Writing Through the “I”

Poetry empowers the simplest of lives to confront the most extreme sorrows with courage, and motivates the mightiest of offices to humbly heed lessons in compassion.
― Aberjhani

...when a good poet is confronted with difficult facts that he knows to be true but also are inimical to poetry, he has no choice but to flee to the margins; it was...this very retreat that allowed him to hear the hidden music that is the source of all art.
― Orhan Pamuk

Writing poetry is a passion, ignited by thoughts, fueled by ink. A way to travel through another mind, where souvenirs of tears are tucked away inside your soul. Or leave you with smiles for miles, depending on which route you go.
― Renee Dixon

This was the 8th Masterclass at Writersfest, presented by Nancy Jo Cullen, a Canadian poet and short story writer.

The blurb for this claimed we would explore how to transform personal experience into poetry. To my mind, all poetry is personal, whether you’re sharing an experience or not, but still, I thought it would be interesting.

We began with a discussion of fiction and poetry and I didn’t take many notes, other than writing down a cool idea for a collection of verse.

According to Ms. Cullen, poetry is a vehicle to express feelings, thoughts, and ideas. Poetry using the “I” exposes you as a poet. There should always be some kind of arc in a poem.

Think of the poem as having a speaker – ultimately, it should be a performance. Although it takes direction from emotion, you need to distance yourself from that emotion. Instead, look for vivid things to share.

For our first exercise, we were to write five sentences to create a narrative of home, expressed as a poem:

It stands halfway down a hill
beside a busy road
inside is love and comfort
shiny wooden floors
and a kitchen smelling of bread.

Our second exercise was to write about the same home again, but using different images and words:

Use the side door, the front is only for company
The living room, with its huge fireplace, is seldom used for living
Needlepoint covers the seats of the dining room chairs.
There are faces in the wallpaper of the guest room –
A blonde man with a beard, hiding amongst the roses.

We did this again for our third exercise, but expanding the images:

Cleaning is done by invisible elves, but only when we’re not there to see it
Picnic lunches on the sunken, flagstone patio
Climbing the hill through the woods to reach heaven
Sweet peas, rioting along the road and in the fields
Carefree summer days followed by slumbrous nights.

For our final exercise, we were to write a sonnet using the images from the above three exercises:

When I think of home, I see
halfway down a busy hill
the house tucked ‘neath the walnut tree
with flowers on its window sill.

Enter through the kitchen door,
The kitchen smells of bread and spice
All the treats that we adore;
The wooden floors are smooth as ice.

My aunt was never seen to clean
We thought it done by phantom elves
Who trod the flagstone paths unseen
Through blooming sweet peas in the dells.

Home was love and open arms
A haven safe from all the harms.

Okay, so maybe it’s not the best sonnet I ever wrote, but it’s not bad for the limited we had to write in.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

WORDAGE REPORT

This week I seemed to maintain a steady pace, although I didn’t pull ahead, as I’d hoped to be able to do. I had a couple of social obligations that, while pleasant, were a little time consuming. Actually, now that I think of it, every day except Friday had something else going on. Naturally, the kittens are still proving to be a bit of a distraction.

The hubby was not very receptive to the idea of putting up shelves above the medium sized bookcase I have beside my desk so I can get my plants off the window ledge, so I solved the problem by buying a taller bookcase to replace it. I figured the top two shelves would work great for plants.

The kittens and I had fun putting it together, but they were no help at all when it came to helping me figure out where to put the bookcase it was replacing. I didn’t like it behind my desk, and the only other place it might work meant blocking the window slightly, plus I’d have to unload it to be able to move it.

But then I discovered the new bookcase was not as wide as I thought it was, and the two bookcases just fit side by side against the wall beside my desk. Woot! However, I still didn’t get any extra writing done in my office because now I need to re-arrange bookshelves. LOL

NEW WORDS:
Blog Posts – 2,455+462+298+1,024=4,239
Extra poem – 97 words
Total Words: 4,336 

UP 624 words from last week

Goals For Next Week:
Get my blog posts done on time and stay on track with NaNo.

NANO
Yes, I know NaNo doesn’t start until Tuesday, but I’m adding this category now as part of the NaNo prep.

No words yet, of course, but I have ideas. Lots of ideas. If anyone is my buddy on the NaNo site, you’ll have noticed I broke with tradition and declared my project last week, including putting up a cover. Normally I wait until November first, which is usually when I make up my mind.

And true to form, as soon as I put up the cover, a completely different idea popped into my head and I think it has even more potential – if I can figure out how it ends. It needs a little plotting and I don’t know if I’ll have time for that. If I start it as is, I can probably complete the story but it won’t be pretty.

AND THEN I considered doing another 30 days of flash stories. I had such great success with them last year. And I already have an idea for the first one that I really like. If I’d thought of this idea sooner, I could write more in this vein, but it’ll take some research.

So at this point, what I do for NaNo is anybody’s guess. Including mine. ;-)

EDITING:
16 pages
Finally, I got some serious editing done. But it was for someone else. LOL I had the pleasure of working on the final story in Alex Westhaven’s Death by Veggies series which is due to be released on Halloween.

If you can’t wait that long for your thrills and chills, you can download her story Jack from Amazon for free.

Goal For Next Week:
No promises on the editing – we’ll see how it goes with NaNo first.

MARKETING:
Okay, I think I’m going to suspend the whole marketing thing until the new year. It’s been months since I submitted anything, it just hasn’t been a priority. And with NaNo starting in a couple of days, and then Christmas right after that . . . Yeah, the new year it is.

TECH & TRAINING:
I’d still like to figure out Dropbox. At the very least I want to be able to backup to it automatically like I did before Staples got a hold of my laptop. And for extra back up protection, I’d like to unbox my external hard drive and start backing up to it as well.

Goal For Next Week:
Figure out how to set up the automatic back up for Dropbox. Set up external hard drive.

POETRY WEDNESDAY:
Last week’s form was a little more complicated than the one from the week before, but it had eight syllable lines, and I like eight syllable lines. :-)

I also wrote a very sad little poem for my poetry group, which met Wednesday night. It was only 97 words, but it still counts.

Goal For Next Week:
Share a new poetry form.

CRAFTING:
I crocheted a dozen bookworms in a variety of colours for the craft sale my stitchery group is taking part of in December. We had a meeting Tuesday morning, and this week I’ll be meeting with the others on the craft sale organizing committee.

I’m not sure how much crafting I’m going to be doing during NaNo, but hopefully I’ll be able to carve out a little time.

Goal For Next Week:
Figure out dragon pillow for granddaughter.

WHAT I’M READING:
Reading? Who has time for reading?

Okay, I did treat myself to a new book when I grocery shopped - The Forgotten Bookshop in Paris, by Daisy Wood, but I’ve only read about half a dozen pages in it. It looks pretty interesting, so hopefully I’ll be able to make time to read more this week.

Goal For Next Week:
Spend a little time each day reading.

GOAL REVIEW:

It was a busy week, I tell you what. But despite that, I still got my blog posts up, and on time, too. And my serial installment actually ran a little long. I had a great time editing that story for Alex Westhaven – she just gets better and better, leaving me with less and less work to do. If only I could have that much enthusiasm for my own editing. LOL

I already mentioned that I’m putting the marketing on hold until the new year, and I’ll probably do the same with tech and training once I get Dropbox set up properly. I’m seriously considering recycling old post for my poetry Wednesdays for the duration of NaNo. Some days the poetry can take a lot of time and I don’t know that I’ll have it to spare.

While I did get my bookworms made, it was a near thing. November would be an optimal time to do Christmas crafts but, you know, NaNo. I can’t believe I did so little reading last week! I think I need to make time for it in the week ahead, because it’s a great way to relax the mind.

It was a busy week, but a good one, and looking back I may not have done any words beyond my blog posts, but I still felt pretty productive.

Here’s to the week ahead!

The Pond - Part 13

Nikolai Antonovich seemed right at home among Katrinka’s friends. His shameless flirtations caused more than one girl to sigh with yearning. Izolda remained impassive, at least on the outside. On the inside . . . on the inside she was already making plans.

She watched with the others as Katrinka gathered up her things and took Nikolai’s arm so he could escort her home. Her hands were sweaty and her heart was racing. As soon as the happy couple were out of sight, chatter broke out among the group.

“I cannot believe Katrinka’s good fortune!” Marta said.

“I wish my parents had betrothed me as a child,” Svetlana said with a sigh. “As long as it was to someone like Nikolai. What do you think, Izolda?”

Izolda weighed her words carefully. “I think, if I were in Katrinka’s place, I would find it hard to wait to be married.”

Later, when she was alone in her cave, Izolda considered her options. Love spells were chancy things, and may not last long term. And love spells could only be used once. But a compulsion spell, well crafted, could be renewed if it started to wear off.

But compulsion would not be enough. Any fool could see that although the marriage had been arranged there were true feelings developing between the two. This had to be stopped. Attraction must turn to aversion, for both of them. This would be harder to achieve.

Her time was limited, however. The plan must be completed before Nikolai left for America, and he was scheduled to leave in just two weeks. Izolda chose her spells carefully and memorized them. Her plan would work, it was flawless. She had not felt such excitement since she vanquished Varnya.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Olga was a little surprised when Izolda and Katrinka became close friends. It was not that she had anything against the girl, it’s just she had no magic whatsoever. It just did not seem like Izolda to befriend someone like that.

Already having misgivings about her only daughter, Olga started keeping better track of her comings and goings, and who she was spending her time with. Because Katrinka was spending more time with Izolda, it was only natural that they were both spending time with young Nikolai.

That, in itself, was not unduly worrying, but when the couple became cool with each other, arguing over trivial matters, Olga realized everything was not as it seemed. Izolda appeared to be confidant to both Katrinka and Nikolai, sympathizing without taking sides.

Something did not ring true for Olga. Using her magical sight, she studied the threesome and the lines of magic connecting them, Katrinka and Nikolai to Izolda, First a chill filled her, then it was burned away by anger.

Izolda was breaking the most basic rules of magic. Every minute she spent with the couple drove them further apart. At the same time, she was laying a compulsion on Nikolai. Olga couldn’t quite determine what the compulsion was for, but she could guess.

For some time now, she’d known Izolda wanted something beyond village life. Never would she have dreamed her daughter would go this far to get it though. To ruin a couple’s future, to compel a man’s affection – it was unthinkable!

With a heavy heart, Olga sent Izolda off to pick some fresh goosefoot. The fact that the girl made no protest at leaving her friends behind meant whatever she was doing was working to her satisfaction. As soon as the door shut behind her, Olga offered the sullen couple a cup of tea.

“I think you will find it to your liking,” Olga told them. “It is a special blend I make myself.”

They accepted politely, and when they finished, Olga brought up her own magic. This time she didn’t just look at the lines of magic, she carefully pictured them being severed. With a soft chant, she made it so.

Several minutes passed and then the couple seemed to come out of a trance.

“Forgive me,” Nikolai said. “I seem to have lost the thread of our conversation.”

“I believe you and Katrinka were just saying your farewells.”

Nikolai looked at Katrinka and smiled. “I believe we were. We have much to talk about.”

“Yes,” Katrinka agreed, smiling back. “And many plans to make before you leave. Will you give our apologies to Izolda?”

“Of course,” Olga said. “I’m sure she will understand.”

The couple left and Olga settled down to wait. It was well it was early in the day, there was no one to witness Izolda’s shame.

Izolda returned with her arms full of goosefoot. She looked around in surprise. “Where are Katrinka and Nikolai?”

“Beyond your reach, at least for now.”

Carefully setting down the goosefoot, Izolda tried to brazen it out. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“I know what you have been doing. You seek to come between a betrothed couple and set them at odds. Are you really so desperate for a man you must steal another’s?”

Izolda’s face went white, then filled with rage. “It was an arranged marriage, they barely knew each other.”

“And you think that makes it all right?” Olga let her own anger show. “It no longer matters. I have broken your wicked spells, including the one that compels Nikolai to turn to you for affection.”

“No! What have you done? He leaves in two days, there is no time to reset the spell.”

“That’s right.” Olga nodded in satisfaction. “In two days he will be beyond your reach. You will spend those two days reflecting on your shame.”

Pure rage suffused Izolda’s face. “You’ve ruined everything!”

She chanted a guttural spell under her breath and pointed her hands in her mother’s direction. Olga’s eyes widened in shock. She clutched at her chest and fell to the floor. Izolda stared down at the woman who had given her life, and felt not an ounce of regret.

Sextilla Poetry Form

I’m back to both a syllable count and a rhyme scheme, but at least the stanza itself is short. There wasn’t as much information about this form as I would have liked, but there was more than the one line I had in my forms list. And in searching for more information, I stumbled across several more obscure forms to add to my list.

The Sextilla first appeared around the 14th century in Spain and Portugal. It’s a six-line stanza, with eight syllables per line. You can have as many or as few stanzas as you wish, but they should be in one of the two following rhyme schemes: aabccb or ababcc.

Schematic:

xxxxxxxa
xxxxxxxa
xxxxxxxb
xxxxxxxc
xxxxxxxc
xxxxxxxb

xxxxxxxa
xxxxxxxb
xxxxxxxa
xxxxxxxb
xxxxxxxc
xxxxxxxc

I gotta admit, I really like working in eight syllable lines. They just seem to have a nice flow to them. I used the first rhyme scheme for the first verse, and the second for the remaining two.


The Battle

My heart beats with a quiet drum,
the dark night of the soul has come.
An eon since, the curse was cast –
another age, another life,
another hand to wield the knife
to fight the evil spirits massed.

The battle is as old as time.
The gods decreed that it be so
when wickedness was on the climb;
benevolence no longer flowed.
The balance must be kept you see,
The task has fallen, now, to me.

I stand between the life and death
of mankind in his many realms,
and battle with my very breath
evil seeking to overwhelm.
The battle, it is glorious
and I remain victorious.

Writing Vivid Characters

It begins with a character, usually, and once he stands up on his feet and begins to move, all I can do is trot along behind him with a paper and pencil trying to keep up long enough to put down what he says and does.
― William Faulkner

The characters in my novels are my own unrealized possibilities. That is why I am equally fond of them all and equally horrified by them. Each one has crossed a border that I myself have circumvented.
― Milan Kundera

The characters who go to make up my stories and novels are not portraits. Characters I invent along with the story that carries them. Attached to them are what I’ve borrowed, perhaps unconsciously, bit by bit, of persons I have seen or noticed or remembered in the flesh – a cast of countenance here, a manner of walking there, that jumps to the visualising mind when a story is under way. I don’t write by invasion into the life of a real person: my own sense of privacy is too strong for that; and I also know instinctively that living people to whom you are close – those known to you in ways too deep, too overflowing, ever to be plumbed outside love – do not yield to, could never fit into, the demands of a story. Characters take on life sometimes by luck, but I suspect it is when you can write most entirely out of yourself, that a character becomes in its own right another human being on the page. ― Eudora Welty, On Writing

I have a confession to make. I did not attend every one of the masterclasses. But I did attend the one about creating character, presented by Shyam Selvadurai

First we were told that the sense of character can come across effectively using simile and metaphor. This was followed by an exercise in which we were asked to pick 4 or 5 people from our lives and describing how we feel about them using simile and metaphor.

My father was stern, as only a former drill sergeant cold be.
My mother gave new meaning to the phrase “work-a-holic.”
My aunt was like a butterfly with a mother complex, always flitting from one thing to another to make sure everyone was taken care of.
My granddaughter is an unceasing ray of sunshine.
My sister is like an ostrich, always sticking her head in the sand so she can’t see what’s going on, and when she does raise her head she has her rose-coloured glasses firmly in place.

A well-developed character has flaws and limitations. They need to grow and evolve and have a basis in human nature, even if they’re not human. They should be unique – slightly different from the world around them. Thought should be put into them and their flaws and foibles.

On the other hand, a flat character has only one distinctive trait and is incapable of varying from that characteristic. Flat characters can be just as important to your story as a well rounded one. They’re predictable, so there are no surprises with them. The town gossip can never be trusted with a secret. The old man across the street can be depended on to keep track whatever is going on the neighborhood.

There are many ways of showing character. Authorial Interpretation is where the author tells us the character’s background, motives, values, virtues, etc. It allows you to move in time and space; lets you have control over what the reader knows.

The Direct Method uses the five senses to shape character. We humans receive our primary impressions through sight, but the other senses are important too – the limp handshake, soft check, scent (perfume or cologne, garlic or onions on the breath). Sound associations could come from the character’s name – Debby Downer, Mary Sunshine.

The contradiction between appearance and reality can be a source of conflict and tension to define character. Think of Alice in Wonderland. A character’s physical features, their shape, sense of style, clothing, or relationship to people or objects can help define them.

A significant character must be capable of causing Action and being changed by it. What does the protagonist want to have happen at the end? What Thought process must he go through? Work back from that.

There is a gap between suppressed thought and expressed thought. A person can’t control their wants and desires, but they can control what they do about their behavior. Achievement of that which we desire would be easy if the internal thought process was not so faulty. Idealism is often a good character trait.

Dialogue adds to a reader’s knowledge of a situation. It moves the story forward and reveals something about the speaker’s personality. It can dramatize the relationship between characters.

In the Indirect Method, character may be presented through the opinions of other characters through speech, thoughts, and actions. The character giving the opinion is also characterized. When we are not privy to a character’s thoughts, the internal conflict must be expressed in a contradiction between appearance, speech, and action.

Exercise: We were shown a photo of a garbage truck that appeared to be stuck, with two youths, one wearing a mask, standing beside it and several police officers confronting them, and then told to write a scene showing character using appearance, action, thought, and speech. Show, don’t tell. Use significant details.

It was just supposed to be for fun, you know? A lark, a prank. But no, good ‘ole Mickey had to go all out, like he usually does, and next thing you know, the garbage truck got stuck. What a mess! And the smell! Whoo-wee the smell was bad. We’re talking dead bodies in a sewer bad. Not that there were actually dead bodies in the truck. Lordy, how much worse would it have been for us if there had been? Then old man Krantz called the cops on us. The cops! Man, I can’t believe that. Like I said, it was just supposed to be a joke. Mickey, he looks like a choir boy, even in his mask. That’s why I let him talk to the cops. We didn’t mean no harm. But man, it was fun while it lasted. My mom’s going to kill me!

The final piece of advice we were given was to consider what we want the reader to think about our character, and have their actions suit that character.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

WORDAGE REPORT

So . . . in order to make any progress with my writing, I need to start working at my desk in my office. The only problem with that is that the kittens like to be wherever the people (meaning me) are, whether they’re sleeping or playing. And it’s not that I mind them playing or sleeping in my office, it’s just that they want to check out the view from the window – the window with the ledge I have my plants lined up on. So either I write at the dining room table, which gets uncomfortable after a while, or I relocate some of my plants.

Just recently, however, the kittens have given me a third option. I use a lap desk when I’m in the living room. A couple of days ago I was sitting cross-legged in my recliner with the lap desk across my lap, and Dinsdale discovered the space between the desk and the chair made a perfect, kitten-sized cave. And if I recline my chair, I can raise my knees slightly and they both fit in there. At least until they start wrestling and I boot them off.

This was another one of those weeks where I started out strong and then it went downhill fast. It didn’t help that the weather was cold and miserable – lots of wind and rain. The unrelenting grey gave me a headache several days in a row, and I was fighting off the flu bug that’s going around.

NEW WORDS:
Blog Posts – 1,957+675+341+739=3,712
DOWN 85 words from last week
Total = 3,712

Goals For Next Week:
Do some words outside of blog posts

EDITING:
0 pages
Remember how I took my laptop to Staples in the summer? And before I did that, I put all my writing files on a flash drive? Well, when I went looking for the thumb drive that had all my most current writing files, I couldn’t find it.

I checked every flash drive I own, including the ones that aren’t supposed to have anything on them, and I could not find the stories from last year’s NaNo, nor could I find the only copy I had of Elemental Spirit. They were missing. Vanished. Gone. Thirty stories and one novel. Poof!

I felt sick. All that work . . . Since I often use the arm of the couch as a shelf when I’m in the living room, I checked in the couches – found a crochet hook, a really nice mechanical pencil, and a bookmark, but no flash drive.

Finally, I emptied the messenger bag I use for my writing stuff entirely and found one last flash drive hidden in a fold. I checked it, and sure enough, there were my files. I now have them on the flash drive, my desk top, and I even backed them up to Dropbox (which does not look the way I remember it). Whew! Crisis averted.

Goal For Next Week:
Finish editing the story I was sent and get it back to the author.

MARKETING:
Honestly, why do I even have this as a sub-heading? I guess hope springs eternal. Maybe I’ll get something submitted sometime, but it sure wasn’t last week.

Goal for Next Week:
Submit something. Anything!

TECH & TRAINING:
I did go so far as to open Dropbox to check for the NaNo stories and it looks a lot different from the last time I saw it. And while it had some backups, my stories were not among them. Then I opened it again when I found my story so I could back it up.

Prior to that I was thinking that it was finally time to break out the ReMarkable and figure out how to use it. I could use it to edit flash stories in the evenings – it would be easier to manage than the laptop with the kittens around.

Goal For Next Week:
Check out the features of Dropbox. Figure out my ReMarkable.

POETRY WEDNESDAY:
I actually got the research done for a couple of different forms, and picked one at random to use for my form of the week. And yes, it was easier, with only a syllable count to worry about.

With NaNo fast approaching I’d like to get a couple of posts done ahead of time. Even if I can get the research done and distilled into the posts it would help. Then all I’d have to worry about are the examples.

Once again, I did not even give the anthology a passing thought. And I’m thinking I’ll have to put it on hold until after NaNo. There just isn’t going to be time.

Goal For Next Week:
Share a new poetry form.

CRAFTING:
Crafting? I knew I was forgetting something. Actually, I did think about it, but the truth of the matter is I was afraid to do my needlework with the kittens around. I’m sure they would love to “help” with the colourful threads. And I’m not even going to think about doing and crocheting or (God forbid) knitting when they’re so active.

But Christmas is coming, and if I’m careful I should be able to do some crafts at the dining room table. Maybe.

Goal For Next Week:
Crochet bookworms. Figure out dragon pillow for granddaughter.

WHAT I’M READING:
Finished reading The Guest List, by Fern Michaels, and then went on to read It Happened One Summer and Hook, Line, and Sinker by Tessa Bailey. Now I’m between books again. I’ve got lots of them, I just need to pick one. Or maybe even figure out how to organize my Kindle books in their “cloud” so I can start using it again.

Did not start my Goodreads list, but I did find some scraps of paper I’d jotted down books I’ve read on.

Goal For Next Week:
Spend a little time each day reading. At least start my list of books so I can update my Goodreads account!

GOAL REVIEW:

Despite my week kind of falling apart at the end, it wasn’t too bad. My blog posts were all up on time, and most of them were done early. I did not, however, get any extra posts done. The kittens are not as glued to me as they were in the beginning, and they’ve been testing out other places to sleep. Plus, I’m getting better at relocating them if they’re in the way.

I almost gave myself a heart attack when I couldn’t find the flash drive my NaNo stories were saved to. Thirty stories is a lot of stories, and I have no idea what prompts I used so there was no chance of re-creating them. But my editing is getting a boost this week from a story I received in my email, so I should have a better week in that regard.

The marketing and tech & training . . . *sigh* I keep thinking about removing them altogether, but there’s always the chance I’ll have something to show for them. As for the crafts? The closest I came to a craft was repairing a stuffed octopus for the granddaughter.

But still when all is said and done, I can’t say it was a bad week. It wasn’t a great one either, but at least it wasn’t a bad one.

Let’s see if I can make this week a better one.

Happy writing.

The Pond Part 12

Just because Izolda was spending more time trying to fit in with the other girls of the village, did not mean she was neglecting her studies in the cave. She still studied when she could, but it was getting harder to get away, and she was missed if she stayed away too long.

She was sixteen now, and though several of the young men of her village had taken an interest in her, she became adept at discouraging such attention lest her father get ideas about marrying her off before she was ready. The last thing she wanted was to remain in the village the rest of her days.

If she had cared to, she could have easily been the leader of the small group of village girls, but she did not want that kind of responsibility. A leader’s movements were kept track of, her absences noted. Explanations of her movements would be needed. Just being part of the group was exhausting.

Perhaps it would have made a difference if any of them had been the least bit interested in magic. Though she was very careful to keep her true power hidden, it would have been nice to have someone with similar interests. But these girls had little interest in magic, and most of them had very little in the way of power.

“I do not understand, mother,” Izolda confessed one evening. “Why is it that magic runs so strong in our family, but not in others?”

“Magic is a thing that must be nurtured, used, to make it grow. The women in our family have done so for years.” Olga shrugged. “It is not always so with other families.”

“At one time, marriages were arranged to encourage strong magic in the offspring,” her grandmother put in. “You would be wise to seek such a husband. Think of the sons you would have!”

Izolda ducked her head, hoping the red in her face would be mistaken for maidenly embarrassment rather than the rage it was. Why would she want to bear sons who could wield magic when she could not?

“Magic is status,” her aunt Anya added. “It is the reason your father is leader of this village, and well respected by others.”

"You could do worse than marrying for status," her said.

The following day, Izolda joined her friends, still mulling over what her grandmother had said.

“What is wrong, Katrinka?” she asked. Katrinka was normally the most cheerful of the group.

“Nothing is wrong,” Katrinka said. “Not really. My betrothed has told me he is emigrating with his brothers. Our marriage will be delayed until he is settled and sends for me.”

“I did not realize you were betrothed,” Izolda said in surprise.

Katrinka nodded. “Since we were small children. His mother and mine were friends and wished to bind our families.”

“And you had no say in this?”

With a shrug, Katrinka said. “He is pleasant to look at and comes from a good family. I could do worse.”

“Where are they emigrating to?” Marta wanted to know.

“America.”

There were gasps from several of the girls.

“America is so far away!” Svetlana exclaimed. “Won’t you miss your family?”

“Perhaps. But it is a chance to forge a new life in a new land. But it might take a year, maybe two, before he’s ready to send for me.”

The girls fell to discussing both moving so far away and having to wait so long to be married. Having never been far from the village, most couldn’t fathom going so far, even for the prospect of a good marriage.

“What’s he like?” Marta asked.

Katrinka smiled. “You will be able to see for yourself. He’s coming to walk me home later.”

There was excited chatter for the rest of the afternoon. At first Izolda had trouble picturing moving to America. She’d heard many stories about the wilderness and the savages. Two of her brothers had shown an interest in emigrating until Andrei put his foot down with a resounding no.

When Katrinka’s betrothed arrived to fetch her, she introduced him to everyone. When Izolda looked up at him, she saw her future. And it’s name was Nikolai Antonovich.

Kouta Poetry Form

I have a list I made a few years ago of several poetry forms I was saving for a later date. It wasn’t that they were extra hard or complicated, it’s just I didn’t have a whole lot of information about them, just the name and a single line of description at best.

Much to my surprise, and pleasure, when I researched some of these forms on the weekend, there was all kinds of information about many of them. In some cases, a little too much information. ;-)

The Kouta is one of those wonderfully short Japanese verses. It was popular in the 14th to 16th centuries, and was originally meant to be sung. Though it was also tied to geishas and love songs, it does not need to be romantic in nature.

A very humble form, the Kouta is traditionally about relatable, everyday topics. It usually celebrates the everyday life of the average person and is meant to appeal to a wide audience.

Like most Japanese poetry, this four-line verse is made of lines with either 5 or 7 syllables. There are two main variants – 7/5/7/5 or 7/7/7/5. Rarely you’ll find one with an extra line, with a syllable count of 5/5/7/7/5.

You can have multiple verses, but each Kouta should also be able to stand on its own. However, it’s permissible to use a common theme throughout. My example uses a common theme, but each Kouta is a different format.


The image in the mirror
comes as a surprise.
A stranger is reflected,
surely it’s not me.


Another birthday over,
the candle's puddles of wax
cooling on leftover cake –
the party’s over.


Age – just a number,
the years accruing
like coins in a piggy bank.
It’s too bad they can’t be saved
for a rainy day.

Researching For Writing Historical Fiction

The thing that most attracts me to historical fiction is taking the factual record as far as it is known, using that as scaffolding, and then letting imagination build the structure that fills in those things we can never find out for sure.
— Geraldine Brooks

What really disconcerts commentators, I suspect, is that when they read historical fiction, they feel their own lack of education may be exposed; they panic, because they don't know which bits are true.
— Hilary Mantel

I often tell people who want to write historical fiction: don't read all that much about the period you're writing about; read things from the period that you're writing about. There's a tendency to stoke up on a lot of biography and a lot of history, and not to actually get back to the original sources.
— Thomas Mallon

Okay, the final masterclass of day one of Writersfest wasn’t really called Researching For Writing Historical Fiction, it was actually called Writing Historical Fiction, but my title suited it better because that’s pretty much what it was about. It was run by Eva Stachniak, a Polish/Canadian historical novelist. If you’re a lover of historical fiction you might recognize her as the author of The Chosen Maiden and The School of Mirrors, as well as several other novels.

She began by exploring what readers expect from an historical novel and what we, as writers, need to provide. We need to look for the unexpected angle, a new interpretation of historical events, or a subjective interpretation of historical characters.

Readers don’t just want to be shown the past, they want to be able to feel it and experience it. This is done using detail. Without detail, the reader can’t imagine themselves in that place. Rich, authentic, details help the reader to see the world the writer is creating.

Details gleaned from historic records are not always the absolute truth, and if you stick to those details you’re going to have a dull novel. You need to look for what is missing, what was unrecorded, the minutiae of everyday life. Your details, real or imagined, need to be sound, but interesting.

Start big and vast, and then distill these details down to be more direct. How do you know what to discard? Only when the novel nears its end will you be able to decide what to keep and what to discard. You’ll keep only what builds the texture of the novel.

Use accents and dialect sparingly. No one wants tutoring in Elizabethan language. You need to make the language clear to be understood. The judicious use of a word or phrase germane to the period you’re writing about can go a long way to make your meaning clear.

So where do you find these authentic details to add realism to your historical novel? Many fascinating details can be found in memoirs, journals, and letters. Novels written in that time period could hold the detail you’re looking for, or non-fiction and scholarly articles. Films and documentaries are also a good source.

JSTOR is a wonderful digital source. It’s an online library of back issues of academic journals as well as books that are free to access. Project Gutenberg gives you the option to search thousands of books by title or author, many of which are long out of print. You also have the option of downloading them to your e-reader.

I’m sure Ms. Stachniak had much more to say on the subject, but to be honest I was starting to feel a little peopled out by breaktime, so I left before she was done. But when I was researching quotes to use with this post, I found one that I thought summed up what not to do when writing historical fiction quite nicely:

my own definition of bad historical fiction hits these points:
It fails to transport the reader to a former time.
It fails to put the reader in another place.
It fails to bring characters to life.
It fails to make the reader shiver, sweat, sniffle, sneer, snarl, weep, laugh, gag, ache, hunger, wince, yearn, lust, lose sleep, empathize, hate, or need to go potty.
It seems dubious.
It has characters who seem too good or too bad to be true.
It has anachronisms.
It has clichés and stereotypes.
Its writing style distracts the reader from the narrative.
It takes historic license with times and facts.
It is pointless.
It is carelessly written.
It is easy to put down.
― James Alexander Thom, The Art and Craft of Writing Historical Fiction

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

WORDAGE REPORT

If you followed the link I posted last week, you’ll know the hubby and I adopted a pair of kittens last Friday. It’s been twenty years since there’s been a kitten in the house and I have to admit, it’s a bit of a shock to the system. LOL

They’re very entertaining, and very affectionate, and they have forced me into better writing habits. No longer do I sit back in my recliner to work during the day. If I try, I have a kitten in my face, or on my keyboard. They have zero respect for the laptop. Actually, Khaos has learned she can go behind it or just on the edge of the front, but Dinsdale likes to go right across the keyboard. I think he likes putting it on airplane mode or calling up menus I didn’t know I had. I’m just glad I disabled the track pad.

I have found it’s easier to write at the dining room table, or in my office (I’m at the dining room table right now as I type this). It’s actually a good habit to get into and one that’s long overdue. When I’m too comfortable (like in my recliner) I tend to spend more time on Facebook or playing games. But at the table or desk, it makes me take the writing a little more seriously.

I also need to start writing more during the day. Writing in the evening means writing in my recliner, which is doable when the kittens are awake and racing around the house; not so much when they’re sleepy and want cuddles.

NEW WORDS:
Blog Posts – 1806+739+561+691=3,797
UP 291 words from last week
Total = 3,797

Goals For Next Week:
Do some words outside of blog posts

EDITING:
0 pages
It’s taking some time to adapt to having two furry “helpers” around, so I think I can be forgiven for not getting any editing done.

Also, I seem to have been a little over-zealous in keeping my desktop clear of folders and I don’t know where I put the stories from last year’s NaNo. I’m sure it’s on a thumb drive somewhere, I just have to find it.

Goal For Next Week:
Find the stories for book flood and start editing them.

MARKETING:
You might want to see the above comments about having to adapt to a pair of furry little “helpers.” That’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it. At least it’s a proper excuse this time.

Goal for Next Week:
Submit something. Anything!

TECH & TRAINING:
Yeah, I got nothing. But I’m thinking Dropbox would really come in handy for all those folders I don’t want to keep on my desktop. You know, instead of hunting down thumb drives. ;-)

Goal For Next Week:
Check out the features of Dropbox

POETRY WEDNESDAY:
Well, I manned up and did my Mad Cow poem. All 35 lines of it. It might not be a great poem, but it’s a poem. And it’s done.

Did not even give the anthology a passing thought. Hey, count yourself lucky that you got the Mad Cow!

And you may have noticed, I didn’t put the number of words in the poem I wrote as my example Wednesday on a separate line. It seems kind of silly to have the poem listed as a separate thing when it’s included in the weekly post. I’ll add poetry words in when I write a poem outside of the weekly post.

Goal For Next Week:
Find an easier (or at least less time consuming) poetry form. Start compiling the anthology

CRAFTING:
Here’s the thing. I dug out the box with the beaded Christmas tree and all its teeny tiny little parts in it, spread everything over the dining room table, and ultimately decided “Nope.” It’s not that it was difficult, it was just going to be very time consuming. And I decided I could better use that time for writerly things.

So I packed it all back in its box and took it with me to the stitchery gathering last week to return it to the guild. And funny, nobody else seemed to want to take it home either. We had a workshop in making poppies to wear for Remembrance Day, and I worked a bit on my pillowcase. And that was pretty much it for crafts.

Goal For Next Week:
Crochet bookworms. Figure out dragon pillow for granddaughter.

WHAT I’M READING:
I read a book! Well, what else am I supposed to do when I’m pinned down by kittens? LOL I read The Secret of Love Story Bridge, by Phaedra Patrick. I love the way she takes an ordinary, maybe a little sad, person and makes you care about them.

And I started reading The Guest List, by Fern Michaels. I think there's something fishy about the deaths in the beginning of the book, but so far there hasn’t even been a hint. Not that I won’t keep reading anyway.

Goal For Next Week:
Spend a little time each day reading. At least start my list of books so I can update my Goodreads account!

GOAL REVIEW:

Once again, I did not make a list. Bad writer! I made no progress on coming up with a cover, blurb, and tagline for Magical Misfire. And I didn’t start any other editing. No marketing (as usual) and no tech/training.

I decided I need to start writing my blog posts earlier, starting with this one. The Pond installment almost didn’t make it. This wasn’t entirely the kittens’ fault as a family situation took up a big chunk of my writing time on Thursday. I worked as late as I could that night, and then skipped the gym the next morning to get it done on time. Moving forward, I need some kind of an outline to follow so I’m not spending so much time wondering “what happens next.”

While I didn’t exactly make time for crafts, I did do a crafty thing at the guild meeting, so I’m going to count that. I still have the afghan to work on, and I made vague promise to do some book worms for the guild’s craft sale, but I’m kinda hesitant to do anything involving yarn, or crochet hooks, or (God help me) knitting needles or bead work with the kittens around.

All in all, it wasn’t a bad week. I got all my blog posts done and considering I have two little distractions to get used to, I’d say I didn’t do too badly.

Let’s see if this week I can do better.

Happy writing.

The Pond Part 11

Izolda was growing restless; her need for a life beyond the village was growing. She was fifteen now, and she had come to an unpleasant conclusion. There were no apprenticeships for girls, no fostering between villages. Her only escape would be through marriage.

This meant she would have to give up her solitude and become more visible. Instead of wandering the forest paths alone, she would need to join one of the groups of girls that gathered herbs together. She would need to ingratiate herself with the girls who visited the nearby villages to exchange weaving techniques or have stitching gatherings.

This was going to be a huge sacrifice, as far as Izolda was concerned. She was an indifferent weaver, at best, and she did not care for stitching at all. As for becoming one of those girls she often scorned, she shuddered at the thought. But if she’d learned nothing from Varnya, it was that sacrifices must be made to reach your goals.

And so Izolda embarked on a course of action to become more involved in village life, to gain friends, and to become visible. And if she used a touch of magic to make herself more popular, then who was to know except herself?

Olga couldn’t help but notice this change in her daughter. It was difficult not to. The girl had always been somewhat of a loner and now, now she seemed to be always at the center of a hub of activity. This should have pleased her, she had always worried that Izolda spent too much time in her own company, but this new Izolda gave her an uneasy feeling.

“Perhaps I was wrong, giving her the power of seven,” she admitted to her mother.

“Why did you?”

Olga looked at her shamefacedly. “I was angry with Andrei, always so superior, so sure of himself.”

“Did you not wish for a daughter, one with power?”

“Yes, but—” Olga hesitated. It was true, she longed for a daughter but Andrei was so intent on getting his seven sons she’d worried that he would want no more children after that, so she’d used her magic to ensure she’d have her girl.

“Then you got your wish, what more is there?”

They both turned to watch Izolda as she sat chatting and sewing in a circle of girls. On the surface, everything seemed as it should be. Izolda was like any other girl, tall and slender, her dark hair bound up on her head, bright blue eyes sparkling with mischief as she teased one of the older girls about her upcoming betrothal. But there was something below the surface . . .

“It’s just . . . this change in her has come on so suddenly. One day she was avoiding the others, the next day she’s right in the thick of them. Do you—you don’t think she’s using magic to influence them, do you?”

Her mother laughed at her fears. “I think it’s highly unlikely. Although the girl has power to spare, she would have to have enough to influence several at a time so that no one questions her acceptance.”

“I—I suppose you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right. Besides, using magic on others is forbidden, even Izolda knows that. Rest your fears, daughter. She is finally becoming the daughter you always wished for instead of the mouse hiding in the corner.”

Still, Olga was troubled as she watched her daughter. As though she could feel her mother’s eyes on her, Izolda raised her head from her work. Her eyes met her mothers and she smiled a bright, happy smile.

Olga’s fears seemed to melt away. She smiled back at her daughter and Izolda went back to work, answering a question one of the others posed. Of course everything was all right. Izolda was popular because she was a kind, generous girl. There was nothing amiss here.

The Cow is Mad! Part Two

As I said last week, I’m not talking about mad cow disease, I’m talking about the Mad Cow and Mad Calf poetry forms, invented by Sebastian “Duke” Delorange. I tried to look him up online, but all I could find out about him is that he’s American.

Last week I shared the Mad Calf, which is clearly the easier of the two. So this week I had no choice but to make good on my promise to Share the Mad Cow form. Clearly, I need to watch what I promise. There was a reason I’ve put this form off so long.

This poem is a whopping 35 lines long, written as a series of 7 cinquains (five-line verses). These lines are 12 syllables long, which make it a hefty poem indeed. The rhyme scheme is: ababc cdede fgfgh hijij klklm mnono eieio. And just to make it more fun, it should have a pastoral setting.

The EIEIO is what gives the Mad Cow its name. It’s referring back to the children’s song, “Old MacDonald’s Farm” where the farmer had a cow (among other farm animals).

I’m going to be up front here, I hate 12 syllable lines. They make my teeth itch. And you will notice I did not use a pastoral setting for my example.


Living Forever

If you were given the chance to live forever
Would you take the offer given or turn away?
Think upon on this peculiar endeavor
This is not an offer that is made every day.
It would be unwise to dismiss it out of hand

Because this is an offer straight out of dreamland.
Before accepting I would consider the source,
Is it beatific, malefic, or between?
Is this really something you can fully endorse –
Will it stain your soul black or can you keep it clean?

But think what it would be like to live forever
To never have the fear of death, or of dying
To live the history that makes you so clever
Living such a life could be so gratifying
It has a certain appeal, wouldn’t you agree?

I wonder if such a life would make one carefree.
Would the passing of time have any meaning still;
Would the minutes and hours seem to go slow or fast?
Or would one day bleed into another until
All of the days are gone and eternity’s passed?

Imagine, if you will, the things that you would see
If forever you lived, until the end of days –
The magic and wonder of all the things to be,
Or maybe you’d be witness to the world ablaze
And observe mankind’s inevitable downfall.

In the weighing of the good and bad, overall,
All the pros and cons don’t really matter as much
As what is in your heart and how you really feel.
To watch your loved ones die, never feeling their touch
Would, to me, be somewhat of an achilles’ heel.

I would live forever, but only in dreamland.
But a dream is not something that someone can force.
It does not conform, bow to the dreamer’s command,
But in your dreams you can live forever, of course,
And perhaps that’s all anyone needs to be real.

Creativity

To be creative means to be in love with life. You can be creative only if you love life enough that you want to enhance its beauty, you want to bring a little more music to it, a little more poetry to it, a little more dance to it.
― Osho

Creativity is inventing, experimenting, growing, taking risks, breaking rules, making mistakes, and having fun.
— Mary Lou Cook

Nothing is original. Steal from anywhere that resonates with inspiration or fuels your imagination. Devour old films, new films, music, books, paintings, photographs, poems, dreams, random conversations, architecture, bridges, street signs, trees, clouds, bodies of water, light and shadows. Select only things to steal from that speak directly to your soul. If you do this, your work (and theft) will be authentic. Authenticity is invaluable; originality is non-existent. And don’t bother concealing your thievery - celebrate it if you feel like it. In any case, always remember what Jean-Luc Godard said: “It’s not where you take things from - it’s where you take them to.”
― Jim Jarmusch

The second masterclass I attended while at Writersfest was one on Forging Your Creativity, presented by Barbara Bell.

She told us that creativity can help you deal with the unknown. It’s a great confidence builder, encouraging you to take risks. Even when you fail, creativity can help you release your fears. But standing in your way is The Judge.

The Judge is that part of you that focuses on what’s wrong with you, on all the reasons you can’t be creative. He (or she) keeps you in your safe place of “can’t” and “won’t.” The Judge reduces your chances of being harmed by keeping you safe. He will beat you up (mentally), warn you about taking risks, and hijack your mind, instigating your negative emotions.

For our first exercise, we were asked to write a description of our Judge, as detailed as possible – give them a name and a voice.

My Judge’s name is Billy-Bob. He’s a good ‘ole boy, middle aged and uneducated, slouched in his worn-out arm chair, cigar dangling from his mouth. He’s unwashed and unshaven, his pants have seen better days and he’s wearing a white, grease-stained wife beater.

“You’re wasting your time,” he tells me. “You ain’t nothin’ special. What makes you think you can write? You don’t got no proper education, not like some of those real writers. Ain’t nobody interested in what you got to say. You might as well make yourself useful and get me another beer.”

The Judge doesn’t work alone, however, he has a posse of saboteurs to help him thwart your creativity and these saboteurs are part of our innate personalities.

There’s the Avoider, who avoids conflict and has difficulty saying no to others. They focus on more pleasant things to avoid the unpleasant things. And yet they have anxiety about the things they’ve been avoiding. These things don’t just go away and often this often leads to suppressed anger and resentment.

The Controller, on the other hand, needs to take charge and is a straight talker. Their anxiety stems from things not going their way. They tend to push people out of their comfort zone, often through intimidation. No one tells the Controller what to do, and they can become angry and intimidating with others who don’t follow their lead.

The Hyper-Achiever is also competitive and is good at covering up insecurities, always showing a positive image. They tend to be workaholics, keeping other people at a safe distance. Feelings distract them from achieving their goal; it’s important for them to feel successful. They feel that life is all about achieving their goals and this makes them lose touch with their deeper feelings and their ability to connect with others.

If you’re Hyper-Rational you could be perceived as cold and distant, and maybe a little arrogant. You have an intense and active mind, but you’re very private and don’t often let people inside. You prefer to analyze the world from a distance, and value knowledge and understanding. Your self-worth is attached to what you know and you get frustrated by people who are more emotional than rational.

Hyper-Vigilant people are always anxious, worrying about everything that could go wrong. They have chronic self-doubt and are always expecting the worst. This constant anxiety burns a great deal of vital energy that could be used for other things.

The Pleaser is the person who tries to please everyone but themselves, hoping to gain affection and acceptance. They have a strong need to be liked, and need constant reassurance. Expressing their own needs feels selfish to them, and they worry this might drive others away. But they’re also resentful when they lose sight of their own needs and are taken for granted.

The Restless personality is always looking for the next adventure. They’re scattered and easily distracted, always staying busy with as many different plans and tasks as possible. Life is too short and there’s always that fear of missing out on what lies ahead. But this is just another way of avoiding what’s really important.

The Stickler has a need for order and perfectionism. They’re highly critical and often irritable or tense. They’ll work overtime to make up for others’ laziness. They’re sensitive to criticism, believing they’re always right. Constantly frustrated and disappointed, this leads to a great deal of suppressed anger. No matter how hard you work, you’ll never please the Stickler.

The Victim is hyper focused on internal feelings, especially painful ones. They can be dramatic and temperamental, and give up easily when things get tough. They often feel alone and lonely and use their emotional problems to gain attention. This often backfires as it tends to push people away.

Have you recognized yourself in any of these Saboteurs? Maybe you’ve seen yourself in more than one. But now that you’ve identified them, you can start working to fight them off. 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

WORDAGE REPORT

So . . . Not a lot of progress last week. Monday could be excused ‘cause I was recovering from my time away, but I really have no excuse for the rest of the week. Well, until Friday. But if you want to see what my excuse is starting Friday afternoon (and why this post is so late today), you’ll have to read Monday’s post on My Other Blog. 

I think part of my problem was I only made one list last week. And I spent a lot of time helping the hubby finish de-junking his office, which is a bigger deal than it seems because all that junk has to go somewhere. So it wasn’t exactly a writing-focused week.

And it occurs to me that this had better change because NaNo is in just a few weeks. Are you doing NaNo this year?

NEW WORDS:
Blog Posts – 1,724+717+345+720=3,506
Poetry – 90 words (included in blog post)
Total = 3,506

Goals For Next Week:
Increase the words (should go without saying)

EDITING:
0 pages
I updated my sidebar to remove Magical Mayhem and put Elemental Spirit in its place, but I’m thinking that maybe I should have the book flood anthology up next instead. The stories are done, I just need to pick the ones I’m going to use and then edit them. Whereas An Elemental Spirit . . . I took a look at it and it doesn’t just need editing, it needs to be rewritten.

Goal For Next Week:
Pick stories for book flood and start editing them.

MARKETING:
No Marketing. Not even an attempt at marketing. Too much other stuff on the go. I swear, I don’t even know why I have this as a category.

Goal For Next Week:
Submit two flash stories and one poem.

TECH & TRAINING:
Yeah, I got nothing.

Goal For Next Week:
Check out the features of Dropbox – I’m paying for it, I really should use it.

POETRY WEDNESDAY:
I choked. I admit it. I was all set to do the Mad Cow poetry form, but it’s 35 lines long and the lines have 12 syllables and rhyme. So yeah, I went with the lighter version of it called the Mad Calf.

Did not even give the anthology a passing thought. Oops!

Goal For Next Week:
Suck it up and do the Mad Cow form. Start compiling the anthology

CRAFTING:
Does doing some alterations for the granddaughter count? In that case, I got nothing. I did buy some coloured yarn to do book worms for the upcoming craft sale, but I didn’t even open the package.

Yikes! And I just remembered I still have that beaded Christmas tree I’m supposed to decorate, and I have a guild meeting on Tuesday. Guess I know how I’ll be spending my holiday Monday.

Goal For Next Week:
Get beaded Christmas tree done. Crochet bookworms.

WHAT I’M READING:
Believe it or not, I read nothing last week. Nothing! Nada, zip, zilch. I just did not have the time.

Goal For Next Week:
Spend a little time each day reading. At least start my list of books so I can update my Goodreads account!

GOAL REVIEW:

I really should have made the effort to make a list, I do so much better with them. My blog posts were done, and they were all on time, but I did not do any extra writing. I thought about it a lot, and I thought of doing a couple of exercises I was given at Writersfest, but thinking isn’t doing, is it?

I made no progress on coming up with a cover, blurb, and tagline for Magical Misfire. And now that I’ve finished the edits on it I have no burning desire to edit anything else. I’m starting to feel like quite the lazy writer.

No reading at all was kind of surprising. And I didn’t make the time for any crafts, either. It wasn’t just being busy, I was tired and head-achy a lot too. We had a couple of sunny days, but then it was overcast the rest of the week so my solar batteries ran right down.

All in all, it was a rather disappointing week. I mean, yeah, I got my cleaning and organizing done in time for Thanksgiving, but while it’s nice, it doesn’t really feel like an accomplishment, you know what I mean?

*sigh* Well, at least I have a new week to start, and do better.

Happy writing.

The Pond - Part 10

It took several weeks to get rid of all the refuse and set the cave to rights. Izolda could only get away for short periods of time. There was always a task to finish, an errand to run. But she was nothing if not persistent, and patient as well.

Most of Varnya’s things she burned in a magical fire, including the bedding. The floor of the cave was not, as she had believed at first, dirt, but stone. It had taken considerable effort to clean it. There were some things she could not use magic for. At least not yet.

Most of the bottles she’d found held potions or tinctures she’d made to Varnya’s specifications. These now lined the shelf in a neat row. The work table, clean and polished, held the five books she’d found, and the papers that had been scattered in both the personal and work space.

The books were all hand written. One of them had been a record, of sorts, of Varnya’s life. This was the book Izolda decided to start with. She was curious to know how powerful the witch had been in the beginning, and if she had truly turned into a Rusalka.

Izolda had never heard of the village Varnya had come from. She supposed it no longer mattered, but she would have liked to know how far away it was. The account was interesting, but not especially helpful. There was no mention of how powerful she was as a child, nothing much about her family life, other than she had three sisters whom she did not get along with.

There were records of deaths, but not what caused them. Mention of an arranged marriage and of loathing her husband. There were no children mentioned. Then there was a large gap and somewhere between one entry and the next, the handwriting changed.

Izolda sat back. What happened during that gap? The entries after that were filled with accounts of moving, of being a kind of wandering healer. There was no mention of the husband and Izolda wondered what had happened to him.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

“Izolda, where have you been?” Olga demanded as her daughter tried to slip unseen through the door.

The girl gave a start, as though not expecting to be noticed.

“I—I—I was walking in the woods. I had thought to pick some goosefoot and nettles, but I forgot my basket.”

Olga knew her daughter well enough to know she was lying. Izolda had changed greatly, what she saw now worried her. Ever since the incident with the Rusalka at the river . . . She believed Matyei when he said he could not remember what happened. The boy was guileless as a lamb. But Izolda had seen more, knew more, than she was telling. She was sure of it.

“Then that shall be your task for the morning,” Olga told her daughter. “You will gather the nettles and goosefoot, and acorns as well. And you will take Mila with you, to make the work go faster.”

Izolda’s mask slipped for a moment. Olga saw anger in the girl’s face, just a flash before it was gone again.

“Yes, mamoolychka,” the girl said, every inch the dutiful daughter.

Olga eyed her a moment longer and then gave a sharp nod. “Now get to your duties.”

Perhaps she was being too hard on the girl. She knew how difficult it was to grow up surrounded by power and not be able to show your own. Had she made a mistake, ensuring Izolda had the power of seven?

It had seemed right at the time. Her mother had agreed, and they had even consulted a seer, who had assured them it was meant to be. The child had a destiny to fulfill. But looking at Izolda now, she could not imagine what that destiny could be. This had not turned out the way she expected, and she couldn’t help the uneasy feeling that filled her when she thought of the future.

The Cow is Mad!

No, I’m not talking about mad cow disease, I’m talking about the Mad Cow and Mad Calf poetry forms, invented by Sebastian “Duke” Delorange. I tried to look him up online, but all I could find out about him is that he’s American.

Because I spent so much time on the research, I ran short of time so I’m going to start with the Mad Calf because it’s the shorter and simpler of the two forms. :-)

The Mad Calf is a 20 line poem made up of 4 cinquains (5 line verses). Each line has 6 syllables. The Mad Calf has fewer lines and fewer syllables than the Mad Cow, and it doesn’t really rhyme until the last stanza. The rhyme scheme is: abcde fghij klmno eieio.

EIEIO, like in the kid’s song “Old MacDonald Had a Farm,” get it? Okay, okay, on to my example. But first, I have a confession to make.

When I write poems that are strict in their syllable count, I often use an online syllable counter. There is one line in the following poem that two different syllable counters insisted was seven syllables long, but it’s not. Which only goes to show you that syllable counters, like grammar checkers, are not infallible. Also, one of the lines is only five syllables, but it just didn’t sound right with six so I’m leaving it.


Fae Bells

A full moon rides the sky
above the fairy glen,
limns the trees with silver
and lights the unseen path
for the Fae caravan.

Magic in the nightfall
and in the music too,
magic in the dancing,
celebrating summer
as only the Fae can.

Crystal flutes play sweetly,
bodhrans keep the beat;
silks and satins swirling
as dancers turn and spin.
Joyous voices singing.

Beyond the fields of man,
you can hear the drummer –
that’s how the dance began.
You know it’s midsummer
when Fae bells are ringing.

Writersfest Baby!

When I have a writing workshop, I like to have people that are anthropologists and people who are poking around in other fields, I like to have them all in the same workshop, and not worry about genre.
— Sandra Cisneros

In workshops, writers are often told to read what is being written now, but if that is all you read, you are limiting yourself. You need to get a good overall sense of English literary history, so you can write out of that knowledge.
— Theodora Goss

The writing workshops and programs that are everywhere have encouraged writing. And if that produces more writing, it's also producing more readers of an elevated level. So all in all, a good thing.
— James Salter

After a three year break I’m back at the Kingston Writersfest. Four days of masterclasses and author stage events. Not to mention four days of living in a hotel with a room to myself and not having to cook or clean. ;-)

Once again I got a festival pass, but this year I came for all four days. Well, technically it was five, but there was only one masterclass on Wednesday so while it was included in the package, I didn’t think it was worth the price of another night in the hotel. But I did spring for one of the live stage events – a reading by fantasy author Guy Gavriel Kay.

Part of the fun of going to something like this is sharing, so in the next few weeks I’m going to share a few of the things I learned/wrote. We start with Life Lessons: Telling Your Story, presented by Armand Garnet Ruffo. In it we learned how to put more of ourselves in our writing.

“The rawness, the emotional response is what you want to get on the page.”
– William Faulkner

The only thing worth writing about is the human heart in conflict with itself, the tension that we have inside us. Memories are chaotic and visual, we remember what we see in snapshots. It is easier to remember trauma, heightened emotions. If you can feel it in the body, you’re on to something.

“Did it move you?” That’s the writing we go back to, that stands the test of time. Emotions and memories are connected, one leads to another. The tension and emotion is more important than the conflict it arose from. This is what we can explore. This tension is what draws the reader in and makes them want to keep reading.

Snapshots of memories are imbued with emotion. If we look at them like a string of pearls, one bleeds into another. It doesn’t need to be smooth and circular, but they’re all connected. With a snapshot you’re focusing on one memory at a time. You write dot by dot instead of all at once.

Everything begins with character, the character tells us to come along for the journey, it’s the driver for the plot. What are we interested in when we read? Character.

Exercise #1 – look through a backwards telescope to see the ring and narrow the focus on a single snapshot. Write as much detail about the snapshot as you can and then see where it leads you. Write it as a stream of consciousness.

The air was chilly, which is why I was wearing my snowsuit – the red one made of quilted nylon with a red pompom on the tip of the hood. There are women’s voices in the background, my mother and her friend Mrs. Carver. This was back in the day when children respected their elders, never calling them by first names or nicknames or honorary names. She was Mrs. Carver, wife of Red Carver, who was my father’s friend. Red and my father were in the army, stationed together here at Camp Borden. The Carvers had children as well, two sons, older than me, as old as my sisters. My closest sister was seven years older than me, making me the baby, or most likely the pest. Mrs. Carver sewed up little stuffed animals for a church bazaar and gave my sister a pink calico pony and me a pink calico dog. I really wanted the pony. Funny, I can remember those pink calico toys but I can’t remember if my mother aldo made anything for the bazaar. While the ladies talked, I toddled about the kitchen. “Be good” and “Don’t touch anything.” Be good was a refrain I’d hear time and again, until it was engraved in my heart. Being good was my default, seared into my soul along with “Good girls do this” or “Good girls don’t do that.” It shaped my life in ways I never realized until I was an adult looking back. “Good girls don’t fly off to foreign lands and take pictures” so I gave up my dream of becoming a photographer and never quite found anything to take its place.

Isolate a couple of snapshots from your memory. Write a detailed paragraph or two about them. Keep the snapshots narrow. What do you see? Grab these images and create something new. Take two of these snapshots and look for the cross-connections.

I invite you to give it a try yourself. What have you got to lose?

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

WORDAGE REPORT

The good news is I brought the total words up again, the bad news is that it wasn’t extra words, just longer blog posts, same as last week

I’m actually surprised my words were up a bit. I guess the whole “making lists and prioritizing” thing works after all. I had a lot on the go last week, even before I came to Writersfest. And as much as I would have liked to write the installment of the Pond before I left, that didn’t happen, I wrote it here (and was only 10 minutes late posting it).

I have been writing a lot since I’ve been here (today is the last day) but only during the masterclasses (well, and this blog post and Friday’s post). It might have been a different story had I left my new Lynsay Sands book at home. ;-)

NEW WORDS:
Blog Posts – 1,859+879+307+805=3,850
Poetry – 65 words (included in blog post)
Total = 3,850

Goals For Next Week:
Increase the words

EDITING:
Finished
I am done, done, done diddly done! Magical Mayhem is done. Now all I need is the cover, blurb, and tag line. Dare I hope that I’m able to have it finished for a Christmas release?

Goal For Next Week:
Dig out An Elemental Spirit and start the edits on that.

MARKETING:
No Marketing. Not even an attempt at marketing. Too much other stuff on the go.

Goal For Next Week:
Submit two flash stories and one poem.

TECH & TRAINING:
Well, no tech, per se. But I have been learning an awful lot here at Writersfest.

Goal For Next Week:
Check out the features of Dropbox.

POETRY WEDNESDAY:
The Jisei wasn’t so much of a form as it was a type of poem. But I did write three entirely new examples for it and I’ve never done the Chinese Kanshi form before, so I’d say it’s close enough.

As far as an anthology goes . . . Yeah, again, it was a busy week and I just didn’t have time to get started on it.

Goal For Next Week:
New form to share. Start compiling the anthology

CRAFTING:
This is one of the things that took up so very much of my time early last week. Tuesday I had meeting with my stitchery group and it was time to make good on my promise to deliver items for the Christmas craft sale. What I made wasn’t hard – hand sewn felt stars and my traditional snowmen and penguins – but they were time consuming to make.

And I got to wear my hand embroidered blouse to the stitchery meeting – the ladies were all suitably impressed, which was not why I did it but it was a nice bonus.

And of course, because I don’t have enough to do, I signed up for an upcoming class on making felt poppies, presumably in time for Remembrance Day in November.

Goal For Next Week:
Work on the cancer afghan. Work on pansy pillowcases.

WHAT I’M READING:
The only book I read was After the Bite by Lynsay Sands, and that pretty much took up all my spare time during Friday and Saturday at Writersfest.

The Writersfest organizers had a book store set up and I may have bought one or two or five books by some of the participating authors. Can’t wait to start reading them.

Goal For Next Week:
At least start my list of books so I can update my Goodreads account!

GOAL REVIEW:

The extra words thing is hard to pin down because I although I have been doing quite a bit of writing during my masterclasses, it’s all hand written so it’s difficult to calculate. But I was on time with my posts, or almost on time. I was only 10 minutes late with my serial installment. But again, there were no late nights involved.

Just as well that I don’t have those pesky games on my laptop anymore because I wouldn’t have had time to play them. It was a really busy week, did I mention that?

I got a big chunk of my Christmas crafts done, and delivered, so that was a big weight off my mind. This is something that can be ongoing, but at a less frantic pace. I don’t think I’ll be making any more penguins or snowmen, but the felt stars, and maybe some gingerbread men, are something I can do while watching TV at night.

As much as I’ve enjoyed being here, I’m also looking forward to going home today and this week I can start working in my office.

Happy writing.