Blown Apart
By M.E. Brinton
Polar Bear & Company, 2014
World War 11 is about to break out, a small village in Maine seems focused in its daily life of farming until an explosion erupts. A house is blown up. It is emphatically said by every one that two Nazis lived there. Dawn, who tells this story, is confused that her cousin, Fred suddenly leaves the family farm after the Nazi’s home is blown apart. He seems to be fleeing. It is well surmised that he flees the farm life he is tired of to find a summer job on an island off the coast. She is suspicious that he also runs from knowing too much about the explosion. She relates her fears, and he sends her letters to describe his new employment, hoping he is far from the politics of global verses rural Maine life and most of all free from Nazis. Dawn shares his whereabouts with his parents and the shopkeepers, long friends of hers. As the letters increase, Fred tells her incredible news of the island. She senses he is in utmost danger.
This story is about time – changing, a rural life becoming awakened by outer events. It is a story of the pain of death, those gone on, whom Dawn misses. She wants to remain in the village, to keep local her gifs of art and healing. She lets history drift above her, while existing in the moment of each day.
Her village takes a stand when the government did not help them. This is the quintessential structure of a New England scene. Strength, mystery and the masculine bravado mingles with a feminine peace of daily work and surrendering to history what is temporal. The bombing can be almost viewed as common place, common sense, and has it altered or helped the village onward. Eternity lies within the love a village can keep for its own.
I heard this story in its fragments while on my newsbeat as a news reporter for a local paper. I was a feature writer for many years, uncovering yarns to be told. I stopped off at my friend Kay’s home to deliver a Christmas present. Visiting with her was her friend Frank who told me what you are about to read – only I have changed names and also re-imagined and in some cases invented what these villagers would say. You have to do this to make a tale.
I first presented this as a screenplay treatment synopsis for my Creative Writing class at University. Green light is what my professor said of it – go ahead and tell it. I sat on it for the next ten years, and finally while I was out on an island, sitting in a beloved cabin by the fire on a howling windy night, I found the words to write about Dawn and her beloved family and inland Maine life. You see, I had tried to tell a Nazi story through a man’s eyes, I had tried too hard to be Fred --and I could not. I had to find Dawn’s character, and then to picture her – her beauty and woman’s point of view looking on a tumultuous time of history, that being this war – WW11.
“I do not speak of the heart… it is seldom helpful to do so… but I know well enough the pain … when it is broken.”
Dowager Duchess, Downton Abbey, Julian Fellows, writer.
Polar Bear & Company, 2014
World War 11 is about to break out, a small village in Maine seems focused in its daily life of farming until an explosion erupts. A house is blown up. It is emphatically said by every one that two Nazis lived there. Dawn, who tells this story, is confused that her cousin, Fred suddenly leaves the family farm after the Nazi’s home is blown apart. He seems to be fleeing. It is well surmised that he flees the farm life he is tired of to find a summer job on an island off the coast. She is suspicious that he also runs from knowing too much about the explosion. She relates her fears, and he sends her letters to describe his new employment, hoping he is far from the politics of global verses rural Maine life and most of all free from Nazis. Dawn shares his whereabouts with his parents and the shopkeepers, long friends of hers. As the letters increase, Fred tells her incredible news of the island. She senses he is in utmost danger.
This story is about time – changing, a rural life becoming awakened by outer events. It is a story of the pain of death, those gone on, whom Dawn misses. She wants to remain in the village, to keep local her gifs of art and healing. She lets history drift above her, while existing in the moment of each day.
Her village takes a stand when the government did not help them. This is the quintessential structure of a New England scene. Strength, mystery and the masculine bravado mingles with a feminine peace of daily work and surrendering to history what is temporal. The bombing can be almost viewed as common place, common sense, and has it altered or helped the village onward. Eternity lies within the love a village can keep for its own.
I heard this story in its fragments while on my newsbeat as a news reporter for a local paper. I was a feature writer for many years, uncovering yarns to be told. I stopped off at my friend Kay’s home to deliver a Christmas present. Visiting with her was her friend Frank who told me what you are about to read – only I have changed names and also re-imagined and in some cases invented what these villagers would say. You have to do this to make a tale.
I first presented this as a screenplay treatment synopsis for my Creative Writing class at University. Green light is what my professor said of it – go ahead and tell it. I sat on it for the next ten years, and finally while I was out on an island, sitting in a beloved cabin by the fire on a howling windy night, I found the words to write about Dawn and her beloved family and inland Maine life. You see, I had tried to tell a Nazi story through a man’s eyes, I had tried too hard to be Fred --and I could not. I had to find Dawn’s character, and then to picture her – her beauty and woman’s point of view looking on a tumultuous time of history, that being this war – WW11.
“I do not speak of the heart… it is seldom helpful to do so… but I know well enough the pain … when it is broken.”
Dowager Duchess, Downton Abbey, Julian Fellows, writer.