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.