by worms.
I finished my life with dignity, at the hands of my adversaries. It was a pitiable ending -- trapped in that dingy old sea fort at Pynda -- everyone was starving to death (they even ate the elephants) and worse -- all my beloved snake-daimons perished. I watched my little grandson grow thinner each day. I had grown fond of him and his mother too -- though she was a foreign girl and I would have prefered Alexander to marry a Macedonian. I could not see them die the way the others had. There was no way out. Kassandros had trapped us there like rats in a rat-hole.
I surrendered myself to his people (he sent the families of of his clan whose kinsmen I had ordered killed). They surrounded me and pelted me with stones. I did not flinch. I had lived a long life and would die with dignity. I simply stood tall, and kept my eyes on the high snow-capped peaks of the holy mountain, Olympus. I knew that when I died my soul would go there and I would dwell there forever with the Gods.
I tag Mira Deb. over at pendrifter, will you take up my challenge?
I wish I could tag my friend Susan too, so that you could hear Freydis, Eriksdotter speak. But alas! She does not have a blogsite.
note: This was fun. I have reached a point in the conclusive chapters of my novel when Olympias will take an active role. Til now she has mostly been mentioned but has not had much chance to 'star' on her own in the drama, except for a much earlier chapter when her daughter Kleopatra, announced she was going off to Syria in hopes of marrying Perdikkas. So by doing this exerice, it helped put me right into Olympias' head and this is very important when building strong characters in our stories. Thanks, Gabriele, for the challenge!
Her character "Charlemagne" challenged my character "Olympias". "Who Am I?" you ask?
I am Olympias, widow of Kiing Philip II of Macedon, mother of Alexander, the greatest warrior-king the world has ever known. I was given the name of Myrtale at my birth, but I knew that I deserved a more majestic title. So after I married Philip, I changed my name to Olympias because
"I am one who dwells on the holy mountain Olympus, with the gods."
I want the world to remember me, just as they remember my kinsman Achilles and my invincible son, Alexander. When I was a child, I wanted my mother to dip me in the Styx so I could become immortal just as Thetis had dipped her son Achilles (who unfortunately was left with a vulnerable heel). So I went to the River myself, and dipped my whole body in the sacred stream making certain not one inch of me was left unwashed.
I wish the world would remember me not as an over-possessive, vindictive, murderous witch (or so they have called me!) but as the magnificent powerful woman that I am.
I hate those desipicable men who published slanderous stories about me. I especially detest the Antipides clan, in particular that old goat Antipater who ruled as Regent for my husband and son. Mostly I despise his evil son, that slime, Kassandros, who I hold responsible for my son's death (and later, my own demise and that of my grandson, thus putting an end to our illustrious and powerful dynasty)
I miss my son. I have never recovered from his death, nor for those many yeasr we were separated whle he roamed the world. And I also miss the shady groves of Dodoni where I worshipped in Zeus-Ammon's sacred grove and danced with the maenaeds in the forest.
I fear nothing. I am blessed by the gods and privileged to carry the seed of Ammon. I was visited by His golden snake, which impregnated me and thus I bore my marvelous son Alexander. Zeus Ammon protects me. Even on the day my enemies surrounded me and stoned me to death, I was not afraid. I kept my eyes on the holy mountain because I knew my soul would be recieved by the gods there and I would dewell eternally on Olympus.
I hear many rumours about my life. People claim that my son as not concieved by the God, but by his mortal father Philip. It swear it is not a myth that I was visited by Ammon's golden snake. The deposed shaman Pharoah Nectanabo can verify this because he was there. (Yes, I know there are some nay-sayers who claim the Pharoah gave me magic potions and tricked me into believe my son was conceived of the god. But I know it is not a falsehood to say that Alexander was the son of Ammon and this was proven by his magnificent deeds!). I have heard of the many slanderous stories that are told by writers of histories and other who hate me because they are jealous of my power and my outstanding beauty.
I wonder what would have become of Macedon if Alexander had not died in Babylon. He had so many more worlds to conquor. And after he died his greedy Successors quarreled and divided his Empire until finally it all ended in such extreme tragedy.
I regret that I did not go to Babylon even though Alexander did not invite me there. A foolish slight on his part. He often quarreled with me -- thought I meddled in his affairs -- but if he had allowed me to come there, perhaps he would not have died.
I am not the murderess, the husband-killer, as people have portrayed me to be. I only acted in self defence or in defence of my son, and later on behalf of my grandson. I did not have a hand in Philip's assassination, although I will admit to the world that I had grown to hate my husband for his drunken philandering and for his slights to Alexander and me.
I would dance on the graves of my enemies if I could. I admit that I danced with happiness when my husband died and rewarded his assassin with special homage.
I sing in praise of Zeus-Ammon and in honor of my illustrious son, Alexander.
I cried with indescribable grief over my son's death. And so would I have grieved over the death of my grandson, though by then I had already crossed the River.
I am not always given the honours due me. I was born a princess of Epirus, became the Queen of Macedon and later I ruled the Molossians on behalf my other grandson, Neoptolemos. (That stupid daughter of mine, Kleopatra, abandoned her children in my care and went off to Syria hoping to marry Alexander's first-in-command General Perdikkas. Unfortunately Perdikkas was assassinated in Egypt before the marriage could take place and as a punishment, Kleopatra was exiled there on command of the Regent, Antipater.)
I made a pact with my son that I would not allow anyone to stand in the way of him inheriting what was rightfully his - the throne of Macedon. I kept my word, and saw that anyone who threatened his inheritance was quickly disposed of. That included my husband's new wife and her offspring. After Philip's death how could I allow that young trollop free reign in my rightful place or risk the chance that her brat would claim the throne?
I wrote many letters to Alexander warning him of the Regent's ambitions and complaining of the way Antipater treated me. Later, when that scum Kassandros tried to seize power for himself, I wrote to my son's allies, especially Eumenes who had been the chief secretary, and asked for his help in protecting Alexander's empire. None of the Successors were as capable as Alexander, or strong enough to keep the empire from falling into chaos. Ptolemy was the only one who amounted to anything, really, with his satrapy of Egypt. But he was another one of Philip's illegitmate by-blows and although I know my son admired him, I did not approve and would not ask him for his help. In the end Ptolemy sided with that evil scoundral Kassandros because they were bound by marriage ties. Eumenes was the only one I trusted, though he was a Karian Greek. Unfortunately he, too, was killed.
I confuse some who thought my marriage to Philip was only a political union, designed to help him seize control of Epirus. This is wrong. In the beginning we were passionately in love. We met at the Temple of the Great Gods in Samothraki. He was enchanted with me from the very first moment he laid eyes on me. I was only fifteen and a noted beauty who came from an esteemed royal line. I was also an initiate into the cult there -- as well as other cults (some people have accused me of being a witch). It was later, when Philip put me aside in favour of lesser women (mere sword-brides of no account) that I began to hate him. He was a brilliant commander and strategist, but he was also a brual man, a drunkard and had an insatiable penchant for youths and maidens. Most of all, I could not tolerate the way he treated our son.
I need the world to remember me, because without me Alexander would not have become the King of Macedon and heir of Philip's empire.
I should have followed Alexander to Babylon after he left me but how could I have known that I would never see him again -- that after those ten long years he would die so far from home. Some claim he died of illness -- he had many wounds and suffered from various ailments contracted during his campaigns in those snake and mosquito-infested lands. But I know, will proclaim to all the world, that he died of malice. That Kassandros and his young brother Iollas, who was Alexander's cup-bearer mixed his wine with tainted water and poisoned him.
So, I hold Kassandros accountable for his death, and eventually for the fall of Alexander's dynasty.
I start each day making sacrifices to Zeus Ammon and give tributes in honour of my son.
And after I serve the Gods, I burn magic potions and send curses to my enemies, especially Kassandros. My he die a death of misery, eaten alive by worms.
I finished my life with dignity, at the hands of my adversaries. It was a pitiable ending -- trapped in that dingy old sea fort at Pynda -- everyone was starving to death (they even ate the elephants) and worse -- all my beloved snake-daimons perished. I watched my little grandson grow thinner each day. I had grown fond of him and his mother too -- though she was a foreign girl and I would have prefered Alexander to marry a Macedonian. I could not see them die the way the others had. There was no way out. Kassandros had trapped us there like rats in a rat-hole.
I surrendered myself to his people (he sent the families of of his clan whose kinsmen I had ordered killed). They surrounded me and pelted me with stones. I did not flinch. I had lived a long life and would die with dignity. I simply stood tall, and kept my eyes on the high snow-capped peaks of the holy mountain, Olympus. I knew that when I died my soul would go there and I would dwell there forever with the Gods.
I tag Mira Deb. over at pendrifter, will you take up my challenge?
I wish I could tag my friend Susan too, so that you could hear Freydis, Eriksdotter speak. But alas! She does not have a blogsite.
note: This was fun. I have reached a point in the conclusive chapters of my novel when Olympias will take an active role. Til now she has mostly been mentioned but has not had much chance to 'star' on her own in the drama, except for a much earlier chapter when her daughter Kleopatra, announced she was going off to Syria in hopes of marrying Perdikkas. So by doing this exerice, it helped put me right into Olympias' head and this is very important when building strong characters in our stories. Thanks, Gabriele, for the challenge!
Monday, May 15, 2006
FORTUNE SMILES ON ME
"Do you wish to roam farther and farther?
See! The Good lies so near.
Only learn to seize good fortune,
For good fortune's always here."
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe 1749-1832 "Remembrance"
I was looking for the Muse and she came to me, bringing great good Fortune!
This past week has been incredible. Aside from the computer hassles a lot of interesting, good things happened. First, I have booked and paid for my ticket to Chile (leaving mid Nov.) I was invited to visit Santiago by the ex-wife of my dear friend A. It will not only be a sentimental journey, to visit the places he loved and told me about, but I will make it a travel writer's trip as well. One destination I really want to see is the home(s) of the Chilean poet, Pablo Neruda.
On Saturday it was the annual gala for the B.C. Travel Writer's Association. Last year's gala proved very lucky for me as I ended up winning the trip to Malaysia. I wasn't expecting any such great luck this year, but just to enjoy the afternoon with the travel writers, sitting in on the seminar and making a few contacts. I took along one of my friends who just finished my travel writing course and there were a few other former travel writing students of mine attending as well, some who now belong to the Association and have become quite successful travel writers. It was a fun afternoon, and of course the seminars are always very informative.
There are always several draws and both members and non-members can enter these. My friend and I decided if one of us won the spa trip or the mountain retreat get-away, we'd take the other along. Of course, we didn't have such luck to win any of those. I did win a flash thingy for my computer (to store files) and co-incidentally this was a gift donated by Malaysian Tourism and has their logo on it. There were lots of good prizes. Then the big one -- the door prize, for members only. And guess who won plane tickets for two to New York City(plus city tours)!!!
I was absolutely stunned and overwhelmed with surprise. Imagine that, winning the big prize two years in a row! What luck!
Of course I immediately begin to think, "Gee, Chile in November and perhaps N.Y. in September and still the possibility of Cuba in December with my Havana Buddy! Can I do this?" Then again, why should I feel 'guilty' about all these gifts of travel opportunities? After all, I AM a travel journalist!
"So my conscience chide me not, I am ready for Fortune as she wills."
Dante Alighieri 1265 - 1321 "The Divine Comedy" (1310-1321) "Inferno Canto" XV l. 91
My travel writing friends were all thrilled that I'd won. "You deserve it!" they chimed.
But I still can't believe what great good Fortune I have. The gods of travel and luck must be favoring me big-time. I have a lot to be grateful for. It's been thirty years since I visited New York. I had been there in '68 and on that trip I really 'found myself" (wrote one of my Confession stories about it.) That trip changed my life. The second time, I visited my friend and her husband and was just as thrilled, especially because she lived in the neighbourhood where my literary hero, Jack Kerouac, had gone to school. I saw the original show of "Hair" in N.Y.C. and was there just before Woodstock happened. So I am naturally really keen on seeing what N.Y.C. is like now, and especially to take in some shows and galleries. Wow! I can hardly believe it!
I've barely come down to earth today after such a stupendous weekend which included probably the best Mother's Day I've had in years. Calls from my kids, a lovely gift from my daughter, and at the end of the day a suprirse call from my grandson. I spent the day at a picnic with my friend Anne's family and even the weather co-operated with warm sunshine!
So I am starting this new week feeling elated and happy. Even the few glitches still in my computer won't deter me from making the best of things.
As it was Mother's Day, it seems appropriate that I was challenged to write a meme about Olympias, Alexander the Great's mother, so watch for it, coming soon to this blog site!
"Cease to ask what the morrow will bring forth,
and set down as gain each dat that Fortune grants."
Horace (Quintus Horatius Flaccus) 65-8 BC "Odes" bk 1, l. 13
See! The Good lies so near.
Only learn to seize good fortune,
For good fortune's always here."
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe 1749-1832 "Remembrance"
I was looking for the Muse and she came to me, bringing great good Fortune!
This past week has been incredible. Aside from the computer hassles a lot of interesting, good things happened. First, I have booked and paid for my ticket to Chile (leaving mid Nov.) I was invited to visit Santiago by the ex-wife of my dear friend A. It will not only be a sentimental journey, to visit the places he loved and told me about, but I will make it a travel writer's trip as well. One destination I really want to see is the home(s) of the Chilean poet, Pablo Neruda.
On Saturday it was the annual gala for the B.C. Travel Writer's Association. Last year's gala proved very lucky for me as I ended up winning the trip to Malaysia. I wasn't expecting any such great luck this year, but just to enjoy the afternoon with the travel writers, sitting in on the seminar and making a few contacts. I took along one of my friends who just finished my travel writing course and there were a few other former travel writing students of mine attending as well, some who now belong to the Association and have become quite successful travel writers. It was a fun afternoon, and of course the seminars are always very informative.
There are always several draws and both members and non-members can enter these. My friend and I decided if one of us won the spa trip or the mountain retreat get-away, we'd take the other along. Of course, we didn't have such luck to win any of those. I did win a flash thingy for my computer (to store files) and co-incidentally this was a gift donated by Malaysian Tourism and has their logo on it. There were lots of good prizes. Then the big one -- the door prize, for members only. And guess who won plane tickets for two to New York City(plus city tours)!!!
I was absolutely stunned and overwhelmed with surprise. Imagine that, winning the big prize two years in a row! What luck!
Of course I immediately begin to think, "Gee, Chile in November and perhaps N.Y. in September and still the possibility of Cuba in December with my Havana Buddy! Can I do this?" Then again, why should I feel 'guilty' about all these gifts of travel opportunities? After all, I AM a travel journalist!
"So my conscience chide me not, I am ready for Fortune as she wills."
Dante Alighieri 1265 - 1321 "The Divine Comedy" (1310-1321) "Inferno Canto" XV l. 91
My travel writing friends were all thrilled that I'd won. "You deserve it!" they chimed.
But I still can't believe what great good Fortune I have. The gods of travel and luck must be favoring me big-time. I have a lot to be grateful for. It's been thirty years since I visited New York. I had been there in '68 and on that trip I really 'found myself" (wrote one of my Confession stories about it.) That trip changed my life. The second time, I visited my friend and her husband and was just as thrilled, especially because she lived in the neighbourhood where my literary hero, Jack Kerouac, had gone to school. I saw the original show of "Hair" in N.Y.C. and was there just before Woodstock happened. So I am naturally really keen on seeing what N.Y.C. is like now, and especially to take in some shows and galleries. Wow! I can hardly believe it!
I've barely come down to earth today after such a stupendous weekend which included probably the best Mother's Day I've had in years. Calls from my kids, a lovely gift from my daughter, and at the end of the day a suprirse call from my grandson. I spent the day at a picnic with my friend Anne's family and even the weather co-operated with warm sunshine!
So I am starting this new week feeling elated and happy. Even the few glitches still in my computer won't deter me from making the best of things.
As it was Mother's Day, it seems appropriate that I was challenged to write a meme about Olympias, Alexander the Great's mother, so watch for it, coming soon to this blog site!
"Cease to ask what the morrow will bring forth,
and set down as gain each dat that Fortune grants."
Horace (Quintus Horatius Flaccus) 65-8 BC "Odes" bk 1, l. 13
Sunday, May 07, 2006
ROMANCING 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,
Listen for her to speak?
"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!"
And I know
If I wait til morning
The words she whispers to me
Will be extinguished
Like this candle flame
as I snuff it out."
Written while living in a shepehrd's cottage, Lala, Euboeia, Greece
After that dismal start last week, things rapidly improved and much was accomplished.
First, I finished the corrections on my Rimbun Dahan article. Now I just have to find a home for it. Every one of my classes last week were dynamite, beginning with the workshop for novice writers I instruct on Tuesday nights, then the Prompting the Muse class on Wednesday, and finally my small but inspiring Memoirs group and the exciting gang in the Travel Writing class Thursday. Who couldn't feel inspired and uplifted by all that super energy?
I did some work on the novel, too, and although it was mostly research (which never ends!) I am making some slow but sure progress.
Friday I went shopping with my friend and bought two books. One is a beautifully illustrated book "Healthy Recipies from South East Asia" and the other, "Zorro" by Isabel Allende.
I was always a fan of the legendary masked hero Zorro and I'm also a fan of Allende's novels, so I couldn't resist buying it even though it adds to the stack of my TBRs which seems to be growing instead of diminishing. (I'm not riding the buses so much at this time so my pleasure reading time is cut down.)
Allende says that as a young child she was in love with Zorro. Like me, she and her friends played at Zorro games and watched the Zorro films. So when she was commissioned to write about him, at first she hesitated (becuse she doesn't write from commissions) but then agreed.
I'm looking forward to delving into the life of this swashbucking hero. He ranks along with the pirates I used to read so much about. In my imagination I was one of them! (And by the way the pirate t-shirt I bought in Malaysia is making a big hit every time I wear it!)
I had a very enjoyable weekend, from dancing salsa on Friday night to hanging out at home last night putting together my photo-scrapbook about Malaysia. Today I'm having lunch and dinner with friends and in between my novel awaits. I feel in a much happier frame of mind now, thanks to the Muse. It should be a good week ahead!
"...But the Muses loved me.
For my suffering they gave me a honeyed gift:
My name survives me, Thanks to the sweet Muses..."
Leonidas of Tarentum 290 - 220 BC
"From the Greek Anthology" 1973 translated by Peter Jay, ed. no. 189
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,
Listen for her to speak?
"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!"
And I know
If I wait til morning
The words she whispers to me
Will be extinguished
Like this candle flame
as I snuff it out."
Written while living in a shepehrd's cottage, Lala, Euboeia, Greece
After that dismal start last week, things rapidly improved and much was accomplished.
First, I finished the corrections on my Rimbun Dahan article. Now I just have to find a home for it. Every one of my classes last week were dynamite, beginning with the workshop for novice writers I instruct on Tuesday nights, then the Prompting the Muse class on Wednesday, and finally my small but inspiring Memoirs group and the exciting gang in the Travel Writing class Thursday. Who couldn't feel inspired and uplifted by all that super energy?
I did some work on the novel, too, and although it was mostly research (which never ends!) I am making some slow but sure progress.
Friday I went shopping with my friend and bought two books. One is a beautifully illustrated book "Healthy Recipies from South East Asia" and the other, "Zorro" by Isabel Allende.
I was always a fan of the legendary masked hero Zorro and I'm also a fan of Allende's novels, so I couldn't resist buying it even though it adds to the stack of my TBRs which seems to be growing instead of diminishing. (I'm not riding the buses so much at this time so my pleasure reading time is cut down.)
Allende says that as a young child she was in love with Zorro. Like me, she and her friends played at Zorro games and watched the Zorro films. So when she was commissioned to write about him, at first she hesitated (becuse she doesn't write from commissions) but then agreed.
I'm looking forward to delving into the life of this swashbucking hero. He ranks along with the pirates I used to read so much about. In my imagination I was one of them! (And by the way the pirate t-shirt I bought in Malaysia is making a big hit every time I wear it!)
I had a very enjoyable weekend, from dancing salsa on Friday night to hanging out at home last night putting together my photo-scrapbook about Malaysia. Today I'm having lunch and dinner with friends and in between my novel awaits. I feel in a much happier frame of mind now, thanks to the Muse. It should be a good week ahead!
"...But the Muses loved me.
For my suffering they gave me a honeyed gift:
My name survives me, Thanks to the sweet Muses..."
Leonidas of Tarentum 290 - 220 BC
"From the Greek Anthology" 1973 translated by Peter Jay, ed. no. 189
Tuesday, May 02, 2006
O! FOR A MUSE OF FIRE!
"O! for a Muse of fire, that would ascend
The brightest heaven of invention!"
William Shakespeare 1564-1616 "King Henry the Fifth" Part II, chorus 1 - 1 (1598-1599)
I'm in a blue mood though the reasons why are complex and not even clear to me, and perhaps insignificant, maybe even 'childish'. Just one of those days (weeks?) I suppose. Actually, things are going well in many respects so I don't know why I feel so grouchy! Yesterday I spent five hours working on my Rimbun Dahan story. (That's the centre for contemporary and traditional art I visited in Malaysia. see www.rimbundahan.org). Today...in a few minutes...I'll be working on my novel again.
This morning I went to water fit. The sun is shining. Tonight my private workshop group meets here (the one I instruct which is a spin-off from my night school classes last semester). I just love my classes and the incredibly talented and interesting people I meet who come to them. And it's always a pleasure to help out someone who is just finding their voice and beginning to write. Besides the workshop, I have two other classes this Spring: "Prompting the Muse" and "Travel Writing". And of course I have my wonderful Memoir group on Thursday mornings, though it's a tiny group this time. Last night I went to my own critique group, Scribblers, though I didn't read. Since last week I feel unsettled, frustrated and even kind of ticked off because of a small turn-of-events to do with our planned retreat next month. Oh well, it will probably all blow over, once I get into a better mood.
I know once I get writing I will forget about everything else. Yesterday was excellent, finishing up the R.D. story, although I still need to do some editing. Now, hopefully, the Muse will co-operate when I return to the novel. No sense getting discouraged!
Anyway, off I went last night, all spiffied up in my new jeans with the sparkly bum-pockets, and new pink dancing shoes, super empowered because my writing day had been so successful, only to feel shot-down again. Aaargh! Maybe I'm just being childish
because part of it is all to do my my up-and-coming birthday celebration which was supposed to happen the weekend of the retreat, which, I thought, we'd celebrate with the traditional Gemini Party. Now, it seems, the plans are changed and I feel kind of let down. Long story, but it's thrown a bucket of cold water on my parade.
To add fuel to my snarky mood, when I got home last night I was outraged to receive an email from a cousin in U.S. that quoted some Republican senator in a tirade of the most obnoxious right wing racist propoganda against Latinos that I have ever heard. It disgusts me to think that sort of rhetoric is allowed to go on in the States. Putting up a wire fence across the U.S. Mexican border? Isn't that a bit like closing the barn door after the horse has already escaped? Give these people an amnesty and THEN take a good hard look at future immigration policies.
Oh, I wish I'd been in California to join the march! (Of course all this brought back so many memories of my Chilean friend, Anibal, who would have been completely livid about the state of affairs.)
Meanwhile, in Cuba, Fidel was making one of his famous lengthy May-day speeches while the Cuban people danced in the streets. But I shall not comment further on this as I didn't intend this blog to become a political rant against U.S. policies. (Instead, I shall go back to sorting out the somewhat similar state of events in Greece, 4th C. B.C.)
Ah well..back to the Muse...I have the rest of the week to enjoy my classes and as I'm not working any days this week, I have the whole day to write. How lucky is that?
I try to keep a decent schedule for myself. Usually starting at 11 a.m. and working through the afternoon is the best writing program for me. It gives me a bit of lee-way for getting house chores done and a minimal amount of procrastinating. Somewhere in between I'll stop for lunch (if I remember, as once I'm on a roll I'll keep on going for hours!) So today I've used up all the morning as I didn't get home from the pool and shopping until late. Which means I better sign off and leave this Pity Party. I hope to be in a better mood when I return, and have at least another chapter finished!
And, oh yes...off topic but still a big event in my life: I joined Weight Watchers last weekend.
And this week's entertainment news: I'm meeting my Havana Buddy at the L.Q. to listen to jazz after my class Wed. night. Cool! See? My life is really nothing to be grouchy about!
"An inveterate and incurable itch for writing besets many, and grows old in their sick hearts."
Juvenal (Decimus Junius Juvenales) AD 55 - 130 "Satires" VII - l 51
The brightest heaven of invention!"
William Shakespeare 1564-1616 "King Henry the Fifth" Part II, chorus 1 - 1 (1598-1599)
I'm in a blue mood though the reasons why are complex and not even clear to me, and perhaps insignificant, maybe even 'childish'. Just one of those days (weeks?) I suppose. Actually, things are going well in many respects so I don't know why I feel so grouchy! Yesterday I spent five hours working on my Rimbun Dahan story. (That's the centre for contemporary and traditional art I visited in Malaysia. see www.rimbundahan.org). Today...in a few minutes...I'll be working on my novel again.
This morning I went to water fit. The sun is shining. Tonight my private workshop group meets here (the one I instruct which is a spin-off from my night school classes last semester). I just love my classes and the incredibly talented and interesting people I meet who come to them. And it's always a pleasure to help out someone who is just finding their voice and beginning to write. Besides the workshop, I have two other classes this Spring: "Prompting the Muse" and "Travel Writing". And of course I have my wonderful Memoir group on Thursday mornings, though it's a tiny group this time. Last night I went to my own critique group, Scribblers, though I didn't read. Since last week I feel unsettled, frustrated and even kind of ticked off because of a small turn-of-events to do with our planned retreat next month. Oh well, it will probably all blow over, once I get into a better mood.
I know once I get writing I will forget about everything else. Yesterday was excellent, finishing up the R.D. story, although I still need to do some editing. Now, hopefully, the Muse will co-operate when I return to the novel. No sense getting discouraged!
Anyway, off I went last night, all spiffied up in my new jeans with the sparkly bum-pockets, and new pink dancing shoes, super empowered because my writing day had been so successful, only to feel shot-down again. Aaargh! Maybe I'm just being childish
because part of it is all to do my my up-and-coming birthday celebration which was supposed to happen the weekend of the retreat, which, I thought, we'd celebrate with the traditional Gemini Party. Now, it seems, the plans are changed and I feel kind of let down. Long story, but it's thrown a bucket of cold water on my parade.
To add fuel to my snarky mood, when I got home last night I was outraged to receive an email from a cousin in U.S. that quoted some Republican senator in a tirade of the most obnoxious right wing racist propoganda against Latinos that I have ever heard. It disgusts me to think that sort of rhetoric is allowed to go on in the States. Putting up a wire fence across the U.S. Mexican border? Isn't that a bit like closing the barn door after the horse has already escaped? Give these people an amnesty and THEN take a good hard look at future immigration policies.
Oh, I wish I'd been in California to join the march! (Of course all this brought back so many memories of my Chilean friend, Anibal, who would have been completely livid about the state of affairs.)
Meanwhile, in Cuba, Fidel was making one of his famous lengthy May-day speeches while the Cuban people danced in the streets. But I shall not comment further on this as I didn't intend this blog to become a political rant against U.S. policies. (Instead, I shall go back to sorting out the somewhat similar state of events in Greece, 4th C. B.C.)
Ah well..back to the Muse...I have the rest of the week to enjoy my classes and as I'm not working any days this week, I have the whole day to write. How lucky is that?
I try to keep a decent schedule for myself. Usually starting at 11 a.m. and working through the afternoon is the best writing program for me. It gives me a bit of lee-way for getting house chores done and a minimal amount of procrastinating. Somewhere in between I'll stop for lunch (if I remember, as once I'm on a roll I'll keep on going for hours!) So today I've used up all the morning as I didn't get home from the pool and shopping until late. Which means I better sign off and leave this Pity Party. I hope to be in a better mood when I return, and have at least another chapter finished!
And, oh yes...off topic but still a big event in my life: I joined Weight Watchers last weekend.
And this week's entertainment news: I'm meeting my Havana Buddy at the L.Q. to listen to jazz after my class Wed. night. Cool! See? My life is really nothing to be grouchy about!
"An inveterate and incurable itch for writing besets many, and grows old in their sick hearts."
Juvenal (Decimus Junius Juvenales) AD 55 - 130 "Satires" VII - l 51
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
WADING IN DEEP WATER
"On a dark theme I trace verses full of light, touching
all the Muses' charm." Lucretius (Titus Lucretius Carus) 99 - 55 B.C.
"De Rirum Natura - On the Nature of Things) book l518
I'm struggling these days, wading through deep water as I try to unravel the complexities of the political events plaguing Athens/Macedonia in 318 BC . So many of the events are similar to current times and of course there are the usual complex sub-plots and intrigues that all weave together to pattern the eventual downfall of Alexander the Great's dynasty. My job as a writer of historical fiction is to untangle this mess of intrigue and clarify it for the reader to understand. It's a crucial part of my novel, the peak of the mountain so to speak, before the final slide down to the ultimate ending. How to do it? What to include and what to leave out?
And because I'm writing from the actual historial plot I can't make things up -- must try to stick as closely to what has been documented as possible.
Some of the events I've put in direct action; some are conveyed in dialogue; some in narration.
Included is a certain amount of foreshadowing. And interspersed is a bit of lightness, some romantic interludes (though even that is part of the intrigue -- a 'fictional' touch to add interest.)
I felt very discouraged the other night when I workshopped my recent chapter segements at my weekly critque group, mainly because there are several new members in the group who have no idea whatsoever about the story and can't be expected to understand the complexities of it when they have just arrived at page 1200 something. (Yes, I know I have to do massive cuttings later on but for now I must write it all out to the end!). I feel really frustrated at the moment, though I'm sure I'll work through this. It's like wading in deep water and sometimes I feel like I'm going in over my head, so I have to take my time with it, take each step carefully to make sure I don't loose my footing and sink. I'm so close to finishing this novel, which has taken me literally YEARS to write, and I am anxious to get through it. At the same time, I don't want to rush, to cut unnecessarily in case it is something crucial, (I'd rather leave the cutting til the end instead of going back to add.)
Meanwhile, as well as the novel I have other writing to get done -- my bread-and-butter writing. That is, travel stories. (Another frustration: I just had a very good story of mine which the editor liked and wanted to publish, turned down because she didn't like the quality of my photos! This story had been previouslypublished and that editor had no problem with the photos. However it seems now they want high quality digitals so I guess I better ditch my Pentax and invest in a new camera.) I'm working on the first draft of an article right now so I'm trying to balance my writing time between fact and fiction. Fortunately this week I am not working days so I have the time to write. Of course, every evening I am either at a writer's group or teaching writing classes at night school.
One thing I am happy about are the classes, and in particular the private workshop I started at home with members from my previous classes is going very well. It's a small group so there is lots of time for a bit of instruction, discussion and thorough critiquing. And, I have another editing job which is good experience.
I'm sure I'll get through this rough patch of my novel, but at the moment (since the workshop critiques) I've felt discouraged and it makes me wonder if I'll ever get through it.
I guess what I need is someone I can talk to about it as sometimes just talking it through helps clear the path, but unfortunately at my workshop group no time is allowed for explanations or discussions, one reason why I left there this week feeling very frustrated and wondering if it's worth reading it again. Oh, I know I'll get over it. Maybe it's just the mood I'm in. Maybe I've just been too busy with other things to let the Muse speak.
" I am in blood
Stepp'd in so far, that, should I wade no more,
Returning were as tedious as go o'er."
William Shakespeare 1564-1616 "Macbeth" III iv 136
all the Muses' charm." Lucretius (Titus Lucretius Carus) 99 - 55 B.C.
"De Rirum Natura - On the Nature of Things) book l518
I'm struggling these days, wading through deep water as I try to unravel the complexities of the political events plaguing Athens/Macedonia in 318 BC . So many of the events are similar to current times and of course there are the usual complex sub-plots and intrigues that all weave together to pattern the eventual downfall of Alexander the Great's dynasty. My job as a writer of historical fiction is to untangle this mess of intrigue and clarify it for the reader to understand. It's a crucial part of my novel, the peak of the mountain so to speak, before the final slide down to the ultimate ending. How to do it? What to include and what to leave out?
And because I'm writing from the actual historial plot I can't make things up -- must try to stick as closely to what has been documented as possible.
Some of the events I've put in direct action; some are conveyed in dialogue; some in narration.
Included is a certain amount of foreshadowing. And interspersed is a bit of lightness, some romantic interludes (though even that is part of the intrigue -- a 'fictional' touch to add interest.)
I felt very discouraged the other night when I workshopped my recent chapter segements at my weekly critque group, mainly because there are several new members in the group who have no idea whatsoever about the story and can't be expected to understand the complexities of it when they have just arrived at page 1200 something. (Yes, I know I have to do massive cuttings later on but for now I must write it all out to the end!). I feel really frustrated at the moment, though I'm sure I'll work through this. It's like wading in deep water and sometimes I feel like I'm going in over my head, so I have to take my time with it, take each step carefully to make sure I don't loose my footing and sink. I'm so close to finishing this novel, which has taken me literally YEARS to write, and I am anxious to get through it. At the same time, I don't want to rush, to cut unnecessarily in case it is something crucial, (I'd rather leave the cutting til the end instead of going back to add.)
Meanwhile, as well as the novel I have other writing to get done -- my bread-and-butter writing. That is, travel stories. (Another frustration: I just had a very good story of mine which the editor liked and wanted to publish, turned down because she didn't like the quality of my photos! This story had been previouslypublished and that editor had no problem with the photos. However it seems now they want high quality digitals so I guess I better ditch my Pentax and invest in a new camera.) I'm working on the first draft of an article right now so I'm trying to balance my writing time between fact and fiction. Fortunately this week I am not working days so I have the time to write. Of course, every evening I am either at a writer's group or teaching writing classes at night school.
One thing I am happy about are the classes, and in particular the private workshop I started at home with members from my previous classes is going very well. It's a small group so there is lots of time for a bit of instruction, discussion and thorough critiquing. And, I have another editing job which is good experience.
I'm sure I'll get through this rough patch of my novel, but at the moment (since the workshop critiques) I've felt discouraged and it makes me wonder if I'll ever get through it.
I guess what I need is someone I can talk to about it as sometimes just talking it through helps clear the path, but unfortunately at my workshop group no time is allowed for explanations or discussions, one reason why I left there this week feeling very frustrated and wondering if it's worth reading it again. Oh, I know I'll get over it. Maybe it's just the mood I'm in. Maybe I've just been too busy with other things to let the Muse speak.
" I am in blood
Stepp'd in so far, that, should I wade no more,
Returning were as tedious as go o'er."
William Shakespeare 1564-1616 "Macbeth" III iv 136
Friday, April 21, 2006
READING ON BUSES
"Reading maketh a full man, conference a ready man, and writing an exact man."
Francis Bacon 1561-1626 "Of Studies"
I always seem to be so busy when I'm at home, usually working on my own writing or research, that I have little time for pleasure reading. Consequently, I'm embarassingly behind in my TBR list. For one thing, I am fairly selective about what I read because of the shortage of time to do it. Usually I read historical fiction, because that's the genre I write, but occasionally if a really good book comes along that grabs my interest, I'll read other literature. (I have rarely ever read romances, never sci-fi, occasionally I like true-life crime stories -- used to love reading Mickey Spillane once-upon-a-time, almost never read mysteries or anything with too much violence, though I did enjoy Silence of the Lambs. I should read more travel journals and memoirs because I write and teach those subjects.)
The other week I went out and bought two books, one to use in my classes titled The Playful Way to Serious Writing by Roberta Allen, which has some useful ideas to use in my "Prompting the Muse" class.
The other, a historical novel that caught my eye because I'm interested in the subject: Rasputin's Daughter by Robert Alexander. I was going to start reading it as soon as I finished Scott Oden's
Men of Bronze which I had nearly finished before I got interrupted by my Malaysian trip. (Sorry it's taken me so long, Scott!) But then I had a meeting with a former writing student and she presented me with another book that had great appeal. A couple of years ago this same student had turned me on to the writing of a Czech author named Josef Skvorecky who happens to live in Canada now. The first book she loaned me was titled A Swell Season and was an amusing and often poignent collection of stories of the writer's life as a young college student in his small Czech town. I loved this book and always intended to look for more of Mr Skvorecky's work. So I was delighted then my friend loaned me another of his collection of memoirs titled When Eve Was Naked.
I am totally entranced by Mr. Skvorecky's work. Once I begin to read I can't stop. I carry the book with me wherever I go so that if there is one spare moment I can go back to it.
And this week, since I've been working at the daycare by day and bussing it to night school by night I have been reading on the buses, which seems always for me to be the best place to get any serious reading done. I can totally absorb myself in the stories and obliterate all the worldly nonsense going on around me. (I must add here that some of the bus lines I must take to get to my destinations are often the buses that fill up with less-desirable types of passengers). Thus, all week long I have been devouring Mr. Skvorecky's wonderful stories, and I don't want them to end. So I will immediately go hunting down some of his other titles when this one is finished.
Josef Skvorecky was born in the Czech Republic in 1924. He lived through both the German /Nazi and the Russian/Communist occupations of his country and eventually came to live in Canada. He has won many awards for his literature both in his own country and in Canada including the Governor General's Award in 1984 and a Nobel Prize nomination in 1982.
I think at this moment he has become my most favorite writer!
Meanwhile, in this busy life of mine, I have been attempting to write something every day. I did get some work done on my novel and have begun putting together details for one of my Malaysia travel stories. I learned when I returned from my trip that one of my travel articles on the famous O'Keefe Ranch near Vernon B.C. has been published and today I got a response from another newspaper who is intersted in my "Coalpits of Wales" story. (I'm keeping my fingers crossed on this one! It's a tribute to my Welsh coal-mining kinfolk).
So good things are happening in my literary world. Classes are dynamic and inspiring. And I've even had some shifts at the daycare this week and next. After all those months of drought it's great to have a bank account again!
I just wish I had more time when I'm at home to read more often. I'm not one to read in bed. Once I get there, which is generally very late, I am ready for sleep. And during my waking hours if I'm home, I'm at the keyboard writing or at the kitchen table making notes. So this week of bus travel has got me off to a good start with my reading program again.
I wonder when other writers make time for their pleasure reading?
"There is craetive reading as well as creative writing."
Ralph Waldo Emerson 1803-1882 "The American Scholar" 1837
Francis Bacon 1561-1626 "Of Studies"
I always seem to be so busy when I'm at home, usually working on my own writing or research, that I have little time for pleasure reading. Consequently, I'm embarassingly behind in my TBR list. For one thing, I am fairly selective about what I read because of the shortage of time to do it. Usually I read historical fiction, because that's the genre I write, but occasionally if a really good book comes along that grabs my interest, I'll read other literature. (I have rarely ever read romances, never sci-fi, occasionally I like true-life crime stories -- used to love reading Mickey Spillane once-upon-a-time, almost never read mysteries or anything with too much violence, though I did enjoy Silence of the Lambs. I should read more travel journals and memoirs because I write and teach those subjects.)
The other week I went out and bought two books, one to use in my classes titled The Playful Way to Serious Writing by Roberta Allen, which has some useful ideas to use in my "Prompting the Muse" class.
The other, a historical novel that caught my eye because I'm interested in the subject: Rasputin's Daughter by Robert Alexander. I was going to start reading it as soon as I finished Scott Oden's
Men of Bronze which I had nearly finished before I got interrupted by my Malaysian trip. (Sorry it's taken me so long, Scott!) But then I had a meeting with a former writing student and she presented me with another book that had great appeal. A couple of years ago this same student had turned me on to the writing of a Czech author named Josef Skvorecky who happens to live in Canada now. The first book she loaned me was titled A Swell Season and was an amusing and often poignent collection of stories of the writer's life as a young college student in his small Czech town. I loved this book and always intended to look for more of Mr Skvorecky's work. So I was delighted then my friend loaned me another of his collection of memoirs titled When Eve Was Naked.
I am totally entranced by Mr. Skvorecky's work. Once I begin to read I can't stop. I carry the book with me wherever I go so that if there is one spare moment I can go back to it.
And this week, since I've been working at the daycare by day and bussing it to night school by night I have been reading on the buses, which seems always for me to be the best place to get any serious reading done. I can totally absorb myself in the stories and obliterate all the worldly nonsense going on around me. (I must add here that some of the bus lines I must take to get to my destinations are often the buses that fill up with less-desirable types of passengers). Thus, all week long I have been devouring Mr. Skvorecky's wonderful stories, and I don't want them to end. So I will immediately go hunting down some of his other titles when this one is finished.
Josef Skvorecky was born in the Czech Republic in 1924. He lived through both the German /Nazi and the Russian/Communist occupations of his country and eventually came to live in Canada. He has won many awards for his literature both in his own country and in Canada including the Governor General's Award in 1984 and a Nobel Prize nomination in 1982.
I think at this moment he has become my most favorite writer!
Meanwhile, in this busy life of mine, I have been attempting to write something every day. I did get some work done on my novel and have begun putting together details for one of my Malaysia travel stories. I learned when I returned from my trip that one of my travel articles on the famous O'Keefe Ranch near Vernon B.C. has been published and today I got a response from another newspaper who is intersted in my "Coalpits of Wales" story. (I'm keeping my fingers crossed on this one! It's a tribute to my Welsh coal-mining kinfolk).
So good things are happening in my literary world. Classes are dynamic and inspiring. And I've even had some shifts at the daycare this week and next. After all those months of drought it's great to have a bank account again!
I just wish I had more time when I'm at home to read more often. I'm not one to read in bed. Once I get there, which is generally very late, I am ready for sleep. And during my waking hours if I'm home, I'm at the keyboard writing or at the kitchen table making notes. So this week of bus travel has got me off to a good start with my reading program again.
I wonder when other writers make time for their pleasure reading?
"There is craetive reading as well as creative writing."
Ralph Waldo Emerson 1803-1882 "The American Scholar" 1837
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
CHASING DOWN THE MUSE
"Love passed, the muse appeared, the weather
of mind got clarity newfound:
Now free, I once more weave together
emotion, thought, and magic sound."
Alexander Pushkin 1799-1837 "Eurgene Onegin" 1823 st. 29
My life has been rather hectic lately. First that marvelous, serene trip to Paradise (Malaysia), then the big come-down of landing back in reality plus the jet-lag and a very naughty bird who drove me stark raving mad last week (to the point I really thought of opening the window to let him fly away out of my life!) I resorted to bird psychology and advice from the experts on cockatiel behavior and so far the new tactics seems to be working. (Poor birdie was traumatized because I'd left him with strangers and he punished me by being as shrill and annoying as possible.) On top of this I had to quickly organize all the handout material for my nightschool classes which begin this week and rush it off to the VSB office 2 weeks late!
So by Friday I was ready for a stress break and, as Maurice Sendak wrote in his kid's book "Where the Wild Things Are" "Let the wild rumpus begin!" It started with 'Beers with Peers'
at the Sylvia Hotel, a gathering of some travel writer associates, and then I progressed to making my debut appearance at the Latin Quarter showing off my gorgeous new blue Indian top and gleaning many compliments. The next day I went with two friends to the Cottage Bistro to hear my son's band play Blues. Several jugs of suds later I toddled off again to the L.Q., imbibed a couple of ouzos and somehow eventually made it home. Of course, that pretty well took care of Sunday, but still it was worth it!
By Monday Mr. Cheeky had begun to behave much better with a little more cage time and treats (I didn't want to 'jail' him for punishment as he needs to learn he belongs inside the cage at times instead of pestering his mommy.) I've also been able to put him outside for awhile so he's getting used to communicating with other birds. (He thinks he's a person!)
Monday night was my weeky writer's critique group here. And yesterday was the first night of the private workshop which I've started with some people from my classes. It was very successful and has proved profitable as well. (I did this in lieu of teaching travel writing as the School Board wanted me to cut down one class this Spring.)
Yesterday at noon I attended a media event sponsored by Finland Tourism which included a very interesting gallery exhibit and lecture on Finnish Architecture and Design. I have a friend who is an architect in Helsinki, and two other Finnish friends, all Classical Scholars who I met in Greece and who have been so much help with my research. After the gallery show we were treated to a delicious luncheon at a nearby classy hotel. (I'm getting spoiled with these classy hotel events!) Meanwhile, one of the travel writers who attended, the edtior of a small local newspaper, handed me a cheque for an article of mine she had just published. That really made my day!
Later last night I had an email from someone who wants me to edit their novel so that's another bonus. Of course I will have to pace my time because I have so much work to do between writing up the Malaysia stories, working on the back-log of travel material I already have, and progressing with my novel plus teaching classes. So today I began to work on my projects. And thank the Lord birdie is being exceptionally good (so quiet I thought he was ill!). Now is the time for some serious discipline on my part too, otherwise I'll never get things done and will end up in a dither.
Tonight is the Prompting the Muse class. We're going to plot back-stories from paintings. Tomorrow morning is Memoirs and tomorrow night is Travel Writing. Thank goodness it's a long weekend coming up (Easter) so I will try to stay on target and get things at least something started.
Having kept the blogs while I was away is helpful as I write them in a way I can use some of the material in the travel articles. And I'm working on putting together my photo scrap-book with lots of information added for my research. I also have a collection of slides as I've been asked to present a slide show on Malaysia in June. Ah...the busy life of a writer!
"One should write not unskillfully in the running hand, be able to sing in a pleasing voice and keep good time to music; and, lastly, a man should not refuse a little wine when it is pressed upon him." Yoshido Kinko 1283-1350 "T surezure-Gusa: Essays in Idleness" c 1340
of mind got clarity newfound:
Now free, I once more weave together
emotion, thought, and magic sound."
Alexander Pushkin 1799-1837 "Eurgene Onegin" 1823 st. 29
My life has been rather hectic lately. First that marvelous, serene trip to Paradise (Malaysia), then the big come-down of landing back in reality plus the jet-lag and a very naughty bird who drove me stark raving mad last week (to the point I really thought of opening the window to let him fly away out of my life!) I resorted to bird psychology and advice from the experts on cockatiel behavior and so far the new tactics seems to be working. (Poor birdie was traumatized because I'd left him with strangers and he punished me by being as shrill and annoying as possible.) On top of this I had to quickly organize all the handout material for my nightschool classes which begin this week and rush it off to the VSB office 2 weeks late!
So by Friday I was ready for a stress break and, as Maurice Sendak wrote in his kid's book "Where the Wild Things Are" "Let the wild rumpus begin!" It started with 'Beers with Peers'
at the Sylvia Hotel, a gathering of some travel writer associates, and then I progressed to making my debut appearance at the Latin Quarter showing off my gorgeous new blue Indian top and gleaning many compliments. The next day I went with two friends to the Cottage Bistro to hear my son's band play Blues. Several jugs of suds later I toddled off again to the L.Q., imbibed a couple of ouzos and somehow eventually made it home. Of course, that pretty well took care of Sunday, but still it was worth it!
By Monday Mr. Cheeky had begun to behave much better with a little more cage time and treats (I didn't want to 'jail' him for punishment as he needs to learn he belongs inside the cage at times instead of pestering his mommy.) I've also been able to put him outside for awhile so he's getting used to communicating with other birds. (He thinks he's a person!)
Monday night was my weeky writer's critique group here. And yesterday was the first night of the private workshop which I've started with some people from my classes. It was very successful and has proved profitable as well. (I did this in lieu of teaching travel writing as the School Board wanted me to cut down one class this Spring.)
Yesterday at noon I attended a media event sponsored by Finland Tourism which included a very interesting gallery exhibit and lecture on Finnish Architecture and Design. I have a friend who is an architect in Helsinki, and two other Finnish friends, all Classical Scholars who I met in Greece and who have been so much help with my research. After the gallery show we were treated to a delicious luncheon at a nearby classy hotel. (I'm getting spoiled with these classy hotel events!) Meanwhile, one of the travel writers who attended, the edtior of a small local newspaper, handed me a cheque for an article of mine she had just published. That really made my day!
Later last night I had an email from someone who wants me to edit their novel so that's another bonus. Of course I will have to pace my time because I have so much work to do between writing up the Malaysia stories, working on the back-log of travel material I already have, and progressing with my novel plus teaching classes. So today I began to work on my projects. And thank the Lord birdie is being exceptionally good (so quiet I thought he was ill!). Now is the time for some serious discipline on my part too, otherwise I'll never get things done and will end up in a dither.
Tonight is the Prompting the Muse class. We're going to plot back-stories from paintings. Tomorrow morning is Memoirs and tomorrow night is Travel Writing. Thank goodness it's a long weekend coming up (Easter) so I will try to stay on target and get things at least something started.
Having kept the blogs while I was away is helpful as I write them in a way I can use some of the material in the travel articles. And I'm working on putting together my photo scrap-book with lots of information added for my research. I also have a collection of slides as I've been asked to present a slide show on Malaysia in June. Ah...the busy life of a writer!
"One should write not unskillfully in the running hand, be able to sing in a pleasing voice and keep good time to music; and, lastly, a man should not refuse a little wine when it is pressed upon him." Yoshido Kinko 1283-1350 "T surezure-Gusa: Essays in Idleness" c 1340
Friday, April 07, 2006
BACK FROM WONDERLAND!
"Child of the pure, unclouded brow
And dreaming eyes of wonder!
Though time be fleet and I and thou
Are half a life asunder,
Thy loving smile will surely hail
The love-gift of a fairy tale."
Lewis Carroll (Charles Lutwidge Dodgson) 1832-1898 "Through the Looking Glass" intro. st 1 1872
Yes, back from "Wonderland" with a thud! The culture-shock: the speedy, stressed-out pace on this side of the Pond; the still-gloomy weather; everything and everyone looking dark and dismal. Not to speak of the the jet-lag!
But, slowly this week I've 'recovered'. It's been hectic though, as I had to immediately start preparing stuff for my night-school classes which begin next week, as well as adjusting myself to this more hectic life-style. And my body-clock has been running 16 hours ahead and at quite a more leisurely pace.
It was the most wonderful holiday. If you haven't already read the travel blogs, you can find them at http://travelthoughhistory.blogspot.com Yesterday I got all the photos and slides back and was so pleased to see how well they had turned out. I have to do a slide show in June for "The Armchair Traveller" so I was worried that the old camera I was using wasn't functioning properly. But it was! Here I was, a travel journalist on an 'assignment' trip and when I arrived in Malaysia I discovered my good camera was not working at all. So I had to rely on throw-aways and took slides with my old camera. (Luckily I had taken both!)
Now comes the job of sorting through my notes and taped interviews and writing up the stories. My head has been so boggled this week I wondered if I could get started. But suddenly yesterday the 'lead' for a story about Kuala Lumpur came to mind and I wrote it all down. It's a start.
I've tried to keep writing all week in spite of jet-lag and being discombobulated and dealing with a very naughty bird. (Read my blog on "Bird Psychology" at http://ruthakik.blogspot.com ) Such a distraction I didn't need this week! But hopefully I have it all sorted out now. (Practicing some bird behavior-mod techniques).
By next week I'm sure all will be back on track. The novel is waiting for me to return. And there's certainly lots of travel writing to be done. I have a full schedule of writing groups and classes to attend starting on Monday and the social life has already gotten into full-swing.
My Havana Buddy invited me to a concert last Tuesday at the Centre for Performing Arts to see the New Orleans Jazz Orchestra and tonight it's "Beers with Peers" with the Travel Writers. Never a dull moment in my writer's life!
"The time has come," the Walrus said,
"To talk of many things:
Of shoes - and ships - and sealing wax -
Of cabbages and kings -
And why the sea is boiling hot -
And whether pigs have wings."
Lewis Carroll "The Walrus and the Carpenter" st.11
And dreaming eyes of wonder!
Though time be fleet and I and thou
Are half a life asunder,
Thy loving smile will surely hail
The love-gift of a fairy tale."
Lewis Carroll (Charles Lutwidge Dodgson) 1832-1898 "Through the Looking Glass" intro. st 1 1872
Yes, back from "Wonderland" with a thud! The culture-shock: the speedy, stressed-out pace on this side of the Pond; the still-gloomy weather; everything and everyone looking dark and dismal. Not to speak of the the jet-lag!
But, slowly this week I've 'recovered'. It's been hectic though, as I had to immediately start preparing stuff for my night-school classes which begin next week, as well as adjusting myself to this more hectic life-style. And my body-clock has been running 16 hours ahead and at quite a more leisurely pace.
It was the most wonderful holiday. If you haven't already read the travel blogs, you can find them at http://travelthoughhistory.blogspot.com Yesterday I got all the photos and slides back and was so pleased to see how well they had turned out. I have to do a slide show in June for "The Armchair Traveller" so I was worried that the old camera I was using wasn't functioning properly. But it was! Here I was, a travel journalist on an 'assignment' trip and when I arrived in Malaysia I discovered my good camera was not working at all. So I had to rely on throw-aways and took slides with my old camera. (Luckily I had taken both!)
Now comes the job of sorting through my notes and taped interviews and writing up the stories. My head has been so boggled this week I wondered if I could get started. But suddenly yesterday the 'lead' for a story about Kuala Lumpur came to mind and I wrote it all down. It's a start.
I've tried to keep writing all week in spite of jet-lag and being discombobulated and dealing with a very naughty bird. (Read my blog on "Bird Psychology" at http://ruthakik.blogspot.com ) Such a distraction I didn't need this week! But hopefully I have it all sorted out now. (Practicing some bird behavior-mod techniques).
By next week I'm sure all will be back on track. The novel is waiting for me to return. And there's certainly lots of travel writing to be done. I have a full schedule of writing groups and classes to attend starting on Monday and the social life has already gotten into full-swing.
My Havana Buddy invited me to a concert last Tuesday at the Centre for Performing Arts to see the New Orleans Jazz Orchestra and tonight it's "Beers with Peers" with the Travel Writers. Never a dull moment in my writer's life!
"The time has come," the Walrus said,
"To talk of many things:
Of shoes - and ships - and sealing wax -
Of cabbages and kings -
And why the sea is boiling hot -
And whether pigs have wings."
Lewis Carroll "The Walrus and the Carpenter" st.11
Friday, March 17, 2006
OH, THE LIFE OF A TRAVEL WRITER!
"I travel light; as light,
That is, as a (woman) can travel who will
Still carry (her) body around because
Of its sentimental value."
Christopher Fry 1907 - "The Lady's Not for Burning." 1950 Act 1
I started writing travel stories back in 1980 when I realized that to get a major work published, such as a novel, I would need some publsihing experience. I'd had a background in journalism -- my first job after high school was as a copy-runner in the editorial department of The Vancouver Sun newspaper. I wanted to be a crime reporter. The City Editor would't hear of an eighteen year old preacher's daughter sitting on the News Desk. So I ended up being a news librarian, honing my research skills, in charge of the crime files which proved to be a fascinating career move!
I sent out my very first travel article in 1982 to a travel trade magazine and voila! it was published and I got paid good money for it. Shortly after that I went to live in Greece, and began sending travel stories about my new home to The Globe and Mail newspaper (Canada's national newspaper). Everything I submitted was published. And that began my career as a travel journalist. Since then, I've had many articles published in a number of newsapeprs and magazines. Unfortunately I'm not as agressive a marketer as I should be, and I'm also focused on my major work, The Great Unfinished Novel, besides other writing projects I have on the go and the lessons I teach. Travel journalism might sound like an appealing and romantic 'career' but to tell the truth, these days it's getting more difficult to find publishers, in particular ones who want to pay you any kind of real money. Newspapers tend to use their own staff writers or their news services for stories and very few freelancers. Magazines also have staff writers. So you have to be constantly on the look-out for new markets, ones that will pay!
That's why I turned to teaching travel writing (and other writing courses)in order to support my writing habit and not have to work at a 'real' job. And finally, after all these years, I seem to have found the fine balance. As well, I have been lucky enough to glean a huge reward: I won a trip to Malaysia which was the door prize at a gala held by the B.C. Association of Travel Writers of which I'm a member. www.bctravelwriters.com (I have a little spot on there with my photo and a couple of my published articles under my real name W. Ruth Kozak)
This trip is a kind of 'reward' for all those stories that I got very little money (or nothing!) for.
I still can't believe this is true. Two more sleeps and I'm on the plane bound for Kuala Lumpur!
My fellow travel writer's from the Association are thrilled and pleased for me. Three of the women have been to Malaysia before on assignment trips, and they assure me I will be treated royally! The trip is fully paid for, five-star hotels, and other perks thrown in. Of course it is a kind of 'assignment' trip because I will definitely be writing some travel stories although the Malaysian tourism didn't specifically request this. It's a matter of saying 'thank's, a courtesy, and after all think of the fantastic sights I'm going to see!
One special tour that has been arranged (at my request) is a visit to the 14 acre estate of Rimbun Dahan which is the home of an architect and also the Center for Developing Traditional and Contemporary Art Forms. This idyllic tropical garden also hosts resident writers as well as artists. I've been in touch with the architect's wife (she writes for The Malaysian Naturalist and takes tours around the botanical gardens.) So, armed with my hand-held tape recorder and note book I hope to get a good interview and lots of excellent photos to illustrate the story I intend to write. You can see Rimbun Dahan for yourself on this web site:
http://www.rimbundahan.org/about
So for the next two weeks, blogger friends, you can find out all about Malaysia and my travels by logging onto my travel blog: http://travelthroughhistory.blogspot.com
I've already posted some preliminary blogs about Malaysia (pre-research for my trip) and it will give you an idea about where I will be visiting and some background about this fascinating country.
On Sunday, my friend and I are leaving on a jet plane (you can sing that line) from L.A. It's going to be a rather gruelling day's journey, leaving Vancouver at 3.15 pm., landing in L.A. two and a half hours later, then hanging around LAX for five hours before we board Malaysian Airlines for Kuala Lumpur, a 20 hr. 40 min. flight!!! (yikes!) with a brief stop-over in Taipei to change planes. (I wish the long lay-overs coming and going were in Taipei instead. That would be so much more exotic than L.A. But we did get an extra night in Kuala Lumpur (K.L.)
because of flight changes which is a bonus! )
My travel companion is an old friend, my namesake, who became my first girlfriend in Vancouver when my family moved here when I was 12. We don't see each other often now because she lives up-country, so this will a time for us to renew our long-time friendship.
Don't forget to blog onto my travel blog so you, too, can share in our amazing travel adventures! As they say in Malay: Selamat Jolan...goodbye! Have a good trip!
"For my part, I travel not to go anywhere, but to go.
I travel for travel's sake. The great affair is to move."
Robert Louis Stevenson 1850-1894 "Travels with a Donkey" 1878
That is, as a (woman) can travel who will
Still carry (her) body around because
Of its sentimental value."
Christopher Fry 1907 - "The Lady's Not for Burning." 1950 Act 1
I started writing travel stories back in 1980 when I realized that to get a major work published, such as a novel, I would need some publsihing experience. I'd had a background in journalism -- my first job after high school was as a copy-runner in the editorial department of The Vancouver Sun newspaper. I wanted to be a crime reporter. The City Editor would't hear of an eighteen year old preacher's daughter sitting on the News Desk. So I ended up being a news librarian, honing my research skills, in charge of the crime files which proved to be a fascinating career move!
I sent out my very first travel article in 1982 to a travel trade magazine and voila! it was published and I got paid good money for it. Shortly after that I went to live in Greece, and began sending travel stories about my new home to The Globe and Mail newspaper (Canada's national newspaper). Everything I submitted was published. And that began my career as a travel journalist. Since then, I've had many articles published in a number of newsapeprs and magazines. Unfortunately I'm not as agressive a marketer as I should be, and I'm also focused on my major work, The Great Unfinished Novel, besides other writing projects I have on the go and the lessons I teach. Travel journalism might sound like an appealing and romantic 'career' but to tell the truth, these days it's getting more difficult to find publishers, in particular ones who want to pay you any kind of real money. Newspapers tend to use their own staff writers or their news services for stories and very few freelancers. Magazines also have staff writers. So you have to be constantly on the look-out for new markets, ones that will pay!
That's why I turned to teaching travel writing (and other writing courses)in order to support my writing habit and not have to work at a 'real' job. And finally, after all these years, I seem to have found the fine balance. As well, I have been lucky enough to glean a huge reward: I won a trip to Malaysia which was the door prize at a gala held by the B.C. Association of Travel Writers of which I'm a member. www.bctravelwriters.com (I have a little spot on there with my photo and a couple of my published articles under my real name W. Ruth Kozak)
This trip is a kind of 'reward' for all those stories that I got very little money (or nothing!) for.
I still can't believe this is true. Two more sleeps and I'm on the plane bound for Kuala Lumpur!
My fellow travel writer's from the Association are thrilled and pleased for me. Three of the women have been to Malaysia before on assignment trips, and they assure me I will be treated royally! The trip is fully paid for, five-star hotels, and other perks thrown in. Of course it is a kind of 'assignment' trip because I will definitely be writing some travel stories although the Malaysian tourism didn't specifically request this. It's a matter of saying 'thank's, a courtesy, and after all think of the fantastic sights I'm going to see!
One special tour that has been arranged (at my request) is a visit to the 14 acre estate of Rimbun Dahan which is the home of an architect and also the Center for Developing Traditional and Contemporary Art Forms. This idyllic tropical garden also hosts resident writers as well as artists. I've been in touch with the architect's wife (she writes for The Malaysian Naturalist and takes tours around the botanical gardens.) So, armed with my hand-held tape recorder and note book I hope to get a good interview and lots of excellent photos to illustrate the story I intend to write. You can see Rimbun Dahan for yourself on this web site:
http://www.rimbundahan.org/about
So for the next two weeks, blogger friends, you can find out all about Malaysia and my travels by logging onto my travel blog: http://travelthroughhistory.blogspot.com
I've already posted some preliminary blogs about Malaysia (pre-research for my trip) and it will give you an idea about where I will be visiting and some background about this fascinating country.
On Sunday, my friend and I are leaving on a jet plane (you can sing that line) from L.A. It's going to be a rather gruelling day's journey, leaving Vancouver at 3.15 pm., landing in L.A. two and a half hours later, then hanging around LAX for five hours before we board Malaysian Airlines for Kuala Lumpur, a 20 hr. 40 min. flight!!! (yikes!) with a brief stop-over in Taipei to change planes. (I wish the long lay-overs coming and going were in Taipei instead. That would be so much more exotic than L.A. But we did get an extra night in Kuala Lumpur (K.L.)
because of flight changes which is a bonus! )
My travel companion is an old friend, my namesake, who became my first girlfriend in Vancouver when my family moved here when I was 12. We don't see each other often now because she lives up-country, so this will a time for us to renew our long-time friendship.
Don't forget to blog onto my travel blog so you, too, can share in our amazing travel adventures! As they say in Malay: Selamat Jolan...goodbye! Have a good trip!
"For my part, I travel not to go anywhere, but to go.
I travel for travel's sake. The great affair is to move."
Robert Louis Stevenson 1850-1894 "Travels with a Donkey" 1878
Thursday, March 09, 2006
EDITING & REVISIONS: HOW MUCH IS ENOUGH BEFORE YOU MOVE ON?
"The Moving Finger writes; and having writ,
Moves on: nor all your Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it."
Edward FitzGerald 1809-1883 "The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam" st. 17
Editing and Revisions. How much is enough? It seems, sometimes to be endless. So, when to stop? Being in a writer's critique group has helped me a lot when it comes to the revisions and additions needed to improve my novel. Because of this what I have already written, although the actual writing of it has taken a long time, is pretty well ready for 'final draft'. Of course I know I have to do a lot of cutting but I've already marked those passages that can easily be eliminated (though some will be difficult to cast out, I know they will simply have to go!)
Editing (such as line editing) can take such a long time and perhaps it's easiest to have a fresh eye look over the manuscript -- even if you have to pay to have it done. Otherwise, so much time is taken up while you meticulously search for errors like the proverbial 'needle in a haystack'.
That internal editor can be downright annoying, nit-picking, undermining your creativity by making you think your work isn't good enough. As Natalie Goldberg suggests in Writing Down the Bones, "The more clearly you know the editor, the better you can ignore it. After a while, like the jabbering of an old drunk fool, it becomes just prattle in the background... Meanwhile, you will continue to write."
Of course, the goal mustn't be simply to get the writing done, but to make the writing as good as it can be. This often means a lot of rewriting and revisions. There's different ways of doing this. Some writers plough right through to the end before doing a second, more perfected draft.
I prefer 'block editing' for my novel. That is, revising and editing in chapters or chapter segments. I do several drafts, then workshop, then revise and edit again, then move on. When I get writer's block, I'll go back over the last few chapters, do more revisions or editing and that gets me back into the cadence of the prose again so I can continue with the new chapter. That way I'm not leaving too much of a mess behind me which I'll just have to untangle and sort out later. For my shorter works, such a travel articles, I do several drafts, workshop, revise and edit and then they are usually ready to send off to market. Luckily most every article I've had published has had no further editing and is published word-for-word as I've submitted it.
I happen to like editing and do a lot of it for my classes. It doesn't take me long. Sometimes the revisions on my novel take longer (especially transitions, which I find sticky). But I've always got something on the go so that even when I have a 'block' with the novel I am still writing. Heaven knows I have a backlog of material for travel stories, but at the moment I am trying to focus only on the novel to get as much of it finished as possible before I get stuck again.
The question is, how much editing and revising is necessary before a writer should be satisfied and get on with something new? Hemingway admitted to revising a section of a novel thirty-seven times "to get the words right". Good writers take the time to recreate, revise, edit and proofread. This is all part of the writing process, and often the hardest work, because you must make sure that what you send off to an agent/publisher is as near-perfect as you can get it. Sloppy, amateurish work will quickly be delegated to the trash pile. But when to stop?
It's interesting to read some of the blogs of other writers and get their points of view on this and other writing subjects. These days writers (novelists, in particular) are expected to be working on other projects or at least have something else on the back-burner. Publishers like to know there's more than one novel in you. Book publishing is a money-making production these days so you have to be willing and able to produce if you want to become part of a publisher's 'stable' of writers. There are writers who seem content to endlessly edit and revise their work without ever starting anything new. "Send it out! Send it out!" they are urged, but they never do. Is it because they are afraid of turning their 'baby' out into the big competitive world? Are they afraid of rejection? (If you are afraid of rejection, you're in the wrong business because it's all part of being a writer.) Or perhaps they keep on editing because they don't want to start something new?
For me, editing and revisions are not such a chore except when I writing myself into a tangle like I probably did yesterday. I've avoided, since then, looking at what I'd written because I'm sure I'm going to have to start over. I tried revising a chapter by cut-and-paste and adding new ingrediants. I fear I have, in my zeal to get it finished, overdone it. Well, at least I can workshop it at my next critique group meeting and will be sure to get some practical advice on how to make it better. I know the editing and revisions are necessary, but I'm just so anxious to finish this novel (which has been taking me far too long to write) and get on with my other projects: another half-finished novel, a half-finished 2-act play, and a long list of travel articles yet to be written! Oh yes, and I do have an idea for a third novel as well which I'd very much like to get started on! Time to move on!
"Remember: good books aren't written; they are rewritten. Revision is a key phase of your novel writing. With short fiction pieces, it's advisable to put them aside and let them 'cool' for awhile. Only then can you go back to your own work with a fresh and somewhat objective eye and catch a few of your mistakes, though you'll never see them all. Fortunately, with a novel, when you've written your way through the last chapter, enough time will have passed so that you can return to the beginning with more objectivity, but even then you can't be entirely objective...
During revision you must become the critic. In the first writing, you give your story life; in the second, you get it right."
Phyllis A. Whitney, author, writing instructor
from an article Revisions and Rewrites: A Checklist" in The Writer magazine.
Moves on: nor all your Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it."
Edward FitzGerald 1809-1883 "The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam" st. 17
Editing and Revisions. How much is enough? It seems, sometimes to be endless. So, when to stop? Being in a writer's critique group has helped me a lot when it comes to the revisions and additions needed to improve my novel. Because of this what I have already written, although the actual writing of it has taken a long time, is pretty well ready for 'final draft'. Of course I know I have to do a lot of cutting but I've already marked those passages that can easily be eliminated (though some will be difficult to cast out, I know they will simply have to go!)
Editing (such as line editing) can take such a long time and perhaps it's easiest to have a fresh eye look over the manuscript -- even if you have to pay to have it done. Otherwise, so much time is taken up while you meticulously search for errors like the proverbial 'needle in a haystack'.
That internal editor can be downright annoying, nit-picking, undermining your creativity by making you think your work isn't good enough. As Natalie Goldberg suggests in Writing Down the Bones, "The more clearly you know the editor, the better you can ignore it. After a while, like the jabbering of an old drunk fool, it becomes just prattle in the background... Meanwhile, you will continue to write."
Of course, the goal mustn't be simply to get the writing done, but to make the writing as good as it can be. This often means a lot of rewriting and revisions. There's different ways of doing this. Some writers plough right through to the end before doing a second, more perfected draft.
I prefer 'block editing' for my novel. That is, revising and editing in chapters or chapter segments. I do several drafts, then workshop, then revise and edit again, then move on. When I get writer's block, I'll go back over the last few chapters, do more revisions or editing and that gets me back into the cadence of the prose again so I can continue with the new chapter. That way I'm not leaving too much of a mess behind me which I'll just have to untangle and sort out later. For my shorter works, such a travel articles, I do several drafts, workshop, revise and edit and then they are usually ready to send off to market. Luckily most every article I've had published has had no further editing and is published word-for-word as I've submitted it.
I happen to like editing and do a lot of it for my classes. It doesn't take me long. Sometimes the revisions on my novel take longer (especially transitions, which I find sticky). But I've always got something on the go so that even when I have a 'block' with the novel I am still writing. Heaven knows I have a backlog of material for travel stories, but at the moment I am trying to focus only on the novel to get as much of it finished as possible before I get stuck again.
The question is, how much editing and revising is necessary before a writer should be satisfied and get on with something new? Hemingway admitted to revising a section of a novel thirty-seven times "to get the words right". Good writers take the time to recreate, revise, edit and proofread. This is all part of the writing process, and often the hardest work, because you must make sure that what you send off to an agent/publisher is as near-perfect as you can get it. Sloppy, amateurish work will quickly be delegated to the trash pile. But when to stop?
It's interesting to read some of the blogs of other writers and get their points of view on this and other writing subjects. These days writers (novelists, in particular) are expected to be working on other projects or at least have something else on the back-burner. Publishers like to know there's more than one novel in you. Book publishing is a money-making production these days so you have to be willing and able to produce if you want to become part of a publisher's 'stable' of writers. There are writers who seem content to endlessly edit and revise their work without ever starting anything new. "Send it out! Send it out!" they are urged, but they never do. Is it because they are afraid of turning their 'baby' out into the big competitive world? Are they afraid of rejection? (If you are afraid of rejection, you're in the wrong business because it's all part of being a writer.) Or perhaps they keep on editing because they don't want to start something new?
For me, editing and revisions are not such a chore except when I writing myself into a tangle like I probably did yesterday. I've avoided, since then, looking at what I'd written because I'm sure I'm going to have to start over. I tried revising a chapter by cut-and-paste and adding new ingrediants. I fear I have, in my zeal to get it finished, overdone it. Well, at least I can workshop it at my next critique group meeting and will be sure to get some practical advice on how to make it better. I know the editing and revisions are necessary, but I'm just so anxious to finish this novel (which has been taking me far too long to write) and get on with my other projects: another half-finished novel, a half-finished 2-act play, and a long list of travel articles yet to be written! Oh yes, and I do have an idea for a third novel as well which I'd very much like to get started on! Time to move on!
"Remember: good books aren't written; they are rewritten. Revision is a key phase of your novel writing. With short fiction pieces, it's advisable to put them aside and let them 'cool' for awhile. Only then can you go back to your own work with a fresh and somewhat objective eye and catch a few of your mistakes, though you'll never see them all. Fortunately, with a novel, when you've written your way through the last chapter, enough time will have passed so that you can return to the beginning with more objectivity, but even then you can't be entirely objective...
During revision you must become the critic. In the first writing, you give your story life; in the second, you get it right."
Phyllis A. Whitney, author, writing instructor
from an article Revisions and Rewrites: A Checklist" in The Writer magazine.
Friday, March 03, 2006
MAMWLAD FY NHAD: LAND OF MY FATHERS. AN ODE TO WALES ON ST. DAVID'S DAY
To be born Welsh
Is to be born privileged.
Not with a silver spoon
in your mouth
But music in your blood
And poetry in your soul.
On Wednesday morning this week, I woke up hearing Welsh music on the radio. It was St. David's Day, patron Saint of Wales. The songs I heard broadcast took me back in time because they were the songs I grew up hearing my Dad sing: All Through the Night; Myfanwy and
most particularly Guide me Oh Thou Great Jehovah. On the bookshelf by my bed is the picture of my father, looking handsome and proud in his Chaplain's uniform, showing the six medals he was awarded for service during W.W. II, which include the M.B.E. for bravery and compassion in the line of duty. Dad was a Chaplain in an army field hospital in Holland.
Before he emigrated to Canada in the early 30's, he had been a coal miner in the Rhymny Valley of South Wales. All the men in his family were miners and he worked down in the pits of the Bedwas Navigational Collieries from the time he was 14. When the mining troubles began in 1930 he lost his mining card because he was active in trying to improve conditions for the miners. So he left Caerphilly, his home, and came to Canada as a farm laborer. But soon after, he made himself known as an expert orator. He had often spoken in the mining chapels of Wales and his ability to preach got him an invitation to the McMaster University School of Theology even though he'd had no formal schooling past the age of 14. He became a Baptist minister and was sent to the troubled mining communities of the South Saskachewan to work alongside another young Baptist preacher from Scotland by the name of Tommy Douglas who later became the Premier of Saskatchewan for 16 years and the head of North America's first Socialist government.
As I listened to the Welsh music, many memories came back to me of my childhood. My Dad always sang wherever he went and often would burst into song in the midst of a serman at Church. He had a lovely tenor voice and he sang right up to the time of his death at age 89, back in 1991. The Welsh are known for their gift of song and poetry. The miners always sang to keep up their spirits. I grew up hearing Dad's mining stories and the tales of his childhood in Wales, and listening to the songs of my Dad's homeland.
When I started to write my w.i.p. Dragons in the Sky: A Celtic Tale I heard the Welsh intonation of a girl's voice telling me her story. Her name is Olwen. When I showed my Dad the early manuscript to see if he could hear the Welsh cadence in the prose, he commented about a Celtic holy place I have mentioned in my novel. Senghenydd. He ask me if I knew that Senghenydd was the name of the town where my great-grandfather and several of his uncles had been killed in a mining disaster back in 1904 just before he was born. I didn't know that. I had just read in my research about this Druid holy place in the south part of Wales.
A couple of years ago my cousin and I went to Senghenydd and saw the remains of the mine where our great-grandfather died, and we were even directed to his house. I have very deep roots in Wales and feel spiritually connected with the land and people. I have visited there often as some of my family (children of my father's brothers) live in Caerphilly. I have even visited the house where Dad was born while two of his younger brothers were still living there.
While I listened to the St. David's day tribute to Wales, the announcer mentioned a song that had been requested. It was titled The Dream of Olwen by Charles Smith. Much to my surprise, when the tune was played I recognized it as one that took me back to my grandpa's house in Stratford Ontario. I used to hear that song played as a theme song for a radio program my mother watched. I've always wanted to know the title of it and until Wednesday I had no idea that it was The Dream of Olwen. Olwen, the young protagonist of my novel! Strange how that unfinished w.i.p. has been so much on my mind lately, then suddenly they should play a familiar tune that had her name. Perhaps the Muse is trying to tell me something? Yet I cannot stop my work on my current novel at this point and return to the old manuscript. However lately I have had the yearning to visit Olwen's world again. So here is an excerpt from the first chapter of Dragons in the Sky. And hopefully, not too much longer and I'll be able to pick up from where I left off with her fantastic adventures. The story begins at an Iron Age hillfort on the Salisbury Plain near Stonehenge and her adventures, when kidnapped by a renegade Chieftain's son, lead her eventually to meet a remarkable young Prince, Alexander, who has just inherited the throne of his father in Macedonia where her captor has come to trade Celtic iron-wares.
(Note: some of the chapters of Dragons are written in Bardic verse. Others are a first-person narrative in Olwen's voice.)
Is to be born privileged.
Not with a silver spoon
in your mouth
But music in your blood
And poetry in your soul.
On Wednesday morning this week, I woke up hearing Welsh music on the radio. It was St. David's Day, patron Saint of Wales. The songs I heard broadcast took me back in time because they were the songs I grew up hearing my Dad sing: All Through the Night; Myfanwy and
most particularly Guide me Oh Thou Great Jehovah. On the bookshelf by my bed is the picture of my father, looking handsome and proud in his Chaplain's uniform, showing the six medals he was awarded for service during W.W. II, which include the M.B.E. for bravery and compassion in the line of duty. Dad was a Chaplain in an army field hospital in Holland.
Before he emigrated to Canada in the early 30's, he had been a coal miner in the Rhymny Valley of South Wales. All the men in his family were miners and he worked down in the pits of the Bedwas Navigational Collieries from the time he was 14. When the mining troubles began in 1930 he lost his mining card because he was active in trying to improve conditions for the miners. So he left Caerphilly, his home, and came to Canada as a farm laborer. But soon after, he made himself known as an expert orator. He had often spoken in the mining chapels of Wales and his ability to preach got him an invitation to the McMaster University School of Theology even though he'd had no formal schooling past the age of 14. He became a Baptist minister and was sent to the troubled mining communities of the South Saskachewan to work alongside another young Baptist preacher from Scotland by the name of Tommy Douglas who later became the Premier of Saskatchewan for 16 years and the head of North America's first Socialist government.
As I listened to the Welsh music, many memories came back to me of my childhood. My Dad always sang wherever he went and often would burst into song in the midst of a serman at Church. He had a lovely tenor voice and he sang right up to the time of his death at age 89, back in 1991. The Welsh are known for their gift of song and poetry. The miners always sang to keep up their spirits. I grew up hearing Dad's mining stories and the tales of his childhood in Wales, and listening to the songs of my Dad's homeland.
When I started to write my w.i.p. Dragons in the Sky: A Celtic Tale I heard the Welsh intonation of a girl's voice telling me her story. Her name is Olwen. When I showed my Dad the early manuscript to see if he could hear the Welsh cadence in the prose, he commented about a Celtic holy place I have mentioned in my novel. Senghenydd. He ask me if I knew that Senghenydd was the name of the town where my great-grandfather and several of his uncles had been killed in a mining disaster back in 1904 just before he was born. I didn't know that. I had just read in my research about this Druid holy place in the south part of Wales.
A couple of years ago my cousin and I went to Senghenydd and saw the remains of the mine where our great-grandfather died, and we were even directed to his house. I have very deep roots in Wales and feel spiritually connected with the land and people. I have visited there often as some of my family (children of my father's brothers) live in Caerphilly. I have even visited the house where Dad was born while two of his younger brothers were still living there.
While I listened to the St. David's day tribute to Wales, the announcer mentioned a song that had been requested. It was titled The Dream of Olwen by Charles Smith. Much to my surprise, when the tune was played I recognized it as one that took me back to my grandpa's house in Stratford Ontario. I used to hear that song played as a theme song for a radio program my mother watched. I've always wanted to know the title of it and until Wednesday I had no idea that it was The Dream of Olwen. Olwen, the young protagonist of my novel! Strange how that unfinished w.i.p. has been so much on my mind lately, then suddenly they should play a familiar tune that had her name. Perhaps the Muse is trying to tell me something? Yet I cannot stop my work on my current novel at this point and return to the old manuscript. However lately I have had the yearning to visit Olwen's world again. So here is an excerpt from the first chapter of Dragons in the Sky. And hopefully, not too much longer and I'll be able to pick up from where I left off with her fantastic adventures. The story begins at an Iron Age hillfort on the Salisbury Plain near Stonehenge and her adventures, when kidnapped by a renegade Chieftain's son, lead her eventually to meet a remarkable young Prince, Alexander, who has just inherited the throne of his father in Macedonia where her captor has come to trade Celtic iron-wares.
(Note: some of the chapters of Dragons are written in Bardic verse. Others are a first-person narrative in Olwen's voice.)
* * *
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 sacrifcies 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 hearth 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 was 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 agains 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 modryb, Auntie, because she had nursed me in my 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 honoured child. I am
Olwen, daughter of the Earth Mother,
Child of the Raven.
I will be the pinecone
clinging to the branch.
The wind will not dislodge me.
I will be the coral
on the sea reef.
The waves will not displace me.
I will be the stone dolman
of the sacred Henge.
Neither time nor elements will distrub me.
I will be the willow
bending in the wind.
I will be the wave
uncurling on the sea.
I will be the mountain
my pinnacle crowned with sun.
Steadfast I will stand.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
