My husband and I sit beside two different woodstoves, both of us at our laptops. Our large Victorian old home, its high tin ceilings, wooden floors speaks of a bygone era, where, yes, there'd be the wood heat, but not technology to both connect us to distant places and separate us from our respective day; we are processing in varied means, the space between the rising sun and its setting.
Today I did not teach, nor did I write. I talked with my publisher Paul, who is sending an updated contract to sign, walked downhill to the shops, made items for the market sales this week, and returned to this blog page after a year away!
In the year away, I have nearly completed another novel. For a while I had it up here in the memoir section. I took it down when revision work took place. I am now back to NOT editing it any further and merely writing, flowing with it until it speaks; done.
When I am trying to reach this final stage, I leave off of a piece, sometimes for months until I figure out how to end the story. Often it just comes.
'Blown Apart' was not clear to me --how the main character would exit her story. Then, one day I was driving along the road - the real road- where she walked, and the mountain ridge was crystal clear- blue and shining beyond her uncle's home. I stopped my car, thought of how she walked to the store each morning, down hill, crossing the river on the old bridge. I couldn't cross on this bridge for it had long been blocked off. I drove over the newer bridge, past the country store of my characters Mr and Mrs. B, and took the country lane into the valley where Dawn's parents home still sits. Here I paused, deciding on an ending to my story of her and her cousin, Fred.
Sometime it takes a physical touch down. I was in their village, and it was real for me. Even though I changed the names of the characters, I felt them speaking through me on that spring day when - then- I drove back to town, where Dawn's grandmother had lived, and finished the story.
I hope you read the story. The real Dawn died in a nursing home opposite my house, this old Victorian where once she came to help me learn to use my own grandmother's treadle sewing machine. Now, she is gone, and the story is truly never finished for I think of her daily.
Tomorrow I shall write about the story "Conversations with a Gnome'. it is a fantastical story, yet framed in reality. There are not many people who can write of personal encounters within this realm of 'fairy tale' and I wanted to be one who dares to try to do so. Of course, it is made up, yet equally questionable. Is it now?
Good night my dear friends over the earth. I am quite ill tonight so I have taken homeopathic medicines. I hope my cold, cough will disappear tonight. I am sitting up waiting for our Kenyan friend to come to sleep in one of our bedrooms so as not to have to sleep in the car. There's snow on the ground! This person is a nurse who works in the nursing home near me and has only a few hours in between shifts!
Please comment if you wish me to know who you are! Do read my books, I am trying to sell them to help our family see family living in Ireland, England, Holland. http://M.E.Brinton. facebook.com
Today I did not teach, nor did I write. I talked with my publisher Paul, who is sending an updated contract to sign, walked downhill to the shops, made items for the market sales this week, and returned to this blog page after a year away!
In the year away, I have nearly completed another novel. For a while I had it up here in the memoir section. I took it down when revision work took place. I am now back to NOT editing it any further and merely writing, flowing with it until it speaks; done.
When I am trying to reach this final stage, I leave off of a piece, sometimes for months until I figure out how to end the story. Often it just comes.
'Blown Apart' was not clear to me --how the main character would exit her story. Then, one day I was driving along the road - the real road- where she walked, and the mountain ridge was crystal clear- blue and shining beyond her uncle's home. I stopped my car, thought of how she walked to the store each morning, down hill, crossing the river on the old bridge. I couldn't cross on this bridge for it had long been blocked off. I drove over the newer bridge, past the country store of my characters Mr and Mrs. B, and took the country lane into the valley where Dawn's parents home still sits. Here I paused, deciding on an ending to my story of her and her cousin, Fred.
Sometime it takes a physical touch down. I was in their village, and it was real for me. Even though I changed the names of the characters, I felt them speaking through me on that spring day when - then- I drove back to town, where Dawn's grandmother had lived, and finished the story.
I hope you read the story. The real Dawn died in a nursing home opposite my house, this old Victorian where once she came to help me learn to use my own grandmother's treadle sewing machine. Now, she is gone, and the story is truly never finished for I think of her daily.
Tomorrow I shall write about the story "Conversations with a Gnome'. it is a fantastical story, yet framed in reality. There are not many people who can write of personal encounters within this realm of 'fairy tale' and I wanted to be one who dares to try to do so. Of course, it is made up, yet equally questionable. Is it now?
Good night my dear friends over the earth. I am quite ill tonight so I have taken homeopathic medicines. I hope my cold, cough will disappear tonight. I am sitting up waiting for our Kenyan friend to come to sleep in one of our bedrooms so as not to have to sleep in the car. There's snow on the ground! This person is a nurse who works in the nursing home near me and has only a few hours in between shifts!
Please comment if you wish me to know who you are! Do read my books, I am trying to sell them to help our family see family living in Ireland, England, Holland. http://M.E.Brinton. facebook.com