Being a writer is very easy, really, in the winter. We're more or less house-bound in this neck of the woods (Ontario) for many months, creeping out only for groceries, and, with daylight so short, tend to spend time comfortably cosy in front of the computer. (In the olden days, it would have been the fireplace.) I know - I know - I should learn to ski, to toboggan, whatever. Not me. I think winter is beautiful - but from the inside, looking out. But I did say "easy" for the winter writer, and, of course, it never is, but we manage to immerse ourselves in it, and at times it flows comfortably, and we are away in our own imaginary - and probably warmer - worlds.
However, at this time of the year, with bright sunshine outside, and folks strolling by (who are they all?), it's very difficult to spend time at my NEW laptop. (I so love my new laptop.) I know I can take it anywhere, but I won't. What kind of Northerner would I be if I sat in a park somewhere writing on such a beautiful day? So I guess Strachan's Attic will become a night time pursuit now, but you must remember that night time is now much shorter. Hmm, I'll certainly try hard to be good. It's really only the first weeks of Glorious Spring that I feel drawn to be outside, if I recall. Later, when we've all come to take it for granted, I'll be back inside some of the time.
Meanwhile, there will be Spring Fairs, Yard Sales, our Farmers' Market, plunges in my friend's hot tub (which I don't appreciate in the middle of the winter, although she does...), lunches on a dock somewhere, and all those other wonderful things to lure a writer away from the work.
I promise I will do my best. That's all any of us can do, after all.
Take care, and have a warm, warm weekend. Leave the laptop at home.
Showing posts with label Strachan's Attic. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Strachan's Attic. Show all posts
Friday, April 17, 2009
Monday, March 9, 2009
Living Our Characters, and Maya Angelou
This gray, wet weather (and now it's trying to snow!) is influencing my blog today; in fact, I tried briefly to pretend it was Saturday and not write my post. A lot of my thoughts are deep in the Strachan novel, and it's hard to pluck myself away from that, to speak of day-to-day things. Like Strachan, I am being influenced by my own writing, living vicariously through my characters. I do shrug it off to watch TV, where a certain amount of concentration is required (but not much), but in all other activities, the character of Celia from Strachan's Attic travels everywhere with me. I'm trying to hang on to her unique, more reserved, voice from the 40s. Like a method actor, I am inside her head a lot through my day, not dismissing her easily for fear of losing her, which would involve "finding" her all over again. I'll get past this, as the book progresses, but right now I am a bit Celia-obsessed.
All fiction, we know, can be somewhat autobiographical. It's almost impossible for our own experiences and beliefs not to thread their way into our characters. Having pointed that out, Celia is loosely based on someone in my family, whose anecdotes when I was a child always enthralled me. She is elderly now, of course, and I see her rarely (we live in separate countries), but she lived much of the life I attribute to Celia. I would interview her, ask her many, many questions, but it would probably be painful, and I don't even know how to admit to her that I am writing this, stealing her story, as it were. She told me some time back that she still loved her young WWII airman as much today as then, and that rarely a day goes by that she doesn't think about him. This was what triggered the novel.
As the book moves forward, as I gain more confidence, I'll approach her, but I haven't quite reached that stage yet.
For my one or two supportive readers, incidentally, I'm happy to provide a link to Chapter Four, and that same link, in turn, will lead to the rest of the chapters as I finish them.
It was International Women's Day yesterday, borne of Russian imperatives generations ago, but pertinent today. I thought I'd show you a piece written by Maya Angelou, which you've undoubtedly seen before, but is worth reproducing here. It's light enough to get you going for the day, without preaching. For the guys looking, I'm sorry, but it won't hurt you to see what women think about.
All fiction, we know, can be somewhat autobiographical. It's almost impossible for our own experiences and beliefs not to thread their way into our characters. Having pointed that out, Celia is loosely based on someone in my family, whose anecdotes when I was a child always enthralled me. She is elderly now, of course, and I see her rarely (we live in separate countries), but she lived much of the life I attribute to Celia. I would interview her, ask her many, many questions, but it would probably be painful, and I don't even know how to admit to her that I am writing this, stealing her story, as it were. She told me some time back that she still loved her young WWII airman as much today as then, and that rarely a day goes by that she doesn't think about him. This was what triggered the novel.
As the book moves forward, as I gain more confidence, I'll approach her, but I haven't quite reached that stage yet.
For my one or two supportive readers, incidentally, I'm happy to provide a link to Chapter Four, and that same link, in turn, will lead to the rest of the chapters as I finish them.
It was International Women's Day yesterday, borne of Russian imperatives generations ago, but pertinent today. I thought I'd show you a piece written by Maya Angelou, which you've undoubtedly seen before, but is worth reproducing here. It's light enough to get you going for the day, without preaching. For the guys looking, I'm sorry, but it won't hurt you to see what women think about.
A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE...
enough money within her control to move out
and rent a place of her own,
even if she never wants to or needs to...
A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE...
something perfect to wear if the employer,
or date of her dreams wants to see her in an hour...
A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE...
a youth she's content to leave behind...
A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE...
a past juicy enough that she's looking forward to
retelling it in her old age...
A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE...
a set of screwdrivers, a cordless drill, and a black lace bra...
A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE...
one friend who always makes her laugh...and one who lets her cry...
A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE...
a good piece of furniture not previously owned by anyone else in her family...
A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE...
eight matching plates, wine glasses with stems,
and a recipe for a meal
that will make her guests feel honored...
A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE...
a feeling of control over her destiny...
EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...
how to fall in love without losing herself...
EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...
how to quit a job,
break up with a lover,
and confront a friend without
ruining the friendship...
EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...
when to try harder...and when to walk away...
EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...
that she can't change the length of her calves,
the width of her hips, or the nature of her parents...
EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...
that her childhood may not have been perfect...but it's over...
EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...
what she would and wouldn't do for love...
EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...
how to live alone...even if she doesn't like it...
EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...
whom she can trust,
whom she can't,
and why she shouldn't take it personally...
EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...
where to go...
be it to her best friend's kitchen table,
or a charming inn in the woods,
when her soul needs soothing...
EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...
what she can and can't accomplish in a day...
a month...and a year.
Maya Angelou
Monday, February 16, 2009
Strachan's Attic - New/Old Revision Work
You'll see that I've now included Strachan's Attic on this site. I didn't have to change the layout as I'd thought, but simply included the new title in my Preface to the Blog and in the header, along with a link to a short description of the book, just above this posting.
I'm hoping to have the first chapter up here by the end of the week. Strachan's Attic is a working title and could change, by the way.
This is the first paragraph, as I originally wrote it:
'I first noticed the light in August, last year. It was just a dim light in the attic, but I could see into the room, through the pretty maple tree outside, and make out a cupboard on the far wall and some sort of patterned wallpaper, despite so much grime on the little window. I'd been in this apartment at Jarvis and Wellesley for just over a month, and had finally finished unpacking all my boxes. Of course, I'd noticed the house opposite right from the beginning, when I came to check this place out before I signed the lease, and I was impressed then. It's a fine old building, early Victorian, Queen Anne style, three storeys with the attic. It's empty, did I say? The ground floor windows are boarded up, and there's a 'Keep Out' sign nailed to the front door. It's a shame, because it's a charming house and I feel sorry for it, so neglected and sad, with bits of crud lying around in the overgrown front garden. Anyway, my bedroom looks straight across to it and I am exactly level with that attic window. And I've seen this light more than once now - and it intrigues me.'
This is in the first person because my protagonist has a very direct and occasionally earthy style, and I wanted to reflect this. It just didn't work in third person.
If you read an earlier blog of mine, you'll know I am more than a little obsessed with houses, especially old ones. Both my novels feature derelict houses, but the stories are totally different.
Nothing else today. I just wanted to show you that something else is happening, other than just playing the Literary Agent waiting game with Hafan Deg.
I'm hoping to have the first chapter up here by the end of the week. Strachan's Attic is a working title and could change, by the way.
This is the first paragraph, as I originally wrote it:
'I first noticed the light in August, last year. It was just a dim light in the attic, but I could see into the room, through the pretty maple tree outside, and make out a cupboard on the far wall and some sort of patterned wallpaper, despite so much grime on the little window. I'd been in this apartment at Jarvis and Wellesley for just over a month, and had finally finished unpacking all my boxes. Of course, I'd noticed the house opposite right from the beginning, when I came to check this place out before I signed the lease, and I was impressed then. It's a fine old building, early Victorian, Queen Anne style, three storeys with the attic. It's empty, did I say? The ground floor windows are boarded up, and there's a 'Keep Out' sign nailed to the front door. It's a shame, because it's a charming house and I feel sorry for it, so neglected and sad, with bits of crud lying around in the overgrown front garden. Anyway, my bedroom looks straight across to it and I am exactly level with that attic window. And I've seen this light more than once now - and it intrigues me.'
This is in the first person because my protagonist has a very direct and occasionally earthy style, and I wanted to reflect this. It just didn't work in third person.
If you read an earlier blog of mine, you'll know I am more than a little obsessed with houses, especially old ones. Both my novels feature derelict houses, but the stories are totally different.
Nothing else today. I just wanted to show you that something else is happening, other than just playing the Literary Agent waiting game with Hafan Deg.
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