the last part of the wonderland series

 I had these last few photos of the remaining structure of the Wonderland left and wanted to finish off this series. These two with the huge stone fireplace are shots of the dance hall. In the second photo you can see the raised stage where the bands played.

There's something about this room that particularly takes me back in time. Standing there, you almost hear music, and I felt a definite sense of motion - dancing couples and all the little dramas that most certainly played out.

One of the main characters in my third novel, Signs That Might Be Omens, is very attached to this place. In a brief scene he lays out a fantasy that he and Claire might have lived back in the time of Elkmont's boom years. It occurred to me today as I uploaded these photos - the character Bingham basically gifted me with a novel. He laid it out so beautifully it would be easy to take the idea and run with it. A sort of "past lives" novel. In the past minute or so this little germ appeared and then grew to the point that it is now being written down in my black Moleskine notebook.

This is why when writers tell me they're blocked, I suggest they get out into the world and walk around, open their eyes and all their senses, take photographs, find interesting places and people to watch and soak in. At some point bits of ideas will begin to float up and will push at you until you pay attention to them. For some of us, it happens almost too much - and the task is holding the ideas at bay long enough to finish other things already in progress!

My head is full of books.

 

The above is a small structure near the back of the hotel. It may have been a cottage for staff, or an extra kitchen. It, too, seems occupied, although as you can see, it's long been empty. Part of the appeal of these structures is that with the camera and a zoom lens, you can ratchet in close and get a sense of the emptiness - and also of the ghostliness of the place. Often, in all these photos, when I click and get the biggest image possible, I see things I didn't even know were there.

 

This is a view of one of the remaining fireplaces, looking back toward the site of the hotel.

I was struck with nearly every shot at how much life there still is in the place. And without all the fencing keeping us out, there was a sense of peace there too.

happy thanksgiving 2010

Here's hoping that everyone has a "zen horse" day! I'm thankful for a wonderful family of humans and animals, a home we love, and the best friends (in person and online) anyone could hope to have.

Happy Thanksgiving to everyone!

a few photos from the writing retreat week, and a brief essay on small towns

 

This was the view out the writers' kitchen door. The golden leaves were especially brilliant in the late afternoon sun, and each time I came down to the kitchen I felt the illumination surround me. 

One afternoon I took a drive to a neighboring small town where I actually rented an office for about a year while working on my first novel. I used to drive there one afternoon a week and used the office to write. Somehow, in all that time, and in subsequent visits to the little downtown, I never noticed this street name, but this trip, with the subject matter of my new novel fully blooming,  it seemed like a huge omen.

The same evening, as I walked from the bookstore across the train tracks to a coffee shop, I glanced up and noticed this little scene. It seemed like the opening line to a novel. Maybe the next one? Since I generally have to have one germ of an idea securely in place at all times, and since my previous germ is now a fully-bloomed idea with a first page, this might have been my subconscious trying to get me back in my fully loaded writer mode. I admit, there is a vague germ forming in my mind even as I type this.

The Brief Essay:

Pushing your religious views onto an entire email list of high school classmates is inappropriate and offensive, even if done "with love."  Getting angry when someone (me) speaks up and points this out is intolerant and a pretty good sign that instead of praying for ME to be saved, you might need to do a little more work on your own character.

Gossiping with other classmates about it off the list, posting about it on your Facebook page, and then defriending someone (me) is just about the exact thing I remember happening not only all through the early years of school in a small southern town, but in Sunday school classes taught by similarly-gossip-prone mothers - one of the reasons I stopped going to church when I was young - even at that delicate pre-adolescent age, I recognized hypocrisy in action. Some things just never change.

Other things do change: when one of the quietest members of a high school class grows up, leaves the small southern town, and blooms, she (me) gets a lot of private support and thanks for being willing to speak up about something that apparently drives a lot of folks nuts.

Moral of this story: be really careful what you say and do when you start up an email list for old classmates and then act out your lack of growth as a human being. Be even more careful when you do it and the quiet one (me) has a memory like an elephant and is now a writer of novels, especially one whose mother (mine) has been trying to talk her (me) into writing a novel about this little town for years and years.

Considering the little town started out as Hinton's Quarters (my ancestors from England) and ended up like Peyton Place, you just never know. While my interest in writing about the small-minded people in a small southern town is just about zero, I've always been one who rises to the challenge when there are under-dogs involved. And goodness, to come home from a week of writing bliss, sans germ, and stumble into this ripe with drama material. Ripe with drama, maybe, but not all that appealing.

And yet, in the same small town there were folks like this. He and his family were neighbors for many years and one of his daughters a friend. The contrast in the range of humans in that tiny town was (and still is) staggering. Not unusual, but I think more noticeable because of the smallness of the community. I encountered the extremes on a daily, even hourly, basis. On some level, as both a person and a writer, I'm still trying to resolve the things I loved about living in a small town with the things that pushed me to leave it as soon as I could. It's that struggle, if I could write it, that would make the story a meaningful one.

back on the hill just in time for the full/blue moon

I'm home again after a nice, productive, magical writing retreat, and now have to make that flying leap from living with no responsibility except to my characters back to the very full life with a big family, a small mountain of laundry, and a SCHEDULE. (it's the lack of schedule on writing retreat that lends to such amazing productivity)

It was great to get home and see cats, dogs, horses, donkeys, teens (one who has now completed his driving education course in full and is awaiting one document before getting his driving permit) and husband. We were all supposed to go see the Harry Potter movie tonight but I sent them on without me, as I started feeling like I just needed to lie down on my own bed and relax for awhile tonight - the real return to daily routines begins tomorrow morning, and I want to be well-rested as I make that leap.

I have a few photos to share but at the moment am too lazy to go unpack the camera cord, so I'll save them for tomorrow.

Savoring the full moon (it really does look blue right now) and looking forward to a quiet Thanksgiving with the entire November Hill gang.

weaving some wonder

(title courtesy of the Triscuit box on the kitchen table here in the magic mansion)

Since arriving on writing retreat Tuesday, I have edited the second novel, The Meaning of Isolated Objects, done a fair amount of book research for my new novel now officially in progress, and given the new book some space and time to germinate.

I've had the basic idea for this book for at least two years, but hadn't allowed myself to think much about it because I really wanted to get the other books sorted out first. Once I start a new novel, it's hard to pull away from it, and I didn't want to be pulled in any more directions than I already am.

So... now that novels 1-3 are situated, middle grade novel is on the metaphorical conveyor belt, and nonfiction book is nearing completion, it was time to reward myself.

I did a lot of editing of Isolated Objects on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. At some point during that span of time, I wrote the first paragraph to this new novel. I gave the main character a name. I finished the editing work yesterday. And today, sitting at the desk in my room, the entire new novel formed inside my head. It's hard to describe this - it was almost like layers of the story began to assemble themselves, and within the space of about ten minutes, the entire thing was "there."

It's very much like I have been saving the seed, planted it on Tuesday when I arrived, watered it a little each day, and suddenly today it sprouted.

I will never ever get tired of the magic of a new book unfolding. It's such a great feeling.

Today, driving a back road where major scenes in my first novel take place, a motorcycle appeared behind me, disappeared, reappeared, passed me at what seemed like warp speed, and disappeared again. And when I say disappeared, I don't mean around a curve - just... vanished. The main male character in my first novel rides a motorcycle. I think he was saying hello.

It's been a wonderful week with two amazing writer friends. Lots of good stuff going on, and of course, best of all, is that I get to go home to the beloved November Hill family.